finalflight | THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[The vendor grins widely at her, amused by the whole display. Honestly, the huntsman can stand not to win a game or two, if only for the sake of learning that winning isn't everything! (This is not the sentiment that Weir holds, but that's not the point.)]

"The lady's indeed won, Weir. Now, don't look so glum."

I'm not glum. [SHE'S CHEATED FOR LIKE 80 PERCENT OF THE GAME, and he just rolls his eyes. Clearly, something like irritation is hard to actually reach him, but he will frown for days.] "One game down", she says, like I plan on taking you to another.

[The vendor laughs, shaking his head, and turns to a small wooden crate full of... something! She does indeed get a prize!]

"Now then, it isn't much, but Miss Lucy does deserve a prize, does she not?"

[He produces a little blue fox plushie. You know, a Ye Olde plushie.]

[Lucinda's eyes widen with surprise and unmistakable delight at the blue fox plushie and she reaches out to retrieve it. The medium holds it in her hands lifting it up to examine it; not unlike a child in awe of their new toy.]

Thank you.

[Lucy hugs it against her chest and smiles at the vendor gratefully.]

I love it quite a lot. It will make a great new friend.

[And to Weir, she jokingly says:]

I don't think you'd be as keen on taking care of this little one if you had won. Let's move on then, shall we?

[He is rolling his eyes so hard over here, it's a wonder they don't fall out of his head. Of course she gets a plushie. Rewarded for being unbearable (because she cheated).

The vendor replies cordially happily. It's his pleasure, miss!

The look Weir gives Lucinda and her silly little fox is less cordial.]

You want to try your hand at another? I'll not carry any other prizes you win like some pack-mule.

[A beat.]

Thought you were interested in the performance, besides.

[She will make the better plushie parent, not Weir! But back on track.

Lucinda nods when he reminds her of the performance.]

Then let's give that priority instead. It'd be a good idea to get some prime seating before anyone else.

Then come on. Let others waste their time here.

[Maybe he's still just grumpy about losing the game.

Either way, he leads them further into the main square, where it becomes clear this performance is going to be an outdoor affair -- and the seating, whatever she considers is "prime", is to be wherever they choose to sit on the ground.

The stage itself is a large, wooden raised platform, its set decorated in the whimsical colors of a storybook forest, with a painted backdrop of a swollen, full moon overhead. There's already a bustle, several villagers having congregated here that are interested to view this event. But overall? Weir and Lucy might sit wherever they like.

He has a distinct feeling that her preferences will not align with his own. (He'd like to sit in the back, if he has to sit anywhere at all.)]

You'll get that dress of yours dirty.

[Lucinda follows him to the main square and her eyes light up at the stage. It's rudimentary compared to what she's seen before but it's unfair to draw comparisons to this world and the advancements in hers.

Contrary to expectations, Lucinda gravitates to the back. The medium makes some thoughtful back-and-forth pacing, adjusting her point of view to see which is most pleasing to her. And after a minute or two, she gestures to Weir, where they can stand and see the whole stage. She's even positioned where if he remains to her right, there's a convenient exit that isn't glutted by the other villagers.]

Let's watch from here. Hopefully, their voices will project but either way, we can see everything.

[And with the anticipation thrumming around them, Lucinda can't help but hum the first few notes of "Think of Me". Only Weir should be able to hear it as she glances back and forth trying to absorb all the sights and sounds.]

[He follows, certainly having no complaint on his tongue if she chooses to sit near the back and close to where they might flee should they get bored. In that, at least, their thoughts align.

Ultimately, they stand upon a green, soft knoll that gives them a view of the stage and main square as a whole. If Lucinda stands, then so does Weir, arms crossed, already conceded that this'll not be an entertaining time for him.]

And if you find yourself dying of boredom and want to leave early, you'll have no complaints from me.

[Thanks, Weir.

The rumble of voices around them, tittering and excited, makes him the odd one out, though. They'll wait a few minutes more, with several townspeople still trailing in, before someone comes up on stage. It seems as though it's going to start soon.

It's a man—tall and with a Sapphire flower pinned to his lapel—looking to introduce the play. Weir doesn't recognize him; must be a traveling troupe from outside of down. He's tall and pale and looks a bit nervous, for some reason.]

Strange. [He murmurs, not for her sake, but simply for speaking his thoughts aloud.] I've not seen anyone visit from outside of the Vale since...

[Well. You know.]

[Lucinda looks on, craning her neck upwards to look over the heads of the audience, continuing to stand with Weir.

The actor (she's assuming) is notably nervous. It's easy to chalk it up to the intimidating size of the crowd, but that seems like a stretch. The mood is good and everyone is eager.

Weir's remark to himself gains him a glance from the medium.]

How long has it been? Since the changes?

[No one is eavesdropping, but at least her question is vague enough.]

[Yes, the mood is eager. The natives are all too happy to watch, turning into a hush as the man comes on stage to shakily—with a strained, wide grin—give introduction to the production itself. Weir tilts his head ever so slightly, flicking his darkened gaze about, assessing the situation — really, there's no reason to be nervous beyond stage fright. And a traveling troupe would surely be used to performing for strangers, audiences town-wide?]

