Fantasy ♡ need you like a heartbeat. (starboob & ellarose.)

[starboob]

There is a lot on Willow James’s mind as Juliet August turns to sleep and she is left alone. The archer doesn’t leave time for Willow to ask questions (not that she would) or offer her thoughts (she doesn’t know what she would say to that anyway) and she suspects that is on purpose. It seems like another vulnerable story from the library of stories about Juliet’s life. Learning about her life seems to be the same as walking through a field of broken glass with only a few spaces to offer her soft soles reprieve. Of course, that is a hasty assumption for the sorceress to make, but she has already stumbled upon two heavy stories by accident and the whispers she heard the night before suggest many more. (She sympathizes with Juliet, really she does. While arranged marriages would have never been part of Willow’s world, sometimes… sometimes she thinks the threads are like chains that shackle people together rather than free them. It’s not that all tethered relationships are terrible––her grandmas, Crimson and Clover, Ryan and Jessie are all proof to the contrary––but there are so many more that seem to suck the life away from a person. Like, she once asked her mom why she decided to marry her father and she said, rather plainly and without feeling, “Our strings were attached. There was nothing else to do.” After that Willow promised herself that she’d never have a love like her parents’. And many years later, she came to realize that most people view their threads as the death of possibilities, instead of its birth. Willow James will not settle for that kind of love––if it can even be defined as such. She would rather have no love at all than one that seems to hollow the soul. She even once tried to grasp at something that wasn’t hers to lose, because it felt so full in the moment. She later watched that almost lover settle to be hollowed out by a taker, a devil's maker. The ending hurt, but she wouldn’t change anything about the rest of the story. It was worth it, in the end, to know the possibility exists if she is brave enough to reach for it. Besides, what hurt more was knowing that she chose someone so undeserving of her light.)

It breaks her heart when Juliet claims that she’s wicked. It breaks her heart to hear that people blamed her for the sickness just because it happened to a wicked man she was supposed to marry. (Juliet doesn’t say it outright, that this fiancé of hers is (was?) dastardly, but knowing what might cause the sickness, she doesn’t have to. He must have been quite awful to be the first.) Women always take the blame for the crimes of men; are always faulted for breaking their hearts. But what of the men and their accountability? She’s never thought that this is fair. (“But if I was a man, then I'd be the man,” she remembers Meredith telling her once after she’d been suspended from school for her, admittedly, inflammatory stunt that brought scandal to the precious football team.)

The sorceress sighs and nestles against Lucky (still in her soaking clothes) as she watches Juliet and traces their thread with her eyes. It dances through the flames without burning. Her eyelids start to feel heavy, but she keeps them open for as long as she can just to watch the archer sleep.

***​

Willow doesn’t know when she fell asleep, but it pulled her under before she knew what was happening and she doubts that she moved much since she wakes in the same arms crossed position, facing the spot that once held Juliet. The nudge to her shoulder stirs the sorceress and her features pinch together in an attempt to ignore whatever (whoever) is trying to wake her, but when she hears her favorite sound, she slowly wrestles with her eyelids to open them. It’s a slow process and, at first, her eyes are mere slits looking up at the archer and in her tired state, her dopey smile is automatic. She can’t even be embarrassed about it. “Ah… Arise fair sun,” she mutters, looking up at Juliet and noting the way the early, barely bright sun lights her up from behind. (She will feel embarrassed about this in approximately––) Her cheeks heat up, but her brain is too tired to stumble through an apology or explanation. She just sort of pulls herself upright, yawns, and rubs her bleary eyes.

“I hope you slept well,” she mumbles and bravely brings herself to her feet and stretches her arms to the sky. She even swirls her hips around and bends forward to touch her toes (just as she had the prior morning and every morning). She twists her torso around, shakes out her arms, and pulls her staff into her hand simply by stretching her hand out. Her clothes are still thoroughly damp, since she never peeled them off (she really doesn’t like stripping), so she claps her other hand over her staff and a warm breeze expels from her center, effectively drying herself off. There’s no logic behind why she didn’t do this last night–– more than likely, she had been too caught up in Juliet’s story. “I’m glad you’re an early riser. I really cannot stand sleeping past nine.”

Clearing camp is as easy as it was setting it up, taking only a swish and a second. Rousing a sleeping dragon, however? That takes more effort and involves Willow trying a number of tricks to convince Lucky that it is, in fact, time to get up. Eventually, she’s able to at least get them to shrink down so that she can carry them in a wrap around baby sling. Then, before leaving camp, she leaves behind a small offering for the stewards of the wood to thank them for the hospitality. (“Always thank the unseen helpers, Willow,” grandma Elva once told her as she stared longing towards the wood on the way into town.) She leaves behind a thank you note, a jar of her family’s healing balm, and a few pairs of knitted socks. (“Elf feet get very cold. Be glad you inherited one of your father’s few good traits.”)

Though it’s still early and the air cool, it’s the kind of coolness that Willow knows will burn off and turn into something warmer later. Knowing that, she disappears her jacket and opts to only wear the cloak (that she magics into a nice green color, because she remembers Juliet picking out a green dress for her) and then swaps her sweater for a blue-green flannel. It clashes with her burgundy adventurin’ boots, but she doesn’t seem to mind or care. (Changing their color is an option, obviously, but she likes that they're burgundy!)

While she munches on a breakfast bar (that she only finishes half of and slyly offers the remaining half to Juliet, noting that she is a hungry thing from the wood for sure), she admires the way the sun streaks through the trees and creates small spots of warmth between the shadows of the leaves. “Hey, Juliet, I just want you to know…” She pulls her mouth to the side as she thinks of how to phrase this. “Thanks for sharing last night. You don’t have to answer questions if you’re not ready to share. Thread or not, you don’t owe me your story and anything Lavinia or anyone else tries to reveal is just… rumor as far as I’m concerned.

“Buuuut…” She grins, looking over at Juliet with mischievous sparks in eyes, like green lightning. “You do owe me some pointers. I know we’ve got places to go and roses to smell, but with the wood being dangerous,” as she has been warned, “I think I ought to learn some basics before danger strikes. I mean, I know I probably need to sit back for a few more rounds, but… just in case, I’d like to know that I at least know a few things about Mrs. Pointy––the name’s a work in progress.” She had seriously considered Excalibur at some point yesterday, but thought that would be sword plagiarism and she’d never want to liken herself to a heroine like Guinevere. She needs to carve her own path and ink her own story. (She knows this even as she constantly compares herself to Juliet August, the real hero.)

“Oh, and I promised you letters.” She snaps and a stack of them appears in her hand, bound together with some string, and each sealed with a magicked wax stamp. Each letter has its own title, hinting at its contents––for example, the ones at the top read, "An Introduction to Willow James," "Read When I’m Panicked," "A List of My Favorite Things (WIP)," "If I’m Ever Angry," etcetera, etcetera. The sorceress has designed them in such a way that the wax seal will break on its own when her person encounters a situation where one of the letters might help explain what Willow needs if she’s too inconsolable to do so herself. The first one, An Introduction, snaps open once in Juliet's hand.

Anyway, with that settled, she sets Lucky down, pulls out Mrs. Pointy (real name TBD) and takes what she believes is a fighting stance. Like this, with her knees and feet out of place, it’d be quite easy to knock her off balance––moreover, she’s holding her sword like it’s a two-hander when she specifically requested a one-hander.

 

[ellarose]

There are a great many curious treasures hiding within the bag that Willow James carries on her back. Jars of that soothing balm, knitted socks, the sling that she uses to carry a sleeping Lucky, her new pattered shirt… and then there is the food. (Perhaps most importantly the food.) The colorfully wrapped ’Starburst’ candies, the bright red ’Coca-Cola’ drinks, chocolates, and now the ‘breakfast bar’ that Willow has handed her. (She is not so certain if the fact that she had been sneaking glances at it the moment she peeled it out of the packaging had been so painfully obvious that she felt obligated to share it with her. After a minute or so of gazing between Willow and the bar in her hands to gauge whether or not it is really all right, she levels her attention on the ‘breakfast bar’. It warrants the same little examination that goes into her samplings of any new foods. It is smooth on one side and bumpy on the others. It smells nutty and because she saw Willow James eating it before her, she deems it safe. The piece breaks off softly when the bites down, but it’s chewy between her teeth. It tastes both salty and sweet. A few crumbs trickle down as she takes another and she decides that yes, she likes it. The 'breakfast bar' disappears within a few seconds of this realization.) Once this happens, she is left to wish she'd savored that last bit a little longer and wonder about what other things (foods) that Willow James is carrying with her on this journey.

However, there is also something about all of this that worries Juliet. The matter of putting these concerns into words continually eludes her, though, especially as the sorceress speaks up about the information she shared the previous night. (She tenses. They could never discuss it again and she would be quite content with that.) And yet Willow is... thanking her for it? Oh. Well, that is certainly not what she expected. (Usually one question trickles into a steady flow, until it becomes an interrogation. Everyone she meets automatically feels they have a right to her story, the way they pass it about and change all the details. To the point that it has become theirs more than it has her own. Her life, her pain, it's all a spectacle to them.) Willow James shared her own ambitions the night before. The data, the resolve and courage she built up to cross into the other side. Juliet, meanwhile, is... "You would have heard it from someone else eventually. Rumor or not, it..." She struggles with the words. ('I'm not listening to them, Juliet. I'm listening to you.') Promises are just words until they are kept. It takes a lot to keep a promise. And rumors can smash like bricks through a castle made of glass. Rumors will paint various pictures, regardless of whether Willow wants to see them or not. Possibilities. Doubts. Thread or not? What does it matter? She will always be alone. "Never mind."

Willow seems resolved to leave it behind them for now, though, as she brings up the matter of being taught pointers among other things. "We will not be smelling any roses." Juliet offers pragmatically. "There is a variant that causes everlasting sleep. The plants become more sinister the deeper we travel in the wood. You must be very careful." Flowers have always been a beautiful but dangerous part of the wood. Many of them have magical properties and capabilities for potions and poisons. It takes a trained eye to identify them. There are some who make a living of procuring those that can be used for medicine or cures for curses, delivering them across the kingdoms. (She only knows so much about this because that is what Lara did. She taught her much of what she knows.) "I saw you collecting them yesterday. We were close enough to Amoria that it was fine. From here on, make sure to ask me about them first. I can tell you whether they are safe or not." As much as a woman named 'Willow' might know of plants and nature, it is hard to say whether or not the plants from their respective sides have precisely the same properties. (She asks the wood for permission, yes, but that does not mean the wood will always respond or warn her of its dangers.)

"Mrs. Pointy...? Ah. To remind you that the sword is sharp." Juliet nods, still registering the name that Willow came up with for her sword when a stack of letters materializes in her hands. She blinks quite a few times. That is a lot of letters. A lot of words addressed specifically to... her, apparently? (Why?) "Oh, um..." She is now-- officially-- at a complete loss. (Does she thank her? Is it customary to give those you meet various letters upon meeting? Her mind spins as she considers the implications of such a gesture.) When reading through the various titles, she realizes that the sorceress essentially wrote a guide about herself. Perhaps to help her to teach her better? "All of these are for me? You came... very prepared, Willow James." That is the best the archer can do. Did she anticipate having a partner on her quest to save love? That takes an incredible amount of foresight. It is almost intimidating.

...What is decidedly less intimidating is the clumsy stance that Willow takes with her sword. Deciding that she cannot read and walk at the same time without running into quite a few trees, Juliet carefully refolds the introduction letter and tucks the stack safely into the remaining space in her own bag. She is about to inform her of what she can do to improve her stance when she notices some suspicious markings in the dirt. Wheels... a wagon. "Tracks..." That is when her forgotten worries from earlier come rushing back to her. Between the chocolate left with the clink-clanks and the gifts Willow left back at the camping site-- damn. They are leaving a trail behind them. (This is not all Willow's fault. It was Juliet herself who suggested they leave the clink-clanks with candy. Normally it would not have been an issue, but... ah, she should have considered it sooner.) Behind them they are leaving a trail of curious objects from the Other Side. Word had only just begun to spread in Amoria that an Other Sider was in their midst... and word travels quite quickly.

Sensing movement in her peripheral, Juliet automatically springs to action. In what seems like only one swift motion when it is several in all actuality, she retrieves her bow and shoots a grappling arrow at a large branch above them before collecting the entirety of Willow James by the waist with her arm. With a 'swish' they rise up into the tree, finding purchase on one of the thick branches. Once they are tucked safely in the shelter that the leaves provide, she presses a finger to the sorceress's lips to inform her that they must be quiet now.

"Coulda sworn they were right here, boss!" A green troll appears on the path just beneath them, looking around confusedly as he picks at his ear. "Coulda sworn it."

A purplish troll who stands much taller than the green one appears afterwards. He is wearing a pair of Willow James's knitted socks on the horns on his head. (And wearing them lopsidedly at that. Clearly no one has informed the troll that socks are meant to go on one's feet. The sharp point of one has pierced through one of them, creating a sad hole of fraying threads.) Behind him he drags a club, which explains some of those markings in the dirt... with an angry shout, he uses it to bonk his companion over the head. "Look harder, you fool! They can't have gone that far."

The third troll appears. He is a bluish shade, wears a somber disposition, and is much smaller than the other two. He digs his feet in the dirt step by step to drag a rackety wagon behind the trio. Various random objects rattle around as he pushes it along. Among the contents of the wagon are the jar of balm that Willow left out and a Wonka wrapper they must have stolen from the poor clink-clanks. (There are also a few dented clink-clank tools among the treasures and she wonders then if these trolls have any association with the klonk-klunks.) The side of the wagon drips with fresh paint, crossing out whatever was written there before to haphazardly claim in some barely legible text that they now have 'Other Side Treasure'.

"Maybe we should turn back. See how well the loot we got sells first." The green one suggests, wincing while rubbing his head. Then his voice becomes lower, a touch more conspiratorial. "Boss, the Other Sider's traveling with the red hood. We all know what happened last time you got into a scuffle with red hood."

"Red hood is my greatest rival! I will not rest until I sell her corpse in pieces." The purplish troll throws his club down and punches a tree, incidentally shaking the one they're in. Juliet grips Willow James tighter to keep her steady. "If we leave now, someone else will find 'em first."

Last time... Juliet's brow furrows as she tries to place this group of trolls in her memory. (They admittedly begin to blend together as she hurries from job to job.) Then the purple troll shakes his arms in a fury-- one of which is distinctly lacking a right hand-- and she understands. Ah. He proceeds to stomp his feet in a rage. She's less concerned about the implication of having her corpse sold in pieces than she is the concept that the whole wood will be hunting them down for 'treasure'. Again, she chastises herself for failing to recognize this risk sooner.

"They're also traveling with a dragon..." The green supplies anxiously. "Then we'll chop it up and sell the scales!" The purple insists. (Hm. Where did Lucky get off to, anyway?)

That is when Juliet and the bluish troll notice something at the same time. Mrs. Pointy, gleaming in the grass where Willow dropped it just before she was hoisted up into the tree.

The archer whips out a trap arrow before the troll can even say the word 'treasure'-- pulling back, aiming and releasing it. The arrowhead snaps open upon hitting its target, ensnaring him in a net before he can touch Willow James's sword. "Hold onto me." Juliet instructs Willow, ensuring that she's secure before she uses another grappling arrow to swing them down from their perch. When they land, she brandishes her falchion and takes a proper stance. Then she nods at Willow's sword in the grass at their feet. "...Watch or follow my lead. The choice is up to you." She offers before springing forward into action.

 

[starboob]

It isn’t hard to worry Willow James. Once, her grandma told her that she possesses an “overdeveloped sense of responsibility” which was just a nice way of saying she takes the blame far too often. She’s gotten better over the years as she’s learned, but it still comes up here and there. It is most prominent in new situations and Juliet August? She is a new situation entirely. When the archer starts to wave off her assurance, she worries that she might have done something wrong. That she might have made things awkward by bringing it up at all. ‘Really, Willow? You thanked her for sharing? Ugh, way to squeeze awkward sauce all over this.’ In hindsight, she sees how that could be received poorly. Even if she had been honest and clear, the archer doesn’t really know her (and has made surprisingly little effort to get to know her fellow champion––but that’s a disappointment for a later hour). She probably isn’t the person who gets to offer that comfort. She understands, too, that regardless of her questions the prior night (and the night before that), Juliet August is a popular subject in Amoria; even the fraction of the rumors she has learned tell her as much. Her coming forward with her story had only been to control her narrative before someone else could. It fills the sorceress with the desire to keep her word––and that should be easy enough since she still remembers being at one end of a saucy scandal––and to keep her questions to the surface. There will be a time and place for these things to come up naturally, at Juliet’s pace. And she would rather it be that way knowing what she knows and seeing how she has just reacted to her (second) attempt to let her know she only cares about who is right in front of her.

A bit deflated, she keeps her gaze lowered to her feet as the archer explains the various plants in the wood. She thinks to correct Juliet’s interpretation about smelling the roses, but it’s not as though she hadn’t meant it literally in this case. (If it comes up again, she will explain the expression.) The plants here are different from the ones in Elsewhere, hence taking the samples, and she should have thought to ask about how dangerous they are. (Plants are fickle and the dangerous ones often don’t see themselves as dangerous. Dorothea told her that once and grandma Elva confirmed it later with a forlorn look in her eyes. Ah, best to not think of that.) Now she feels like an even bigger fool.

And her feelings of foolishness only increase when Juliet rushes her and pulls her into the tree by her grappling hook arrow. (She wonders if discussing her trick arrows is a safe topic or not. She is very curious about them, but her curiosities seem to stomp on landmines recently. Hmm.) More than that, she looks down in horror at her dropped sword––Mrs. Pointy. (An awful stand-in name, she knows, and if she were a sword, she wouldn’t want to protect her wielder with a name like that. She definitely would be less inclined to protect a wielder who is a ducking butterfingers. Gah!) The finger to her lips somewhat distracts Willow, imagining what Juliet’s fingers might [redacted] [redacted], and it takes her a few blinks to realize the real danger below.

When the troll voices reach her ears, her eyes widen as her gaze pans down. They immediately flicker over to the spot where she left Lucky in the sling. ‘Ah, you dingus maximus!’ It’s not that she needs to fear for Lucky––they are a dragon with impenetrable chameleon scales and powerful spark rocks in their throat––but she cannot believe she’s put her companion in danger once again. ‘I really am in way over my head.’ From this angle, she cannot tell whether the dragon has automatically camouflaged to blend-in with their surroundings or if they have left the sling. She’s fairly certain they will be safe either way, because while the trolls mean business, they don’t seem particularly bright.

She swallows hard as she listens to the exchange between the trolls, finding it odd they don’t turn to stone in the sun like the variety on her side (of course, the ones on her side are descendants of the mountain god’s midnight affair with a mountain man and these ones look to be an entirely different class of troll). She tries to calm the hare running in her heart and further tries to take comfort in knowing that Juliet August is with her. ‘She’s so fearless and I’m just a hoax.’ Willow James doesn’t like to make a habit of getting down on herself and if she does, she tries to adjust her perspective but it’s just hard for her to do so now. Not when all of this is her fault. The knit socks on their horns, the wrappers from the candy, the balm…

The walls are starting to build up in her mind and she doesn’t really notice how automatically she clasps her arms around Juliet’s waist or how they scale back down to the ground. The sorceress has entirely retreated inward, noting all the ways she’s messed up in the last half hour. She barely catches the archer’s suggestion and only somewhat realizes that she’s giving her a chance. A chance to make a choice. A chance to be fearless. But she doesn’t feel particularly fearless in the moment, even as she picks up Mrs. Pointy (name TBD). Her gaze flickers over to the bluish troll in front of her, trapped in the net. ‘She’s giving you the chance to tap in and you’re going to tap out? Didn’t you want her to consider you?’ She asks herself and herself responds, ‘Yes, but not before I’m ready!’ ‘How do you learn, Willow James, if you do not try?’ ‘Uuuuugh, I hate when I’m right.’

Distractedly, maybe pretending there is time to buy in a fight, she looks into the reflection on the steel. Warped the way it is, the metal makes her look funny. She feels funny, like an imposter in a hero’s cape. But Juliet gave her a choice and even if she doesn’t think she can make the right one, if only because she’s worried of making all the wrong choices after, she has to. She doesn't believe that she should have Juliet clean up all her messes just because she can and is willing (and has to, let’s be honest). She clenches the sword tightly in her fist, until her knuckles are white and thinks of all the things she could do if she really were fearless.

While she never did get those pointers from Juliet, she still has her magic and she doesn’t need pointers for that. The only question is: can she cast? She feels the weight of her keychains on her hip and with one hand fisted around her sword, the other grips the mirrorball, feeling it warm up in her palm. Then it becomes cold, very cold, as doubt prickles sweat on the back of her neck. ‘Ahh, I can’t.’ All the spells she knows leave her head at once and she is left, once more, standing dumbly as she watches Juliet work on the trolls. ‘At least observe her. You can later copy her moves, right?’ Yes, she’s pretty sure that she can. The archer moves quick, so it’s hard to place her movements, but a few things remain consistent––her stance, for example, rarely puts her feet together for too long. When Willow tries this for herself, she recognizes that it feels more stable than her earlier. Though her weapon is meant for one hand, the free one doesn’t hang limp (duh), it moves with her body; with each twist and turn of her torso, the freehand follows to help carry the momentum of the strike. With that observation, she also notes that each strike is a full body motion. It’s never just her arm swinging. It’s a pivot, a twist, and a breath. The breath seems surprisingly important, like a release of energy. (Willow, kissed by the four winds and favored by the sister of storms, can understand that one rather intuitively.)

There are some similarities to casting, she notes, and that eases her somewhat. This isn’t entirely new. She’s not a total baby. …She might be as slow as one, however, because it takes her several seconds to realize the bluish one in front of her has escaped from the net and is now standing before the sorceress. She honestly might not have noticed him at all had he not come up and blocked her view of Juliet. He smiles his big ugly smile and Willow gulps, resisting the urge to curl herself into a protective ball. 'C'mon––she gave you a chance. You don't have to do everything, just do something.'

A memory flashes through her head and although silly, it’s all she has. She fakes left and the troll lunges to his right just as she quickly steers towards hers and in the confusion, she simply sticks her leg out to trip him. (Leif used to do this all the time when they’d brawl.) Admittedly, Willow James is still learning how to think seven steps ahead during a fight, so she doesn’t know what to do now that she has the troll down. Stabbing or slashing is an obvious option, but… she feels bad about it even if the trolls were the ones slinging all those foul threats earlier.

Ultimately, she doesn’t need to contemplate for long when Lucky reemerges (ah, so they had flown off), swooping down from the sky to pull the troll by his collar, tossing him into the air, and… swallowing him. Whole. “Oh. Geez.” She supposes she can’t be mad since the trolls did threaten Lucky and companions do have rather strong survival instincts. At least, hers always has. Plus, Lucky is a dragon. This is just their nature.

The dragon lands in front of Willow, at their massive titan size, and spit out a bluish hand in front of her like how a cat presents its owner with an unwanted gift. “Gross. Blegh, I don’t want that.” They nudge it with their nose and point towards Juliet with their eyes. “Oh, that’s… nice?”

Her eyes then widen, remembering the archer, and she turns around to search for her. “Juliet!”

 

[ellarose]

They're goons. Large, lumbering goons who stomp about in a clumsy manner, brute-forcing their way through everything and crushing anything unfortunate to find themselves in their grasp. The definition of those who will raise their voices just to appear more frightening than their depthless souls actually are. The key is not to get caught. Universally, this is obvious and good advice for any fight. But in these cases especially. It is difficult to maneuver out from under one of these trolls after getting pinned down by one. They can end a fight in a matter of seconds once this happens, bludgeoning skulls with their fists. (Or fist (singular), in the case of their leader.) Juliet is in a dance of light steps backward, flicking her blade so it glares distractingly in the sunlight shining down on her, taunting the largest two away from Willow James. (There are opportunities that will arise from taking advantage of their inattention. Even so, she will take care of it if Willow James finds that she wants to observe instead. The option to watch was not left there to condescend-- Willow James clearly know herself well and will also know which means of learning will be most beneficial for her. Juliet herself preferred to keep her distance from the fighting as a child (and still does) so Lara suggested the bow and arrow for her.)

"Red hood! So you've finally decided to face me. I've been waiting ever since..." (Blah, blah, blah.) The troll is prattling on with a speech he probably lost sleep preparing at night, judging by the gross smirk on his face. Juliet isn't listening. She's not interested in banter. (Unless she's sparring verbally with the likes of Lavinia Laurence.) She is here to focus on survival, on her footwork, and not on witty quips. In her peripheral, she catches the way that Willow evades and trips the other troll. Heh. Before she can worry whether or not the confrontation will escalate from there, Lucky proceeds to swallow the troll whole. While the archer intended to create the distraction, this effectively steals the other two troll's attention from her. They shout words she doesn't pay attention to, the emotions expressing, panic, she takes her opportunity and unhesitatingly runs her blade through the purplish troll. (The one with the club, therefore the threat she perceives as the most dangerous.) The green panics when his boss falls at his feet and scrambles off... but Juliet isn't letting him get away long enough for a grudge to fester. She exchanges her falchion for her bow and promptly cuts his escape short with an arrow to the back. When she's sure he's down, she lowers her weapon and turns to the wagon of stolen items.

