Return of the Rangers p2

Posted on Fri Sep 11th, 2026 @ 8:15pm by Indigo (*) & Dodai Yaari

Mission: Veils
2264 words - 4.5 OF Standard Post Measure

Indigo leaned back in the chair finally feeling a little less on edge now that she had food in her. She was not one to eat large meals eating more frequently in small portions but she had to admit that it was nice to just sit there and talk.

“This was a good choice.” She said quietly looking around at how busy the place was now from the hour or so earlier when they had sat down to start talking. They had not really gotten further into the conversation about why all of a sudden Indigo was so on edge and why her thoughts had turned back to him.

Somewhere between the last bites of grilled mushroom and his second cup of the pungent tea blend he'd taken a fancy too, Dodai had adopted a somewhat familiar stance that necessitated the stretching out of his legs so that both hands could settle against his stomach. Had the meal been of his own devising, around a campfire in somewhere that better resembled a home, this was about the time he would have pulled out his pipe but thought better of it under the circumstances. "Nothing grim nor overly morose about their cuisine in any case."

“No. It almost reminds me of home.” The food had been good and cheap which was a surprise in a tourist spot. She had already sorted out the bill when she had gone to the restroom. “Would you like to carry on walking?” She wondered. “Or do you need a nap?” She teased a little.

Dodai, whose eyes had drifted to a half-lidded contentment, lifted one lazy eyebrow and retorted, "I think we still need to find you some materials to set alight, unless you've fresh inspiration for putting me in my place."

Indigo opened her mouth several times before she sighed. "I have never wanted to put you in your place Dodai." She whispered quietly and shook her head as she rose. She slowly offered her hand to him hesitantly. "I just knew I was never good enough for you."

The frown of consideration that creased Dodai's forehead carried all the way through his eventual acceptance of her hand, to him hauling both of them to their feet to continue the conversation at an ambling pace. If given a preference, Dodai typically preferred to hunker down when ruminating, tucked in beside a fire to ponder the intricacies of his own thoughts, but he had a wanderer's heart and processing another's input was an entirely different matter.

"Failing to secure my father's approval is an affliction we both suffer from," he reminded her after a long pause, his large hand sheltering hers as they wove their way through the crowd that seemed intent on moving in the opposite direction. "There's a marked distinction between his opinion and measurable fact, however; I don't think you could possibly quantify any sort of proof that you're somehow the more inferior of the pair of us." He leaned sideways just enough to add with affection, "I'm the one can't always find his own pants, remember."

The woman looked back at him as she stepped in front, still keeping his hand in her own to keep them connected. "I do not believe I need any proof other than the state of us, and you find your pants just fine once you get used to living in an actual room." She pointed out with a small teasing smile as the crowd slowly dissipated, and they were able to walk side by side again.

"Then I would still caution against using another person's attributes as a metric for critiquing your own. The universe is too full of exceptional people, I'd never feel content if I felt obliged to keep up." It was advice offered with a tone of such casual decisiveness that it seemed almost unfair the pair could operate so effectively in tandem. Dodai had an annoying tendency to speak fact into existence through a sheer amount of obstinance against believing in any alternative.

The woman stopped and turned to look up at him. “I know you are offering great advice and any other time I would feel exactly the same but I… I just feel like a mess right now and we both know that I do not like feeling like that and it leaves me vulnerable.” Indigo look at his hand and stroked her thumb over the back of his hand. “Maybe I am sick.” She laughed shaking her head looking away rubbing her face.

A look of exaggerate circumspection saw Dodai consider the possibility. "Parasitic infection, perhaps." The ghost of a mischievous grin saw him pepper the speculation with a wink. "Or fungal. Something spore-related. It's always spores," he added, with the mock wisdom of one who knew exactly why he was tapping his temple playfully with the tip of his index finger. Getting Indigo to laugh was not a feat easily dismissed without extra effort to ensure it happened again.

The woman smiled a little. “No idea how you’d ever confirm that it was a parasite infection or spores.” She laughed a little as she tried to think on what could been wrong for her. “Maybe it’s something El Aurian. I have never been good enough at knowing my own species,” she sighed as she spotted one of the tables that had items to create things to throw into the fire.

"You have built quite a career out of avoiding them," Dodai agreed, unable to resist the urge to push his luck. It was a charge he was equally as guilty of, after all, though his stubborn silence often gave the appearance of being less turbulent than Indigo's far more vocal dramatics. "Much though that is an aspiration fraught with the potential for disappointment. They will get inside your head if you let them, Iliana." Like so many of the man's intentions, the sudden inclusion of her birthname carried purpose beyond incidental shock-value. "Perhaps a better question to ask yourself is why you're still holding onto the need to impress them at all."

The woman paused at the use of her name and looked up at him. No one had called her that in decades; even in their more intimate moments, he had used the name she had crafted for herself to protect everyone. “Because one day I will have to face them and answer for all of my disappointments.” She sighed a little and sat down on a bench. What was wrong with her? Normally she never let anything bother her. “I know it seems odd and I wish I had your mentality to brush it all off.” She assured him. “But I am happy to see you.”

