"We are literally," Mary paused for emphasis, "Like, literally literally, like, literally I'm using the word literally by it's Oxford friggin' dictionary definition literally..." She stepped into the focus of the cluster of a group.
"LITERALLY." For the moment, all of her attention was on Maxwell, "We are literally in a magic treehouse. This isn't some red neck's backwood shack, dude. We're literally in a magical home made from a tree-- not hollowed out! With a couch somehow perfectly formed, plants that shouldn't exist and like," She pointed to the ethereal glow of the orange flames the vines had been continually producing, "Those."
She sighed, slightly surprised how intensely she had come to defend their 'Leader' "What's more concrete than that? We're here-- we see the magic house, and based on the shit Fox McCloud was growing... just... I can assure you on the sinister shit front. Something worth looking into happened here. I'm talking mind control shit-- coma, brain damage... poison that can make you sleep to death..."
She pointed a finger at Jackson, "It honestly might do this guy some good though!" She didn't catch her rising voice until it was too late-- it was still well under room temperature, but the sudden volume shift stemming from frustration... very un-Mary-like, Mary.
"Seriously though, man. Chill the fuck out, okay?" She held the vial between two fingers, displaying it to Jackson, "Do you see this? It's a fucking potion? I didn't even know potions were a thing anymore, and like..." Casual serenity. Closing her eyes, Mary focused for several seconds on recapturing that feeling, that warmth, that she had felt several minutes prior. The lilac glow surrounded her hands, "We can just make them! Kanoa just taught me how, like just now! It was... um... nevermind! Point is, she'll get around to the other stuff, but you need to give her time." Mary paused, "She's kind of a weirdo, and social interactions are hard-- I think most of us can agree with that," She shifted her glance to Orion, "Well, except Orion. He just has awful tastes in music," facing Jackson and the group at large, she continued, "Still, I don't know. I think we've got some moral responsibility, y'know?" She tilted her head, "Jackson, is your schizophrenic demon being a dick? Tell it to check it's privilege and chill."
From the murky, smokey bogs of her mind, Mary could hear a distinct Latin chattering of a man and a woman and... cackles? Were they laughing at her?
Shut up!
kapuchu