Juliet kneels down next to it, drawing a finger across the wet paint advertising 'Other Sider Treasure'. It creates a streak through the text, leaving a red splotch on her fingertip which she frowns at and proceeds to rub away on her cloak. (Knowing trolls, this could very well be blood instead of paint. Gross.) Anyway, they need to find a way to dispose of this before someone else comes upon it and word spreads even deeper in the wood. (The gossip of Amoria is a powerful force. Considering their confrontation with the ogre yesterday, though, some residents of the wood may have even been privy to this information before they ever attended princess Elise's banquet.) The archer collects the things that the trolls had taken and hands them over to Willow for safe keeping. (The Wonka wrapper still smells of chocolate and she cannot bear to hold onto it for any longer than a few seconds, lest she get hungry. Ah. Who is she kidding? She is always hungry.) "Are you all right, Willow?" She offers her a once-over while working out what to say in her mind. Ah... now, how to say it? There is no other option at this point. She needs to be upfront about it. Direct.

"...I must apologize. I should have considered this possibility sooner." Juliet begins with an awkward little shuffle that she immediately straightens out upon noticing it. She's not used to traveling with a companion-- let alone a companion from the Other Side. When it started bothering her, she should have found a way to put it into words right away. But words are... ugh. Words. She resolves not to make excuses for herself, though, and carries on. "The Other Side is a fascinating topic to many. It is only natural that they are going to consider anything you carry on your person a rare treasure. I suppose I underestimated how quickly word travels out here." A mistake Juliet August of all people should know better than to make! Even so, the wood is typically not a problem for her in this respect. In fact, she's considered it a safe haven precisely because she's been able to keep to the shadows in the wood. (With the exception of the times that the 'red hood' has to make an appearance.) Rarely does anyone care about Amoria's latest gossip enough to heckle her. It's disposable drivel at most, designed to entertain those who are too bored with their own lives to think of anything else. There is too much to be done in the wood to truly concern oneself with it. When the topics involve treasure and an Other Sider, however... it makes sense that they are going to attract much more attention this way. If there's something of value for a troll or any other creature to gain from them other than their flesh as a meal, they will need to be mindful. "We inadvertently left a trail for them to follow."

"You did well, though. And Lucky is an excellent guardian." And as Willow's designated mentor out here-- as well as the resident who understands the ways of this side-- it ought to be Juliet's duty to notice and prevent these things from happening. Lara treaded over this territory with a similar gait, now that she thinks about it. Reluctantly taking on the task of watching after a child in the wood when she had little to no experience with them prior. (Lara, Lara, Lara. She needs to stop thinking about her... but she's everywhere lately.) "...I hope that you can be patient with me. I have never truly been anyone's teacher before." She tugs at her hair. "And it has been a very long time since I last traveled with a companion."

Juliet becomes distracted when she notices the ogre's hand lying there in the grass. Recalling the fight, she can't help but to arch a curious brow at Lucky. The dragon must have left it specifically for her, then. (So they noticed, did they? Hm. Noted.) With a nod to articulate understanding and reluctant gratitude both, she pinches it by a single finger to touch it the least possible amount before tucking it away into her pouch designated for such... things. (Gross, gross things.) Millicent will be pleased, at least. (What she doesn't end up using in her cauldron often ends up repurposed for hand garlands or finger wreaths... 'interior decorating', the witch joyfully calls it. There are indeed some things in this world that Juliet will never understand. However, it keeps a roof under her head most nights so she will not utter a single word of complaint.)

"...Well. Everything is fine, so there is no use dwelling on it. Now that we know, we can be more mindful about it in the future." The archer nods resolutely, explaining absolutely nothing of the reason as to why she collects hands. Fidgeting and fumbling over her words will do nothing to instill any confidence in Willow. She resolves to do better before turning back to face the wagon. "...Do you have anything in your pack that might help us dispose of this wagon?" She bites her lip and cants her head to the side thoughtfully. "If not we ought to dismantle it... or perhaps toss it into the lake. We could also stop there to have a swimming lesson, if you feel you need a refresher before we make our way to Okeanos."

 

[starboob]

Willow turns just in time to see the remainder of Juliet’s match with the purplish and green trolls––apparently, for all their talk about wanting to sell Lucky in parts, they are wholly unprepared for the dragon's titanic size. (If there are truly rumors of her dragon floating around this side, then it’s unlikely anyone has seen Lucky like this. While she knows they don’t prefer to be small, they have gotten used to that form out of necessity over the years. Especially if they want to spend the night in Willow’s room, as it is a rule that they be no larger than a wolf. That’s true for all the companions in the Rhode Island house.) Their wide eyed shock tells her they had not been expecting such a colossus and their distraction is exactly what causes them to fall. ‘She is quick,’ Willow nods, impressed. (She wonders if it’s always necessary to kill opponents. She suspects not, as she recalls Juliet letting the ogre live and, clearly, she let the purplish troll live for a time. Willow wonders if she’ll ever be able to stomach the notion herself––even if the heroines in her books often take such measures. It’s one thing to read it on a flat sepia page, however, and an entirely different experience to see it with her own two eyes and know it will be her choice someday too. Then she remembers her family’s dagger and the stories grandma Elva used to tell. “All death must be honored, especially those taken with this knife. I hope neither of you ever have to use it.”)

She is glad that Juliet August is safe, not that she is surprised. The archer must be made of pure grit if she once survived the wood as a child. Still, she doesn’t think it’s so silly to be glad she isn’t harmed especially when all that has happened is Willow James’s fault. Ah, and with that reminder, white hot shame drizzles over her head and pools in her belly. Lucky must sense her discomfort, because they lower their head and nuzzle their nose under her palm. She focuses on the smoothness of their scales while Juliet chastises her.

Okay, she doesn’t chastise her. Willow James is being dramatic and it’s a disservice to the archer’s gentleness to think of it as such, but she can’t help to feel this way. She messed up. Even if Juliet is saying that it is her who should have been cautious and considerate, Willow just doesn’t know how to absolve herself of this guilt. She shifts and mirrors the archer’s awkward movements. She takes the collection of items she left behind and disappears them into her bag, save for the Wonka wrapper that she crushes in her palm and turns to glitter that she lets float away with the breeze. (It’s totally biodegradable!)

“Yeah, makes sense,” she shrugs, surprisingly closed off––generally this an indicator that she’s retreated inward to protect herself. She rubs her forehead (inadvertently rubbing the remains of glitter over herself) and tries to pinch away the shame she feels, or at least place it somewhere else so that this shift goes unnoticed. (For as much as she doesn’t mind being so open and vulnerable, it’s always on her own terms. There are things she is very comfortable sharing, things most would keep secret, and then there are things she prefers to keep just to herself. Like her shame. Her anxiety. Her cowardice.) “Guess it gave me some hero practice, though?” She says (though it comes out as a question), trying to recover when she realizes she hasn’t been acting herself. (Lucky huffs, steam blowing from their nose in disapproval. They don’t like when Willow lies to herself.)

Her spirit lifts some under Juliet’s praise and while she wonders if she’s just saying that, she has to actively remind herself that Juliet August does not seem like someone who says things just to say things. She uses words pretty sparingly, so Willow can’t really see her wasting them. Still, the fear is there and she knows it’s just a projection. “Yeah, Lucky’s always got my back. Even when they were a cute little ocelot, they were always hissing at playground bullies.”

“‘S’okay,” she assures when Juliet comments on her lack of experience as a teacher. “You’ve helped me learn a lot already just by being you.” And that is true. Just watching the archer has taught her a lot. While her teaching methods are different from what Willow James is used to, the sorceress can learn from pretty much anyone––including Carmilla le Roux, who is a famously brilliant sorceress and a famously horrendous (and rude) educator. “Besides, you were right the other night when you said I don’t have the luxury of time when it comes to learning about hero stuff. Best to just learn by doing. But I have to admit, I’ve never really been an apprentice. Although, I guess I have interned and that’s a pretty similar concept now that I am thinking about it.” She rubs her chin thoughtfully, but then waves away the distracting thought. She’s got to focus. “Guess life is just a classroom.”

Some of her dis-ease settles when she notices Juliet biting her lip. She does that a lot when she seems uncertain or in thought. It’s cute and she makes a note to catalog all the different ways and reasons for this expression. However, when her attention turns to the wagon, the suggestion of tossing it into the lake, she clams up––not sure if she wants to expose herself at this moment. Not when she’s still riding the wave of awkward, uncomfortable energy from earlier. “Oh, well… Lucky can––” The dragon rolls their eyes, sensing what Willow is going to suggest, understanding what she is trying to avoid, and leaps into the air before she can finish. “Ah, okay. Guess they don’t want to help. That’s fine.”

Honestly, Willow is pretty sure she packed a toolbox (just in case!) but she also understands that Lucky is trying to push her; they don’t want her to miss out on an opportunity. Even so, she is unsure of the lake and debates either transforming the wagon or crushing it with a gust of wind. Juliet would need to promise to turn around and close her eyes and… Well, it’s not that she doesn’t think the archer wouldn't respect her request, it just makes her feel silly to even think of asking. Like, she doesn't need her knowing she's that much of an insecure nervous wreck. “To the lake it is, I suppose,” she shrugs and laughs nervously. (Okay, how cute are her bathing suits? Did she bring the cute ones, even? Duh, of course she did. Just in case!)

As they make towards the lake, Lucky remains their full size and flies above them, camouflaging themselves so as to not give away their companion's position. Willow does remain suspiciously quiet while they walk, still very much in her head about earlier and also replaying the way that Juliet made fighting look like a choreographed dance. Idly, as she pulls the cart along, she finds herself skipping forward in ways that are meant to mimic what she’s seeing in her head. She doesn’t realize she’s doing it, of course, and if she ever does realize it, she will probably vaporize from embarrassment on the spot.

She only stops when she notices the crystal blue waters up ahead, practically hidden by trees. Thoughtlessly, she sets down the wagon and runs ahead to marvel at the lake––so clear that she can see the bottom. Nothing remains hidden under the clear water. It’s vastly different than the giant lake back home––of course, nowadays it has broken up into a bunch of smaller lakes, takes on a milky hue most of the time, and bleeds during summer. (Yes, bleeds. It literally bleeds. While there are some who know exactly why, like her grandmas, they have not explained the phenomena for reasons Willow just doesn’t understand. She wonders if it’s anything like why the mermaids took the ocean.)

“Woah,” she breathes, wanting to touch the water, but also wanting to marvel at how peaceful it looks. Though it doesn't remain peaceful for long when she notices water spirits jumping up from the water and playing games with each other. There are also tiny little mushroom people running along the water's edge, before attaching themselves to the large, twisting trees. Tiny, four inch faeries fly past her, giggling, and, suddenly, the lake doesn't seem so quiet anymore. It's like a summer party. (Briefly, she remembers a time before the bleeding happened, when she’d go to the lakes to swim during the balmy summer months. She remembers… “Willow James, do I make you nervous?”)

“Juliet, do you like rotten eggs?” Willow asks, slyly when she finally breaks her silence. She turns a bit to look over at her companion, feeling somewhat more like herself with the marvel before her. (It’s hard to be anything but fascinated, truthfully.) Her smile is lopsided and it takes only a snap for her to change into the custom-fit swim trunks and swim top grandma Juniper made her. (Yes, it absolutely is emerald green with golden dragons printed all over.) Her top still leaves most of her covered, because she doesn’t like being too bare, but her hips and navel stick out, revealing a splotchy birthmark on her left hip. The back of the tankini leaves most of her back bare, showing off the triangle pattern of dark freckles on her right shoulder blade. Her skin is tan, smooth, and the only scars she seems to have are on her elbows and knees––all from tumbling off of swings and monkey-bars when she was a kid; though some of the newer ones are from skateboarding (a hobby she never quit after Ryan). “‘Cause you’re about to become one,” she continues, running towards the lake. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” With that, the sorceress gathers the wind underneath her, hops high into the air, higher than is considered natural, and cannonballs into the deepest part of the lake.

She totally forgot she was supposed to be getting a swim lesson. Oops.

 

[ellarose]

Willow James is quiet. There is nothing wrong with that, as Juliet herself is quite fond of a peaceful silence, but-- this shift, however subtle, does pick at a scar she nearly forgot about. It makes her wonder if this has changed things between them. Has her dangerous mistake completely altered her opinion of her? (Perhaps. It's inevitable. It always starts small, just like this. And then bit by bit, it will all pile up until she sees Juliet August the way that everyone else has and does and...) A narrative unravels in her mind faster than she can walk. No matter what path they travel to get from one point to the next, it always ends the same, doesn't it? She knows every story she's ever been in by heart, knows that eventually she'll be left alone again. That is her curse. No one ever stays. No one. (And she's... she's comfortable with that. Of course she is. All on her own, Juliet has learned to make a fine companion of herself. Things will just go back to the way they were before when she's alone again. Simple. It's fine. I'm fine. No one will ever love a heart so mangled and cursed... but she knows the truth, hidden beneath everything that ever put it in that sorry, bruised state. For as long as she can remember, she has had to do all the work of loving its quiet and unnoticed virtues by herself. Even when it was hard. Even when it seemed impossible, when she could barely move a muscle to bring herself to stand again.) She draws the ends of her cloak in tightly around herself. This is what she has. All she will ever have. Be present, Juliet. Be alert.

The archer casts a tentative, sideways glance over at the sorceress as they walk. She tilts her head at a further angle yet when she takes notice of her skipping footsteps. Although they're a bit clumsy, their patterns make the thought processes turning behind them clear. Willow wants to do better. She said just as much herself... and perhaps she is being too hard on herself again. While Juliet could speak up to offer some advice on her form, she ultimately decides against it. (What does she want to hear from her, anyway, after she has been so inattentive that she might as well have outright lured danger towards them? She still curses herself for failing to consider it sooner. One day, it could be spun that she invited the trolls to cause trouble on purpose. Not... not that she suspects Willow will begin telling such tales. Not now, anyway. And she's not like... The sorceress did try to reassure her on her teaching methods, in a way that reminds her of princess Elise in that it was polite.) Ahem. No matter the reason for this ongoing silence, with the level of focus the sorceress is investing into her thoughts, it may be better not to disturb her. Juliet points her focus firmly ahead, at the path she's walking. By focusing instead on the trees and sounds of the wood, the wagon wheels clattering against the path, branches snapping underfoot, she creates a protective cocoon around herself.

This mental shield only breaks once Willow reacts to the lake, dropping the wagon handle and dashing ahead. There are no immediate dangers here to warn her of that she can think of... not that Juliet herself has ever faced anyway. However, she does take a moment longer consider if there are any that might be posed to Willow James specifically as an Other Sider. (That was her mistake before. She is so used to thinking of the wood from her own perspective that she failed to realize the risks that coming from a whole other world entails.) Juliet blinks as the sorceress breaks her long silence to ask... if she likes rotten eggs? What?

Juliet can only stare as Willow smiles brightly at her and changes her clothes with the simple flick of her fingers. (It is efficient and once more illustrates her quality of preparedness, given she had brought with her an available swimsuit to summon. It is personalized as well, when she considers the tiny dragons covering her top. They appear to pay tribute to Lucky. It is a nice touch. And again she must wonder-- just how much does she have stored away in that pack of hers, anyway?) She hardly gets the chance to appreciate observe Willow James from head to foot before she carries herself off on the wind, insisting that she will be a rotten egg (which she still does not understand) before dropping herself down into the lake with a splash! (Watching this, she bites the inside of her cheek. The sorceress's enthusiasm almost helps her forget her previous doubts. Almost.) Shaking her head and reminding herself of why they've paid the lake a visit in the first place, Juliet promptly turns to the abandoned wagon and pulls it towards the lake. Once it sits at the edge, there is little more to be done. The water spirits gather around it curiously before dragging their new treasure off into the depths. That takes care of that. The fresh paint gradually disappears in the water, leaving a trail of drifting red clouds where the spirits wade.

The archer moves between the trees, then, chewing her lip as she creates a makeshift curtain with her hood and then her dress draped over the branches. Then she changes into her own swimming attire, firstly tucking her red crystal safely away into her pouch. The one piece garment she dons is a gradient of pearly white that gradually tapers down into soft blues. The lower half is comprised of enchanted scales, which were designed to fit her specifically a while ago. (She and Elise always had their suits fitted together. When she learned that they would be traveling to Okeanos by request of the queen herself, the princess had stealthily placed it in the wardrobe to ensure that she would take it with her. It... had been a rather large reveal at the time, when it still meant something to her. These suits only respond to those with mer-blood in their lineage. She hadn't known this information about herself previously.) Once she is ready, Juliet climbs the jumping rock and dives quietly into the water. Within seconds, the scales on her suit multiply and ripple down the length of her legs until they become a mermaid's tail. It briefly breaks the surface of the lake before she herself resurfaces.

Juliet pushes her hair out of her face before peering down the length of her arms inquisitively. (She has her own collection of scars, some deeper, longer and more crooked than others. The most prominent is one that starts at her left shoulder and runs almost all of the way down to her elbow.) After this inspection, she glances cautiously at Willow. She notes the way her dark curls stick around her freckled shoulders now that they're wet. "Well... I have not become a rotten egg." (Hm. Perhaps she will explain it without her having to ask?) Then she wears the smallest inkling of a smile in spite of her uncertainty. "That is a relief." Admittedly she was not worried about this possibility to begin with, as she does not believe that Willow would actually curse her to become a rotten egg. Knowing this and remembering the sorceress's own smile before running towards the lake, it clears whatever it was she felt in the air between them earlier. For the time being, anyway...

The archer submerges herself again, allowing herself to swim around and get acquainted with the lake. The scales on her swishing, newly formed tail glimmer in the sunlight as she moves. Opening her eyes, she makes note of wherever she sees clusters of sharp rocks to be mindful of and occasionally nods polite greetings towards the water spirits that dance in friendly little circles around her as she explores. (The world is softer underwater and much more peaceful.) Reminding herself this is not a recreational detour, she turns her attention towards what she can see of Willow underwater. Her hips, her kicking legs... ah...

This is of course worth noticing and observing-- because Juliet can gauge that Willow is a skilled swimmer based on her form. As her teacher, it is necessary for her to know these things. Come to think of it, the sorceress was quite eager to jump into the water in the first place. (This is a relief, too, as one swimming lesson would not be enough to train an inexperienced swimmer to navigate the waters of Okeanos. However... there is still training to be done. They have only just gotten started and it will be good to gauge her stamina.) With this decided, she resurfaces again and begins to swim off towards the edge of the lake.

"To train, we will swim thirty laps around the lake..." Juliet announces before turning around quickly, lunging unexpectedly towards Willow. "After you practice your underwater dodging."

 

[starboob]

It’s been so long since Willow has been for a swim––there just hasn’t been time and she hasn’t been able to find a spot she feels comfortable swimming in. With the ocean gone and the lakes being what they are, she estimates it’s been years since she’s had a proper splash. A shiver runs down her spine as she adjusts to the temperature, relishing in the feeling of the lake going from cold to, not warm, but familiar. At least enough that when she comes back to the surface, a chill bites her face as the gentle breeze caresses her. She grins, unable to hide her glee, and flops onto her back to look up at the trees and clouds above.

Lazily, her gaze drifts to the side when she notices Juliet standing on one of the massive boulders that surround the edge of the lake. The easy smile on her features morphs into that of awe, her cheeks rosing, when she notices all the newly exposed skin. Eagerly, she tries to devour as much as she can, noting the stories covering her arms, and while she is curious (just as she is curious about that aforementioned companion before Willow), she will not ask. Her eyes follow the arc of the archer’s dive into the pool and, at first, the sorceress thinks that it is trick––that the sun glittering over the crystalline lake is making it appear as though Juliet has been turned into a mermaid (or that maybe her gay little brain is playing fantasy #9)––but it becomes apparent that she really does have a tail. ‘Wow.’ The blue scales complement her red hair so nicely and if she were a little more mindful of herself, she would tear her gaze away because she is staring. Her heartbeat is so loud in her ears that she barely catches the rotten egg comment.

“N-no, but you did turn into a mermaid.” She doesn’t think to explain the egg comment, but she might have had the woman not turned into a freaking mermaid!! and distracted her thoughts. The sorceress has to wonder what kind of enchantment is on her suit that turns her legs into a tail, but she’s having too much trouble coming up with words to ask a proper question. She cannot think of a spell that exists on her side and she cannot imagine the mermaids there would be too pleased with someone pretending to be one of them, but perhaps things are different in Amoria. (This does make her miss her friends and it also makes her wonder if she might see them in Okeanos. They were always saying that the gateways between sides are easier to comeby in the ocean.) The possibility that Juliet is part mermaid, in a similar way that she is part elf, doesn’t even occur to her. But it will. Oh, it will. “Could you be more dazzling?”

The answer is, obviously, yes. She watches in rapt amazement as Juliet dips back under the water, her scales like sparkles, and, once again, Willow finds herself staring. It doesn’t even occur to her to join Juliet underwater, as all she wants to do is admire her back and arms (which are toned and she cannot help her thoughts of being held in them). Then she watches, somewhat disappointed, as the archer turned mermaids swims to the far edge of the lake, away from her. ‘Aw, wait…’

The disappointment only grows when Juliet mentions that training is going to involve thirty laps around the lake, and she is wholly unprepared for what the archer says next and completely caught off guard when the mermaid lunges at her. Obviously, Juliet has got superior speed, but Willow technically does have enough time to swim away and avoid the attack. However, she’s far too surprised to move and feels the full impact of Juliet’s shoulder against her stomach as she is forced backwards.

“Juliet!” Out of sheer instinct, she sucks in a breath before she’s also submerged under the lake. While startled, she’s not worried that her companion is trying to drown her––this is just her peculiar and hands-on way of instruction––and while she knows that she needs to show her teacher everything that she has, she’s limp in the archer’s toned grip, imagining those arms doing other things.

To say the least, Willow’s performance is not that impressive. She gets tackled on multiple occasions, because her gay little brain absolutely refuses to process what she should be doing. It’s only when she notices a group of water spirits, some faeries, and a cluster of mushroom entities staring and giggling amongst themselves that she finally (finally) understands that this is supposed to be for her benefit. This is training and she’s not going to get better by letting Juliet knock her around. ‘C’mon, Willow. You used to wrestle all the time with Marisol and the others.’ It’s been a while, to be sure, but she still remembers a few things about roughhousing with mermaids and, once, a selkie. Even if she’s forgotten most things, she figures once she gets her head in the game, she’ll be able to recall her former strategies and might even figure out some new ones.

Does she think she can win against Juliet August? No. Is she still going to try? Absolutely.

When she’s released from the archer, now mermaid, she settles herself in the water as she swims back over to the other side of the lake. She sucks in a breath, filling her lungs up to the brim as she preps for this next launch; by this point, she more or less knows what to expect. Juliet charges, she makes for her right and, unsurprisingly, she’s still caught in the other woman’s arms (arms!!!). ‘Ugh.’

They go again (of course) and, at this point, Willow can feel that her muscles are starting to get tired, but she’s having enough fun that it’s easy enough to ignore for the time being. Once again, the mermaid launches herself like a torpedo and Willow is caught, but this time, she swirls her foot around, pushing wind through her body and out of her toes to help her squirm out of the other woman’s grip. Underwater, it’s easy to flip herself around so that she is above Juliet, facing her back, and she quickly goes to wraps her legs around her waist. She’s not able to keep the advantage (partially because of her own lack of strength and partially because… girl) and is easily thrown off into a bank of soft moss covered rocks. “Oof,” she lands with a grunt. Though not a success, she feels the glow of almost getting it and springs back into the water. “Again!” she demands, through heavy breaths. “I’m not done––I was so close!”

Needless to say, she doesn’t get her win, but she does get better at wriggling out of Juliet’s arms (much to her own reluctance). Once, she even manages to dodge the other woman (and she wonders if this is because Juliet's also starting to get fatigued), but then is quickly ensnared in those arms (!!!!) before she can feel too triumphant about her victory.

While Juliet's back is still turned as she gets in position for the next round, Willow launches at her, feeling a bit cheeky. She pushes the wind out from her palms to turn herself into a human jet-ski, giving her lunge a bit more oomph as she hurtles towards the archer. “Sneak attack!”

Oh, Willow James.

 

[ellarose]

Willow James... will need to work very hard, to say the least. Juliet finds that her strategy is repetitive, the way she continually dodges to the right side. Because of this pattern, that is what she expects now and she wonders if the sorceress will realize that on her own. She might spin the odds in her favor if she decides to change her tactics suddenly. She manages to catch her several more times, before wondering if she needs to offer verbal instruction. (Telling her about the element of surprise, though, would erase the impact of said surprise.) Though of course, in a real fight the sorceress would not be getting second and third chances the way she is right now. While she does improve in escaping, it doesn't change the fact that she keeps getting caught. Some of their opponents will be unforgiving and aim right for the throat. In the wrong opponents grasp, it will all be over in a matter of seconds. (She knows, she knows, she knows.) That is why it is necessary that they train before they see any actual danger. Their encounter with the trolls... that shouldn't have ever happened and guilt spears through her stomach again. Never mind that, Juliet. Stay focused.) Juliet will not let anything happen to Willow. (And perhaps if Willow feels it is too much, she will decide to go back to her own side. Safely back to her family and their brief travels together will end without going down in flames.) This is only one outcome of many, though, and the archer will not play any underhanded tricks to force it.

