Igraine

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

*lesigh* Oh Jay-Jay...

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Veti gave her lover a smile that, despite the maw full of fangs, was still somehow tender, so very loving. Only Thad would ever think to wrap his arms around an eight foot tall crimson wolf beast, just to steady her, simply to tell her without a single word that he would never leave. She was rattled, without a doubt, but Thad braced her in a heartbeat. "Thank you, love" she whispered, leaning down to whisper in his ear, finding warm reassurance as she took a deep breath, burying her muzzle in the warm crook between his neck and shoulder for a moment, until she heard the new guy's plaintive self-introduction.

The werewolf lifted her head from Thad's shoulder, torn somewhere between stunned laughter and a wee touch of sympathy at his pathetic state, hunkered down on the ground as he was, looking all sad. "Well hey Gabe, consider it the 'average first day at Bain & Hoyle.' It'll probably be the standard Day 20 of your employment too. First anniversary. Retirement party... " She shrugged noncommittally despite the hurricane of emotions that screamed through her head and heart in this very moment: the unspeakable loss of a sister wolf, the hellish vision of the freed Fenrir, the unforgiving blood oath of vengeance - and now?

Now, she was going to work on introducing the new hire. Heh. Fuck it.

Yeah, it was probably a good thing she didn't laugh. Veti was suddenly sure if she started, she probably wouldn’t have stopped, and it’d probably have gotten all twisted up into something hysterical and not altogether sane.

“Veti, werewolf. Obviously,” she began, patting her chest with a sly, wolfish grin, “Thad, warlock and love of my life. Daisy,” she added, one ebony-tipped claw gesturing toward the Reaper. “BFF and Reaper – not necessarily in that order, but I’m grateful nonetheless.” Veti’s claw ran lovingly over the hellhound’s massive head. “Artie, Daisy’s true companion, but she lets me love on him too because she’s good to me, even when I’m at my most pathetic.”

Her claw pointed toward the undead man, and then to each in turn. “Semyon, a greater wight and all around Russian bad ass. Siya, vampire and my other BFF, roommate and partner in pretty much… Well… Everything?”

“Jay-Jay, pyromaniac and demon host who seems to have been branching out with her skills this past year. Henry, river fae – a Nack – and executive assistant to our boss, the more obvious demon type with the prehensile tale and wings? Yeah, that’s the big guy, Atticus, incubus, immediate supervisor and Chief of Operations for the Boston Branch Office. And… “

Veti tapped her furry chin with one long claw, as if she were considering for a moment. “Yes, that about covers our people – and the mission? Save the world from complete destruction of course – honestly, I doubt this team has another mission anymore. This particular existential threat to our world is called variously Ragnarok, or the Twilight of the Gods as you will – “

As if to punctuate her words with extreme prejudice, green lightning erupted in the center of the standing stones, endlessly it seemed though it only took one earthshattering rumble of thunder to toss the crimson werewolf backward off her clawed feet, helpless as a windblown autumn leaf to halt her flight, slamming clumsily, painfully, into the ground again and again.

The werewolf groaned deep in her throat when the earth stopped bucking and she could finally lift her head from the dirt, shaking her pelt as she tried to scramble to her claws. To her eyes it seemed the brilliant Irish night sky had disappeared utterly, replaced with an endless, abyssal darkness. Veti opened her jaws to shout for Thad, breathing deeply –

The wolf in her whined, her great crimson tail instantly tucked beneath her in abject terror as she crouched in a huddled ball, as small as she could make herself. Ears pinned back, she could barely bring herself to look upward, toward the black shadow that blotted out the whole world. Her whole body shook with an all-consuming dread, every cell in the werewolf’s body screaming for her to bolt, to flee in mortal fear, heedless of love or duty…

Holy shit... Not just freed – here!

Fucking Jay-Jay...

It was the woman who rose this time, the woman who seized the wolf within and shoved her back, emerging into this hellish new shadow world. The wolf was all but useless, paralyzed with fear in the presence of the Fenrir, the wolf-god, and Veti could not let that happen. She leapt to her bare feet, the blood-spattered remains of her once-beautiful grey dress the only armor she had now, but that simply didn’t matter. Not now. Not when the faces of everyone she ever loved flashed through her mind’s eye, an endlessly looping reel that gave purpose to every last good and decent thing in her lifetime.

