Hi, Odette, I've been worried about you. Thanks for not getting yourself captured.

I've been worried too, although in my case I was more concerned that you hadn't come at all and had been murdered by our ex-teacher.

Ugh. That would be terrible. Luckily, I did not. I showed these guys how to make a printing press!

Of course you did. So you ended up with this Fingon character? How'd that go?

He's nice. Kinda homophobic, but apparently the Valar don't like gay people.

Why are so many things about this world intractably terrible?

Because we're used to the intractably terrible things back home and don't notice them as much?

Fair.

So where'd you end up?

A ways outside Maedhros's fortress. That guy is super depressing--and she sends her observations, speculations and received information on Maedhros. Oh, Maedhros is one of Feanor's sons. I haven't yet told him I can maybe ressurrect the dead but not his dad anytime soon, which is a relief for the moment, because he already has enough reasons to be miserable.

Holy shit, that's--augh.

To Fingon she sends, Odette found me. She ended up where you said she would, specifically near Maedhros. I'm...going to assume you already knew he was really depressing.

No fucking kidding.

I am not sure what would make you regard a person in those terms. She is then certainly safe and can leave at will, which is everything you were concerned with?

Mostly, yeah. Oh, that reminds me, she grew his hand back and cleared up some chronic pain issues he was having.

To Odette: Ask about the Ice.

Am I going to wish I hadn't?

Hopefully you'll be able to get more information about it than I did.

Not so far, she sends to her sister with a mental eye-roll.

Oh that reminds me, she grew his hand back.

"Men," he says out loud to the printing press and the general confusion of the people working on it.

Apparently there's enough to tell that it'll wait till there are a few hours free.

Fair enough. I can't think of anything else in particular right now, but keep in touch--oh! The eyes! Their eyesight, it's amazing, I copied it, I have glowing silver cat eyes now.

Of course you do, she thinks with fond amusement.

It's so amazing though--this is what the world looks like now, and she sends a smattering of visuals.

That's amazing! she sends after a stunned pause. Okay, fine, I'll do it. At some point. When I can ask someone if I can copy theirs and haven't just annoyed them by asking them to explain their side of a centuries-old grudge.

I mean, what exactly are our alternatives here? The issue isn't going to go away or fail to have consequences just because we want to play nice.

To Fingon: I think it may have been painfully optimistic to think I could get away without learning a great deal of politics.

Fucking Morgoth. I wish problems just ceased to exist when their progenitor died, that would be so nice.