Throwing Willow off of her after her most successful attempt at escaping her hold yet, Juliet arches a brow when she insists that they go once again.

Willow James is working very hard. One afternoon of training will not lead to an instant victory, of course, as no one masters any complex skill within the span of a single day. But the improvements are evident. She is getting acquainted of what to expect from Juliet in this specific training scenario she's created, resourcefully coming up with solutions to try and free herself. (She has a cleverness about her and that will serve her well in a fight, if she can keep a level head and work on her execution.) Not once does she insist they stop or take a break, to the point where Juliet herself is beginning to feel a bit winded. If they are going to swim their laps, she considers that she will have to insist that they finish up after the next few attempts. If they are to make it to Millicent's cottage before nightfall, they will need to resume their travels soon.

Juliet prepares for her next lunge. Hm. She hears water splashing behind her and notices the flicker of their thread, which gives away movement even before she even hears Willow's announcement. Sneak... sneak attack? She whips around quickly enough to simply catch Willow James in her arms before the force of the sorceress's lunge sends them both crashing underwater. Down they go, deeper and deeper until Juliet's back and tail scrape against the bottom of the lake. Opening her eyes, she finds that the tips of their noses are nearly touching. (Their thread seems to sparkle underwater. That cursed thread.) Before she can get lost in the green eyes staring at her, observe the way the ripples of lake water illuminate pretty patterns over her companion's freckled skin, or recall the last time they found themselves in such a position, she squints inquisitively and tugs the sorceress back up with her so they can resurface. (For she also remembers the way that Lucky had to pry Willow off of her the last time.) She had ample time to dodge. She could have let Willow James crash unceremoniously into the water by simply moving out of the way... but she caught her instead. This is purely strategic. It wouldn't serve either of them well if the sorceress got injured while training. What if she bumped her knees or feet against the nearby rocks and found she couldn't walk afterwards?

"...You are very resourceful." Juliet begins, allowing herself to focus on what they ought to be focusing on right now. Positive reinforcement, yes? "Before long, you will become an excellent escapist. It would be ideal not to get caught in the first place, but that skill will come with time and training." Her expression lightens, becomes a shade more playful. She does not mean to make fun or laugh, not necessarily, but... "But surely you must know that yelling 'sneak attack' eliminates the 'sneak' from your attack?" Biting into her grin, she moves her hand through the water to create a 'splashing' noise as well. "I could hear the movement in the water as well. While you must be mindful of your own senses, you best keep the senses of your opponent in mind as well."

"Now..." Juliet offers Willow's shoulder a gentle nudge and nods towards the place where she usually waits. (Positive reinforcement and gentle nudges. That is what she said.) "I will demonstrate a simple example of a 'sneak attack'. And then we will begin our laps."

When Willow's back is turned, Juliet swims beneath the surface of the lake to find a decently sized rock. Resurfacing as quietly as possible, she gently tosses the rock in the opposite direction that she intends to approach in. (Only gently, though, because a large splash might make for an obvious diversion. The sorceress is sharp will not expect her to splash around obnoxiously after specifically giving her that piece of advise.) The archer soundlessly disappears beneath the surface of the lake, deep enough to eliminate the risk of any of her limbs to breaking the surface and creating a splash. Keeping Willow's position in mind, she decisively swims towards her when she's sure she's facing an angle where she cannot see her coming and wraps her arms securely around her waist. Juliet rises above the surface rather than submerging them both.

"Sneak attack. You may certainly announce it after you've successfully completed the sneak attack." Juliet says this in Willow's ear from behind, nodding sagely before simply releasing her. "If your opponent cannot see or hear you, you will have an advantage." She proceeds to give her shoulder another gentle nudge. (She is not sure what it does, truly, but if this is what the sorceress responds to...) "You are very clever, so I am sure you will excel at this in time. In fact, you already have. Do you recall when you used your blade to shine the sun in the Lightless's eyes? By doing that, you eliminated one of his senses. That can give you an advantage."

Juliet swims out towards the edge of her lake on her back, staring up at the sky as she continues. "There are many creatures in the wood that will be much larger and stronger than us. Sometimes no amount of training will allow us to exceed them." As a tiny child in the wood, she couldn't have ever stood a chance against a ginormous beast in a battle of raw strength. She had to be stealthy to survive. Quiet, mindful of her surroundings, clever. She had to outrun or outsmart those who meant to make her their prey. She taps her temple. "However, we can still win against them-- or at least survive the encounters-- if we manage to outsmart them."

Turning around, Juliet begins to swim along the edge of the lake. "That does not mean we should neglect our physical training." She peers up at the sky again, with more meaning now to gauge the time. "Even so, I will cut our thirty laps to fifteen to ensure that we reach our destination before nightfall." (Wraith's Valley had been dangerous, too. That was another situation that might have been avoided, had she been more mindful. Now she will be mindful to give them more time. She simply... does not travel quite as quickly when she is with Willow James, who enjoys observing the wood and the many beautiful sights within. It is important that she account for these changes from now on. It is different to travel with a companion than it is to travel by herself.) "We can stay with the witch of the wood for as long as we like. If you would like to take a few days to train, we may do that. The situation in Okeanos may be dire, but we will not be of help to anyone if we rush into this before we are prepared. And... I can tell that you like to be prepared."

Juliet curiously finds herself swimming backward so that she can face Willow James. It is strange to talk this much... and she finds she has more to say.

"You brought lots of clothes with you. And lots of food, too." Juliet tilts her head and gazes off to the side. (She is especially curious about the food, although she is trying not to make this obvious.) "I imagine that you will begin to build muscle just by carrying your pack around on our travels."

 

[starboob]

Juliet August is quick. Willow James needs to remember this if her sneak attacks are ever to work (she also needs to remember the definition of the word “sneak” and not make these jubilant announcements). It’s not that she thinks she really will be successful, but she had been hopeful of the possibility. (It’s like Sawyer once said in a caffeinated haze, “Whether or not the odds are for or against you, there is always the possibility of almost––hey, you were supposed to bring the frog leg burritos this time. It’s Tuesday, remember? Burrito me or die.”) For the zillionth time today, Juliet’s strong arms wrap about the sorceress and she pretends it’s the sweet embrace a lover would receive returning home from battle. It might be pathetic, but she likes the idea that part of today is also about practicing hugs. (She will not be voicing this thought, however.)

They fall into the water, until they’re at the bottom of the lake and within kissing frame. If this were a movie, she thinks this could be their first kiss––and how romantic would that be? An underwater kiss as their first kiss. Ugh, she almost finds herself frustrated when Juliet pulls them back up to the surface without breaking the tension between them. (She swears the water spirits around them had even been watching the two heroes with hope.)

When they come up above the water, her kissable lips sorely unkissed, she settles a bit on the bank, for the first time giving herself a moment to catch her breath. Exhaustion starts to catch up with her as she realizes they’ve been going at this for at least an hour, maybe more. Her hands are pruned, her lungs ache from holding her breath, and her eyes sting from keeping them open underwater. (She should have charmed them before jumping in, but she got ahead of herself before the thought even occurred to her.) She stretches her arms backwards, propping up her body as she breathes in heavy, shallow breaths and listens to Juliet’s feedback, nodding along to indicate that she’s listening. “Right, not getting caught would be better.” She thinks back to Juliet’s quick backwards steps as she avoided the trolls earlier. It would not have been good to get caught by one of those lumbering masses of muscle and vengeance. In her mind, she pictures herself in Juliet’s position, with the trolls coming at her, and tries to think about what she might do. Dodge right? Most likely, but she also could jump. That would play more to her strengths, though that will only work if she doesn’t freeze up. (She considers the fact that it’s always been easier for her to let go of her freeze response in training or practice and wonders how she might be able to shift her perspective. If she’s going to embark on this quest, she’ll need to learn how. Otherwise she’s just… She’s just deadweight bringing Juliet down.)

Willow resists the urge to toss her head back and groan when Juliet reminds her of their laps, and merely nods as she’s nudged over back to the starting position. (Give it a few days and she will most likely realize that Juliet took her “gentle nudge” comment literally. For now, she just thinks the archer is being cute.) While the trainee has enough sense to know the splash she just heard isn’t (most likely) Juliet, she still jumps a bit and tenses, only to yelp out when she actually is captured by the archer from a different angle. Then she sort of melts against her with those lips so close to her ear. Her breath is cool against her skin and it sends a shiver (that she hopes isn’t noticeable) down her spine. (Unhelpfully, her mind supplies her with fantasies of that mouth on her neck, warm and wanting, pressing kisses over her delicate flesh. Teeth against the hollow of her throat…)

She nearly falls backwards when Juliet pulls away, missing her touch and feeling like an anvil without it. She recovers quickly enough, remembering those dreaded laps, and makes for the edge to begin. (She is grateful the number has been cut in half. While thirty laps might have been nothing in her youth, when it took everything to pull her child self away from the water, it’s been a while since she’s swam or really physically exerted herself as she has today, yesterday, or even the day before yesterday. Her body is already in protest.) Between strokes, which reflect her experience as a swimmer, she listens to Juliet talk about staying in the wood with the witch the wizard or sorceress. “Sure, I think it’d be smart to spend a few days training. I at least wanna learn some drills I can practice. We can brainstorm what you know about the Lightless, too, and what I’ve gathered about my side––I’ve got a friend back home keeping an eye on the situation. I can send her an update and see if she’s picked up on any new anomalies. I have a feeling things are going to change rapidly if things are escalating over here.” That is contingent on the sides being intrinsically linked and, from what Willow’s seen, they very much are. Even with the stark differences, the similarities are enough that she has reason to believe that a reaction here results in an equal or tangential effect on her side. (In some ways, her thread being connected to Juliet proves the sides are bonded.)

“I did,” she confirms absently as she continues her strokes. “Think I can borrow some clothes? I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb over here and the more I can blend in, I imagine the less trouble it will cause us. I can probably charm my bag, too.” Though she is quite fond of the colorblock pattern and she hates the idea of making it too plain. Conveniently, Willow James does not address the food comment but she does take note. She also doesn’t explain the expression, because she thinks it’s rather self explanatory. “But, yeah, I basically packed a ducking warehouse trying to be as prepared as possible. The bag is set to weigh fifty pounds max, but I can remove some of the charms as I get stronger if you think that’d help?” She does think it’d be kinda hot if she were to put some muscle on her bones. Plus, on a practical level, it will help her face whatever is out there in the wood and beyond.

Willow finishes her laps (and elects to do five more than asked, because she’s a tryhard; she does first ask Juliet if there is time, knowing they're on a schedule) and slowly walks out of the water, her footfalls heavy with exhaustion. She shakes out her head before drying herself off in the same way she had earlier and even offers to blow-dry Juliet. Then, while the archer changes, Willow spins around and snaps her fingers to change back into her prior outfit. She takes a look at her bag, leaning against a tree, and inspects the straps and zippers, making sure that no curious being has tried to open its contents and unwittingly gotten themselves sucked inside. Satisfied that she has no hitchhikers, she hoists the bag over her shoulders, and stumbles to the side. After a few hops, she rights herself then spins to face the archer. “Ready when you are, boss,” she grins, giving her two thumbs up. (The bag feels twice as heavy as it should with all her activity from earlier, but she doesn't add another weightlifting charm. She imagines it will be quite satisfying to know she carried her pack at its "full" weight the rest of the way.)

As they walk, she puts half her hair up in a bun, securing it with a scrunchy she stole from Meredith forever ago (it’s midnight blue with golden stars speckled over it), letting the bottom half hang free. Though Willow is still dazzled by the wood, she’s less apt to stop and marvel at every little thing with her tired, stumbling body. She still perks up whenever she sees a giant bullfrog hopping along their path, but doesn’t insist on burping competitions as she had yesterday. Nor does she insist on coming up with a song when they hop across a stream that has an enchanted, musical stone path. She even humbly declines a gnome’s request to help him find some unruly shoelaces. (She does, however, offer him some extra shoelaces she packed––though only after confirming with Juliet that the gift would be innocuous enough.) And while it does admittedly take every ounce of Willow’s willpower to not have tea with the mushrooms, she resists. (Though she suspects that that had been a trap anyway given the circular formation of said mushrooms.)

Bits of pink sky break through the leaves, indicating the setting sun, and Willow can almost taste the satisfaction of knowing they’ve almost reached their destination and she hasn’t once had to set her pack down. Her shoulders, abs, arms, and legs are all riddled with satisfying aches and she cannot wait to collapse in a heap on the floor. (The moment she collapses, she knows she will not be able to get up, so she’s been reluctant to take any breaks.)

The darker it gets, the more it feels like there is something in the wood watching them. Willow assumes this is her own paranoia, that she’s imagining the shadows crooning towards them, but she swears the wood is breathing down their necks. She tries to keep her cool, tries to keep herself from looking over her shoulder, knowing that once she does that she won’t be able to stop, and shuffles closer to Juliet until she’s practically on her heels. Under her cloak, she clutches her jingling keychains and feels around for the mirrorball, fingers smoothing over the different faces. Taking a deep breath, she presses against one of the panes, detaching it from the globe and sending it flying backwards. Her eyes turn to mirrors, reflecting what the mirror piece is capturing. The sorceress’s eyes start to reflect tiny blinking beams of red light, so much that her mirrored eyes seem to be glowing red themselves. She gasps, shutting her eyes tight and calls the mirror fragment back and shoves Juliet to the side without much warning.

She’s only able to get out, “Lightless––!” before the pack she’d seen pounces the area where they had been standing. It’s not long after that that they’re surrounded by at least thirteen hulking shadow beasts. Inky foam bubbles at the corners of their feral maws and when the saliva drips to the ground it seems to burn holes through the earth. 'Oh, duck. Where's Lucky?'

 

[ellarose]

Noticing both Willow's unease and the occasional shadow weaving between the trees, Juliet subtly moves her hand over her bow and quiver, readying herself for a fight. No need to make any sudden movements, no need to alarm her companion. (Attuned to human emotions, the panic often encourages the Lightless to pounce. Understanding the types of people these creatures used to be, the thought-- the implications--all makes her shudder with disgust. Steering them away from villages and populated areas is always crucial as it keeps them from picking up the scent they pick up from humans. Millicent told her that since their own lights have gone out, it's only natural that they will begin to yearn for what they've lost... along with a whole spiel about how light attracts dark, very much the same way that Millicent (a self-proclaimed hobgoblin of the night, apparently) enjoys finding sunny spots for her afternoon naps. Juliet admittedly lost her after this bit.) It is unusual for so many to travel together in a pack, however, let alone to hunt for prey. Typically they are mindless once they travel deep enough, searching for the place in the wood which beckons to them. They only attack when someone actively tries to come between them and this siren's song only they can hear. It is possible that the signature of both of their emotions combined might be easier to read, now that they're traveling together. (Willow James seems to carry a lot with her. Be that the warehouse-stocked pack on her back, her thoughts of adventure, or consideration for those around her as she offers her help to those they cross paths with. Maybe it's something about her light that's drawing them...?) Juliet knows that she is, at least in part, contributing to this as well. Usually she is able to keep to the shadows, rushing through the wood with her focus set on her work. There's usually no room for thought, or emotion, but lately... ah, never mind that. For now, she has to focus on surviving this so that they can make it to Millicent's cottage in one piece. Damn. Thirteen, though. This will be no simple feat.

Juliet prepares to act just when Willow gasps, seemingly having noticed the same thing she has. Before she can give any sort of instruction, the sorceress pushes them off to the side. As the archer falls, she catches herself in a semi-upright position on her knees, gripping her bow tighter as she turns herself to face the approaching beasts. "Stay right behind me, Willow." Moving nimbly, she unleashes her bow and nocks an arrow. (This particular arrow is gold and it colors her bow with the same shade. The elegant branch-like ends of her bow curl and morph into an industrial-looking design of ticking clocks and butterfly wings at either end.)The leader of the pack bares their fangs and howls... Juliet steadies her breathing, her gaze traveling down to watch their legs as they run before bending and bracing to pounce on them. When the distance between them and the beast is just right, she releases it. The arrow whips through the air with a faint 'tick, tock, tick, tock' sound. Once it phases through the Lightless (who is now in midair, mere seconds away from pouncing on them) a golden shine engulfs the monster like a coat of luminescent paint and a faintly glowing circle appears in the air right in front of it. The details of a clock fill out and appear within this circle, complete with hands and roman numerals. With soft clicks, the hands spin around a few times and the creature is left suspended there in the air, frozen over like a ferocious statue.

Two more come running at them from the sides, right beneath the suspended Lightless and Juliet quickly takes care of them the same way-- one frozen to the left, the other to the right. This creates a pyramid shaped wall of golden Lightless. That's three of them. They just have to escape from here before the time runs out on the charms. (Not only is she low on antidote arrows, she is running low on arrows in general. Even if she will restock at Millicent's cottage, she still needs to be mindful of this.) The archer promptly takes the sorceress by the shoulders, turning their bodies around so that she's now facing the frozen monsters instead. They manage to create a makeshift shield behind Willow with their massive forms.

Juliet stands, then, their thread flickering in the blush of sunset as she does... with a sharp eye, she notes that the Lightless react to this, stirring and glaring at it with their sharp red eyes. (Hm. Is it something about the thread, or...?) There's no time to investigate this reaction, however, as more Lightless paws beat against the earth and another charges, demanding her attention. One by one, the archer manages to freeze five more beasts before she runs out of her remaining time arrows. Four, five, six, seven, eight. That leaves five. (...She will not kill them, she is not a murderer. However, this method does make these fights all the more complicated.) She nocks a new type of arrow this time, one with a pearlescent shade as opposed to a golden one. Her bow transforms again to reflect this change, taking on a branch-like texture once more. Lily flowers open up where the clocks were before and if one inspects closely enough, they'll notice a few peaceful faces with their eyes shut engraved in the bark-like ridges. "...Sleeping lily arrows." Juliet explains to keep Willow informed as she works, keeping her eyes trained on their opponents. So far, she has prevented them from coming within a certain distance of them. Now, however... "They require three minutes to take full effect, meaning we will have to hold them off until then." Juliet sends the next arrow through an approaching beast's paw, wounding it and slowing their approach. The arrowhead pierces before opening up like a flower, inflicting it with the soporific effects. While three minutes doesn't sound quite so long on the surface level, on the battlefield it can feel like a lifetime. "And the others will only remain frozen for fifteen minutes. We need to get out of here before then."

There are only three remaining antidote arrows. Juliet only intends to use them on the final three Lightless for a very simple reason, being that healing them too soon will leave her with more people to worry about and protect. (It's more emotion built up to agitate them with, too. That is also why it's ideal to keep them away from kingdoms and villages.) Alternatively, though, doing so will also eliminate three of the five monsters, leaving them with two. But even two is a lot to hold off on her own without outright killing them. Ah. (There are just so many of them, and so many variables now that she is not only looking out for herself...) Juliet continues to aim the pearly arrows at the creatures paws, slowing their approach... this only works somewhat, though, as they still approach mindlessly through the pain and close in around them.

...And this is especially a problem when two of the Lightless decide to charge them at once. Juliet flips her bow behind her and manages to send one staggering backward with a well-aimed punch to the snout. The other, however, is just as quick-- and fearing for Willow's safety behind her, she ends up making the desperate (and clumsy) mistake of trying to block the attack with her arm. The Lightless's teeth sink right through her flesh, like a knife through butter. The saliva burns where it touches her skin. (There's a very real risk of losing her arm if she tries to yank it back while the creature's jaws are clamped so tight. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she smashes her fist into the monster's eye twice and waits for their jaw to loosen with a yelp before pulling her wounded left arm back to her side.) The pain is screaming so loudly that her ears ring and her eyesight blurs. Shadows creep at the edges of her vision of the field. No, not now. They're almost to Millicent's. Almost there. And Willow needs her. She can hold out until then.

While her left arm hangs limply at her side, dripping blood, Juliet uses her right to reach for an antidote arrow, using it to physically stab into the beast that tore into her. (Rather than transforming her unused bow, it illuminates her body with that glowing bluish hue instead for the briefest of moments as the effects heal the Lightless at her feet.) A man who looks to be approximately ten years older than herself and Willow is left there, groaning quietly and gripping his aching eye. This leaves four... all of which have about two minutes remaining until they fall asleep. Two minutes to keep them busy. (That was too close just then. Way too close.)

"See... what I just did there?" Juliet asks Willow in a shaky rasp. She hands the remaining two antidote arrows to the sorceress. "These are all I have left. You'll be safe if you use them. If any of the Lightless come close to you, use one right away. It'll phase right through and heal them." She shakes her head to reorient herself and readies her stance. As long as she can keep at least two of the monsters focused on her at all times, Willow should be fine. She nods at the half conscious man on the ground. "Keep an eye on him, too. I'm going to put some distance between us and distract them until they fall asleep."

Juliet dashes forward in order to do just that. She just needs to keep those claws and teeth away from Willow James, as well as the healed man on the ground. And while three of the remaining beasts do respond to her taunts, another keeps to the sidelines, fixated on the sorceress. It growls and approaches her at a steady, careful gait through the field of frozen Lightless before coming right for her at a run!

 

[starboob]

Willow's body moves without her noticing, obeying Juliet’s commands if only because her deep subconscious knows to trust the archer with her safety. (She has protected her thus far and with the thread hanging between them, there is even less reason for the sorceress to doubt her intentions.) Everything happens all at once and simultaneously in shuttered, freeze frames. She can barely process everything that’s happening––fascination and fear both grip her and keep her frozen firmly in place. Juliet’s bow transforms, looking like gold from a time that’s in the past for her, but seemingly in the future for Juliet. The Lightless leaps forward. An arrow goes through them and they're frozen in midair, a golden blanket holding them in place. Her eyes follow the hands on the ticking clock face that appears before them, easily putting together what the arrow has just accomplished without needing an explanation. More are frozen around them, ones Willow hadn’t even noticed encroaching their space, and before she knows it, she’s placed right in front of the frozen pack.

Their blazing red eyes burrow into Willow’s soul, despite their powerlessness, and a lump forms in her throat, choking her. Something in their eyes screams pain––is it that they look bright like blood? Or is it perhaps the fact that some sickness gripped their hearts so fiercely that the only cry for help they could manage was turning into a daemon? (She remembers Trevor, from the day before, and while repulsive, people don’t become that way on their own. She doesn’t think so, at least. There’s something wanting behind that behavior and the Lightless seem to reflect a hunger that has never once been fed.) But maybe Willow is looking for something that isn’t there, trying to empathize with creatures that deserve none of it; yet she can’t help but to want to understand them and maybe find an answer to this love sickness so that love might be saved. (Ugh, sometimes she wishes she could just see something as evil without trying to justify its source. She wishes she could be more like Meredith in that regard.)

Juliet says something about sleeping lilies, prompting the sorceress to look over her shoulder and observes the changed bow. She takes in the other things Juliet has just said as well, about the time constraints they’re under, and silently debates the logistics of weaving three minutes ahead. It wouldn’t (shouldn’t) be hard. (“Time is the greatest illusion, Jimmy-James. It’s just a jump to the left and then a step to the right. With your hands on your hips! Bring your knees in tight––it’s the time warp, Willow. Those were instructions!” ...Sawyer was definitely messing with her after their weaver classes, she's pretty sure.) But she shakes that idea from her head, internally chastising herself for even considering a dangerous form of magic when she has other spells, spells that she has mastered, already at her disposal. (Why, why, why is she always trying to be someone she’s not?)

The world, time, keeps speeding on, leaving Willow behind as she is swept in her thoughts of being deficient. Time is cruel that way, but not as cruel as the Lightless that barrel towards them––one sent backwards with an impressive punch and another held back with Juliet’s arm. (It’s her fault. She should have moved. Instead, she just clutches her staff close to her chest and lets Juliet take the bite. Her staff could have handled it and while the archer still has her arm… She’s hurt and it’s her fault. Because she didn’t do anything. Deadweight.) The remaining two antidote arrows are shoved into her hands and she watches, helpless, as the archer leaves her to survive two long minutes with three Lightless.

Her hackles raise as she senses something dangerous coming from behind her.

‘Dodge,’ the Juliet in her head whispers. She clutches the arrows in one fist and with the other that holds her staff, she slams it into the ground. Her knuckles are white with fear as the staff springs up into the air, taking the sorceress with it as it becomes a tall pole as it had when they needed to escape from Juliet’s room. The Lightless smacks into the ironwood, stumbling backwards with a yelp; the force of impact is enough to send the staff turned pole tipping over and it’s a miracle of the fates that the sorceress even lands on her feet. She’ll take it, however, as it means she has another chance to dodge rather than get tackled. (She’s a good escapist, but she remembers Juliet telling her that it would be better to not get caught at all; and she remembers Trevor’s strength when he nearly tore her face off. She definitely doesn't want to get caught under another one of these beasts––especially with Lucky nowhere to be seen. 'Lucky-doo, where are you?')

