“Well ma’am,” Clawripper says with a grin on his face, “I have some good news. He happens to be one of us Yahoo’s. He’s over there.” Nodding at Candall’s seat.
“Oy! Candall!” He called. “There’s someone here to see you!”
“OH! I know him, good fellow, very kind.”
(Candall is asleep in his room actually.)
“Hold up,” she says. “How do you know it’s him? I didn’t even describe him! You can’t just go 'round accusing every man named Candall to be me husband! Haha!”
“Similar accent and kind nature, you are a lot like him.”
“Again,” she says, “There’s a lot of folk in Isotix like that. I s’pose I’d need to see 'em myself.”
“He’s upstairs. I’d escort you, but I obviously cannot fit.”
“Hmph. I hope you’re right. I’d hate to barge in on some other man. Could ya least provide some kinda proof he’s mine? Has he said anything about me?”
“Does your husband practice weird plant magic and wear old worn armour?”
“I don’t know, lass. I haven’t seen him in years. Last time I saw 'em he was drinking away his sorrows, then he left.”
“I’ll go wake him for you, will that work?”
“That would make it less awkward!” Marybird says.
Fran nods and quickly heads upstairs to Candall’s room.
“Psst, Candall you in here?” She whispers
No response, besides the sound of a man sleeping.
Fran inhales and steels herself as he cups her hands to her mouth.
“OI WAKE UP YOU LAZY BUGGER YOUR WIFE IS HERE!!” She promptly yells
Candall’s eyes open wide.
“Wha-?” he says in a groggy stupor. “W-what do you mean my woife? How did you know I-?”
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“Oh good, I wasn’t actually sure that’d work.”
Fran points to the door
“Your wife. Downstairs. Now.”
Candall hurries and places upon his gambeson. He comes out of the door, a little confused. “What do you mean my wife? She’s gone, far away from 'ere. How did you even know I had one?”
“When a Woman from Isotix turns up stating that she has a husband by name of Candall, one tends to put two and two together quite quickly.”
Candall freezes, then looks down the stairs. “Can it be?”
Candall heads down the stairs in a hurry, still slightly exhausted. When he looks, he indeed sees a half-elven woman, with curly brown hair and a mask, holding a finely carved fiddle. The two lock eyes upon each other.
Marybird places down her violin. “I-It really is him.”
She rushes toward Candall. Candall looks speechless. Then, while tears well up in the eyes of Marybird, she raises her hand.
SLAP!
Candall tumbles backwards into a table and a few chairs.
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“I have absolutely zero regrets.”