Ramblings and Emotional Distress

Information gained on Ratchet:

They're a Jendaiari

They disapprove of Mudaliar and are willing to turn coats for the right price

They know about Silla, which is a whole can of worms

Has a depressing backstory

They want to know about me. Which of course they fucking do.

Nosy motherfucker. I should have slit their throat when I had the chance.

Information Ratchet gained on me:

Not a Jendaiari

From the Kingdom of Hazar

Silla as a person of importance

(How the fuck would Ratchet know about Silla? He hasn't come over, we haven't met up outside of business, we barely fucking interacted) -> is it possible that they're… nope. Not gonna think about this.

Impulsive

Unwilling to share more information

Which fucking duh, they found out more about me in that conversation than the rest of Padmini's goddamn Inner Circle knew

I'm going to fucking murder them

[The next page in Lak's notebook has been torn out, Fire Bolted and stomped on for good measure. Said page had the following letter before being completely destroyed:]

Dear Mother and Father,

I suppose talking to a changeling for the first time in over a decade had me reminiscing. This letter will never make it to you, but hopefully there will be some catharsis to be found in writing it.

The changeling population in the Material Plane, the Jendaiari, are apparently big on community and camaraderie. This struck me as quite shocking and proof that our people have been differentiated from them for a very long time, because I could not ever imagine you to be people with such values.

You are disgraceful, horrible people who deserve nothing good in your lives, who deserve to suffer for what you've done to me. I was a child. I was scared. It was on you to hold me and tell me everything would be okay, but instead you left me. Changed my fucking name and abandoned me like the cowards you are.

I’d like to think I could have been a good person. Sweeter, nicer. If you hadn't been so keen on fucking me over from the get go. If you hadn't left me with such baggage that it took this piece of shit one question about my past to completely unravel me.

When I came to the Paramar, it was under the condition that my past would be buried. That the person I used to be could die and be left six feet under as I'm sure you hope I actually am. But now this motherfucker shows up asking these relentless questions and bringing that lonely, terrified, desperate person back to life.

So, I guess, at the end of this letter there was no catharsis to be found. Only fleeting hopes and wishes. Mom, I hope your opal eyes are dimmed into nothingness and closed forever. Dad, I hope your smell of sandalwood fades and rots. I hope that, for every day that I have suffered your abandonment, you get a decade worth of pain and misery.

Fuck you,

Lak