Her entire body is shaking like a leaf as a mixture of fear and adrenaline rush through her bloodstream. It pounds in her ears and scrambles all of her thoughts, making it impossible for her to hear her own doubts or really anything coherent. She doesn’t even think to check on Juliet––and that's actually a good thing as the Lightless stampedes towards her again, seeming as crazed as a bull when it catches the faint thread breezing through the wind.

“See... what I just did there?” she remembers Juliet asking, and she does. She remembers distinctly what she had done.

She returns her staff to its normal size and flips it behind her back, cocking her fist backwards before she slams it into the Lightless’s face, smacking them right in their jaw. “Ow! Duck!!” she yelps out, shaking out her hand and going to rub her knuckles with the other––the other that is holding the two arrows like a lifeline. ("If any of the Lightless come close to you, use one right away. It'll phase right through and heal them.") ‘Oh, that’s what she meant.’ She realizes this belatedly, but there’s no time for her to feel foolish when that punch had not done much to push the beast away from her and, she can tell, she only antagonized it further. Not wasting any time, she puts an arrow each fist, then spears the Lightless in the throat with one before they can gnash and clamp down on her face. Just as she has seen happen twice before, the arrow sinks into the Lightless and a blue light envelops them from the inside out and a man old enough to be her father (are they all men?) collapses into a heap on the ground, rubbing his throat, gasping and muttering incoherently. Outside of being naked (ew, ew, ew), he seems fine, so she leaves him there and goes to check on the other healed man. While, dazed there is nothing concerning about his presentation either.

She decides to leave the men be in favor of joining Juliet, who is currently preoccupying the remaining three Lightless. (She has a sense that Juliet is trying to protect her from danger, but how can Willow let her do this all on her own? She still has the last antidote arrow and she needs to take some of the burden off of the archer. They might be dwindling down to the last forty-five seconds, sure, but those forty-five seconds are like waiting for the school bell to ring on the last day of school before summer vacation. They’re never ending.)

‘Consider their senses,’ she reminds herself, knowing that she has a temporary advantage while the Lightless are distracted. ‘Okay, okay, okay. Try not to get yourself killed or severely injured. Like, try to avoid getting injured at all.’ Even if scars are objectively cool, she knows that there is a difference between having one and getting one, and the process of getting one is usually unpleasant. (Juliet’s limp arm is an image burned in her mind, reminding her that these beasts can do serious damage.) She pulls off her (Juliet’s) cloak and then unclips the mini-skateboard keychain from her carabiner, tossing it onto the group so that it transforms into a hoverboard.

“Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die,” she sings to herself, jumping onto the board and zipping over to the archer. Well, not to the archer specifically, but coming towards the side of one of the Lightless. They turn their head, sensing a new presence, and Willow is quick to throw the cloak into the air, pushing the garment forward with a few subtle bursts of wind so that it captures their face, tangling their head. They stagger away from Juliet, falling over onto their side as they try to wrestle the piece off of themself. (Twenty-five seconds.) "Sneak attack." She might have done a celebratory fist-pump, but she recognizes that there are still two other Lightless to handle and one arrow.

...One arrow that's knocked out of her hand when she's smacked into a tree by one of the beasts (this at least sends her hoverboard forward into the other Lightless's kneecap). 'Oh, fudge.'

 

[ellarose]

Juliet's eyes are never still, nor are her feet. Movement keeps her present and alert. (Never mind the fact that every step jostles her left arm, hitting her with a biting reminder of the wound she's been left with.) She's resolved to seeing this through and makes the most of what little she's got left to fight back with. And that's just her, her and nothing else if she doesn't want to outright kill the beasts. And she doesn't. Because she's not a murderer. There is one arrow left in her quiver (this one is traditional, just enhanced with a speed enchantment) and no way that she's going to move as quickly with her arm in this state, anyway. Instead, she uses nearby stones to toss at the Lightless, drawing their fury and their sight. Mindful of the entire battlefield, she notices Willow's staff rising into the air and whisking the sorceress away to safety before she can be attacked by one of the stragglers. Good. Hopefully she won't forget to use the antidote arrows if she finds herself in a bind. With any luck-- no pun intended-- perhaps Lucky is watching from a distance and will intervene again if need be as well. The archer is left with a pit in her stomach, leaving Willow James to fend for herself this way, but thirteen leaves them overwhelmed and this is all she can manage. (It's never been this bad before...) Trying to find comfort in knowing Willow's got the key to healing the the beast she's confronting, she ensures the other three are preoccupied at all times with her aim and well-timed dodges. Thirty-eight seconds... then they will all fall asleep and they can carry on. They just have to endure.

Comfort falls over Juliet like a warm blanket when she realizes that Willow has healed the Lightless. This ease is short lived, however, as it bleeds into worry (perhaps mingled with pride) seeing the sorceress proceeding to come towards her on her flying plank. (Hoverboard.) She has already come so far from the moment she collapsed into a tight little ball of worry upon seeing an ogre. At the same time, though, there's a voice that tells her not to come any closer-- not to risk it when they're so close. Willow James is eager to be of help, she knows, but sometimes knowing when to stay out of a fight is just as beneficial as knowing when to enter one. Thankfully it turns out the risk is worth it when the white cloak falls over the Lightless's head and they stumble into a struggling heap. The archer acknowledges the successful sneak attack with a nod, fixating on the two remaining beasts. While she still keeps one occupied, there is no way to draw the second beast's attention fast enough as it throws her now in range companion into a tree.

"Willow!" Her name is torn from Juliet's throat, it all happens so quickly that she doesn't grasp the implications.

With the other beast downed by the rouge flying plank (hoverboard) Juliet has time to reach for the one remaining arrow in her quiver. There is no telling when the other Lightless will free itself of the cloak. When it does, their blind rage will direct itself at the sorceress as well. She needs to be faster than all of them. Faster than she already is. Rather than nocking the arrow, she unhesitatingly stabs it into her wounded arm to absorb its speed enchantment. Light blazes through her from the inside out, the arrow disintegrates into a sparkling cloud of dust and then she's gone. Well, technically she's still there, but she resembles nothing more than a blurry wisp of red cloak as she zips around the tree to secure the fallen antidote arrow. She's not finished after that, however. She intends to use this last boost of speed for everything it's worth. Moving in a sickle sharp arc, she manages to sink the antidote arrow into the approaching beast before it can so much as lay a claw on Willow James. (The Lightless shines brightly, just like all of the others, and a woman crumples to the ground this time.) Juliet, still little more than a blur, proceeds to stomp on both the collapsed beasts like stepping stones to keep them both winded and flat on the ground for the remaining seconds. Seven, six, five... their struggles slow, appearing as if they're moving through molasses. Four, three, two... one by one, the remaining beasts fall completely still and their ferocious growls are replaced with loud snores. Whew. Given she hadn't initially planned which of the beasts would be receiving the antidote, the people they've healed are also sleeping soundly.

Juliet flickers into view as the speed enchantment burns completely out. Her shoulders slump with exhaustion, but she doesn't allow herself to collapse into a heap the way her body aches to. Just a little while longer. It's not over yet. The healed people being sound asleep is both good news and bad news. The archer isn't sure she has the energy to deal with the panic of three strangers right away and so it is a relief that she does not have to. However, she also does not possess the energy to carry a single one of them on her shoulders. (Damn. Not with her arm in this state, anyway. Not that she's even capable of carrying three grown people all at once as it is. They can't just leave them there, of course, but there's only so much time to figure out how they're going to handle this before they have eight unfrozen beasts to deal with.)

"Are you all right, Willow?" Juliet pushes herself to move, walking towards the sorceress and giving her a once-over to ensure she wasn't hurt when she was knocked into the tree before. "You did very well back there. Now we need to get everyone out of here safely before..." She nods meaningfully at the frozen field of beasts behind them and then squints, peering up at the sky. "Do you think Lucky would mind helping us carry them? I know they must be sore after what happened the other day, but... we will not have to travel too far before we reach the witch of the wood." She blinks. Speaking of the dragon... "Where is Lucky, anyway?"

While that might have been the perfect opening for the dragon to appear, it's another creature darts towards them through the trees in that moment. Ah. Grace always manages to reappear right when she needs her. "Gracie." The fox prances towards the archer in a manner which says she's happy to see her. She rubs herself affectionately against Juliet's calves before she running in playful circles. (She is always especially affectionate after a long stay with Millicent.) Her companion startles slightly when Lucky also lands among them, as if realizing that they still have company. She tilts her head confusedly at Willow James and the dragon both, as if to say 'you're still here?' They can get reacquainted later. They're running out of time.

Grace recognizes this without having to be told and grows until she's stands at about the size of two wolves combined. The fox lowers herself towards the ground and dips her chin towards the unconscious people on the ground. "Grace can carry two of them like this." Juliet begins as she struggles to haul one of the people onto Grace's back with one arm. "Lucky, will you take the third?"

***​

With this arrangement set, it doesn't take much longer until they find Millicent's secluded cottage. (Not before nightfall as intended, due to the unexpected fight. The sun set about an hour ago but the moon is full and bright tonight, lighting their path forward. Thankfully, the witch of the wood will not mind. After all, she is a self-proclaimed hobgoblin of the night.) The area is surrounded with tall trees and a protective ring, the same way the campsite had been, designed to keep unwanted visitors and dangers out. Tonight the 'cottage' is haphazard and lopsided, like a wooden block tower that a toddler could have put together better. (It is a wonder that it can stand like this at all... since it is held together with magic, the 'cottage' is essentially allowed to take any shape it pleases, no matter how impossible or uncanny it might seem.) The witch's whims dictate how it appears on any given day. Juliet does not know what to expect, ever, but it is distinctly Millicent's because of how, ah, unique it is.

Juliet leads them out back to the guest house beforehand (she knows how Millicent feels about visitors who aren't, well, her) which was set up for the explicit purpose of sheltering those who have been healed in the wood and need a place for the night. (This house actually looks like a house.) They leave the people they've rescued onto the beds inside and cover them up with blankets. (There are supplies-- including spare clothes-- as well as a note tacked up on the door for the express purpose of explaining the situation to those who awaken there in a confused haze. Unfortunately, this has not always prevented people from ignoring the note altogether, marching up to Millicent's cottage to demand answers... and ultimately turning themselves right back around when the witch of the wood finds some way to scare them off.

Once that task is taken care of, they at last approach Millicent's home. Grace morphs back into her usual size, keeping close to her ankles. Juliet wonders if she ought to say anything. (Or warn Willow.) It seems there might be something that warrants being said when it comes to meeting someone like the witch of the wood... but ultimately, the appropriate words elude her. In fact, she isn't sure if there are any appropriate words for someone like Millicent Saffron. The mixed aroma of baked bread and herbs hits them right away.

"Juliet! If you're going to track blood on my carpet, be a dear and track it in a circular pattern. Or a spiral." Millicent's voice comes somewhere from over their heads when they step inside. The room shifts and creaks, as if it can't decide what to be, before settling on the sitting room just outside of the kitchen. (There is no carpet, only wooden floors. The greenish wallpaper is chipping. This is impossible to see, however, because very little space on the walls is unoccupied. There are shelves lined with everything from jars filled willed with a number of 'substances and specimens' to monster skulls, strange plants and uncommon antiques.) "You brought a guest. You never bring guests. I need time to prepare!"

Time to prepare...? Juliet squints at the ceiling and bites the inside of her cheek. She shakes her head, deciding not to question it. Rather than tracking her blood in any circular patterns or otherwise, she lowers herself down into her favorite sitting chair and nods for Willow to sit wherever she likes.

"Mind my cat." Millicent warns, still unseen to them. Her possum (not a cat) hisses and scurries over Willow's feet before disappearing into a distinctly possum-sized hole in the wall. "I'll be down shortly! Or longly, depending on how this..." A mild explosion sounds off, followed by a slew of coughs and curses. The archer doesn't even flinch at this development, slipping out of her cloak to inspect her arm instead.

 

[starboob]

It doesn’t surprise Willow that Lucky makes a late entrance. Though her trusty companion handles many of her battles back home, keeping bullies and other goons at bay, it’s not as though they can always step in––especially with the laws in Elsewhere that dictate where her dragon can and cannot be (regardless of size). Besides, while they are her companion, it is not their only responsibility to protect her––they’re also there to help her grow. And, more than that, the sorceress knows that Lucky likes to absorb the last lights of day and had probably been doing just that before swooping down into the wood to help them carry the last healed Lightless back to their destination.

As they walk, two separate things occur to Willow: (1) Juliet has never told her the name of this enchantress and this makes her wonder if she has a name; she also wonders about the nature of their relationship given that Juliet has never once said her name (of course, this could just be Juliet being Juliet). In her mind, she pictures this mysterious woman as a haggard crone––perhaps only because the archer refers to as a witch. (2) She also begins to wonder what the purpose of healing the Lightless is. Obviously, they are dangerous and an army of them would be an absolute nightmare to deal with––especially if thirteen nearly took them out before their epic journey even began. Still, the scholar wants to know the purpose behind the transformation and whether or not they are just addressing a symptom rather than the disease by healing them. (Should it be called healing? Or just untransforming?) She understands that sometimes one must deal with symptoms first, but… she just wonders if tracking them down and giving them an antidote is the answer. She’ll need to get more information from Juliet if she is to start coming up with an actionable plan. (Perhaps she will request that Sawyer join them? Although Sawyer is practically married to the lab and their shared office; she can only recall a handful of times that the lone wolf actually left. Then again, a trip to the Other Side would probably entice her––Willow would have to keep her constantly entertained, however, otherwise she will just grow bored and venture back to her unsanctioned experiments and terrorizing her students; or worse, get herself lost and terrorize the people and creatures of the Other Side.)

Though she is silent while they journey, she is far less pensive than she had been earlier and her silence is due to obvious exhaustion than anything else. Every now and again she’ll take careful glances at Juliet, her eyes drifting down to her injured arm with a frown. ‘She needs to take care of that.’ (She also makes a note to get a sample of the inky stuff that foamed from the Lightless’ mouths, as she wants to know if there are any clues hidden in their DNA and knows Sawyer won’t mind running a few extra tests for her. …Although maybe she should be careful sending anything dangerous to that woman.) She tilts her head up and observes the bright moon, absently worrying a hole into her lip as she thinks of her odd friend. ‘I hope she remembered to check the calendar.’ No matter, it’s out of her hands and she has a list of other worries to occupy herself with.

When the… abode comes into view, the sorceress gasps and while this is one of her usual reactions in response to anything she has seen so far, this gasp seems a pinch more wonder-full. She’s never seen a home quite like this before. She almost forgets about their sleeping passengers in favor of hopping up and down excitedly to check the place out. The only reason she doesn’t do just that is because Lucky, who is always paying attention, nudges her forward to follow the archer to the back house––a significantly less impressive structure. With her eagerness to investigate the much more exciting main house, she doesn’t bother asking Juliet any questions about whatever set-up she seems to have going on with this back house and is quick to set up the healed fellows in the beds.

Lucky, following Grace’s lead, shrinks down (to fox size) once the passengers have been dropped off and tucked in. As per usual, they settle on the top of Willow’s pack and peer over her head as they finally enter the Jenga-structure home. Dragon and sorceress both are wonderstruck the second they see the inside of the place, immediately noting the magical elements that cause the space to morph. The interior reminds her of her grandmas’ home in a number of ways––that there is more to it on the inside than out, for one, and how it is absolutely cluttered with various items and treasures. (Of course, her grandmas are a bit more organized than the occupant of this home.)

Hearing the disembodied voice coming from above, Willow blushes (well, she jumps first), unsure if she’s totally welcome, and also recognizes how youthful the voice sounds. She jumps back (again) when the cat (possum) hisses at her (Lucky hisses back) and finds herself grateful when the creature (companion?) hides in the wall. Though this also unnerves her, reminding her of a particularly nasty war between mice and gneabils and the shuffling she’d hear late into the night as the two parties duked it out. (The gneabils won and the mice now only have territory in Leif’s room.)

“Oh, um, no need to prepare for me.” Knowing people like Leif, Meredith, and Sawyer she’s definitely seen it all and sometimes, way too much. “I’m sure––” She startles at the explosion, looking over at the archer. Seeing that she seems unperturbed, she decides it must be fine (or not worth getting fussy over). “Alright. Okay. Cool…”

Deciding to ignore that, she sets her pack down, leaning it against the side of the chair Juliet has decided to occupy and then pops a squat right in front of her on the floor. (Lucky, deciding that Grace is friend-shaped, changes their scale colors to mimic the fox’s coat and tries to get the companion to engage in play.) “Arm,” she says to Juliet, making a “give it here” motion with her hand, because there is no way she is letting that go unchecked. Especially not since it’s her fault the archer got injured in the first place. She snaps her fingers and a number of items appear next to the sorceress––a pair of protective gloves made from dragon scales, a few glass vials, a leather roll-up pouch, a notepad and a pen with sixteen different colored ink barrels. She snaps again and the notepad and pen float up into the air, drafting a letter to Sawyer in coded text. (This is not because she distrusts Juliet. This is because Sawyer is paranoid.) While the pen writes down her thoughts, she slides on the gloves and takes Juliet’s arm. “Just writing to a friend. She’s weird,” she explains as she looks over the injury. She grabs one of the vials and lets Juliet’s blood drip into it, making sure to capture some of that inky goop. “Was that experience with the Lightless anything like what you’ve seen before? You seemed… alarmed.”

She flicks her wrist over the leather pouch and it responds by unfolding, revealing a first aid kit with various different items. She grabs what appears to be a magnifying glass and inspects the wound through it. “Mhm,” she hums as instructions appear on the lens, identifying the best course of action. “You’ll need a few treatments of palm balm, but first I have to draw out the Lightless saliva.” She bites her lip and reaches for something that looks like the head of a thistle plant. “This might be unpleasant for a couple of seconds.” She warns, breaking up the plant head and then placing the spikey parts over the wounds; once they touch the wound, they attach, sinking into the openings, and begin drawing out the black fluid. The only wound left un-thistled is the one that is from her arrow. She recalls how that turned the archer into red lightning and raises a brow. “Have you ever thought of wearing enchanted boots? Like, ones that make you zippy like your arrow did?”

The thistle pieces fall off on their own once they’re full and Willow reexamines the wound through the glass to make sure the Lightless saliva has cleared. Satisfied, she dabs a bit of balm over the wounds before wrapping her arm in gauze. She kisses her fingers and then places them over the bandage, because she’s not so bold that she’ll actually kiss Juliet’s arm. (Oh, but the fantasy does cross her mind.) “Boop, all better.” She leans back on her arms and looks up at Juliet. (She has to actively make sure that her pen doesn’t accidentally jot down her thoughts on the other woman.) “Sorry if I worried you earlier by jumping in the middle of all that chaos,” she says, recalling the strained way that Juliet cried out her name. “I just couldn’t leave them all to you. You already got hurt on my behalf and if anything else happened, knowing I coulda done something… I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself. I promise, I’m not actively trying to jump in before I’m ready––I mean, I kinda am, I guess––but that just seemed kinda, sorta warranted. I’m glad you’re okay.” She’d say more, and probably embarrass herself in the process, but then her eyes catch sight of what she can only describe as a wreath made of fingers and garlands made of hands. The sorceress’s mouth falls open in shock. (What in the Sawyer…)

 

[ellarose]

The bastards really got her this time. Juliet examines the wound with a frown, noting how deep it is, and is about to reach into her pack for supplies when she notices that Willow James has perched herself down in front of her and is now asking for her arm. The archer reluctantly offers it over to her to look at, flinching back for just an instant when the sorceress suddenly snaps her fingers and summons up her supplies. What are...? Willow supplies the answer before she can pose the question. She's writing to a friend again and she wonders if it's the same friend she wrote the other night in the castle. While she manages to hold herself quite still-- statuesque, really-- her nerves squirm uncomfortably beneath the touch of gloved hands. It is not that Willow's touch specifically has reason to make her anxious or anything. They'd spent their entire afternoon training and she possesses the knowledge that she's not going to hurt her. (Not yet, anyway.) The scritch-scritch of pen on paper, documenting her state gives her the sensation of being placed beneath a blazing spotlight and having samples of her blood taken are what bring the sense of unease. And being touched, in general, does tend to have this unfortunate effect as well. Since... She swallows and looks away. It also hurts. There's that, too. She focuses on the screeching physical pain, tearing through her, counting every pulse and hoping it might drown out all the rest.

"...It was thirteen Lightless." Juliet says pragmatically, the strain untraceable from her tone. "It is only natural to be alarmed in that situation."

Juliet watches as Grace darts away from a newly orange Lucky (perhaps for the sixth time now) and bounds across the room to hide behind the archer's legs. Her shy fox is warm against the back of her calves, swishing her fluffy tail against her. (As usual, she can sense whatever it is that she's holding down and offers comfort in her own way.) Juliet uses her free hand to give her an affectionate scratch behind the ears and Grace nuzzles into it before bumping her forehead against the heel of her palm. I missed you. Then she tilts her head towards Lucky and squints, as if asking her to explain this situation to her. The archer offers only a gentle half-shrug in response. Was it anything like she's seen before? She realizes then that she only answered half of the question and continues.

"However, I have never seen or heard of them hunting travelers in packs before. It is well-known that as long as you do not stand in their path, they will not hurt anyone. They are... were much like wild animals this way. As long as you do not bother them, they will not bother you." This part is particularly troubling. Juliet never meant to hurt any innocent bystanders by contributing to this. She is ultimately trying to do good. Trying to help those who seek her out. In many cases, to free them as she once desperately needed to be freed. (How many women have written to her, thanking her over and over from removing a source of endless torment from their lives? How many horrible people have come back repentant, sorry and willing to change? Sometimes one must look at the monster in the mirror to understand what they are-- or what they've become-- before they can truly change. This work may look ugly on the surface, but there is a deeper meaning to it. Meaning that the archer firmly believes in.) "They are drawn to emotion. The more people in range, the more agitated they become. I suppose the two of us may have drawn some attention due to that... but even so, I have never seen anything quite like that before."

Juliet cuts her explanation to grit her teeth as Willow uses the thistle pieces on her arm, silencing a cry in her throat by swallowing it down as an ache zings down her arm from where it touches. Her vision shades out, moisture gathers in her eyes and she promptly crushes her eyelids down to keep any tears from forming. Grace's tail swishes sympathetically against her again. There's a moment where she feels bile at the back of her throat and she swallows that down at well. She draws a sharp inhale and relaxes with the exhale when it's all done.

"I am... not a very skilled magic user." Juliet begins, blinking blearily as the world comes back into focus. "Millie--"

"The witch of the wood. Witch of the wood!" Millicent interjects frantically from over their heads. Ah. Oh no. "My mystique! My reputation! You will tarnish it with endearing nicknames!"

"The witch of the wood." Juliet clarifies-- but not without a hint of sarcasm-- before Millicent can give 'the speech'. "Creates my arrowheads with alchemy. I can cast, to an extent, but... casting has never come easily to me." Her education on the subject is limited, anyway. Lara did not know much about magic and it was not common practice to teach it to young ladies in Amoria. The only 'witch' she knew growing up was Millicent herself, who she met at the age of five, and she was mostly exposed to it in the form of magical pranks. "I have tried... but things often go awry."

"Awry. That is one way to put it. She is positively unruly. Unless you want your toenails burned off, you should not ask Juliet August to cast." Millicent snorts and cackles above. "If you've a taste for disaster, just put her in the same room as a spell book. It is rather delightful to watch just how badly a spell can go wrong."

"...I bring her materials from the wood and in return she helps with crafting my arrows. If I enchanted my boots, the enchantment would only last for a few seconds at most before petering out." Juliet blushes and nods begrudgingly, accepting the truth for what it is rather than shying away from it. "Or I might overdo it and burn my feet to a crisp."

"Toasty, toasty." Millicent sings. She seems to be in a good mood.

"...And it's fine, seeing as neither of us are dead. You did well." Juliet's blush deepens when she registers the kiss Willow pressed to her fingers and then to her arm. "Thank--" Then she notices the way that the sorceress is gaping at something behind her and peeks behind her to see what is drawing that reaction. "you..." She finishes belatedly. Ah. That. Right... the hand garlands. What to say about the hand garlands. (Is there anything to say about the hand garlands?)

"I see you've noticed the decor. I made them myself." Millicent's voice is an obvious prompt for compliments. Juliet turns and notices the witch's head sticking into the room upside-down through the ceiling above them. (And she still remembers the way it frightened her the first time, even if she claims to have forgotten every time Millicent asks.) "Ah, now I see. Together, your aura is golden." Juliet squints at her confusedly. Millicent notices her staring and disappears back into the ceiling with an, "Eek-- no looking! Still not prepared!"

"...Golden." Juliet repeats, still staring at the ceiling where the witch once was. She does not understand.