Months.

[He offers, plainly.]

This place is isolated because of the forest around it. You've seen why.

[And while Weir is fine with that—he's hardly a man who cares about visitors—he had found it strange that he has not laid eyes on traders, or travelers, or even the wayward vagrant like the Vale used to pull in when it existed before the world was remade.]

Perhaps it gave them a scare during their travels here.

[She sure knows why. Weir had given her a first-class tour of the forest after all.]

It does beg the question, I think, whether they were given a scare, or if they were allowed smooth passage.

[It might even be worth her while to see if she can hitch a ride out.]

If it was the former, it could explain the supposed stage fright.

A scare? Likely so.

[And yet the way Weir seems to mutter it, the rest of his thoughts making that "maybe" a bit more complicated than it should, belies his uncertainty.

But he'll not say more for now.

For what it's worth, the production itself goes smoothly. It is a tale of a man, damned to hell, being offered salvation from a divine being. The play chronicles his journey, a high climb to redemption, overcoming all trials and tribulations on the way there. Until, at the very end, right before he is free... in an act of selfishness, he chooses to prioritize his salvation over those also seeking freedom, and is sent wheeling all the way back down the mountain.

The actors are focused on their role, and perhaps their innate nervousness for whatever reason outside of the play has some bearing on the intensity of their performances.

Still, by the end, perhaps Weir and Lucinda have decided to sit. And the audience claps and cheers when the entire cast comes out for a bow, though they practically skitter away just as quickly with hurried thanks. Weir huffs.]

[Beneath her skin, Feather and Flora titter with amusement in reaction towards the play. During its run, Lucinda remained focused, eyes never leaving the stage. Her eyes would light up during a well delivered line read, contemplative during significant story beats, and she'd muffle a chuckle with the back of her hand when the character banter was lively.

The ending of the play is not lost on her, but she doesn't make any knowing side glances or turn to look at Weir.

When the actors take their bow, she claps politely, noting how they hurry away instead of relishing the deserved praise. Lucy finally faces Weir, raising a brow at his huff.]

I liked it. It appears you aren't of the same mind.

[She stands up, still holding her prize toy she won from the game prior to the performance.]

Should we go speak with them? Small talk about their travels.

[He doesn't clap and keeps a stern expression on his face. No, he didn't care for it.]

Tales of morality are well and good for those who never have to face the truth of reality: the world at large does not care if you are good, or kind, or honorable.

[It runs against the grain of Weir's own beliefs, this kind of preaching, but that's neither here nor there. He doesn't care to participate in a philosophical repartee when there's something else afoot. Instead, he stands to join her, then starts walking towards the stage, expecting her to follow.

Unearthly laughter bubbles in the back of his mind, but the Polymath adds nothing else. Somehow, his amusement always bodes ill for Weir.]

I don't like this.

Spoken like a true cynic. Anyways, let's see what we can find out.

[One would think Lucinda would be very cynical considering her circumstances. She had every right to be. Then again, perhaps it doesn't show outwardly nor does it dictate her actions.

While following Weir, she runs a hand through her hair and straightens out the sleeves and skirt of her blue gown, making sure she looks spic and span before approaching the troupe, speaking up first to catch their attention as they stand at near the stage.]

Hello, there!

[Lucy waves and when one of them glances over she gives them a striking smile.]

The performance was wonderful and I wanted to ask a few questions. May I have a moment of your time?

[The one she approaches is the man who took the lead role in the play, though he's surrounded by a few other actors who all start when she approaches. He turns and faces them both, wide-eyed, flicking his gaze back and forth between Weir and Lucinda.

Then, with the affectation of someone trying to put on a brave face.]

"A-Ah, yes. I'm very glad you enjoyed the production, my lady, given what little we had to work with. You... you had questions for me?"

[Weir arches a brow, crossing his arms, but says nothing. Lets Lucy take the lead.]

Mm hm.

[Lucinda nods, still smiling pleasantly.]

I think it was very admirable for your troupe to make it all the way out here to Turner's Vale. I can imagine that the journey wasn't all that easy.

[She has a sort of hunch, one she isn't sure she can put words to, but she decides to clarify in her own roundabout way.]

The people here are quite lovely aren't they? I'm a foreigner, you see, but they've all been hospitable during my time here.

[yeah, even this grumpy guy standing near her, especially him]

So I was wondering if you'd be leaving any time soon? As wonderful as my time has been here, I wouldn't want to impose on the villagers any longer.

[Through the forest like the one surrounding the Vale? Weir imagines it isn't very easy at all, even if one did follow the road — in fact, he suspects that's why there have been very few visits to the town in the months he's lived here anew. Not that he minds—why does he care to see new faces? the forest has done him a favor—but only now, faced with pale-faced performers, does he begin to question it.