Veti knew they probably didn’t have a prayer before a demigod – but fuck it. She wasn’t about laying down and letting this monster rip apart the ones she loved. Distraction. She could do that, but damn it ALL to hell, her Desert Eagle was still in the Keep – shitshitshitshitSHIT!

“SEMYON?” she shouted, her eyes sweeping the darkening glade for the wight. “SEMYON! NEED A GUN!”

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

Antonia whirled around at the sound of that voice, her face lighting with a wide and genuine smile for the helmsman, suddenly sure she had never been so happy to know Jax was close by. The rogue did not break character, the facade of Antoinette Greene firmly in place - and she was content that he did not do so for her, playing along as he had from the very first.

She curtsied low to her "guest," returning his bow with a deft display of grace. The rogue took in the clothing Jax wore, recognizing its origins of course - not that she would ever say a word -

- Though Antonia's mind was quite made up that Thomas, so tall and commanding a figure, wore these clothes far better than his helmsman.

And undergarments, it seemed. Yes, most certainly, undergarments...

"Well, in all fairness? We both know it was that devilish rascal, my Oncle Nathaniel, who secured your place here at this evening's festivities," she replied, all trace of the rogue's Cajun patois erased, replaced by the silken Parisian accent of the gentlewoman Antoinette. "But it is truly good to see you here tonight Monsieur Jax, and you certainly cut quite the dashing figure when not being nearly trampled in the streets of Port Royal."

"And Mademoiselle Beauchamp?"

She took a step back, all the better to take in the stunning loveliness that was the First Mate this night. She took one of Nicolette's hands, as nimble as they were deadly, between both of her own, giving her finger's a friendly squeeze. "It is my pleasure to meet you, and might I say? Your ensemble is breathtaking. You are positively radiant this evening."

Antoinette released Nicolette's hand, smiling widely at the sweet little detail she found so charming. Her own fingers went first to the velvety soft crimson and ivory hothouse roses she had braided into her ebony hair, and then reached upward, as if to brush the lovely wild blooms in the golden woman's long tresses - though she truly touched neither her, nor the night blooms. "Why, even to the flowers in your hair. Such a rarity!"

The gentlewoman turned back to the table for a moment, taking up two crystal goblets of red wine, offering one each to Monsieur Jax and Mademoiselle Beauchamp if they would.

"And touching on matters both rare and unexpected, I have had the pleasure of meeting - and sharing a dance - with your Capitaine Lightfoot already ce soir." The rogue knew there would be no need to expand on the message she received, with perfect clarity, instead adding only, "He speaks quite highly of the skills - and judgment - of you both."

Grey eyes turned toward the direction from which she'd only just come, utterly unable to make out either Thomas or the Commander beyond the voluminous skirts or over the heads of the partygoers.

"As a matter of fact, I have only just left him, talking with my Robert. Oh - pardonnez-moi, you met him only in passing, did you not Monsieur Jax? That would be Commander Robert Murray." Her gazed returned to the magnificent pair before her, wearing a mild smile that deliberately did nothing to hide the flash of confusion, and perhaps a touch of concern in her eyes.

"The officer in charge of the garrison of Fort Charles," she added meaningfully. "This is his home."

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Silly GMs with their technological illiteracy *long-suffering sigh*

Anyway, glad you got the post up LP - 'twas lovely - and now we can keep the story going! Good morning all, and hope everyone is having a beautiful morning thus far!

Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

Galina, the woman beneath the facade, laughed - truly laughed, as she watched the kindly Japanese man take her up on her little game, playing his part and indulging the sweet, gentle young woman at his side. She saw that lively spark in his eye, the decency.

And when he winked at her playfully, catching himself on just the right door, the perfect door? No. There was absolutely no pang in her heart, no small twist in her gut. No reason to wince inwardly, to have to reassure herself that he would come to no harm - not really.

"Yes. Please, Mr. Takahiro!" The Baronessa nodded her unqualified approval of his choice, however unforeseen, however guided by the whims of fate and fortune it had become. This was a good door, a lovely door to her bright, laughing eyes - certainly there was something lovely behind it! She waited a moment for Mr. Takahiro to open the door, holding it so politely for her to enter first, as was a lady's prerogative.