"The Lightless are drawn to your light. The light of two prophesied heroes who have come together. Much like the source they follow mindlessly through the wood, they will chase you as my beloved cat chases the rats." Millicent notes. (Naturally, she has all the intel she needs on the situation already. She has her ways. Most of her ways are always going to remain mysteries to Juliet.) Then, at last, the witch does a somersault as she phases down into the room from the ceiling. In front of Willow, she dips into a bastardized version of a curtsey (she looks more like a chicken trying to get situated and would most likely be enthused by this comparison) and is wearing at least five bows in her chin-length hair, as well as a miniature top-hat. She is wearing her favorite black dress with an oversized sweater layered on top and fraying, floral lace stockings. She wears mismatched wool socks over her feet instead of shoes. "Meet, very delighted to." ...What. "Other than Juliet, I have not had a proper visitor for nine years." (And it shows.) "It was vital that I dressed appropriately for the occasion." She twirls to show off her (weird) carefully curated outfit. "The fabled witch of the wood, right before your eyes! I know you must be positively riveted. Howdy doo! Is that how you other siders speak? I read it in a book once."

"Howdy doo..." Juliet repeats contemplatively. (She is quick on her feet, but her slowness with words becomes all the more apparent around Millicent Saffron.)

"Tea?" Millicent whirls a finger around, bringing a tall tea kettle and cup into her hands in a flurry of golden sparks. She messily pours out some rosemary tea and offers the cup to Willow. It is normal tea. Should be normal tea. (Juliet hopes.) It smells like tea, so it must be fine. She does not wait for the sorceress to respond, simply grinning. "There you are! You are very welcome."

Her possum (still not a cat) emerges from hiding in the wall, then, scurrying towards the back of the room as if to try and escape notice.

"Ah, ah, ah. Jeffery Von Willigans!" Millicent snaps and the tea kettle disappears before she scoops her companion up into her arms. She unclips one of the bows from her hair (it has an eyeball charm fastened in the middle) and lovingly places it on the possum's head before kissing it affectionately. The possum hisses at all of them, understandably furious with the world. "Now, now. We must look presentable." If the possum could roll their eyes, they would. However, they bob their head once to accept these terms and Millicent sets them back down.

"My pride and joy. Aren't they just resplendent?" Millicent smiles and nods at the possum as they scurry away. Jeffery Von Willigans walks into the wall once or twice before finding the proper hole to disappear into. She gestures to the elaborate oil portrait of the possum hanging above the fireplace. Then she turns back to Willow. "...So, did you come bearing gifts? If you haven't, you must entertain me with a dance. Those are the rules."

 

[starboob]

Willow has several thoughts, thousands even, on Juliet’s admission that she is a lousy caster and even more on her banter with “Millie” (the witch of the wood). But all of those thoughts are washed away like sidewalk chalk after a rainstorm when she notices the brutal decor. Part of her is queasy. Part of her is trying to withhold her judgments. Then another part of her realizes why Juliet had Grace take that ogre’s hand away the other day and what will come of the troll hand that Lucky saved for her earlier. The sorceress is visibly uncomfortable by these realizations. Even Lucky pauses their attempt to get Grace to play to look at the decor––although they’re not as disgusted as Willow. Their head tilts to the side and a long drip of saliva leaks out from the corner of their mouth. To the dragon, these are obviously dry aged snacks. Sensing this is what her companion is thinking, Willow pulls them into her chest so that they don’t do anything weird (they already ate a whole troll!). She looks at them sternly (anything to not look at those garlands). “Those aren––agh!!!”

The sorceress tips over backwards and scuttles away instinctively when a head pops through the ceiling––she barely catches what the woman is saying over the sound of her heart booming in her chest. It only barely registers that she’s supposed to compliment the abode, but what is there to say? These aren’t decorations––they’re more like evidence of murder and maimings! If she were trying to be nice (and, let’s be real, she is always trying to be nice) she supposes she could say that this is a rather creative way of repurposing the appendages lost to Juliet’s falchion (she wonders if all of these are because of Juliet’s falchion). Though she does imagine that they might be more useful to the cycles were they to be taken to the mushroom authorities for proper decomposition. However, she will not be voicing that when she has only just met this odd woman and she doesn’t want her to hate her for being (rightfully!) perturbed by her choice of decor. She settles on, “You seem to have put a lot of time into the aesthetics of your home. Very bold.”

Slowly, other oddities come to Willow’s attention and it only takes a few more seconds for her to come to the realization that she is surrounded. (It brings her back to the first day she entered her shared lab/office with Sawyer and how jarred she was with all the, well, jars.) While the eyeballs, brains, and other specimens are not so weird––she recognizes many of these as ingredients for various magic crafts––the garlands and wreaths are the dictionary definition of disturbing; plus she notes a few items that she’s pretty sure are forbidden. (Previously, she thought that only Sawyer’s bloody red cap collection could compete in this category of disturbing, but those only imply something gruesome. It’s not actually, technically gruesome if Willow pretends they’re something else and she often does when she’s reminded of all those caps hanging from the ceiling of the weirdo’s apartment.)

When the witch (she supposes if she likes that title then she cannot judge her for it, even if it makes her deeply uncomfortable) demands that she not peek, she claps her hands over her eyes––gladly, too, given what she has just seen. (Lucky even covers their eyes with their tail. Though they do steal glances over at Grace just in case she has stopped hiding behind Juliet’s legs.)

Then, in the same breath that Juliet repeats the assessment of their aura, Willow breathes out, “Like daylight.” The idea that they have a golden aura does pique her interest, considering their thread. Like, it is rumored that those with the strongest connections have golden threads and, unsurprisingly, the romantic has dreamed of having such a connection with her person. Theirs may still be the color of a spider’s web and she wonders if maybe their aura is any indication that they could have potential for that famed connection. She is aware, afterall, that the threads can change color in response to the evolution of the relationship; she’s doesn’t recall ever reading of anyone who had an instantaneous gold thread––outside of her books, that is.

As the witch continues, she makes sure that her pen tracks these notes, finding them surprisingly insightful. Not that she expected Juliet’s friend to only be a host to their stay, but she supposes it’s surprising because this would be the first time this has ever happened based on Juliet’s accounts of the Lightless. Her being able to see auras might have clued her in of course, and, evenso, her Lightless knowledge does seem to go beyond Juliet’s, since the archer only made guesses. This witch, however, speaks with easy finality. (Then again, should Willow trust her information? She keeps calling her possum a cat. Although… Hmm, she’ll have to think on this one for a bit longer.) Well, Juliet seems to trust her and she obviously cannot be full of air if she’s crafted all of those arrows for her. She’s just eccentric is all and Willow definitely has experience with those types.

After the witch of the wood has made her introduction, Willow uncovers her eyes and heaves herself off the floor, returning the greeting with a sloppy bow. (These old timey customs are taking a bit of getting used to.) “I’m Willow James, sorceress of Elsewhere, apprentice to Carmilla le Roux, and champion of love.” She lifts up her dragon with only a shrug of her shoulders before setting them gently on the ground. “This is Lucky, my companion. I apologize if one of your garlands goes missing. I’ll try to keep them in check, but––Lucky!” Already, the unruly dragon has pulled a garland from off the wall and is teething on one of the hands. “I’m sorry, they’re not used to decorations looking like food.” She pinches their wing until they open their mouth, spitting out the (now chewed) hand. Willow swirls her finger and puts the garland back into place and gives the dragon a (cute) stern look; the dragon hides their face with their wing in shame.

“And I think it’s supposed to be how do you do? Not howdy doo." Willow hasn't heard that variation herself, but she's also not from an area that typically uses "howdy" as a greeting. "Personally, I like that variation better,” she smiles. “I’m gonna start saying that one instead. It’s just so fun! Howdy doo, to you too.” She pauses for a moment, contemplating how to phrase her next thought without coming off as rude. “And, uh, as cool as your title is, is there something else I can call you? The word 'witch' is derogatory on my side and it’s kinda uncomfy for me to use.” The war might have been before even her parents were alive and that word still carries weight, despite the supposed peace.

When tea is placed in her hands, she looks over to Juliet to determine whether or not this is a safe brew given how interesting this woman is. Since it’s not knocked from her hands and since she assumes the archer trusts the witch, she supposes it’s safe. Still, she hesitates. (The last time she drank tea from Sawyer’s pot she ended up on the floor for six hours and when the weirdo wizard found her, she was apparently frightened that she'd shrunk the sun and trapped it inside. It was just the ceiling light, Willow would later come to realize, but Sawyer played along in the moment and promised they could figure it out if Willow just answered some questions about how she was feeling for her research.) “Tea… How kind.” She clasps her fingers around the cup, deciding to at least use it as a hand warmer but she will not be drinking from it no matter how nice it smells. Willow feels assured in this decision when Jeffery Von Willigins comes scurrying in and she makes the final connection, recognizing a striking similarity to Tiger Lily Billy (Sawyer’s raccoon). She honestly should have seen this sooner, all things considered, but part of Willow James really thought that there could only be one Sawyer Higgins-type and that no one in the realms could mirror or rival her in weird. Then she met the witch of the wood and five minutes was all it took for her to realize.

“Oh…” A gift. Obviously, Willow James is prepared with gifts. The entire troll incident happened because of her gifts, so she definitely has tons, but something about this eccentric woman says that those gifts might not totally impress and Willow desperately needs everyone to like her. (It’s a very normal goal to want to be everyone’s favorite person.) She thinks on this long and hard before something clicks. The sorceress takes a few steps back from the witch, forms her hands into a picture frame using two L-shapes, and squints as she peers through the frame as if to appraise her. Her tongue sticks out from the corner of her mouth, making small “Mhm, mhm,” noises as she identifies the perfect gift for this woman.

After a few minutes, Willow snaps her fingers and a smooth palm sized river stone appears in her hand. It’s round, oblong, greenish in hue and has a thick white stripe off on one side. “This is from my rock collection.” It’s very reasonable to bring around one's rock collection on her epic quest! “I spotted this gal while swimming in the lake during one of the rare clear seasons in Elsewhere.” She was either with Dorothea or Meredith that day. She doesn’t quite remember, but she remembers both their laughter whenever she looks at this rock. “So she’s traveled a mighty great distance to make your acquaintance and while a gift should not be a burden, I am entrusting you with her care. I’m sure you know the sacred rules of rock collecting.” She lifts a brow with a mischievous grin on her face. (Is she making this up? Or does Willow James truly believe in the intelligence and sentience of rocks?) “She told me her name is Gertrude. Are you up for making Gertrude’s life magical, Ms. of the Wood?”

 

[ellarose]

Millicent holds a hand over her mouth, leaving the expression she makes with it unreadable as she watches Lucky gnaw on the hand garland. It becomes evident that it's neither surprise mingled with outrage or horror, though, when her violet eyes scrunch up at the corners and she cracks out another laugh. (The sound always reminds Juliet of a streak of lightening crackling through the sky. It took time to perfect it, she knows, because she has caught Millicent practicing this laugh in the mirror before. The witch is just about as fussy and particular about her appearances as the nobles in Amoria are-- although, rather than following any structure set by others, she makes her own... 'bold' choices. Willow James did find an apt word to describe it when she commented on the decor.) All alone out here, she keeps herself busy with these tasks and routines she has cooked up in her head.

"I repurpose them if they cannot serve another purpose. It seems an awful waste to throw them away." Millicent explains sagely, gazing down at the dragon with a childlike fondness as she teeters back and forth from her toes to her heels. "I just hate to see things go to waste... and nourishment is not waste. If Lucifer would like to nibble on a few fingers, that is quite all right. Is 'Lucky' short for Lucifer? That is such a delicious sounding name. Rolls right off the tongue!" She gestures to the oil painting again. (The possum's eyes will follow wherever one goes if they look closely enough.) "My Jeffery Von Willigans is a very picky eater. I try to make sure he eats his grains and fruits-- but he is insistent on eating a refined diet of trash. He was a king once, you see, but he was cursed to be a cat forevermore and found his way here. But he stays here with me by choice, because his love for me is much more powerful than his love for an entire kingdom. It is such a moving tale."

Juliet used to believe all of these fantastical stories Millicent wove as a kid without question. Lara simply shook her head when she asked about them as they were leaving once... there was a deep sadness in her eyes then and she couldn't at all fathom where it was coming from. Now she knows-- she knows it all too well-- because she feels it herself. She absently looks away, tracing her fingers lightly over the bandage on her arm. Then she remembers the way Willow James kissed her fingers before touching the bandage herself, blushes, and brings her hands back into her lap.

"Anyhow-- anyhand, heh-- hands make excellent ingredients for spells. Hands carry, pun intended, the memories of a creature's entire existence! Everything they have ever done. The potential is fascinating. No two are going to be exactly the same. Some require time to sit before they are ready... emotions need a little time to quiet down, to ensure the results are not Juliet-levels of catastrophic." Millicent prattles on and on. Juliet remembers the hand in her bag, as well as the mushroom crystals. She has gifts of her own to give... and hopefully will get something to eat as a reward. The fighting made her so hungry that not even the sight of Lucky chewing on the hand garlands could squash her appetite. "Elsewhere is such a charming name. And yours reminds me of a tree! I recall that Juliet's made me think of jewels. Ever since, I believe she is the only jewel I've ever laid eyes on." The witch flutters her eyelashes at the archer then. Ah, here it is. "...A precious jewel who ought to have some precious crystals for me? I know you would have had to travel through the Mushroom Forest to come all this way from Amoria."

Juliet nods and Millicent squeals with delight, clapping her hands. She snaps and the bag specifically purposed for carrying the witch's supplies disappears in a flurry of golden sparks like fireflies. She does so again and a strangely shaped (but delicious smelling) dish appears on a little tray next to the archer.

"There you are. A strawberry typhoon, just as promised." Millicent grins when Juliet's eyes light up. The 'strawberry typhoon' is a mixture of nuts, sliced strawberries, and jams of varying flavors swirled around on a buttery circle of warm cinnamon bread. Strawberry typhoons might not be on the same level as flaming red cakes, but as Millicent keeps perfecting her recipe it inches closer and closer. She reaches for it, and then-- "Ah-- wait! It isn't properly dressed yet." She snaps and an unknown spice materializes in her hand. She shakes some over the dish (it's brown, powdery and sweet-smelling) and then she nods. "There."

"If witches who ate children really did exist in the wood, Juliet would have been in trouble. Just drench the strawberries in poison and..." Millicent makes a very impressive sound effect with her tongue to illustrate death. Juliet nods, agreeing with her as she unhesitatingly eats the strawberry typhoon. (The talk of poison does not affect her appetite even slightly. She trusts the witch with her life.) It's not the witches that Juliet has ever had to worry about when it comes to poisons. Not by any means. Instead, it was... (she knows, she knows, she knows.) Grace nuzzles her legs. (She's either shyly hiding from Lucky's continued attention or attempting to offer comfort. Or both.) "Hm. I take pride in being a witch. I know who I am and will not stutter when I use my moniker, even if the people outside have dreamed up their own definitions of what a witch truly is." She brings a hand to her chin contemplatively. "If you must call me something else..." She shakes her head frustratedly. "Too many names! Far too many. I cannot make a sound decision. Just try calling me several different names and I will decide which one I like best in time."

Millicent hops once to indicate silent excitement when Willow summons and then tilts her head dramatically from side to side as Willow creates the 'l' shapes to frame her with her hands. In turn, the witch does the same thing-- shaping a frame around the rock that the sorceress presents her with as if she needs to do so in order to assess the gift in the same fashion. (It looks sort of like a dance. Juliet wonders if these gestures are an unspoken means of communication between two skilled casters. Hm... yeah. Probably. Watching them curiously, she sucks some apricot jam off her finger before setting the empty plate down on the floor for Grace to lick clean.) "Why, of course. I have always cherished the rocks." Millicent proclaims. Whether she actually knows what she is talking about or not is yet to be seen. She takes the rock into her hand, observing the texture and shape. "It's a pleasure, Gertrude. Shall we get acquainted?" She taps the smooth surface and the rock warms her hands, lending the stone a golden glow. Millicent's eyes briefly shine the same way before the glow dims out. "I see, I see. She is very grateful that you rescued her from the lake when you did, Willow James. She feared that something quite ominous was coming." The witch turns the stone over in her palm and she nods slowly and thoughtfully. "So it seems you truly do live up to your title as a hero. Well, then. Let's get you to your proper home."

With the snap of her fingers, the sitting room they're in morphs into Millicent's worryingly cluttered 'collecting room'. (There are several old toys-- most of which are unsettling dolls with eyes that seem to move from their perch on the shelves towering impossibly high above their heads. It's very noisy in here, as there are perhaps hundreds of clocks ticking away on the walls that seem to stretch upward forever (a few of them sound like obnoxious birds cooing as they chime to announce the wrong time). Another has a whole production with little figurines with swords and flying dragons. Someone with a sharp enough eye might notice that some of the clocks do not tick, because they are missing their hands. (The hands of a clock can be purposed for magic, just like the hands of a person can. Time arrows in particular, through use of Millicent's alchemy to draw out their essence.) There are a variety of colorful stained glass items, lamps and lanterns that hiss when they are lit, and broken wooden crates filled to the brim with unwanted treasures-- fake jewels and crystals, whimsical cat figurines, brooms and rusted pots and trash of all kinds.) The witch sets the rock atop a carefully constructed castle of them before snapping her fingers again to morph them back into the sitting room. Juliet has been inside that room several times-- but the time it takes for her eyes to adjust to all of the details within always leaves her reeling with a sort of whiplash.

"That reminds me! You must be sure to bring me shells and sea glass when you make your travels to the sea kingdom. I've used up the rest of mine, preparing arrows for your quest in Okeanos." Millicent glances over at Willow. "...Juliet is reliable with these deliveries when I promise her food. However, she can be rather forgetful when she's always in such a hurry. Be sure to remind her, all right?"

"I remembered this time." Juliet huffs, nearly crossing her arms before thinking better of it when her injured arm aches in protest.

"You did, you did." Millicent nods. She softens a little when her gaze settles on Juliet, then, and she brings herself down to sit in a chair of her own. "Now, tell me. How was Amoria? Who is the princess engaged to?" Juliet tilts her head. The archer herself didn't even realize it was an engagement until the princess announced it. (And she hadn't informed the witch about that part, either, deeming it unimportant compared to everything else.) So how does she--? "It was obviously an engagement announcement, Juliet. Look." She snaps and the invitation appears. It is decorated all over with flowers and hearts. Wanting to include Willow in the conversation, the witch hands her the invitation to allow her to get a closer look at it. (Knowing what she knows now, it does seem rather obvious.)

"Princess Elise likes frilly things like that." Juliet stammers, a bit embarrassed. Elise decorates everything. She could have been announcing her new favorite color and decorated the invitations with the same flair. "If you thought that was the case, why didn't you tell me?"

"Why, I thought you had already put that part together. Don't they teach you things like social cues in etiquette class?" Millicent is teasing now and Juliet is not having it, glaring back at her.

"I hated etiquette class." Juliet scrunches her nose with distaste. Millicent laughs, but the archer knows she won't be laughing once she answers her question. She coughs a bit awkwardly before supplying her answer. "Flynn Everson."

"What?" Millicent leans towards her, waving a hand around her ear. Damn, not loud enough. Does she really have to say it again?

"The princess is engaged to Flynn Everson."

"...Disgusting." Millicent hisses-- and her face screws up like Juliet's did when she thought of etiquette class. Jeffery Von Willigans hisses through the walls. "Forget I asked! You know the rules. We do not utter that name in this cottage." Juliet gives a relenting little nod, languidly letting her head loll back against the back of the chair. The witch gives another one of her lightning laughs. "A bold choice on the princess's part. They have a storm coming, those two. The queen will be furious."

Something in Juliet's chest pulls. She does not like Flynn Everson-- for reasons-- but he will be good to Elise. Deep down, she doesn't want a storm to come for them.

"I must take my leave to finish preparing dinner." Millicent stands again, brushing off her skirts. "It will be ready when it is ready. And I will call you when the time comes." She dips into a farewell curtsy before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Juliet closes her eyes and releases a long breath. Dinner. That will fix everything. Dinner and a night tucked into her own bed. (It's much, much smaller than the bed she and Willow shared in the castle guest room. But much more comfortable, because it is familiar. Ah. She probably ought to offer Willow the bed, though, and take the floor instead.) She chances a glance over at Willow. Millicent is... Millicent. And it's hard to know what she might be thinking about all of this. She leans over and sniffs the tea that Millicent brought in for her before offering a nod.

"The tea is fine. There's nothing weird in it." Juliet confirms, deciding that tea is a safe enough topic. "She hasn't had company in a while... probably thought it was proper. I'll drink it if you don't want it."

 

[starboob]

The magic on this side differs greatly from the magic on her side. That becomes obvious when Ms. of the Wood explains the purpose of collecting the hands and using them to craft spells. It’s a rather archaic understanding of magic and she can only think of a few areas on her side that still craft spells in such a manner. It’s not that the spells are less effective when made this way, but it's certainly a more arduous way of harnessing and bending the will. Willow has only ever tried it a handful of times herself and, while the results were satisfying, the medium has never appealed to her quite as much as rune casting. Of course, it’s never so black and white as one being inherently better or more efficient than the other––yes, rune casting is more convenient but that does not on its own make it superior. For example, when it comes to enchanting objects, like arrows or shoes, a spell made in this way might be more reliable than a glyph made of runes. With this in mind, she makes a note to ask Ms. of the Wood for some tips and pointers. (She’ll need to think of a good magic pun when she asks, recognizing that the other woman is a fan of the ancient and respected art of the pun.) One can never be too good at magic and, given her quest, it would be good to brush up on all facets of magic. (Ugh, maybe even divination––which she hates because it doesn’t make sense and it feels like sheer dumb luck to get right. This isn’t a diss on Sawyer, who she does believe is a natural seer after the wizard predicted her entire week once to prove a point, but the art has never clicked for Willow James.)

While these thoughts consume the sorceress, Lucky has happily torn the garland off the wall and has been occupying themself with a nice five finger snack. This at least will give Grace a moment of reprieve while the (still fox-patterned) dragon is distracted. With any luck (heh), they’ll put themself in a food coma. Willow is so distracted, that she does not even bother to correct the other caster on Lucky’s name––in fact, she even nods in agreement. (She probably would have panic-agreed anyway, let’s be real.)

Her attention is drawn back at the mention of witch and the sense of pride the woman derives from the word. It would remind her of the way that Meredith takes pride in being a b-i-t-c-h, were it not for the history that exists in her veins and the occasional memories that slip into her consciousness associated with that particular word. (Elves are known for their long memories and there are some clans who have the ability to pass memories onto their kin. While grandma Elva has forgotten much of her former life, the memories of the war have stayed with her and Willow has been haunted by a few. So much that it sometimes feels like the war still exists even if it is centuries dead.) The half-elf winces, but keeps silent on the issue. The other woman doesn’t know and she should be glad she doesn’t. Besides, they're from different realms so she'll just have to learn to turn off her judgments whiles she's on this side. She focuses on what she can respond to instead and tries to mask her thoughts with half a smile. “Hmm,” she taps her chin and fires off some names for Ms. of the Wood to think on. “Mistress of the night? Watcher of the wood? Hextress… Or, maybe, Ursula? These aren’t my best work, I must admit. I’ll think of some more before we set off for Okeanos.”

“Oh, yes, I’m not surprised that Gertrude claims I saved her––had I known the blood floods were going to come with a vengeance, I would have taken other rock refugees with me. Alas,” Willow dramatically places her hand over her heart, closing her eyes, “the other rocks thought Gertrude was just paranoid.” She nods solemnly and when she blinks her eyes open, she jumps back, noticing the change of scenery. (This house is very odd. She likes it!) This room is full of absolute treasure, but trying to identify all the individual objects gives the sorceress a headache and she must admit, she is glad when they transition back to the sitting room. (But she does want to explore that room some more if their host will allow it.)

Amused, Willow observes the banter between friends in silence, smiling to herself. It’s cute seeing how the other caster teases Juliet and how Juliet allows it––she responds to it differently than she had when Lavinia had been the one slinging jabs. Her joy is short lived, however, and the sorceress freezes, a chill ripping down her spine, at the reaction to Flynn Everson. The mention of a storm doesn’t soothe her either as she assumes the worst for the princess. Her fists clench at her sides, her breathing becoming shallow as worry takes over. ‘He seemed so polite?’ She never had a chance to ask Juliet what she thought of the engagement and all she can remember her saying about Flynn is agreeing with her own assessment that he is polite. ‘But what if that’s not true? What if it’s a front?’ Would princess Elise subject herself to that when she proclaimed to love Flynn? She seems like a romantic but so did… And even he could come off as a real prince Charming in the right light. What if the princess’s situation is just like…

An anguished expression twists Willow’s features. She doesn’t notice the woman depart in smoke as she sinks to the floor, sitting with her legs crossed as she stares at the space in front of her. Once again, she’s reminded of why she is pursuing such an undertaking in saving love. Yes, originally she had selfishly wanted to do it for herself and future love––not wanting to risk her own thread snapping before even being given a chance––but as she deepened her convictions she had to think of everyone else in her life and how she’d do this for them too. (Grandma Elva and Juniper. Crimson and Clover. Ryan and Jessie. Meredith, who really should not be settling like she is. Leif, who hasn’t met his person. Everyone, really.)