How badly did they want to put on a show here, only to act as though they're ready to turn tail and flee? Weir thinks to say something, but the man Lucinda's speaking to says first-]

"Yes, very lovely. Very lovely." [He repeats, as though to make sure they know that the Turner's Vale residents are, in fact, very lovely.] "As much as we'd love to stay and take in the, ah, sights, we must be off. And soon. We've a very, very busy schedule ahead of us, and the Vale... it's taken us far from our usual itinerary and, er- No point in dallying! We must begin packing up tonight."

𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼?

𝓕𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼?

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸... 𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓪𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓸𝓯?

𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓪𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓸𝓯?

[If her friends are clueless, so is Lucinda. But their observations aside, what's important is that this group is packing up tonight. This doesn't leave her much room for time, but depending on their response it's now or a long, long, while later. So the medium gives it a good ol' college try.]

I see. [She casts her gaze to the size and drums her fingers against her cheek.]

Then I don't suppose you have room for one more? At least until you reach your first rest or destination?

[At this, Weir finally does cut in, as gruff as ever but actually surprised. Whatever the man was going to say, he swallows it down, not wanting to interrupt when the intimidating-looking huntsman speaks.]

You want to go with them?

[Blinking, Lucinda turns to Weir her expression unchanging and nary a flicker to betray her thoughts.]

... Ideally, yes.

[She glances at the actor and then back at the Dredger.]

Only if they're willing though.

[She leaves it at that with all other unsaid things hanging in the air between them.]

[He feels a flash of irritation for a handful of reasons, some he’s more willing to entertain than others.]

And your reasoning is what, precisely? If you wanted a swift exit from this town and the forest surrounding it, it wasn’t as though I couldn’t have rode you out on horseback.

WHAT is the M̷̡̙̰̫̞̠͔͍̞̦̼͕̘͍͑͒̑͑ͅA̵̖̍̌̂̀̓̾́̄͘T̵̺͇̦̩̱̓̐̏͑̕T̸̡̛͈̟̪͚̗͙͈̽̒͊͘̕Ê̸̙͇͍̞̖͈͓̙͉͖̪̬͇̮̒͒̊́̒͆̈̍̑̆R̸̡̛̛̜̦̻̔̾̐̐͘? HaHAha— and here we thought you’d be more than 𐒅λᎵᎵ𐒍 to be rid of the woman, of the stranger, of the one that shouldn’t be here.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just ᴛʜʀᴏᴡ ʜᴇʀ ᴀᴡᴀʏ? 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫, River-child. She is a foreign thread in our tapestry.

[The green glow around Weir's irises fade as he... very much ignores the Polymath.]

Was not the issue simply that you had no means of returning home? How will that be any different with a traveling troupe of performative fools?

Edited 2025-01-23 18:54 (UTC)

[Interesting.

There's a slight change in the air; a very, very faint sweet scent wafts through. It's Flora, who aims to soothe and calm the actor they were speaking to and think nothing of what the huntsman is saying. It gives room for the medium to consider what to say next.

Lucinda regards Weir with impeccable neutrality. Before, she might have entertained him with a plethora of reasons, teased him for what she sees is an overreaction. But with all the time they spent within each other's proximity, in an odd way, she's grown past that.

She keeps it simple. Brevity serves her better when it comes to him.]

It'd be less work for you.

[She casually runs a hand through her hair.]

If an additional person is not within their means, then I won't impose.

[The performer himself honestly wants nothing to do with an argument between two (perceived) natives of the Vale, anyway, but the scent that wafts between the group begins to soothe his nerves. Makes him take on a dream-like expression, as though he were miles away.

Weir’s not even paying attention to that. His gaze snaps more trenchant than before.]

Less work? Now you care about “less work?”

Less work, one less gnat caught in your honey! It’s not like you can ₭łⱠⱠ ⱧɆⱤ anyway, given ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ. Her spirits, n̶o̶ ̶l̶o̶n̶g̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶r̶n̶(?)!.

[Weir snaps at the voice in his head.]

Shut up, you fucking nebby thing!

[The glow in Weir's eyes flares and fades. The Polymath's laughter recedes, dancing in the back of his skull. Weir's agitation grows like bramble under his skin, and he shoots Lucinda an unkind look.

The air's strung tense.]

If that's what you want, then go with them. You've done a fine job of wasting my time before all of this, Lucinda. Would have thrown you out and beyond the forest on that first day if I had known.

[And just like that, he's turning to walk away. She can have fun with her new little group if she so pleases — and if they have no desire to take her with them, then it's still not his problem.]

𝓢𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓪 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭.

𝓓𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼.

𝓓𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰.

Brat.

[Weir is well out of earshot when Lucinda mutters that to herself. The sweet scent subsides. She turns to the actor and smiles as if nothing has happened.]

Let me know if you have room for a tagalong. Oh, but do decide amongst yourselves first. I won't be offended if there's no room.

[She makes a start in the other direction, calling over her shoulder.]

I'll be enjoying the rest of the festival! It shouldn't be too hard to find me.

[Hard to miss a tattooed woman in this village. Lucinda, makes the decision that in the meanwhile, she'll eat some festival sweets.]

THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

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i didn't think i was away from this thread for so long gomen

💖

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we're so back

🥰 thanks for sticking with this psl

lucy will not let dirt man rest

and all was right in the universe

it's what he deserves

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