"Then for now, we focus on that." It wasn't often that Dodai spoke with authority and, even now, his tone was more a suggestion or perhaps, more accurately, simply sought to give permission. Of course, as he clapped his hands together and then rubbed them with anticipatory glee when approaching one of the preparation tables, one might equally have accused him of simply wanting an excuse to get his hands dirty. "Shall we make something to set on fire? Seems impolite not to."

The woman followed with a small smile and looked at the table and the items that were there waiting for them. She looked at the selection and frowned as she tried to decide what she actually wanted to make with the straw and string. “Any idea what you are making?” She wondered.

"Now where would the fun in preempting the final product be," Dodai declared, helping himself to a seat without apprehension. True to the impetuousness of the decision, he took no time in reaching for a bundle of what would have been excellent kindling regardless of its intended future as a work of art. "Why don't we," he continued, surveying the rest of the collection before reaching across himself to gather up a ball of twine, "just see where inspiration takes us?"

Indigo shrugged. He always tried to make her less regimented that being a ranger or a solider put into her but it left her floundering as she stared at things. It took a several long moments where she thought one of the grey figures was going to come over and ask if she needed any help before she started to weave and tie something together.

In his usual style, when the application of anything creative involving his hands was at stake, it didn't take long for Dodai to lose himself in the whimsy of abstract construction. It wasn't so much a lack of focus as an unwillingness to limit what he was trying to express to any kind of predictable form. Materials were selected for their texture, their colour, the way they interacted with what was already shaping up to be a caricature best described as being 'something like a goat only with six legs'. Every now and then he would pause, pull back to take a look at his handiwork, and beam with the kind of unbridled satisfaction normally associated with the under-5s.

Indigo stopped and looked at the man smiling at the way he moved and created something out of everything that was in front of them. He was so precise and careful about it all whilst she stared at her orb and crudely made effigy. “How is it that you look so… good whilst doing this?” She demanded blushing at her words. She could not explain the way she was looking at him but there she was.

"Divine intervention." It was a distracted quip, quite an impressive one given how much fixated attention Dodai was giving the current process of combining two woven appendages to the main torso. In truth, he was in his element, finding infinite pleasure in the practical nature of crafting substance from nothing with his own hands. Over the years, that had ranged from wood carving to leather work, intricate jewelry making and even the occasional garment sewn, though that invariably required the longest investment of time and patience. Dodai could make himself useful on a ship but that was very different to making himself valuable; there hadn't been a lot of demand for carved figurines lately, though his tea blends were slowly earning a small fandom.

Perhaps because he knew he was being watched, he poked the tip of his tongue between his teeth and grimaced slightly as he tugged on the latest knot. "Either that or you need to slow down on the mead." Very briefly, he looked up and offered a wink of mischief before returning to his work.

Indigo found herself blushing even more and shook her head, mentally chastising herself. What was wrong with her? "Yes, maybe I should." She agreed as she returned her gaze to the male effigy she was creating. It was Dodai's father because he was right; she had held onto the need to please him for far too long, but it went deep. "Or maybe that is the problem: I need more." She said picking up the mug and took a deep gulp.

"Also an option." Dodai's agreement was punctuated by a satisfied hum of approval, his current goal achieved to an extent that allowed his bizarre creation to stand on its own. He left it balanced on a tripod of legs, counterbalanced by its abundance of out-stretched arms, and sat back to pat a contented beat against his stomach as he considered his next steps. It gave him time to properly peer across at what Indigo was attempting, a circumspect nod offering encouragement even if he was a little at a loss to actually identify what her intent was. "Looking good. I like the moustache." It wasn't a moustache and every bit of the twinkle in his eyes admitted that Dodai knew as much.

The woman spluttered into her mug at the moustache comment before she saw him properly and shook her head. “We both know he has never had a moustache,” she commented as she put the mug down and looked at what he was making. “Is it rude to ask what you are making?” She wondered quietly.

There was intention to the flourish of presentation, the sculpture landing with a thunk atop the table to extend its many arms upwards in joyous exclamation. "In the beginning, it was vaguely in honor of Vashelli, the Aldean Goddess of Rebirth but her nose refused to cooperate and I got a little indulgent with the number of arms I gave her. I think she may qualify now as her own deity, possibly a patron of worthy endeavour...or circus tricks."

Dodai scrunched up his nose and there was nothing about his expression that betrayed anything beyond a baseline mischief. As it happened, he was being mostly serious or, at the very least, honest. Whilst Indigo had set out with a very clear vision, her partner in crime had deployed a far more typical whimsy that resulted in simply sticking things together until they resembled something. Inspiration, Dodai usually argued, was not forged during the planning phase but cultivated by the journey itself.

"Always knew you would end up creating your own religion and deities." The woman found herself teasing him a little as she finished with what she was doing and took a long gulp of her drink. He had called her Iliana and the world had not ended, and she had not stormed off.

Maybe she was growing after 200 years.