She needs to know that this story has a happily ever after. (Anxiety like this used to grip her often after that fateful Tuesday when she was fifteen. So much so, she couldn’t even read books without skipping to the end to make sure the story ended well for all the deserving characters. This used to annoy Meredith, because they often read books together, but she couldn’t really say anything about it, all things considered.) She shuts her eyes and doesn’t open them again until Lucky, upon noticing something off with their companion, flies over to the sorceress and bumps their head against her knee. They stick their tongue out at Willow, seeming to express something, but whatever that is is between the dragon and the sorceress. She nods. They give her a sympathetic look and curl into her lap, purring. “I just hope she’s okay is all,” she finally says as she strokes their scales. Guilt settles somewhere in the back of her mind after saying this, but she tries to stamp it out. She doesn't want to think of that. (If she isn't doing this for herself most of all, then it's definitely for her. The Meredith in her mind teases, "Does anyone actually get over her?")

She looks up when Juliet mentions the tea and Willow looks over at the cup she set next to herself when she chose her spot on the ground. “Oh, yeah. It was a nice gesture. She did mention that it’s been a while since she’s had a proper visitor,” she comments, remembering the introduction and how much effort the woman had gone through to make herself presentable for her. (She wonders what that explosion had been about, now that she’s thinking about it.) “I like her. She’s charming.” Willow then flops onto her back, clutching Lucky to her chest as she sticks her legs up in the air and starts kicking them. (She does this when she’s restless.) That’s when she notices the possum painting staring at her and her legs fall with a thud. It’s extremely unnerving. (It reminds her of a show Meredith put together once before she quit art, because she always quits when things get hard and has a habit of running. More guilt accompanies that unkind (and true) thought.)

She stares back at the painting for several minutes, like she’s in a staring contest with it, but nothing will distract her mind from the princess, not even a creepy painting of Jeffery Von Willigans (not a cat). “Juliet…” She says her name quietly, barely a whisper. “Is princess Elise going to be okay?” With the concern in her voice it would be impossible for a stranger to know that Willow’s only spent a few hours (if that) with the princess. She holds Lucky tighter against her chest and pulls her gaze away from the painting to observe Juliet. She won’t ask questions about the boy, since his is a forbidden name and she respects rules, so she directs the topic of conversation towards the princess. (As she looks at Juliet she remembers how excited and nervous the princess had been about her announcement. She remembers how, somehow, Juliet inspired her to take this leap. Then she also remembers Juliet’s confession from their first night on the road, about how she had a fiancé and how he became the first Lightless. She wonders what leap a past version of Juliet made that the princess might be modeling herself after. She doesn’t think it ended all that well if the archer now has to clear her name by becoming a champion of love. Then a truly frightening thought crosses the romantic's mind: is Juliet August’s heart already with another? Is… is that why she hasn’t said anything of their thread? Oh, gods. Willow is an entire fool––no, she’s the entire circus. 'Please don't be in love with someone else.') Her cheeks redden, seemingly for no reason, and she looks away. “I hope we can protect her. She just seems like a good person, deserving of a love story.”

 

[ellarose]

"Charming." Juliet softly repeats Willow's assessment of Millicent, amused by her choice. Of all the words that could have been used to describe the witch, that might have been the last one she would have guessed. Until that day she had never heard anyone in her life define her as charming. And it plainly hasn't been said to tease, either. Some invisible strings she hadn't even realized had tightened up around her loosen and fall with this revelation. Millie would have been all right otherwise, she is strong and no stranger to adversity, but... it is nice, finding someone else who is capable of liking her. (After all of this time, the witch-- in spite of her mysterious moniker-- undoubtedly needs that. It's there in those efforts to cover her head in bows and layer socks over her stockings to make a lasting impression. She doesn't change herself to be liked, but she'd like to be liked. Or at least noticed.) The archer listens to the crackling of the fireplace (it's one of the most soothing sounds she knows) and skirts her gaze around the sitting room, remembering the games they played as children. (Or rather the games that Millicent played on her. There's still a sort of heart-shaped grape juice stain on the carpet from the time that the little witch phased in through the wall and frightened her, causing a little Juliet to spill it all over the place.) If Juliet were in that house on Cornelia street, this familiar carpet would have been long gone to erase the idea that imperfections could exist within it. When she returned here all those years later, she asked why she hadn't replaced it... Millicent just grinned widely and said the carpet 'has character' (whatever that means) and that it'd be a waste to throw it out. (Juliet found herself remembering all of the furniture she nicked or broke being thrown out and the harsh press of fingers bruising her arm as she was sharply reprimanded never to do it again, thinking to herself all the while would they replace her if they broke her, too? She found herself thinking in that moment that this cottage felt more like home than that house on Cornelia street ever did.) Millicent may be unusual, but she's refreshingly herself and embraces broken things. (Like me.) "I think so, too."

Grace peers dubiously up at Juliet, as if to ask if she's sure about this, before jumping up onto the seat and curling into a ball on her lap. Brushing her fingers absently over the fox's back, the archer peers at the sorceress. She supposes there wasn't much need to worry that Willow might judge Millicent for being a witch, as a caster herself. She recalls the fact that she felt uncomfortable using the term 'witch' and once again, finds herself wondering about the side of the world that she comes from. ('Witch' is used as an insult in Amoria, too. Millicent embraces it, though, and uses it almost like a shield to make all those who travel through the wood afraid to disturb her. Only the desperate will seek her out, for remedies and the like... or, rather, they'd seek out her mother when she was still around. Like Lara, who made frequent stops to gather herbs and other magical supplies for her deliveries across the kingdoms.) Then she traces Willow's green-eyed gaze to the portrait of Jeffery Von Willigans hanging up on the wall. The beady eyes stare right back at her. (It is a really creepy portrait.) Juliet wears a slight, lopsided smile. Creepy and funny.

Juliet's smile flattens right away, hearing the tenseness in Willow James's voice as she asks about princess Elise. She bites her lip, realizing there's something in her that wants to say that everything will be fine to smooth out those worries. (The sorceress's and her own, to be honest.) Love and happiness seldom mix in the relationships she's glimpsed... outside of Nix and Hazel, who in their own way live in a world that's completely different from the one she and Elise grew up in. The archer doesn't want to give an empty promise. Doesn't want to lie any more than she absolutely has to.

"I don't know. The queen had several matches arranged for princess Elise. She was planning a grand winter ball to coax her into making a decision... and I suppose the princess decided to make her announcement before that could happen." Juliet begins, lowering her gaze to Grace in her lap as she strokes behind her ears. "The queen is... strict... with princess Elise. I think that is why she took advantage of her absence to make that announcement. Inevitably, she will be met with adversity from her mother and the kingdoms who were promised a chance at her hand." Marriage aligns more with responsibility, obligation, and politics-- love is found in the shadows, hidden out of sight. Behind the secrecy of closed doors. (She remembers it well, the thrill of holding hands beneath the table, sneaking out through the garden gates, rushing to hide behind the statues and alleyway corners with her heart pounding in her chest...) Princess Elise didn't want that for Flynn. When she realizes who she is and what she wants, she prefers to open up to people-- even if it's a catalyst for chaos. (...And everyone ultimately cut their accusing eyes at Juliet, thinking of her as the one who 'tainted' her with that rebellious spirit.) "...However, princess Elise made that decision knowing all of this. She always put a lot of faith in love." And her. She's naive, Juliet thinks, but she doesn't say this. And 'he who shall not be named' will be good to her, if they do make it as far as marriage. It is still difficult to say whether the princess or the queen will win this battle. Usually the queen gets her way, but princess Elise can be resilient when it comes to things she is truly passionate about. When the archer raises her eyes again, she notices the blush on Willow's cheeks. (Why is she...?)

If Juliet August already knows something about Willow James, it's that she can get all wound up with worry on the inside. She can read it on her like words on a page, it's in her eyes-- her voice-- in the way she holds Lucky for comfort. Even if she's not curling into a ball on the ground anymore, it's still there. The archer can remember a time she used to find those cues in her own reflection. (She practiced smoothing them down a very long time ago. Disguising the character from her face, as if she were a piece of furniture in her house on Cornelia street.)

Deciding that this calls for a distraction, Juliet nods to direct Willow's attention to the portrait of Jeffery Von Willigans again. "Look." She says, before pressing the cat statuette sitting on the side table. The portrait on the wall morphs the portrayed Jeffery Von Willigans into a brand new outfit-- giving them a sleek tie and a monocle. She presses down again with a 'snap' and the possum ends up in a knight's suit of armor, complete with a shiny sword and shield. "...I like this one the best. What do you think?" She tilts her head inquisitively and squints her brown eyes. "You can't see their eyes behind the helmet." She presses it again and Jeffery Von Willigans ends up in an obnoxiously huge sunhat and a flowing dress. The archer bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing outright. (She knows full well that Jeffery Von Willigans is made to pose for all of these portraits. She can only imagine how much hissing was done the day this portrait was created. The 'smile' on their possum face barely masks the agony.) Grace perks up, looking equally amused. "Oh. This one is new." She clicks through a few more outfits-- the possum sports a white powdered wig, a crown of butterflies, and then there's also a particularly strange combination of faerie wings and a pirate's eyepatch.

"Millie--"

"Witch of the wood, Juliet! Or shall I call you Red?" Millicent corrects, despite remaining unseen from the room. This confirms that she must've overheard the talk about her being charming. The archer purses her lips. Is she still holding onto this? (Yeah, she might for a while actually. Probably as a game. She gets the sense that the witch has taken a liking of sorts to Willow-- perhaps automatically as a fellow caster.) Juliet won't reveal her full name, but the 'endearing nickname' is harmless.

"Millie..." Juliet stresses, deciding that she doesn't want to say the word 'witch' anymore in front of Willow after she has mentioned it making her uncomfortable. And she is not going to use random names herself to play along when she already knows Millicent's real name. This rule just feels silly, at least while they're safely inside the cottage, and so she is going to break it. "Paints all of these herself."

"Red it is." Millicent says decisively. Juliet rolls her eyes. Fair.

"She is a very skilled painter." Juliet says in a way that shows she knows that Millicent is still listening and asking for a truce, because she has been trying to pay her a compliment all this time. She leans towards Willow and lowers her voice to a whisper. "There are other objects hidden in this room that will change the painting completely. I don't believe I've found all of them yet." She nods at the fox in her lap. "There are even a few of Grace." Grace lets out a big sigh, openly revealing her feelings on acting as Millicent's muse. "...I know, Gracie. But you look very noble in your painting."

Juliet blushes, then, realizing the way she's talking to Grace right in front of Willow. She straightens up a little, then, gazing up at the portrait again to avoid looking her right in the eye. She ends up staring Jeffery Von Willigans in the eye instead and she can't decide then which is more unnerving. Ah. What is she doing? Right, right. There was a purpose to all of this. A very strategic purpose.

"Anyway... to pass the time before dinner..." Juliet nods around the sitting room. Again, to reiterate, this is purely strategic. It's not fun and games! No, no, of course not. "As extra training, I challenge you to find as many of the hidden paintings as you can. Honing your own senses are just as important as observing those of your enemy."

 

[starboob]

It’s not princess Elise who draws out Willow James’s concern. This is not to say she doesn’t care about her fate and this is not to say that she doesn’t believe she deserves a love story and a happily ever after––she does. All of that had been true, but it’s just a curtain hiding her real worry. A worry that has been present and nibbling at the sorceress for nearly a decade at this point. (Has it really been this long?) She hates that she still cares. She hates that she can’t forget. She wishes that she could just forget that she existed, like grandma Juniper promised she would someday. (“It isn’t love. It isn’t hate. It’s just indifference.”) But it’s impossible to forget a queen selling dreams, selling make up and magazines. (There are streets she refuses to walk Elsewhere; buses she refuses to take… It feels so petty and so silly and, ultimately, so stupid to still have thorns over this. Why does she have to care so much? Willow knows she wouldn’t feel so tortured, so haunted over this if things were different. If things felt right. It’s not even that Willow wishes it were her, she always knew it wouldn’t be her, they both did, but she doesn’t get––)

She peers up at Juliet, meeting her warm brown eyed gaze with her glassy green one and bringing herself back to the archer. She gives Lucky one more squeeze before relaxing her arms so that she is only gently holding the dragon. They don’t move from their spot on her chest and Willow doesn’t move an inch to disturb them. (She is their bed. This is her lot now.) Juliet August doesn’t offer her empty comfort and she appreciates that. Being a hero means knowing how to handle hard truths and this may be one of them––princess Elise might be subject to a loveless marriage. Something might come of the boy. The least she can hope for is that neither of them will have their heart glows stamped out as a result. She would hate to see them as Lightless (though she doesn’t think that will happen if the pattern thus far remains true).

Willow James gives a solemn nod, pulling her mouth contemplatively to one side. “I know our quest is about more than just the princess, but I would like to make sure she is given a fair chance. I don’t want to assume how you feel on this matter, but when the time comes, I want to be there for princess Elise. I know I’m just the girl from the Other Side, but if I can do one thing… I want to make sure I can use my voice to maybe shift the queen’s perspective.” Lucky gives her a skeptical look. It doesn't take a genius or someone clairvoyant to know that Willow James and standing up to authority is about as likely as a glass castle withstanding a cannonball blast. Even Willow James knows this is easier to say now, in a moment of passion, than to actually do, but when the time comes, when it really matters, she’d like to think she’s the type to speak now. (Love isn’t always without sacrifice and princess Elise is making a sacrifice––her happiness over her safety, over her kingdom––and Willow James will do what she can to try to create some safety for her. Even if it’s just a soft spot to land, a place to flee the chaos if it really comes down to it. Getting one’s love story isn’t always pretty, she knows. She still remembers finding out the truth about her grandmas’ union and she knows neither would have done anything differently given the chance to do it all over. Sometimes love is worth all the chaos, all the loss.) “And thanks for being honest. I need to know what to prepare my heart for as I’m sure you can tell I’m invested in her story.” For reasons. Reasons like if she can help princess Elise then maybe she can help Dorothea. Or maybe she can make up for not being there for her.

The sorceress’s gaze travels back up to that unnerving portrait of the possum (not a cat!), tilting her head to the side as Juliet presses the statue next to her. “Oh,” she whispers, watching as the painting changes. She hadn’t been expecting that and she can’t say she’s seen anything like this before. Unlike Juliet August, Willow James doesn’t hold back her laughter upon seeing the more ridiculous outfits (as if they aren’t all ridiculous). Amused sparks light up her dragon’s eye, a cute little trill escaping their throat; it’s like they’ve just been given the perfect ammo against their sworn enemy. (Lucky James does not like Jeffery Von Willigans after that earlier rude hiss-troduction.) “Oh, wow––faerie wings and a pirate eye patch! The hex girl of the wood is imaginative.” She decides to not use the endearing nickname––she’ll wait until she gets permission. (However she does wonder about the other caster’s name having been given this hint. Melisandre, perhaps? Or maybe Mildred? No, Milfred!)

These paintings do lift the sorceress’s mood and help her put away her earlier stress–– at least for now. Lucky hops off of Willow’s chest, totally captivated by the portraits. Willow then finally sits up as she watches the painting shift, noting that the caster is indeed a skilled painter. The idea that there are some paintings of Grace hidden in the mix do spark further interest, even if the fox herself seems disgruntled. Lucky bounces from side to side and looks over at Grace, indicating that they also want to see the portrait of their new friend. “Right, as training. Of course.” She nods, taking this task very seriously.

She lifts herself off the floor and begins exploring the room. With the amount of “treasure” stored in this room alone, Willow ventures to guess that no one will ever find all of the tricks that change the portrait above the mantle. She even ventures to guess that the good hex girl of the wood might even add new ones––especially if she’s anything like Sawyer who hates being figured out. (Every time Willow James thinks she has her figured out, the wizard out weirds herself.) Thinking of that wizard, she figures she ought to try to think like her in order to determine what objects might make the painting change.

The cat statue, she guesses, will only show pictures of the possum (who "Milfred" keeps referring to as a cat). She walks over to it and inspects it closely for clues, pressing it a few times to observe it for herself. “Hmm.” She hums contemplatively and meanders over towards the bookshelf, though she ignores all of the books and instead looks over the miscellaneous trinkets and knickknacks. (Books would be too obvious, she thinks.) There are a few haunted dolls with broken porcelain faces or hands (or both) that sit murderously on the shelves. Oddly enough, despite the creep factor, they cause her to smile as she remembers a certain weirdo wizard’s penchant for rehabilitating such items with varying degrees of success. (Willow will never forget the time she entered the lab and found one of those creeps sitting at her desk. Upon hearing her enter, the little clown girl slowly turned her porcelain head to stare at the sorceress with her permanently painted smile. She shudders just thinking of that one––no matter how friendly or helpful she later turned out to be, that first meeting will always spook her.) She tilts one of the dolls’s heads so that her neck isn't craned in that uncomfortable position and is delighted by the sound of the painting shuttering behind her, revealing a portrait of a pudgy little girl with long curly black hair and rosy red cheeks. It’s less cute when Willow spots the bloody knife the girl is holding. (It is possible that it’s just jam, given that she is holding a slice of toast in the other hand but Willow is not so sure.) “Ahh. Well, then.” She clicks her tongue and side steps away from the doll. “Ms. Marvelous,” she says, having figured out that “Milfred” probably eavesdrops on all conversations in her abode. “This one needs more things to do, I think. My friend has found that knitting them some plates to throw often satiates their desire for destruction, but I'd be careful if you try to organize them into an ultimate frisbee league. They're super competitive. Oh, and they're also surprisingly fond of nursery rhymes and opposite day.”

She moves on to inspect a skull, pressing it like the statue, trying to pull it like a lever, and even tries sticking her finger up its nose hole. Nothing. (Still that creepy girl staring at her back, her murderous eyes following the sorceress with a hunger.) She tilts a picture on the wall so that it’s (properly) crooked and is rewarded with a painting of a baboon, dressed as a clown, itching its gloriously odd colored butt. This one makes her laugh. She then has Lucky tug (gently) on some of the hanging hands from the ceiling; these don’t change the portrait, but one does shriek and appropriately has Willow on the ground, covering her head. Once recovered, she pets a snail (this is just for fun). She rights a fallen hourglass, noting that the sands travel up, rewinding time approximately one minute back. This also puts the hourglass back down sideways, like it’s either meant to be or wants to be. (Tampering with it more could end in disaster and Willow would rather not chance leaving her timeline. She is a known weaving disaster––she still has to use trainer watches for duck's sake.)

“Oof,” she rubs her temples. “Sorry about that––shoulda known better than to touch an hourglass in a hex girl’s house.” Lucky spins around dizzily and ends up wacking a funky lamp shaped like a foxglove with their tail; it wobbles dangerously close to the edge of the side table it’s sitting on, but settles just before it can teeter over. When it's still, it's been turned a quarter inch counter-clock wise and thusly rewards them with another change. The painting above the fireplace ripples like water and…

Willow’s hands rise to cover her mouth. Lucky flies up to get a better look, their eyes shining with adoration. “Oh. My. Gods. Grace.” The sorceress cannot contain herself and ends up doing an excited little dance that involves her furiously marching in place while she squeals.

 

[ellarose]

The painting is very noble, a lake scene washed in rosy sunset golds and reds. Juliet remembers that day out on the lake, back when she was fourteen and Millie was seventeen, when she'd encouraged (begged) her to go outside with her to get some fresh air. The witch whined incessantly about having to carry all of her art supplies-- canvas, paints, and all-- and the archer, being so eager to play, offered to carry absolutely everything for her with all the eagerness of a kit. She still remembers the weight of the packs on her shoulder from the paints and their picnic lunches, the way they repeatedly knocked against her hips, and the giant canvas she hauled in her arms. (Of course, it was only after setting everything down by the lakeside that the she realized that Millicent could have easily snapped her fingers to summon her supplies from the short distance they traveled to get there.) Upon questioning the witch about this, she suggested that it made for good training. Juliet's annoyance faded almost instantly at this, accepting that it was a very practical assessment. Then she contentedly dove into the water to swim. Grace, not wanting to go into the water but wanting to stay close, would always sit on the tallest rock to watch after her. It's one of the few times that the witch has been able to use the fox as a muse while she sits completely still. Grace sits tall in the painting, like a graceful (no pun intended) monument, with her protective gaze pointed down towards the water. Her red fur and bushy tail stand out as the brightest point among all of the other sunset tones, like she's the sun providing all of the light to the scene. Millicent took certain creative liberties as well by giving Grace a golden wreath of flowers that makes her look like a goddess living in a fox's body. (In reality, the fox would have never allowed a hat to stay upon her head for longer than two seconds before pawing it off.) The only time she has ever allowed it was when they were both little kits and she wove matching flower crowns for them.

Juliet isn't sure if she could weave a flower crown again if asked now. She hardly even remembers her mama, who taught her how. There's laughter and legs to hug onto, soft thumbs that caught her tears when she cried. A lullaby and a shoulder to fall asleep on... and not much more than that.

Those blurry days where she got lost in the tall, swaying fields of flowers fills Juliet with melancholy that she can't quite explain. (The feelings are just as faded as those long-gone memories.) She looks down at her lap, realizing that Grace has sprung up to hide. Peeking over the top of the chair to find her behind it, her gaze softens fondly and she clicks her tongue coaxingly. "...Feeling shy, are you?" At the time that she met Grace, the fox really was like the sun to her. The cold, lonely nights in the wood were warmer when they slept curled together. The archer thinks that the painting captures her spirit perfectly. Still, she clicks the cat statuette to bring a portrait of Jeffery Von Willigans back to the surface. "There, there. I brought Jeff back."

Jeffery Von Willigans hisses through the wall at the nickname. A younger Juliet would have hissed right back, much like Lucky did earlier. The present Juliet settles for rolling her eyes.

In fairness to Grace, Juliet knows she would be just as shy if a painting of her ended up on that wall. (...From experience, unfortunately. Artists would often come to the opera house for inspiration. The 'red dancer' painting that once circulated Amoria was never confirmed to be her, but considering she was the only dancer to step on that stage with red hair... it was plainly obvious. Those articles critiquing the piece implied to be saying all sorts of things about her by association. Mystery, intrigue, heartbreak. Then rumors spread as to whether the painter and dancer were lovers, because of the way the bastard artist chose to speak of his muse during an interview. A true example of how a false narrative can run rampant through the streets of Amoria.) This painting of Grace is different. It's respectful and only to be shared among friends. Not spread around to the masses for stories and gossip. Still, she knows better than to tease too much when it comes to her companion's comfort.

"You've found three paintings." Juliet nods, considering this. "Next time I'll challenge you to find more, so be sure to prepare yourself." It'll be an excellent test of her memory as well, to see how many paintings she can bring up within a certain time limit. Even so, the archer believes her memory already tested through many of the observations she's made before. The sorceress is sharp and she will have to be careful.

Their dinner in Millicent's cluttered, earthy kitchen passes by normally. (Or at least the version of normal that Juliet is used to in this cottage.) Vines and dried flowers hang from the ceiling over the big circular table, the shelves are cluttered with various bottles and colorful dishes. The dim lighting is provided by magic that resembles lightning bugs in mason jars from random points of the room. The witch prepared bread, hazelnut soup and a shadow play about the colorful origin story of Jeffery Von Willigans-- the 'king turned cat'. (The story changes every single time for flavor-- Millie always claims that Jeff is an 'unreliable narrator'. A cricket wearing a feathered cap plays the lute, providing music.) Once the show is complete, the witch and sorceress end up discussing magic with each other, using words that float right over Juliet's head. (It's fine, though, as she is very content to fade into the background as she dips her bread in her soup and eats in peace. She also manages to break a small piece off of Willow's bread while she isn't paying attention.) Millicent brings out some wine as the discussion stretches on-- and once they become noticeably tired from their travels and the visit both, they are encouraged to go to bed and continue their discussions in the morning. The archer makes sure to mention that Willow would like some new clothes and that Millicent is about her size. The witch leaves with an eagerness flashing in her eyes to compose an outfit for Willow James and Juliet can only offer an apologetic shrug in response. She is not sure what is going to come of that request.

Juliet and Willow climb up a narrow, secret ladder-like staircase (yes, more stairs) to the archer's attic room, which is particularly dark without the any daylight streaming in through the dusty, circular window at the back of the room. There is a hanging lantern inside that can be lit with magic-- but Juliet never lights it herself on account of the fact that she is a horrendous caster. She would rather risk stumbling around in the dark than accidentally setting a fire. "Mind your head." She makes sure to warn as she ducks down. The ceiling is slanted inward in a way that creates an obscure sort of triangle shape over their heads, meaning that the only place where they can stand properly upright is in the center of the room. She waves her hands as the familiar motes of dust float down to greet them and then hangs her red cloak up on a hook on the wall. (Next to it, arrows and an array of other spare weapons are tacked up along with some dried thistle.) This room is not pristine, like the room on Cornelia street, but distinctly lived in.