She let her breath out slowly, appreciatively, as her eyes scaled the walls all about them, finely carved shelves rising up on all sides of this room, soaring to the high ceilings on all sides. Why, these shelves even flanked the door they entered she realized as she whirled about, smiling so widely at Souma, delighted at their lucky find, so blessed by fortune.

That distinctive smell of bound leather and old paper filled the air, a comforting smell to Galina at least. A familiar scent to her, reminiscent of many long, contented hours spent as a young girl, curled into a high-backed chair long into the night. Galina smiled nostalgically as she remembered the intent, indomitable little thing she had been, fighting even sleep itself for so long as her little body would allow. Her dark eyes would strain in the candlelight, her eyelids heavier by the moment as she struggled beneath their weight. But she would not surrender, not her Papa's little Galina - not until exhaustion would finally take her where she lay, the book of philosophy or mathematics, science or - far more rarely - the occasional frivolous novel finally collapsed over her thin chest.

But always she would wake in her own bed, tucked tenderly by her Papa beneath the quilted comforters at some point in the darkest hours of the day. And always, the book she had been reading lay at her bedside table, a ribbon laid through the page she had last been reading.

The memory gave her strength, and hardened Galina's resolve. Ties of honor, fealty and love bound her from birth. There could be no passing kindness, no ephemeral decency from a stranger to weaken the steel of her conviction.

Galina set both champagne flutes on a marble-topped side table beside one of the many high backed, leather-bound chairs placed invitingly through the immense chamber of this library. She wore two rings this night: a large mother-of-pearl set in gold on her right finger; and an ovular circlet of onyx on her left, set in platinum. A gentle sleep that would pass within hours, or the dark kiss of the eternal slumber. Life and death, quite literally, in her very hands.

In the flicker of an eye blink, her thumb detached the hidden seal of the mother-of-pearl stone, a white powder pouring into her escort's champagne. There was no residue, the drug dissolving almost instantly before she whirled about, both her hands laid easily on the side table as the Baronessa turned to Mr. Takahiro, that wide smile not dimmed by even the slightest degree.

She held her arms open, wide open to encompass all this beautiful space, filled to the very ceiling with the unmatched knowledge of the ages. "Oh Mister Takahiro, you find beautiful! Diff-rent kind, but beautiful!"

The Baronessa turned to take up the champagne flutes once more, handing Souma his own, tinking the crystal of her flute against his in a celebratory gesture. "Not vodka, but beautiful... Deserve a... A toast, no?" she asked, raising her glass once more and taking a long sip of her champagne.

"You read, Mister Takahiro? Read English, and speak?"

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Only to add to Heroes' thoughts yesterday: for all those who celebrate the holiday and who are - or know - an outstanding father, whether your own or a brother, an uncle or a grandfather or a spouse, or even simply a really good friend, all the best wishes today for a wonderful Father's Day!

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

((collaboration with AmongHeroes and Igraine))

Thomas crossed the ballroom floor with a confident lift to his chin, and a detached look in his copper eyes. Around him the party goers swirled in elaborate loops of dance, and the swish of bustled fabric blended harmoniously with the songs of the string quartet seated in the corner of the room.

His gaze followed Antonia, disguised beautifully as some exotic lady or other, as she moved gracefully along with the ever rigid Commander Murray. It took conscious thought for Thomas to not smile openly at the depth of the rogue's adherence to her character, as she not once cast her eyes away from the dashing British gentleman before her.

Thomas positioned himself so that the lilting path of the Commander and Antonia would cross where he stood. As the two spun about, Thomas deftly leaned forward and tapped the Commander firmly upon the shoulder. With a slight bow as the startled Murray turned his head, Thomas removed his tricorn hat.

"Commander," he said, "I beg your pardon, but I simply must avail myself a dance with this most striking of ladies." Thomas paused to look up into the glowering eyes of his old friend. "By your leave, of course?" he added with a smile.

Once he collected his wits about him and wiped the startled look from his visage, the British officer still fought to bite back the first words that might have tripped off his tongue, words very like, ‘Who the hell let you in here, Lightfoot?’

