morally dubious dirt man ๐ 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
no subject
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 โ and if they have no desire to take her with them, then it's still not his problem.]
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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.]
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Meanwhile, the Dredger is nowhere to be seen amid the festival.
The festival itself continues on, however, just as lively as ever. She can have all the sweets she likes! If Lucinda stays until dusk, the lanterns strung along the square glow with an ethereal halo of light. And if she stays until the very end, when the night sky has turned inky enough to let the stars pierce through, she'll get a show of what must be fireworks bursting in blue, shimmering sparks overhead.
Ultimately, it's up to her what she wants to do next. It's reasonable to think the troupe wouldn't leave until the morning, anyway, because who wants to wend through an enchanted forest at night? It's also sensible to think that Weir is agitated enough not to seek her out for the rest of the night, too.]
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She stops halfway up the hill to look at the blue fireworks blooming in the sky.]
[Lucinda doesn't think about where to find Weir, doesn't want to dwell on whether his outburst mattered to her or not. She was of the same mind as him in terms of washing their hands of each other and not having to make space for one another anymore, forced or otherwise.
(But even if that's what they wanted, it was too tangled up now to fully be undone.)
The fireworks continue with a few sporadic breaks in between and Huyen thinks about how fun it would be if River were here by her side and to wash her concerns away.]
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Yet a less-lovely figure comes down the hill in the opposite direction, originating from the path which leads to the lodge. It's Weir, who's cast a tiny little cantrip that hovers as a sphere of light around his shoulder, illuminating the way. He carries two empty wooden buckets in each hand as he tromps down the path.
Like a dark, sullen shade, he approaches. He barely slows his gait when he notices it's her.]
You stink. I can smell you halfway up the hill.
[He's exaggerating, of course, but she does have the whiff of wine about her. Still, his remark is sharp โ the man is still in a mood.]
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And this also means her tongue is loose as well.]
Bแบกn cลฉng khรดng cรณ mรนi thฦกm dแป chแปu.
["You don't smell great either."]
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He might not understand her, but he understands her; no doubt she's said something sassy right back at him, something meant to get under his skin if he could properly translate it in his head.
Doesn't matter.]
Surprised you're not passed out in a stall somewhere. Or holed up with your new friends.
[Well, he will shoulder past her, as he is wont to do.]
Go sleep it off. Some of us would like to imbibe actual water.
[Which is a clue as to what he's doing; going to gather up drinking water. They're out.]
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Mn.
[The small noise is the only reply. Maybe she should sleep it off. She did tell him at one point that she wasn't really a drinker.]
Not sleepy.
[She's sober enough to know she isn't going to follow along to be a bother even if she wanted to. What she says next is a little odd and a little unexpected.]
Instant noodles.
[She inexplicably had a packet sitting in the inner pocket of her jacket and it remained there throughout her time in the Vale. She never showed it to him.]
I'm going to make some.
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And you need water for that, unless these โinstantโ noodles of yours are some form of culinary monstrosity.
[Though it wouldnโt surprise him. So much of what heโs been told of her world is alien to him.]
So pull your weight.
[Which is the only hint of an offer for her to come and help. But he wonโt repeat himself โ nor will he halt, either way. Up to her. He continues down the path.]
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At the heart of it all, she thinks to herself, is that now we know too much about each other.]
[Great. Now she wants her own friends to shut up. As if sensing her alcohol-tinged irritation, Flora and Feather's fade almost immediately. It's just Lucinda and Weir trudging down the path to retrieve some water and it's laughably mundane given everything that has happened.
She almost wants to speak up and ask why? Why couldn't he just... Shrug his shoulders back there when she questioned the actor? If he hated having her around that much, he should have been relieved at the possible solution they had in front of them. Unless maybe, he...? And as such it meant...?
God. Weir, for all his need to not be bothered, brings it upon himself like an idiot. She needs to calm down and temper the silence between them with something else and focus on not fumbling her footwork.]
If you brood any more, you'll become a hen.
[thanks alcohol]