The furniture is noticeably old and haphazardly crafted in places, but it's cozy and has a natural, woodsy smell clinging to it. (There are personalized carvings on the bed frame, the rocking chair, and dresser depicting mermaids, foxes, flowers, dancing shoes, among other things.) A cluster of red crystal shines in the moonlight on the dresser next to a small, framed painting of Grace. On the other side there is a featureless fox sculpture. (Juliet sets the heart tin that Mallet gave her on the dresser among these things.) There are an array of different styled pillows and thick quilts strewn about haphazardly-- some across the furniture and some atop the creaky floorboards in a way that creates a makeshift fort and carpet. The space seems full because it is a bit cramped-- but it doesn't have the same overly cluttered feel as the other spaces in Millicent's home. (Because this space belongs to Juliet and Juliet is not a hoarder.) The archer slips behind the curtain towards the back of the room to change into something to sleep in.

"You may take the bed. I will sleep on the floor." Juliet offers as she changes, not knowing exactly what she is getting into by saying this. While they are both tired from the day they've had, this starts a stubborn little argument of deciding which of them should take the bed... and it ends with the two of them sleeping in a nest of quilts on the floor while Grace (and Lucky, who wanted to stay close) take the bed for themselves.

The next morning, Millicent prepares jam and toast for breakfast before excitedly showing Willow all of the clothes she has picked out for her to potentially borrow. (Most of the garments are unwearable at best-- being flashy, vibrant costumes and not at all anything that they ought to be wearing while adventuring through the wood-- especially if they intend to be stealthy. A 'sneak attack' will lack in effectiveness if she wears a shiny gold gown that accentuates their supposed hero 'aura'. The witch also brings out a few of the costumes pieces that Jefferey Von Willigans wore in the portraits, insisting that she can size them up for Willow with the snap of her fingers.) The conversation between the two ultimately turns towards the subject of magic yet again-- with Millicent explaining alchemy and the way that she's skilled with drawing the essence and memories of objects into her various enchantments. "It's like soup! I can create an essence in my cauldron by throwing the abandoned items inside and..."

Juliet scratches her cheek. She finds herself feeling bored (and hungry) as lunch time draws near. Her gaze flits over to Willow's bag from her spot at the other end of the room. With both the witch and sorceress's attention so fixed on each other, she takes that moment of privacy to approach it. The archer tilts her head to the side, wondering about all of the Other Side treats that might be hidden within, and gives the bag a poke. (She won't outright dig through Willow's belongings... but perhaps if she's lucky, a 'breakfast bar' will incidentally fall out if it topples over?) This, however, only causes the mouth of the pack to open wide and--

And then Juliet August disappears.

 

[starboob]

Incidentally, the sorceress’s excitement over the majestic fox painting ends up in her letter to Sawyer, along with some overly detailed descriptions of the archer’s arms and the feeling of being held in them (even though that had been for training purposes only). Thankfully, Willow James knows herself well enough to check the encrypted letter before sending it off and those details are erased with a few swishes of her wrist. (If only her red cheeks had disappeared along with those wrist swishes.) She then rolls up the day's notes and stuffs them into the empty Coke bottle she saved and, despite the narrow lip, she also manages to stuff the bottle with the vials of Lightless ick (and Juliet’s blood) using a charm that briefly turns the glass to rubber. Just as before, the notes and samples disappear once they’re clipped by the halo and Willow prays that she has not just blown her friend up. (She’s reasonably certain she hasn’t.)

The kitchen reminds her a bit of the one back home with how busy it is and how warm it feels. Everything about this place is so comfortable and lived in that Willow feels relaxed and it’s not too often that she enters a new space feeling at ease. It’s enough that when Milfred offers wine, Willow accepts a single glass, knowing that one glass shouldn’t do her in if she sips it slowly. Unlike at the banquet, she is not worried about writing messy letters to her exes. Besides, meeting her first caster from the Other Side has her much too enthralled to even think of her long list of ex-lovers. (Okay, it’s not that long but it feels long in Willow’s heart!)

Willow James is obviously and openly charmed by Milfred and, were it not for her traitorous body that requires a proper night’s rest after yet another day full of wonder and excitement, she would have happily stayed up all night talking about magic and exchanging stories of magical mishaps and mischief. (Perhaps to sound cool and impressive, she relays the story of the time Meredith convinced her to hex one of their gossipy classmates into telling the truth for an entire semester––for the greater good, as Mer had claimed. Unfortunately, the spell hadn’t stopped Kinsley from being an entire dillweed and the hex sort of made her worse; it was still endlessly amusing to see her miffed when she figured out she was unable to lie. And, while hexing her had been an accomplishment in and of itself, the best part, to Willow, was that she got away with it, thus confirming that she had figured out how to change her casting signature.) When they’re sent off to bed, Willow can’t help but to note the other similarities between this house and her home. Even just climbing up to the attic reminds Willow of her own high-up room. (When Leif and her moved into the Rhode Island house permanently, they fought over who would get the coveted tower room. Leif won the fight, but still let Willow have the room after she put on her best moping act to date. She dubbed the room, “the Princess Tower,” and would have Lucky pretend to be a ferocious dragon guarding her locked tower. This, of course, was before Willow decided she’d rather be a knight.) However, she soon realizes that the similarities end with their rooms being at the high points of their respective homes, as Willow is not subject to an ungodly amount of steep stairs to get to her room and hers is much brighter and less cramped. This is not to say that she believes her room is better than Juliet’s, not at all, there’s really no comparison. In fact, even though she bumps her head three times on the ceiling and almost knocks the lantern down, she absolutely loves it because it says much more about the archer than that other room of hers. (She does wonder why the two places are so different, but then she remembers that the archer has lived an interesting life. A life that is a series of books rather than one large chapter book and, in that, she can relate.) Lucky, of course, tries to snoop but Grace manages to engage them in play (at least that’s what they assume)––that’s a rather good thing since they have a tendency to knock things over or set things on fire in their excitement.

When Juliet tries to insist that she takes the bed, Willow finds herself deeply offended (not really). She actually laughs, but when she realizes that the archer is serious, she digs her heels in and insists that the floor will be fine. (She genuinely likes floor sleeping. It’s good for her back and, when she was a kid, she often slept on the floor because she was scared of falling off her bed and concussing herself.) When they both end up on the floor as a compromise, the sorceress cannot help but to think how sweet it is that Juliet refuses to have a comfort that cannot be shared. (Let it be known that Willow would have gladly suggested sleeping on top of Juliet, or vice versa, were their relationship different.) It reminds her of her numerous sleepovers with Meredith where they’d turn the floor into a giant bed and prop up bed sheets to make forts; although, with Mer, they’d stay up late until they couldn’t form coherent words and would pass out in the middle of a sentence. With Juliet it’s not like that; the archer isn’t even turned to face her and so she can only stare at her back before sleep comes for her.

The morning seems to come only after a single blink, with Juliet rising before her. This effectively ruins Willow’s plan to practice her doubling, but she can’t be too upset with herself. She’s been left absolutely wiped out after these busy few days and her body is going to need its rest before she builds up her stamina. (She really is itching to practice, but she doesn’t want to have to explain to Juliet that she’s not allowed to watch her. That would just be weird and she’s already weird, so she doesn’t need the archer knowing she’s even weirder.)

She follows Juliet back down into the kitchen for breakfast, not wanting to get lost in this ever changing house, and is honestly left speechless with all the clothes Milfred brought down for her. She politely rejects most of the clothing options, explaining that she prefers clothes that “have less to say.” However, unable to resist, she makes one single bold choice and that is having the suit of armor adjusted to her size––for totally practical reasons! It’s for safety and protection, definitely not the sorceress trying to live out her dreams of becoming a knight. Haha… (Lucky rolls their eyes when Willow excitedly snaps on the shoulder pieces and vambraces over her flannel.) Totally practical. Totally McGoat-aly.

With that matter settled, she’s immediately excited to resume last night’s conversation on magic. This time, Milfred brings up her alchemy and Willow James, ever a nerd, pulls out her notebook and takes fervent notes between mouthfuls of toast. (She has learned to shove food into her mouth when she’s around Juliet, having noticed some of her bread missing the night before and remembering the stolen strawberry.) “Soup! That makes total sense.” And she’s being genuine! The metaphor clicks for Willow in a way this type of magic hasn’t before. (This is much better than Sawyer claiming that the “timewarp” is a legitimate way to practice weaving. Ducking Sawyer. …She misses that weirdo wizard.) “Will you show me how you harness the essence and memories of objects with one of your soups? Oh! No, will you walk me through the process? Hands-on learning,” she giggles thinking about the hands, “is the best.”

“In exchange,” she closes her notebook resolutely, “I can show you some basic runes we use on the Other Side for rune-casting. Runes are kind of like your soup, in that they also draw out an essence of magic. It’s like a way of speaking to the will around us and channeling its essence.” Willow has even come up with a few runes of her own, though none are as famous or popular as the ones her advisor has created. Carmilla says she is well on her way, however. (She does not notice Juliet drift off towards her bag. Nor does she notice the bag fall over or the archer getting sucked inside.) “It can be very particular, however. One crooked line or misplaced slash could be the difference between causing someone to laugh for ten hours or sucking the air out of their lungs and killing them instantly.” This is Willow’s primary fear with casting, but there are others as well. “That’s why we have so many regulations on different magical studies and even licensing exams for the kinds of magic one is allowed to perform. It’s a lot––not now, Lucky,” she shoos the dragon away, guessing they’re growing bored of her rambles and are pawing at her leg because they want to play. “Anyway, where was I? Right! Rune-casting is super convenient and, as with any magic, must be respected.” Lucky paws at the sorceress once again and she finally looks down at them, annoyed, because it’s not everyday that Willow gets to geek over magic. (Okay, that’s a lie. She is a literal grad student, but still! Every opportunity is oodles of fun––it’s why she’s a grad student.) Lucky’s eyes are darting between the sorceress and her bag as they antsily bounce from foot to foot. It clicks that they’re not interrupting for no reason and she tilts her head, brows scrunching together. “What is it?”

They make a pained noise and hurry over to her bag, which is when she finally notices that it’s open and has been tipped over onto its side. “Noodles.” Like this, it’s gently pulling in the dust bunnies on the floor and slowly dragging itself closer to other objects in the cluttered house like a rogue vacuum. “Juli…” Ah, now she gets it. She gets it when she realizes the archer is missing from the room and while she has left Willow behind twice before, she doesn’t think Juliet would have left the room without saying something. She’s been a lot better about looking back for Willow.

The sorceress purses her lips, regretting that she never warned Juliet about her unruly bag, and takes a deep breath to look over at Milfred––or rather, look over at the spot Milfred had been sitting. She turns her head this way and that only to catch the other caster waving at her before she sticks her foot near the bag and allows herself to get sucked in. “Noodles times two.”

She sighs and snaps her fingers to right the bag and then uses the winds to carefully close the lip so that it doesn’t put anymore people or companions at risk. “Stay here, Lucky. I’ll be right back.” She unclips her mirrorball keychain and taps on three of the panels, causing tiny circles to glow on the three faces as they are activated. The pieces then detach from the ornament and float in front of the sorceress. She flicks her wrist and one flies into the bag; with another piece she stretches her hands out length-wise to elongate it, creating a full length mirror of sorts. At first it reflects back the sorceress, but once she taps it, it reveals a reflection of the inside of her bag. She keeps the third and final piece close to her as she steps through the mirror, causing it to ripple, and walks straight into the clothing department. Yes, department.

The inside of Willow’s bag looks exactly like one would expect a warehouse to look––with aisles and aisles of tall shelves stacked with various supplies. (Okay, how did Willow James acquire all of this stuff?) It’s cold and the linoleum tiles clack with each of her steps. The place is also eerily quiet, but it’s also the inside of her backpack so it should be quiet. (This should also make finding the archer and other caster easier, theoretically.)

For now, she can rule out the clothing department. She flicks her wrist and sends the final mirror piece to the grocery department and steps backwards through the mirror piece she entered through, once again causing it to ripple as she comes out the other side into the camp meal section of the grocery department. (There are flats and flats of water and soda, bins of candy, stacks of cereal boxes––Willow James went overboard.) Surprisingly, the archer isn’t here (though she imagines she’ll find this place eventually). She sighs, whistles a tune to summon the mirror piece she left in the grocery department, and sends the other piece to another section of the warehouse inside of her backpack. She repeats this process several times until she finally, finally finds her in the health department–– standing in front of her twenty-seven back-up toothbrushes. ‘Oh no.’

“Juliet!” She races over to her, leaving the mirror portal open behind her. “There you are––I, uh, I can explain that. I’m not weird. I promise.” She’s totally weird, though, and she knows it. This entire warehouse of stuff proves it and yet she’s most concerned about the twenty-seven toothbrushes, of all things. (She can’t even think about the possibility that Juliet might have stumbled across her rock collection.) “Okay, I am weird but for reasons that are different from packing twenty-seven toothbrushes. There’s a perfectly sound explanation! I drop toothbrushes in toilets and hate haggling in languages I don’t know.” That ought to explain everything, right? “Have you seen Milfred?”

 

[ellarose]

Where am I? An ache cuts through Juliet's wounded arm as she hoists herself up onto her elbows on the cold, hard floor and rises tall from the heap she's fallen into. With a pounding heart, she lifts her skirts and swiftly fetches the dagger she keeps perpetually strapped to her leg, holding it with the readiness of a warrior prepared to fight for her life as she whirls around to take in her new surroundings. Towering shelves surround her from every angle, and upon those shelves sit rows upon rows of various packaged goods. Upon a closer look, she finds that they are much like the ones that Willow James keeps summoning, supposedly from her ba-- ah. Bag. This must be the inside of her bag, then. Willow James is a caster, just like Millicent, and so it's fair to assume that this place might function like the witch's endless room of headache inducing clutter. It only makes sense that the 'heroine of love and justice' (isn't that what she's been calling herself?) would keep her own supplies meticulously organized in comparison. Willow James is an esteemed and knowledgable student (especially having attended a 'high school'), she is careful, and she is prepared. In fact, if a word exists that exceeds the word 'prepared' in meaning, that is how she would define Willow James. Juliet lowers her dagger but doesn't release her grip of it. While she feels relatively convinced that she understands where she is now, she doesn't intend to let her guard down too soon. (This bag functions much like a trap-- there is no telling if there are others scattered about to capture intruders such as herself.) It speaks a grave reminder to her, warning that she's been slipping. Allowing herself to become much too comforted by Willow's niceness and the gentle ease of the atmosphere that accompanies her presence. A trap, just like this bag. This is where letting her guard down takes her. Sucked into... a supply room. Admittedly, the analogy isn't all that effective. But it still stands. Especially when she catches a glimpse of familiar raven locks and robes, sweeping around the corner of the aisle she's in. The lights flicker and her blood is ice, like the rain that fell the night that--

Juliet's mind drags her back until she's clutched in the throes of a memory, hearing and feeling that chilly rain rushing down on her in sheets. The sound is like a waterfall of tiny pearls clattering over sleek marble floors, accompanying shattering glass and the haunting toll of the clock tower on the horizon. The enormous clock's shining, moon-like face was seemingly the only witness on the streets that night, illuminating the broken pieces of the vial at her feet. Bright red liquid drips off the edges of the shards like blood, like some metaphorical representation of her heart. "I really did love you, Juliet. My heart." (Lies.) "Goodbye." There is something petty, razor-sharp, and hurt in her that wants to use her last breath to claim that she never loved her, but her mouth is filling with blood and that would also be a lie. She settles for grinning like some feral thing instead. (From the ground, where she has since collapsed, she can only see her sleek black heels. But she hopes it unnerves her to her core, that it burrows deep enough that the claws reach her heart... provided she still possesses one.) One clicking step backward echoes in her mind. The second is much fainter. By the third it blends with the rain and her ears are ring as the world fades away, stone by stone, building by building. When Juliet blinks again, the aisle reconstructs itself and she finds herself standing where she was. Her breathing is strained and her knuckles are bone white around her dagger. Damn it. Submerged in another memory. (...When will they leave her alone? When will she forget? She works, works, works, pointing her gaze firmly ahead and hopes that they will leave her when the work is finally done. After she's seen to it that the heartless atone.) Still, that figment before-- was it really just a figment?

Juliet shakes her head and determinedly chases after the shadow. (She doesn't want to see her again. Ever again. But she's been haunted for years and if this is something she can physically fight in exchange for the freedom of her own mind, then-- at any cost, she'll do what she needs to do.) Thorn-like shadows sprawl over the linoleum tiled floors to chase her through the aisles. They snap up erratically, grabbing for her ankles, but she's too quick for them to catch up to her. She's too fast to be eaten alive. She's made sure of that. ('It's in your mind, Juliet.' Millicent's voice reminds her. 'Breathe. Don't let it control you.') Stop. Stop, now, or it'll consume you. Breathe. The archer stops abruptly, her closed eyelids twitching. Shadows snake up her body, like she's a statue being reclaimed by nature, and she breathes deeply. With each breath, they recede little by little and the aisles restore themselves around her. Inhale, hold in for ten seconds, exhale. When her vision clears of nightmares, she finds herself face-to-face with twenty-seven toothbrushes on a shelf. She coughs a glob of blood into the palm of her hand and quickly rubs it off on her cloak. (Outside of the bag, Grace coughs up a tiny fireball at the carpet at the same time her companion coughs.) The archer is midway through tilting her head when she hears Willow James's voice.

With Willow's presence, that disarming feeling of calm falls over Juliet like a blanket. ('If you're not careful, you'll be smothered with it.' A voice unlike her own taunts.)

"I see." Juliet gives a classic, somewhat perplexed answer in response to the sorceress's explanation. Finally, she loosens her grip on her dagger and slips it back onto the strap on her leg. "It seems that you are truly prepared for anything. And most importantly, you will always be able to keep your teeth clean." Weird as it might be, it's not a bad thing. Not necessarily. However, the archer knows she ought to keep this in mind going forward. A preparedness of this level is also an indication of just how much thought and planning goes through Willow's mind when it comes to-- well, everything. While twenty-seven toothbrushes are just about as threatening as one might expect twenty-seven toothbrushes to be, their presence signifies something very important about the way that the sorceress's mind works.

If either of them should be embarrassed right now, it really ought to be Juliet herself. She heats up with shame when she considers the implications of getting caught within the bag.

"I must apologize. I shouldn't have touched your bag without permission. It wasn't my intention to look through your belongings this way... and especially not to this extent." Juliet's face turns redder by the second, nearly matching her hair. "I was curious about it." While true, that sounds too much like an excuse and she knows that she will need more detail to suffice as meaningful explanation for her presence. (Willow James seems to have noticed her tendency to steal food from her plate at this point, based on the recent measures she has taken by holding certain foods in her mouth for safekeeping.) "And I suppose I was hoping I might see a 'breakfast bar' sitting near the top." Then she glances around, too embarrassed to hold Willow's gaze. This is not a normal bag by any means. Hm.

The beginnings of an idea begin sprawling through Juliet's mind, of the ways that they could create decoy bags as traps for foragers like those trolls that were following after them.

"...Milfred? Who is Milfred?" Juliet asks with an arched brow, the idea fading into the background of her mind as she considers Willow's question. (Does she keep a person named Milfred hidden within her bag? Perhaps a mysterious person with familiar raven robes--?) That is when she hears a familiar cackle of lightning laughter and the name clicks automatically into place. "Oh. Milfred of the wood." Well-- not Milfred, but Millicent-- who Willow only knows as 'Millie' or Ms. (?) of the wood. This is so confusing. She doesn't understand why Millicent insists on playing this name-game.

The witch's cackling laughter accompanies one of the strangest noises that Juliet has ever heard (a sound other than the peals of laugher)-- it's like the cry of an abominable creature, a windy 'shooming' of sorts. Millicent glides through the air over the shelves in haphazard zigzags and Juliet realizes the noise is coming from the blocky, enchanted flying machines beneath her feet. (What neither Juliet or Millicent knows is that these 'flying machines' are portable vacuum cleaners and are not meant to be used this way. The witch of the wood found some way to use them as flying skates regardless.) "I knew it! The mechanical dragons actually exist!" None of this makes any sense to Juliet. The witch proceeds to lose control of whatever spell she's casting (or she does this on purpose) turning an impressive backflip right before crashing into the shelf between them and knocking a pile of toothbrushes down onto her head. "Bonk." She giggles, supplying a sound effect as the final toothbrush lands on her collapsed form.

"...Mechanical dragons?" Juliet immediately lowers into a defensive stance, holding her dagger ready once more at one of the 'mechanical dragons' hissing on the ground nearby. She backs up a little bit, like a cautious but curious pup skittering away from an ocean wave, finding the shape and sound of these machines incredibly unnatural and sinister. She looks between the vacuums and Willow. "Are they a trap set for intruders?"

"It's smelling toasty, toasty in here." Millicent points out. Hm. It does smell like smoke, now that she points it out. (This is probably because the tiny fireball Grace coughed out before has now turned into a small fire in the sitting room outside of the bag.) The witch looks meaningfully at the archer. "Red... you didn't get jealous of our magic talk and try casting, did you?"

"No." Juliet blinks, never removing her eyes from the hissing non-dragons. (If she looks at Millicent, the witch will know right away what happened.) "Willow... do your guard dragons breathe fire?"

 

[starboob]

Having been caught inside of the manifestation of all of her anxieties, she can’t bear to look at Juliet August; it’s one thing to be prepared, it’s another thing to be Willow James. (If Leif and Meredith were here, they would not let her hear the end of this––they would tease her relentlessly over packing an entire warehouse full of supplies and would probably accuse her of robbing a Costco. She misses them.) This puts the Little Hearts to shame and she was never even a Little Heart herself. Now she’s forced to confront how weird she really is for getting so antsy over this trip that she packed pretty much anything and everything she could think of for emergencies both plausible and unlikely. ‘You’re an entire dork factory, Willow James. The nerd alert alarms are blaring and Juliet can definitely hear them.’

At least… At least Juliet is being nice about this and not making her feel like the absolute weirdo she is, though it’s not like she has any reason to believe that she would. The other woman, while curt and occasionally awkward, has never once made Willow James feel bad. Even when she curls into protective balls when facing ogres; even when she nearly gets herself killed by throwing herself into the middle of danger; even when she leaves a trail for trolls to follow and on and on. She’s gentle. She’s kind. She’s funny and she’s cute. Willow really has nothing to worry about. And though it is still the beginning of their love story, she does believe that her heart is in good and capable hands.

Speaking of hands, when Willow notices the knife in Juliet’s, her face turns into a question mark as she does not understand why being inside of her bag would warrant such a reaction. Then again, this is a new and probably shocking territory for the Other Sider to be in and recalling that she is quick, because she has had to be, her weapons and battle prowess are how she shows up prepared. “You’re safe here, you know? This is just my bag,” she confirms. “It’s only you, me, and the hex girl of the wood inside. I checked for hitchhikers before we got to the cottage.” However, she has not since checked for hitchhikers since being at the cottage and she does suppose a curious possessed doll could have also wandered into her bag. Though that’s highly unlikely as they like to knock things over and Willow would have sensed that. (She really, truly, and dearly hopes there is not a doll hanging around somewhere in her bag.)

When the archer admits to actually trying to search her bag, rather than it innocently tipping over on its own and pulling her in, Willow’s mouth opens and her head tilts to the side. It’s somewhat hurtful that Juliet didn’t think she could just ask to see what was inside, but when she finishes and admits to looking for food, her twinge of upset melts away into a breathy and relieved chuckle. That’s just so like the archer. (She’s only known her for a few days now, but already she knows that she’s a thieving gremlin when it comes to food. A cute thieving gremlin, however, so Willow James lets it slide.) “Just ask next time, Juliet. I’m happy to be your person-shaped brekkie bar vending machine––those are machines that drop food when you put money into them. Well, sometimes the food gets stuck in the mechanisms and it’s a fight between you, the machine, and the god of revenge.”

She closes one eye and tilts her head up, looking at the tall shelves and ceilingless bright expanse above them. Ah, since she already knows about the bag and just how weird her Willow James is… “I can give you a tour after we find Milfr––” her cheeks immediately redden. That private joke was never supposed to be uttered out loud and now Juliet knows about her odd nickname for her friend! ‘J-just play it cool. Maybe she didn’t notice.’ (Conveniently, she doesn't realize that Juliet already knows and has acknowledged the odd nickname.) She clears her throat and scratches the top of her head trying to keep it casual. “Uh, the hex girl." Then she rushes out, "Anywayyoushouldknow what I’m carrying for emergencies and fights and such. We should probably figure out how to ration the food… Though I prepared for many things, I did not prepare to travel with a companion––not complaining, though. I like hanging out with you.” As if that admission is no big deal, and to Willow James it really isn’t as she believes wholly in telling people how she feels, she hums thoughtfully, her mind traveling elsewhere. Her eyes glance over towards the grocery department, mentally running through the checklist she has memorized at this point. She hasn’t skimmed too much from her supplies so she ought to still have sixteen-ish weeks worth of food––or maybe eight-ish now that she’s sharing with Juliet August (or, perhaps, five-ish given the archer’s appetite). The food shouldn’t spoil as she made sure to pack indestructables (non-perishables). “I suppose that o––”

The sorceress’s face screws as an earthquake erupts over her skull, cracking it in two. A low mewl escapes her throat at the same moment Milfred’s lightning cackle cuts through the air and the gentle whir of machinery echoes through the warehouse. She rubs her temples, trying to soothe the headache caused by someone messing with the organization of her supplies; Milfred inadvertently makes it worse by knocking over the toothbrush display. Willow groans in response.