His dark eyes glanced toward Antoinette, the dusky rose at his side. Though it cost him near every ounce of hard won discipline, a thin, tight smile stretched across his lips, the dim match to Thomas' bright smile. "Of course Thomas, though Miss Greene is her own woman, with quite the mind of her own. Introductions first perhaps, and then she will have her say. Miss Antoinette Greene, this is Thomas Lightfoot. Captain Lightfoot... " he added, emphasis on the title made at some obvious cost from within. "Thomas, Miss Greene." The small smile twisted up to something almost true as the Commander turned to the gentlewoman at his side.

It was all the rogue could do, to keep the pleasant-but-interested appearance of Antoinette pasted to her face at the sight of Thomas. Here. Of all places, right here, right now. How in all the world had he ever found her - oh wait. Of course. Jax. But even so, what in the world was he up to?

Not, of course, that he was "troubling" to her eyes in the least. She could not remember a time when he had ever cut so dashing a figure - to say he 'cleaned up well' was a gross understatement. And, unless she were horribly mistaken? Oh yes, every eligible lady in the gathering was casting the gamut of furtive to bold glances his way.

"Capitaine Lightfoot," she said with that musical, perfectly Parisian accent, nodding her head in elegant acknowledgement. "Are you a friend of my Robert?" she asked, all sweet innocence and wide, generous smiles. "It seems you know one another, non?" With the last word, her face tilted up toward the Commander, whose visage turned from glower to glowing in an instant.

Thomas bowed deeply to the regal 'Antoinette.' "Madame, I am honored to make your acquaintance." He returned to stand, handing his hat off to Commander Murray without taking his eyes from Antonia. Out of the corner of his vision he could see the man all but step back in surprise at the boldness of Thomas' move. Even so, the Commander could be seen fighting valiantly against his own desire to deck Thomas across the face, and begrudgingly take the man's hat.

Thomas continued. "We are indeed friends, Ms. Greene, you see Robert and I have a long and storied history together." At this Thomas glanced to the Commander with an expectant look. "Robert, do tell, how was it that we met?" Thomas could barely contain his mirth at the sight of the Commander's discomfort. The story behind the men's acquaintance was no tale for a true lady, and the Commander was chewing upon his tongue as his mind raced. Thomas only smiled.

Commander Murray may have laughed. Then again, he may have growled. The interpretation would have to be made entirely by the any hapless observer of this strange little tête-à-tête. In the end though, by some unspeakably proud discipline, he managed a smile. Or perhaps a snarl. Once again, this would simply have to be a matter of interpretation.

"Another time perhaps, Thomas," he managed through the fence of tightly clenched teeth. These words, of course, meant that at absolutely no point in time - ever - would the tale of an island witch doctor, a drunken wrong turn to send a man pitching off a pier into the ocean, and a brothel madame ever be shared in front of this gentlewoman.

Not ever.

"Far too long and dull a tale for such a festive night. Antoinette, would you care to dance with Captain Lightfoot?"

The young woman sighed softly, as if terribly aggrieved to be deprived of the full tale, but Antoinette still managed a gentle smile as she turned toward the handsome stranger with the laughing copper eyes, her hand outstretched. "Oui Robert, any friend of yours, will certainly become a friend of mine."

With another bow, Thomas stepped forward to grasp Antonia’s proffered hand. The other hand he placed at the small of her back, gently resting it against the firm fabric of her corset. Though every ounce of his being desired to close his hips and chest towards her, Thomas was mindful of his place, and of Antonia’s disguise. Teasing the Commander aside, he did not want to bring Antoinette’s persona or honor into question. At this party she was the Commander’s lady, and Thomas would play his part in that pretense.

Besides, Thomas thought with a wry lift to his brow, coming to a duel with the Commander over a pretend woman would be so utterly tragic.

As the quartet transitioned fluidly into another slow waltz, Thomas led with the first step to bring them into the dance, and Antonia followed with consummate grace. They traversed the finely tailored lawn with all the robust formality the setting demanded, swirling and stepping in grand arcs of fabric and shimmering silk. Though he had not danced for some time, beneath the steel-gray of Antonia’s lovely gaze, Thomas’ mind led his limbs along like a man built for the task.

When they had moved a good distance from where the Commander stood, Thomas at last hazarded a secretive smile. His coppery eyes twinkled down at the woman in his arms, the light of the candles and torches reflecting like nearby stars.

“I can’t put into words just how beautiful you are.” He said, his voice low and breathy, barely audible above the strings.

He let the words drift away into the air like heavy smoke, turning them through another set of twirls and steps.

