Open The Docks Elara Mosswhisker's Introduction, Lost!

[Izakis]

Izakis listened carefully to the explanation of the hedgehog. She wasn't good at medicine, basic first aid was the most she could offer, but she was great at aftercare. All mentioned things were very much something she dealt with a lot.

"Izakis." She said taking Aramaeus paw into hers delicately, rubbing her pawfinger and massaging his palm in the process. Her scaly head turning to have both beasts in front of her. "I am pleased to hear there is no emergency." She giggled softly "But you ssssee Aramaeus, while I may have a way to actually get ssssomeone to take over, I agree with the woodlander mistress by your side that this... thing," Izakis pointed at the wooden costume. "Is doing far more harm than good... You need ssssomething more sssstylish and catchy if you want to turn attention to whatever your duty is." She politely explained while trying to mask her disdain for the very shoody work in front of her eyes.

 

[LightSeeker]

Aramaeus listened, one paw massaging at the bridge of his snout to try to relieve the mounting headache. The hedgehog was making an excellent point, which he didn't appreciate. He wanted to do something foolish, something that would backfire and would give him someone or something to blame if things went wrong. You couldn't blame fate for giving you a bad hand; it was far too impersonal for the accusations to stick.

He was distracted by the approach of a lizard in a highly revealing outfit. He blushed, even though he himself didn't experience attraction to such; the outfit itself was enough to shock and jolt his sense of modesty. "Thank you for your concern," he addressed the lizard quietly. "I'm afraid you won't find many willing to take over, though. I volunteered for this duty, unwisely it would seem. I am still happy to help with matters of law and public knowledge, though I think I prefer doing so with a touch more professionalism than the costume allows." He offered a paw, first to the hedgehog, then to the slink. "Aramaeus Lemon," he introduced himself, pronouncing his last name in the Alkamarian fashion.

Elara took the offered paw, helping him to his feet. “Elara,” she said. No title. No surname offered. Just the name.
When Aramaeus mentioned volunteering, she gave a small, measured nod. “Volunteering doesn’t mean you forfeit your health,” she said. “It just means you care. That doesn’t require suffering.” She didn’t press further. The confession—however indirect—was enough for now.

 

[LightSeeker]

Izakis listened carefully to the explanation of the hedgehog. She wasn't good at medicine, basic first aid was the most she could offer, but she was great at aftercare. All mentioned things were very much something she dealt with a lot.

"Izakis." She said taking Aramaeus paw into hers delicately, rubbing her pawfinger and massaging his palm in the process. Her scaly head turning to have both beasts in front of her. "I am pleased to hear there is no emergency." She giggled softly "But you ssssee Aramaeus, while I may have a way to actually get ssssomeone to take over, I agree with the woodlander mistress by your side that this... thing," Izakis pointed at the wooden costume. "Is doing far more harm than good... You need ssssomething more sssstylish and catchy if you want to turn attention to whatever your duty is." She politely explained while trying to mask her disdain for the very shoody work in front of her eyes.

Elara remained still as the skink—Izakis—spoke, her tone light but layered, her gestures fluid and deliberate. She noted the way Izakis handled Aramaeus’s paw: not just a greeting, but a subtle act of grounding, of reassurance. The palm massage wasn’t medical, but it was care. And Elara recognized that as valid. When Izakis referred to her as “woodlander mistress,” Elara didn’t flinch, though the title carried the faintest edge of social distance—polite, but marked. She didn’t correct it. She didn’t embrace it. She simply registered it, like a shift in air pressure. She listened as Izakis spoke of aftercare, relief, and the costume’s flaws—not just functionally, but aesthetically. There was truth in that. The costume wasn’t just impractical; it was degrading. And dignity mattered, especially when a beast was already struggling. Elara didn’t smile, but something in her posture softened—just slightly.

“You’re right,” she said, directing her words to both of them, but looking at Aramaeus. “He doesn’t need more attention. He needs relief. And if the costume is part of the duty, then the costume needs to change.”