“Ah, there you are,” she says, forcing the words from her throat. If Willow James were a different person, she might allow herself to be annoyed but understanding replaces annoyance before it can even become a bud in her heart. This is obviously a fantastically new place for Milfred and it’s not as though Willow would not act in a similar manner if she had the hex girl's bold audacity. Besides, it’s no big deal now that she knows where the askew items are. (Though Willow cannot speak for all casters, she knows that her summoning works best when she knows the location of the object she is wanting; this knowledge allows her to visualize a pathway for the object to follow when she snaps them into her hands. And, in the context of her bag and how she’s constructed and arranged it, she’s created links with each object to make summoning from the endless expanse easier; because of this a disruption can result in small or large headaches depending on scale.) “Mechanical dragons are not real––the plans were burned, destroyed, stolen from memory, and deemed inappropriate by the dragon order.”

Willow would have gone on to explain that Milfred has only found her portable vacuums (they’re actually surprisingly useful tools for someone wind kissed), but the smell of fire catches her at the same moment it does the others. “No, that’s fo––” fox fire, is how she would have finished if the burning in her throat, followed by the smell of dragon fire, hadn’t quickly overpowered that thought. In fact, the sudden change is cause for enough concern that she cannot even properly process why it even smelled of fox fire in the first place. (She learned to differentiate between the different types of fire based on smell and warmth one summer, out of sheer boredom and because she thought it might impress cute girls… It worked, sorta.) “Oh, mist. Duck, duck, duck,” she sings, swirling her wrists through the air to fix the toothbrushes, relieving part of her headache.

She then collects the two vacuum cleaners from the floor, tucking them both under one arm, and nudges the two women to follow her towards the mirror portal. With her free hand she reaches towards the mirror and flips her hand up to change its reflection from the rock collection department to Milfred’s cottage. Already, it’s reflecting a thick light blue cloud of dragon smoke. “Hurry––my real dragon did breathe fire for some reason.” She waves the women to go ahead of her before following suit. (Automatically, the two pieces of the mirror left in the bag find their way out and all three pieces shrink back down to their usual size and attach themselves to Willow’s mirrorball keychain. However, the process only seems automatic and is actually a carefully practiced summons that Willow has perfected over the years; it comes to her as easily as remembering to turn off the light when leaving a room. In that, it’s barely a thought.)

The sorceress follows the smell of fire into the sitting room where she finds the companions in various states of distress or, in Lucky’s case, pure and utter joy. They’re trilling happily as they chase Grace around the room with flames bursting from the corners of their mouth. (She imagines that Jeffery Von Willigans has either been inside the wall this entire time or Lucky already chased them off.)

“Lucky James!” Willow exclaims, sounding more disappointed in her companion than angry––which is somehow worse than her giving over to her rare anger. Lucky, at least, seems to think so as they immediately stop chasing the fox and hide their face under their wing in shame while the flames burn around them. “I thought we were past this––fire is not an indoor trick unless you’re lighting a fireplace! Burning down a friend’s living room is absolutely not okay.” (Ah, is it weird to claim Milfred as a friend when she's only just met her and doesn't even know her real name?)

However, for now, she leaves the reprimand at that as there is the more pressing concern of the ever growing fire. Thankfully, this is not Willow James's first time to the rodeo. Gathering a vacuum in each hand, she holds them out like guns in a western shootout. Then she waves her thumbs over one set of glyphs that she has carved into the machines, causing them to shake and glow as the spell is activated. In an expert manner, she points the vacuums at the various patches of flames, causing them to pull towards the magic vortex and disappear inside of the handheld devices. Despite the apparent power of the vortex, all of Milfred’s items remain put, although in various states of being charred and burnt. (Willow James very much designed these vacuums to clean up Lucky’s misdirected fire. They can do a few other things, but she mostly has to use them to clean up their fire.) When the flames have all been removed, the vacuums are left with a bright orange glow, but don’t appear to be melting or taking any damage. The living room is now even more chaotic than before with the scorched garlands, burnt dolls, and charr marks like shadows covering the low parts of the wall. The portrait of Jeffery Von Willigans remains intact, thankfully.

She sighs and then turns back towards her dragon with her hands on her hips. “Lucky James, you need to apologize to our host and Juliet and Grace and,” the dragon is already shaking their head in protest, but Willow remains firm. “Jeffery Von Willigans.” They flop over dramatically, like they’ve been shot and wounded, but the sorceress is having none of it. “I mean it.”

The dragon gathers themself from the floor and sulks over to Milfred first, gargling out strange noises by means of apology. (Willow once convinced herself she could teach Lucky how to talk like a person and this is the result of that seven year old’s effort.) They also ruffle out their scales, allowing three to fall to the floor; each flickers between an array of colors, never settling on one. They sweep them over to Milfred with their tail as an expression of their remorse. (It is well known, after all, that dragons do not often part with their scales so easily.) Then they waddle over to Juliet and repeat the process; though rather than give her three scales, she gets one. The apology tour continues with Grace, but with her they don’t gargle or offer scales. They simply give her a slow, solemn blink. Lastly, there’s the possum (not a cat); they go back and forth with hisses, admittedly, but Willow’s pretty sure those are apologetic hisses so she lets it slide.

With that settled, the sorceress pinches her eyes closed and then turns to the two women to face them as well, hot shame swirling in the pit of her stomach. “I am so sorry for Lucky’s behavior––they aren’t usually like this. I think the new environment is causing them to retest boundaries or something. But if there’s anything I can do, Ms. of the Wood, to make up for the damages, please let me know. I can, uh,” she scratches her head while still holding one of the glowing vacuums and an idea seems to spark in her eyes. “Do you want some dragon fire? It should keep for at least five years before burning out on its own. It’s supposed to be good for recipes that need stable flames and can also increase the potency of certain ingredients.”

“And Juliet, I’m really sorry they were going after Grace like that––they’ve always had an aggressive play style, but that was really not okay. I think they just miss their old fox friend is all.” She shrugs, still holding the vacuums, and then looks away from both women, unable to hold their gaze. ‘This is so awkward.’ "If you two are mad at me, can you just say so now? I can, like, leave or something."

 

[ellarose]

"I understand. You only wanted to play! That's quite all right, Lucifer." Millicent nods, kneeling down to listen as the dragon gives what Juliet assumes is an apology at Willow's behest. (Do dragons have their own language? The archer doesn't recall coming across such a chapter in any magic tome she's ever read before.) The witch nods as if she can understand every sound that Lucky is making and is taking it all fairly well, all things considered. When she rises again, she cants her head to look out the nearby window with a wicked titter and then smirks at Lucky as if they're in on a joke that no one else knows. Outside, three figures-- the ones that they set up in the guest house, now fully clothed (thank goodness)-- are frantically running away from the cottage as fast as their feet can carry them. "...Your timing couldn't have been better. You've scared the visitors away! Now I don't have to." All things considered, the witch of the wood seems to have a soft spot for Lucky James, seeing as she accepts them gnawing on her decor and burning half of her sitting room without so much as batting a lash. She collects the dragon scales from the ground one by one, taking her time to appreciate each one with the shine from them reflecting in her eyes. With a decisive snap, she sends them off to her storage room. "So the mechanical dragons eat fire. Fascinating. Now I shall take care of the ashes!" (Juliet is fairly certain that Willow told them that those ominous, hissing things were not mechanical dragons... but then again, Millicent still insists on calling Jeffery Von Willigans a cat.) With a low hum, Millicent assesses the damage in the sitting room before waving her hand around to cover the scorched pieces of furniture in the gleaming, honey-gold of her magic. "No use crying over burnt dolls, as my dear old mother used to say! I am used to handling fire damage, housing a spitfire like Juliet."

Spitfire. Spitfire. Juliet stares at Grace. When the fox catches her eye, she flinches and paws uncertainly at the carpet as if she isn't sure whether to run to her or hide away. Ultimately, she decides to dart over to her, pressing against her calves. The archer kneels down, gently taking her companion's face between her hands to get a better look at her. (She smells an incriminating trace of smoke on her breath. There's something frightful in her big brown eyes that tears at Juliet's heart. I'm sorry, Gracie. I'm sorry you got dragged into this.) They turn in unison to address Lucky's apology and something else tugs in Juliet's heart. The dragon isn't solely to blame for this and they both know it. Lucky clearly knows, based on the way they stare at Grace. She has a feeling that Millicent knows it, too. This isn't the first time that...

"Did they tell you at the castle how Juliet accidentally set it on fire once?" Millicent continues. She grins impishly even as Juliet snaps a glare of warning at her. "If Juliet August had never stepped foot through those fancy gates, I don't believe they would have anything at all to talk about. They tell so, so many interesting stories about her at the castle. I don't blame her for wanting to set everything ablaze. I think I would do the same in her position." It sounds like a challenge. (The archer's inner fire burns her from the inside. The witch is always teasing her like this, pushing her buttons to see if there will finally be an explosion.) Millicent twists her hand and her expression to one of sharp focus and the hourglass on the table is coated in the same gold as the rest of her magic. When she turns it over, the sands of time magic only affect the places where her magic touches-- and when it washes away, the damage vanishes as if it had never happened at all. She leaves a few marks noticeably untouched, though, the hem of the dolls skirts are still singed and she allows a few flecks to remain on the ceiling and walls. She always claimed that it is good practice to remind herself that actions come with consequences-- that there are some mistakes that cannot be reversed with the snap of one's fingers.

Juliet is paralyzed, it takes everything she has just to hold everything in. (Why is she doing this now?) She can't breathe. Her vision fades at the corners. (Why is she pushing her now?)

"The point is, I am well equipped to handle a little house fire. It is nothing for the legendary witch of the wood." Millicent proclaims as she dusts her hands off. Then she taps her fingertips together beneath her chin with a pensive, plotting expression. "I am not mad. I may be interested in keeping some dragon fire, however, provided Lucifer is willing." Then she tilts her head to angle a glance at Juliet, her eyes expectant-- as if waiting for something. "...What about you, Juliet? Are you mad?"

"...No, I'm not mad. Not at you or Lucky." Juliet assures Willow specifically so there's no room for error, staring directly at the sorceress to make this clear even if she won't look back at her. It's the witch of the wood who she cuts with a particularly deadly look that certainly says she's mad at a certain someone before she storms to the door, taking the basket hanging from the hook right next to it as if she's made an exit like this a thousand times before. "I noticed your supply of berries is low, Millie. I'm going to pick some before it gets dark." She says this cooly before stepping out, Grace dutifully following behind. She shuts the door sharply behind her to solidify that she means to go alone, causing a few of the decorations on the wall to rattle.

"Tsk, tsk. That Juliet. I didn't raise her this way!" Millicent sighs and shakes her head, adjusting a shaken plate on the wall so that the painting is at the lopsided angle it was at before. While she doesn't at all realize how weird that sounds coming from someone who is so close to Juliet in age, she waves her hand dismissively towards the door. "Not to worry. She'll be back after a while. Always is. Even if it takes months. Or years." Jeffery Von Willigans comes crawling out of the wall, then, and sits down on her feet. She gathers the possum (not a cat) into her arms, even as the possum hisses accusingly. "And perhaps I pushed her a little too hard. Going back to the castle must have been harder on her than I thought." Jefferey Von Willigans hisses again as if to say 'you think so?' She purses her lips, like she's staring at an equation in a book that she doesn't quite understand. "I've been told that we fight like sisters do, although I've never met anyone with sisters to ask if this is true. My mother had an evil doppelgänger, which is not necessarily a sibling. And she had to fight her to the death for the rights to the family magic." (In actuality, she did not have a doppelgänger but a twin sister... which is, indeed, a sibling.) Millicent chews at her lower lip. "Such a tragical tale. Do you have any siblings, Willow James?"

Millicent peers out the window, watching the dot of Juliet's retreating figure get smaller and smaller. She presses her lips and crinkles her nose, almost like she wants to ask something else, but ultimately decides against it as she swirls her finger and morphs the sitting room into her cluttered workshop. Skipping over the clunky floorboards, she climbs the stepladder next to the massive cauldron in the center of the room. Humming to herself, she plops Jeffery Von Willigans down on a hanging platform-- something she must have designed specifically so that her companion can oversee things, watching over her shoulder as she works. (From up there, the possum stares down at everyone like a king surveying their terrain.) She inexplicably unties one of the ribbons from her hair and drops it, allowing it to flutter into the cauldron. The potion inside burbles in response.

"Let's resume our magic lesson in the meantime, shall we? Knowing Juliet, she'll be back by dinnertime. I believe she would have grown bored of all this casting talk had she stayed cooped up in here, anyway." Millicent peers into her cauldron, reminding herself of the spell she'd been working on last, and quickly runs over to her supply cabinet to gather an armful of bottles. "We will begin with the contents of a functional magic soup..." This sprawls out into a long, detailed description of how she draws the essence from forgotten things as she creates new arrows for Juliet to provide examples. Using the crushed hands and innards of clocks for time arrows, handfuls of sleeping lily flowers for those that induce sleep, and the soles and laces of boots that have seen much travel for speed-based arrows. "My family was blessed. Or cursed, if you'd like to view it through a poetic lens! We were given sight with which to see auras." She goes on to explain as she works, pushing her bulky, buggy crystal-eyed goggles up on her head. (It's not fully apparent whether she needs them or if they are just a part of a fashion statement.) "I see them swirling around people and things both, like a colorful mist. With my sight, I can ensure I have enough essence to imbue the arrows with."

"Auras are filled with memory. Within them, I can tell whether an object was once treated with love, hate, or indifference. If someone bore a strong attachment or greatly relied upon it once, the essence I draw from it will be all the more powerful because of it. I draw emotions from memories and turn them into magic. They don't disappear just because you can't see them. I think it's rather comforting." Millicent raises two clocks in her hand, studying them both for a moment before selecting one to dismantle for her spell. "For example, this clock was used until it broke... the other was untouched, forever kept in storage. The broken clock is eager to be useful again while the other is lazy and complacent." The witch shakes the clock she deems lazy with a 'hmph'. "Yes, I called you lazy. I'll get you to work and someday you will serve a purpose." She wags a finger at it, as if having a conversation with the clock that no one else can hear. "I'll hear no word of complaint from you. Up you go!" Millicent tosses it and then claps, using her magic to arrange the clock on the wall among all of the others. It glows gold before ticking away, adding to the cacophony of sounds around them. Jeffery Von Willigans hisses at the clock as if to solidify her point, despite lazily lounging there on their perch the whole time.

"That's all for today, I suppose." Millicent nods. She fretfully notes the sunlight streaming in through the window deepening to a blazing orange indicative of sunset, casting strange shapes all around the room. Deciding not to speak on whatever obvious concern she seems to be feeling, she collects the arrows she created and snaps them back into the sitting room. She ties a thick red ribbon around the bundle of enchanted arrows, as if to decorate it as a peace offering, and then sets them down before snapping them into the kitchen. "The time truly got away from us, didn't it? In the presence of clocks, I suppose that is inevitable." She nods sagely. "Would you like to explain runes as I start on dinner? I am ever so curious to learn more about the magic on your side." She nods again and keeps nodding as she begins chopping some carrots. "...The smell will lure her back."

 

[starboob]

Willow James braces herself for the worst, expecting to be thrown out into the wood after her companion has nearly destroyed their host’s living space (even if said space has been magicked back together). She squeezes her eyes shut like a shield so that she doesn’t have to see anyones angry look or face their reprimands (calling her a bad companion caretaker or something equally mortifying). The idea that she might accidentally catching either Juliet’s or Milfred’s eye makes her want to die. (It doesn’t at all make sense why either woman would be angry with Willow over this––it hadn’t been her fault and everyone knows that dragons, and companions especially, tend to follow their own rules, no matter how well mannered or trained. It also doesn’t make sense given Milfred’s obvious like for Lucky or Juliet’s tendency to forgive Willow for her most egregious errors. This is simply a reaction meant to protect the sorceress from abandonment, she supposes, and she’s always assumed the worst outcome as a way to prepare for disappointment. It does and doesn’t work.)

Only after she has confirmation from both women that they are not upset with her––noting that Milfred seems surprisingly understanding and Juliet is pointed in making sure that Willow knows where she stands––does she breathe a sigh of relief, slowly unwinds her shoulders, opens her eyes, and tilts her head down to face them once more. When she returns to reality, she is quick to note that something seems to be going on between Milfred and Juliet and though Willow cannot figure what that is, she senses that there is something more to the snippet the other caster has offered. (She has already gleaned that Juliet’s life in Amoria was not as fantastical as one might expect from a fairytale-like city; Willow has also confirmed that life then had been complicated and hard with all the wounds she has already accidentally pressed upon with what she thought were innocent questions. She senses that the archer’s reaction is more than just a response to being reminded of that life.) The sorceress doesn’t know what to make of the comment that Juliet once set the castle on fire or that it would be understandable if she were to do so again, but she makes a note of it. While she is tempted to ask the hex girl more of this story, she doesn’t want to talk about Juliet behind her back. She is resolute in her decision to only get intel on Juliet from Juliet herself and this story is not a topic she will be broaching anytime soon, given how quickly and hotly she has stormed out of the cottage. It will have to wait and, luckily, they have a whole lifetime to spend getting to know each other; so this is fine, really it is.

Still, she can’t help her curiosities and the more Milfred says, the more bullet points are added to her notes. She is especially surprised by the implications that Milfred might have had something to do with Juliet’s upbringing (she doesn’t really question the oddness of the statement, because this is Milfred), that Juliet often leaves only to come back, and that she might’ve once been encouraged to return to Amoria when she hadn’t wanted to. For better or for worse. (She’s guessing worse based on the possum’s hiss.) The sorceress simply nods along to the hex girl’s ramblings and decides to not say anything on them, not wanting to risk starting a whole conversation about Juliet when she has promised herself that she won’t do that. She won’t be part of that problem.

Instead, she focuses on the details about Milfred and the question of her family. The sorceress smiles as she bends down to scoop Lucky James into her arms before they can knock over anything in the workshop. (With their mortal enemy sitting on a hanging platform, the dragon is surprisingly okay with being kept close to Willow. They do wriggle a bit and free themself so that they can perch on her shoulder and look into the cauldron with her, but they remain close over all.) “I am sorry to hear about your not-aunt, that sounds complicated.” Family magic can be very complicated, she knows. “I couldn’t speak to the whole sisterly argument since I don’t have one either.” She might’ve counted Clover, and by default Crimson, but her cousin always tended to do her own thing and while they are friendly, they are pretty different people and grew further apart as they grew up. She doesn’t think they’d be friends were they not family; this is not a bad thing. “I do have a brother, Leif. He’s six years older than me and not evil––but I guess if he were I would be more watchful over my magic, especially since he’s not as skilled as me.” Or as powerful. “He’s actually a huge softy, so I don’t really see him ever going evil on me unless he were hexed or possessed.” Ah, she misses that giant loser so much. If she keeps talking about him she’ll definitely start getting homesick, so she decides to stop the conversation there and focus more on the lesson.

Magic has always been an outlet for Willow, one that has provided her with endless distractions during her life’s difficult moments, and she is counting on it now to take her mind off of home. With her bag in some other location of the home, she’s not willing to strain herself to summon her notebook and instead casts a temporary memory boosting charm on herself so that she can jot all of this down later.

As she learns about the way that Milfred is gifted, she comes to understand this home not as a hoarder’s space but a refuge, really, with how she repurposes and breathes new life into these lost objects, giving them one last chance to live before their spirits are settled. (“You’re such a romantic, Willow,” the Meredith in her head playfully teases.)

“Auras… Are they something that someone can train themselves to see? Or at least feel? Or are they one of those things that only a select few have an affinity for?” If it is possible to attune herself to auras, she would be interested in honing the skill, especially if it can help with these magical soup concoctions; though she would understand if this is something that is more of a blessing (or curse, if she’s going to be poetic about it) in a similar way to her being wind kissed. (While anyone can draw a rune to ask the wind for a favor, not everyone can harness the wind in the same way that Willow is able; it’s an entirely different experience for the sorceress as it’s an energy she can feel buzzing within her rather than an energy around her. Elf privilege, she guesses. Or that’s what most people have assumed, but even grandma Elva had been surprised by just how attune she is to the wind.)

“I have a couple of friends with blessings/curses that only they can access because of their claim to godhood or coming from lineages that are known for carrying the trait.” Breeding to keep said traits alive and strong is frowned upon these days, but she knows that it still happens; especially in powerful families. It’s creating problems where there are now some casters who can’t cast outside of their inherited traits and, increasingly, some of these traits are starting to hide from entire generations, leaving them powerless rather than powerful. She believes that’s the magic will retaliating against being manipulated. The powerless folks can, of course, still become wizards but they usually aren’t that adept and their skill is paltry no matter how hard they study. (She expects this could lead to more family wars over magic or even dark magics being produced for the purposes of stealing someone’s gift. She shudders to think about that and so she won’t!)

With the lesson coming to a close and the evening shadows dancing across the walls, Willow catches the look in the hex girl’s violet eyes and raises a brow. She doesn’t know Milfred well enough to ask about it (and if she’s anything like Sawyer, and Willow knows she is, she probably wouldn’t give a straight answer anyway), so she politely pretends that it must be nothing.

Now back in a familiar part of the house, Lucky jumps from Willow’s shoulder and wanders through the kitchen, eventually settling to hang around the other caster. They even grow a few feet in size to look over Milfred’s shoulder. (They’ve taken a liking to her, despite despising her companion.) “By the way, Lucky’s name is just Lucky––I, uh, kinda absently agreed last night…” She trails off, noticing that the dragon is giving her a pleading look, flapping their wings in a gentle albeit frantic way, and shaking their head. She chuckles breathily and grins. “But I think they’re okay with being called Lucifer, which is pretty shocking because they usually hate my nicknames.” Because Willow’s nicknames for Lucky are completely undignified for a dragon (which is why she loves using them) and “Lucifer” does call to their natural twilight pattern. “I do think they’ll lend you some dragon fire, too.” Lucky nods to affirm this. “They seem to like you.” Her grin widens to a smile, taking her companion’s fondness as a good sign overall. This is amusing to consider as well, because she can tell that they are still testing out Juliet, even if they’ve already decided that they want Grace as a friend. Then again, like Meredith, Lucky is always suspicious of the people Willow finds herself romantically drawn to and, to be fair to both, Willow James has had some pretty awful lovers––some she only let love her out of desperate loneliness, some she let love her because she didn’t know any better, some she let love her because she thought that maybe it would change the fates, and so many brief others because she trusted that they were as trustworthy as herself. (“You might be connected, but don’t let that be a chain. Look at your parents. Look at mine. Look at the world around you. Love doesn’t exist like it does in fairytales and the best you can hope for is someone who won’t screw you over,” Meredith had said while stroking Willow’s back late one night after they had counted stars and satellites. “I just don’t want you getting hurt when you meet your person. Meeting mine sucked.”)

She shakes her head absently and summons a miniature whiteboard and dry-erase pen. She twirls the pen between her fingers to help gather her thoughts before beginning her lesson. “Okay, so, rune casting is pretty simple once you get the hang of it. Runes are essentially a means of communicating with the magical will around us and harnessing it. Each one will correspond with a different property or principle and, together, you can create a glyph. I guess, thinking about the soup metaphor, runes are ingredients and glyphs are the final product. Some runes can be used alone, similar to say,” she playfully swipes a piece of carrot and pops it into her mouth. It’s part of the lesson! “Eating a raw carrot. It’s fine on its own, but you might not eat… bittermelon on its own,” or ever… Blegh! “You need something to fancy it up and make it taste good. Then, of course, you have your flavor enhancing runes that are like salt or maybe some runes that punch up the umami… and, okay, the metaphor is getting away from me, but I think you get the picture. You can use a single rune for simple things or put a bunch together to form a more complex spell. Anyway, most of the oldest runes are based in nature which is traditionally understood as earth, metal, wood, wind, fire, water, and electricity. So we’ll start there since those are generally the simplest and easiest for people to work with.”

At this point she starts drawing some simple marks on the whiteboard: a vertical line, a horizontal one, and some quick diagonal slashes. “I forgot to add, these are the foundational components of a rune. It might not look like much, but most runes can be broken down to these basic lines.” She goes on to explain the history of runes, how they were first crafted by the mountain people who could only write in stone, and how runes have evolved since then (modern ones are more squiggly). She also explains how a glyph can just be runes stacked on top of each other or they can be more organized using circles, squares, triangles, etc. to bind them together depending on the effect the caster is going for––she specifically notes that there is no one way to rune cast. “It’s not like math,” she shudders. “It’s art! Like your soup. Here, let me take over the chip-chopping and you can practice casting water.” She shows the hex girl the symbol for water on the whiteboard (three four-pointed sideways zigzags stacked on top of each other) and encourages her to practice drawing it out a few times before they get to casting-casting. “Rune penwomanship is important. An incorrect angle or a line askew can make it, how you say, toasty toasty.” She giggles and begins chopping an onion. “I imagine that for you, once we get to casting-casting, you might be able to rely on some of your expertise as an aura reader to activate the rune. With enough practice, you won't even need to draw out the runes. You can just imagine them.”