With a note of sadness, he added. “I wish I could say that I was here only for the splendor of your company, but there are shadowy games at play, and I wanted to warn you.”

The rogue smiled sweetly for the pirate captain, her grey eyes filled with a genuine joy meant only for him, for her lovely man. And yet this could only be a mere lightning flash across her visage, the barest glimpse of the true pleasure she found in his precious words, come and gone in an instant to be replaced by the most polite and formal of attentions from the gentlewoman.

No, not even the sincere note of warning in his voice could pierce the eternal tranquility of the mask known as Antoinette. But that did not mean rogue's heart did not flip in her chest at his more dire words. No, of course there would be far better reason for him to seek her out here, than merely to add to the jest of Jax' arrival at this sparkling soirée, but this was a thing wholly unexpected. Unprecedented, even.

Her voice was a warm silken whisper, her speech couched entirely in the buccaneer French he knew so well. "Ah Thomas, as much as I wished to believe otherwise? No, I did not hold out much hope you were here simply for the dancing. Although it must be said, my lovely man - now that I know the true measure of your grace? Dancing with you shall be had in the future, entirely for our own pleasure."

"But for the moment, no pleasure - only games it seems. What has brought you here? I will admit, knowing my Captain Silverfish may have a better grasp on the shadowy underworld than I? This is certainly a touch... Disconcerting."

“To you and I both,” Thomas said, his mouth barely moving. “It was Dujo that heard of it, and came at once to me. He overheard the gunsmith prattling on about the Crimson Feather having departed from port early this morning, and in great haste. Judging from what Dujo heard, they’re sailing for our treasure galleon.”

Thomas paused as they moved through yet another loop. He looked to Antonia with all the gravity his thin disguise permitted. “What’s more is that the Feather was visited by an unknown official from the Governor’s house before she moved to set sail.”

“I see.”

There was nothing about her lovely face to belie the sudden storm unleashed behind those grey eyes. Every last part of her wished to deny this warning Thomas gave was even in the realm of possibility, to stomp her foot, to growl her frustration and cut the nearest available cur who deserved to be laid open.

How could this be!? The captain of the Plume, in all likelihood, would not even be found within the next day, much less the garbled story of his barely remembered moments with a dusky bawdy woman completely unraveled any time soon. And at any rate, even when his incoherent ramblings could finally be deciphered? It would be far too late for the baffled man and his crew to catch up with the Dusk Skate.

The rogue took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the pleasant expression on her face blurred not a jot. "The gunsmith you say, and... The Crimson Feather? Of all ships, of all crews, who would leak such a thing to those worthless curs? And they have already put out to sea with a goodly portion of their crew disabled or dead, and surely they cannot be provisioned?"

"Oh, do not mistake me - such idiocy is little surprise considering what I would expect from them, still... " She hummed deep in her throat, perplexed. "Do you have any reason to suspect, at the least, that the preparations on the Skate have come to light, that we set sail for the same venture tomorrow?"

Thomas nodded fractionally. “The Feather cannot be manned well, nor provisioned smartly at all. What she does have though is a ruthless bastard in command, and a crew behind him that’s equally so. I don’t fear that we can catch her, Jax has confirmed as much, but why there would be an agent informing for that ship is beyond comprehension.”

The waltz was transitioning to its final movements, and hearing this Thomas quickened his words.

“As for the state of our own covertness, I cannot confidently say. Dujo has done well in his provisioning, and he has done so as quietly as he can. It’s easy to imagine however that with everything we’ve been taking on that someone has noticed that we are preparing to sail. If anything is secret, I imagine it is the nature of our quarry, and that in itself should be protection enough.”

"That will have to be enough." Antonia fought mightily against the urge to frown, managing somehow to grow her polite smile as the pair made yet another nimble circuit before the music could find its end.

"Thank you Thomas, truly. I had imagined I was careful, thoughtful - it would seem, not near enough.” The scowl was entirely in her voice, finding no true home on her exotic features.

“I am afraid I must be firmly fastened to our good Commander's side this evening, but I will see what I might yet manage to shake from the trees tonight. And… I am yet to see your infuriating helmsman about, but I imagine he certainly is here. Somewhere.” The long-suffering lift of one eyebrow was near indiscernible but there nonetheless, the perfect accompaniment to the upward twist of the corner of her lips and the soft sigh.

