THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[fossick]

(( used the wrong method with the wrong technique ))

Comments

[luciole]

[Fang snarls at Weir, having heard his unflattering reply. He begins to shrink until he's about the same size and proportion as Lucinda, his body still shielding her. Feather relaxes her hold on Lucinda's limbs when they all note that he's yielding.

Flora, the vain and prideful spirit that she is, gets the last word in.]

𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓻.

[The flower's voice softens just a touch, sharing a rare moment of compassion that's normally just for Lucinda.]

𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓷𝓲𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓼. 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓲𝓽, 𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮.

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝓽𝓱 𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓿𝓲𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓼. 𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓦𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓓𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓻...

[Her voice fades away. Fang dissipates into smoke that snakes down Huyen's spine. Feather takes Lucinda's hands and pats her awake one more time. Lucinda's eyes fully open and she sighs, rolls her shoulders, and smiles at Weir as if she just woke up from a pleasant dream.]

So.

[The cloak she threw on the ground at the beginning of the fight is right at her feet. Lucy picks it up and wraps it around her shoulders and checks her wounded palm, wiping off the residual blood.]

Dinner?

[fossick]

[Flora's sentiment, right before he severs the connection between them, is not one that Weir takes to heart. It takes more than a few passing words from a cheeky flower spirit(?) for him to draw a true connection between himself and another person; in fact, he can only take it as an indignity. What does a ghost from another world pretend know about him that it can speak with such certainty about dark places? They have not seen a dark place like the one that thrives hungrily beneath their feet.

But he has no further words on that.

Instead, when Lucinda comes back to reality, of course she treats it as casually as anything — that’s just her modus operandi by now, isn’t it? Weir actually scoffs. He doesn’t look as though he’s extended much effort in this whole ordeal, and now the idea of having to explain himself feels like the real upcoming trial. One of the perks of her dying would have been to avoid all of that nonsense.

What a shame.]

Bring me my knife.

[—is his only response to that right now.]

[luciole]

Third time's the charm?

[Or so she jokes knowing full well that it's not going to happen. She's played his game and her friends rose up to the occasion like they always do.

Lucy squats to pick up the knife, holding it by the blade and offering it to Weir so he can take it by the handle.]

[fossick]

Were it so easy, I'd not hesitate.

[But, again, he's no fool. The whole point of this little test was to see what he could get away with: simply murdering her and being done with his little issue or if he's burdened with her presence for however longer. It's clear, now, what the reality is.

He takes the knife, looking at her evenly, then unearths a cloth to wipe the blade clean.]

Though you've more than proven that you are not a problem so easily taken care of. [DRY-] I suppose it's too much trouble to ask you to sod off and find refuge in another town?

[luciole]

It probably would have been less trouble than all of this.

[Lucy yawns and covers her mouth with her cloak.]

But it would be nice to see what's beyond the Vale.

[fossick]

[His mouth twists sardonically.]

If you think this was more than a single day's preparation of work, then you're wrong.

[Girl he wasn't going to put that much effort into it. That said, perhaps it's a bit unnerving that Weir can simply drag a dead creature out from the Pit, give it life, use his abilities in such a way against her, and simply call it "not any work." It says something for his character; what he's willing to do if it meets a certain criteria of sensibility in his own eyes.

Knife clean, he slips it back into its sheath at his hip, opposite of where he keeps the one with the ebony blade, and frowns deeply at her.]

North's that way. [POINTS TOWARDS IN THE DIRECTION OF NORTH, where the road would wend out of the forest and spill out into the land beyond. YOU WANNA DO IT AND SPARE HIM THE EFFORT--] I'll not stop you.

[free him]

[luciole]

[True, she and her friends had to put more effort than he did technically. For a second there is a flash of irritation (or rather it was always there) but she relaxes again.

As Weir points in the direction of north (god this world needs a google maps) she raises her brow at him.]

I have the ingredients for a honey cake that I don't want to go to waste.

[this is your life now weir]

[fossick]

[You kids and your over-reliance on Google Maps.

Oh, but he catches that little flicker of irritation and it feels nice. A small win, and he'll take it, considering he's generally netted himself what he views as a loss.]

Of course you do.

[The thinnest of smiles.

He considers checking on the monster-turned-to-paste, just to see if there's any amount of energy he can salvage and store in his blade, but decides against it. Unlikely. The thing is probably so demolished that anything remaining has long dissipated.

So. WHATEVER!! He just turns and leads them back to the mare, who will undoubtedly be very spooked from the ruckus, but unlikely to have wrested itself away from the tree.]

Then keep up.

[Gracious as always.

Surely this does not make for a sullen, silent, or even awkward ride back to the Vale.]