Jaenelle has Plans. More pointedly, Jaenelle has had plans, and it's looking like a beautiful day, and she needs some help. Urgently.

Which is why she is knocking at her friend's door, brisk and sharp, and fidgeting nervously while she waits for the door to open. Witches aren't very good at this whole fancy dress thing, and she wants to look Nice. She thinks Phedre can help, probably. At least, she sincerely hopes she will, because it's important. It really is.

For a grown woman, sometimes Jaenelle acts like a teenager.

Jaenelle has put out a notice to everyone she can think of, in her rather sprawly script: 

If anyone finds one Melisande Shahrizai, please bring her to me. Alive. Jaenelle.

There's one word for her mood right now, and that's 'stressed' - Morgoth seems to be imminent, she hasn't seen Caranthir in a while which is worrying, Lucivar's been oddly tetchy and she's concerned for her friends. First and most importantly, though, she wants this woman. Because after Jaenelle's done with her, at least she won't be causing trouble for a while. She's fairly sure of that. Of course all things have to end eventually and it probably won't last, but even a brief respite would be good.

And she still hasn't had her revenge for that woman killing one of her favorite males. That's just unacceptable.

She's not precisely friendly, but friends are welcome to come and talk. The door to her study is open, and she's looking at three complex Tangled Webs, thoughtful and dark, something of the Queen in her eyes.

Jaenelle is not a happy witch. More to the point, Jaenelle is not a happy Witch.

 She's locked herself in her study, where the handle is probably cold enough to stick to skin and inside is even colder. She's pissed off, tired, unhappy, and sore, pacing back and forth restlessly with the Jewel on her chest sparking like lightning. Her friend may be damaged, perhaps badly, and there's still no word of her from Lucivar or Karla or from her own searches for Anita across the grounds, and that's not comforting at all. None of the possibilities for why are comforting. And she's too angry to risk going to look for her herself when another confrontation could set her off even worse and with less control.

Hence the study, the Ebony shield over the door, and the hourglass trickling slowly. Knock, by all means - but no guarantees that she'll answer.

Jaenelle is outside again, looking once more a) alive and b) focused. She's standing at the edge of the lake, humming, her brow furrowed, and thinking intently. There are people she wants to see, conversations she (doesn't) want to have, and things that need doing, but for a moment here, she's just going to look at the lake and enjoy a moment of relative peace. She knows she won't have much of it, soon enough.

Of course, she's still worrying - about Anita, about Kvothe, about her family, about Lynette. A wince for that. Soon, she promises herself. When she can be sure of her reactions, she'll go back and try to make things better. She can fix what happened. She knows that.

Jaenelle is sitting outside, singing, not loudly but not quietly either, her fingers weaving spidersilk on a wooden frame, looking distracted, thoughtful, her sapphire eyes distant. She pauses to tuck her hair behind her ears, examining her work with curious intensity, and then nods to herself and resumes working with nimble fingers, seemingly at random. 

Jaenelle is deeply distressed. She's locked herself in her study again, pacing back and forth, going over and over the events of last night and trying to decide what in Hell's name she should do. And she really has no idea. She wishes, fervently, that Saetan were here. He'd know what to do.

It grates on her that she's a healer, and she hurt someone. On accident, true, but someone who didn't, much as she hates admitting it, really deserve it. That much has come clear to her so far. And she may have lost a friend on his account, a friend who is very, very dear to her. Perhaps more than one.

She starts to feel teary and sits down hard, trying to bite her lip so she doesn't cry. It's just not fair. Why does everything have to be so hard? Everything she does seems to turn out wrong. And now she's tired and feels sick and it's getting close to That Time of the Month again, which is just wonderful on top of everything else, and -

She misses Saetan. She misses Lorn. And she misses Kaelas.

Of course, Kaelas would probably just offer to kill someone for her.

The thought makes her giggle while she's sniffling, but it's something at least. To keep her from feeling like an utter failure. Which Jaenelle is wont to do.

Come say hello to a miserable, miserable witch!

A note will find itself under Anita's door, written in a neat, calligraphic hand.

Jaenelle is feeling better! So she has come wandering outside, looking determined, focused, and a little concerned, hunting for the only person from the duel she hasn't spoken to yet. Well, with the exception of the other duelist, but she wants to check with his - er - lover? Is that the word? before attempting to approach him again.

And because she worries about people, and she was concerned about the expression on his face during the duel, which was rather all together too familiar to her. So here she is, humming to herself and casting about, trying to find his psychic scent. It's harder than it should be, given she wasn't really paying attention to such details when they last met. Come to think of it, she doesn't even know his name.

Dammit, but this is frustrating. :|

Jaenelle is currently sitting next to Lucivar's bed, looking extremely unhappy and extremely uncomfortable and extremely annoyed. Lucivar is, fortunately, currently asleep, though it took all her effort to get him there, especially when he got past the shock of Jaenelle being alive and realized that she was currently vulnerable and, as far as he's concerned, helpless. Even listing hopelessly from the wound in his leg and wings half spread, gritted teeth ignoring the agony from them, he attempted to bully her into sitting down so he could get her something to help. No such luck. She informed him very firmly that he is not going anywhere.

And she can't get another Healer. She tried to bring Karla here earlier, but his memories of her were fuzzy at best and there was a tense moment where Jaenelle had to shield Karla because Lucivar's eyes went wild and he very nearly attacked her. Karla fled in a hurry.

Jaenelle's closed and locked the door, frowning at her sleeping brother, looking at his wings with still midnight eyes, all the rage and fury bottled beneath her skin now so the room itself is normal temperature, but seeing Lucivar like this, conscious and not Lucivar but Prince Yaslana - she's seen him on the killing edge, but never like this. And this is worse. Because he's wounded.

She reaches one hand to brush his hair back from his face, too sore to even consider trying to heal him. And that's why the unhappiness. Because she can't do anything. Can't fix his beautiful wings. Can't bring him back. Just has to wait.

Lucivar stirs slightly at her touch and makes a slight noise that on any other man might have been a cry.

((Sorry, am cleaning these out.))