morally dubious dirt man 💔 weir dredger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fossick) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 amEntry tags:
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
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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.]
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[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.]
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[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?
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[Lucy yawns and covers her mouth with her cloak.]
But it would be nice to see what's beyond the Vale.
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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]
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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]
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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.]