With the final trills of the quartet ringing to accompany Antonia’s words, Thomas took a reluctant step back, and bowed deeply. His eyes never left the woman before him, this lady Antoinette. With a touch that was slightly overzealous given his presumed relationship to this woman, Thomas brought the back of her hand to his lips, and kissed it gently.

“I have every faith in you,” he said with a voice just loud enough for her ears. “Do not beleaguer yourself with notions of onus, for even a shadow as deft as you cannot be lurking behind every corner. We’ll find this infiltrator, one way or another.”

As he stood erect from his bow, Thomas caught the quickly approaching figure of Commander Murray, obviously perturbed by the kiss upon his lady’s hand.

Thomas hid a scowl, but only marginally. “Your man in red approaches.”

"So it would seem. You really cannot help yourself, can you Thomas?" It was Antoinette who smiled politely at Capitaine Lightfoot, nodding graciously in appreciation for the dance, her sweetly kissed hand falling back to her side. She did not linger for any unseemly amount of time with the man in silver and black, but turned toward the hastily approaching Commander Murray.

Not that he was running, of course - oh no, most assuredly, nothing of the sort. Simply long, purposeful strides until he was returned to his lady's side, a most proprietary cast to his expression though not a single thing that could be a point of objection in his demeanor.

The gentlewoman slid her arm easily into the officer's, the polite smile she wore for the strange man she had only just danced with turned warm and easy once more. "Antoinette," Commander Murray said gently, his icy demeanor melting by equatorial degrees in the gentlewoman's presence, "Would you mind if Captain Lightfoot and I shared a word alone, gentleman to gentleman?" He patted her soft hand gently, nodding toward the tables. "I will not be a moment - and perhaps you could find some other sweet something or other I have not yet tried? I swear, for putting you out so, I will have it without the least fight. I place myself in your hands, dear lady."

The rogue fought the sudden urge to let her eyes dart between the two men. But it was Antoinette who merely let the backs of her fingertips run along her Robert's cheek with an indulgent smile. "Oh you boys have a nice chat. Just do not leave me too long to my own devices, or you will be surprised, what can be candied and sugared!"

The grey-eyed woman turned toward Capitaine Lightfoot, nodding politely once more before she let loose of the Commander's arm, making her graceful way toward one of the nearest tables.

The Commander's dark eyes turned toward the pirate captain, an almost genial tilt to his lips that barely suggested a smile. "Thomas?"

Thomas hid his piqued curiosity at the Commander’s request for a private conversation with exceptional grace. In lieu of such, he merely plucked a crystal glass of red wine from a roving servant’s tray, and raised it in polite salute to the retreating Antoinette.

Turning his body fully to the Commander, he took a half step forward, and took a sip of the fine wine.

“Robert?”

Commander Murray took only a moment to look over his shoulder, reassured the gentlewoman truly was walking toward one of the grand refreshment tables before he followed after Lightfoot. If he took umbrage the pirate captain turned his back on him entirely, there was precious little in his stony countenance to suggest so.

Rather, the Commander simply followed to a darker corner of the grand lawn, one neither trafficked nor occupied, before he took Thomas by the elbow, pulling him up short. The officer still carried that black tricorner hat, his free hand wiping the cloth gently, as if he were pulling some unseen lint from its crown and brim as he met the pirate captain's eyes.

"To the point then. I imagine we will not be left alone long. That is not her way," Robert Murray said just under his breath, one dark eyebrow raised as he offered the hat in an outstretched hand.

"You have her with you always, Thomas. Could you not leave me even a few, brief hours?"

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

The New Yorker said
Oh sure, I totes get that (yeah right)

Hahaha XD Well beyond the lack of faith in my sincerity? The only insecurities I cater to belong to family and a handful of precious friends, so take my words for whatever they're worth to you! *shrugs and grins*

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

All righty Hellis, and for what it's worth Serge? There was nothing unworthy nor not worth waiting for at all :)

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

As far as I saw Hellis, Veti did listen to Henry's words, filtered them through her own [also profound] knowledge of ancient Norse mythos, and considered the fact that none of this had gone according to those prophecies, and what changes/impact that might imply. In addition, Daisy spoke directly to Veti on something of great personal importance that she wasn't going to ignore - it wasn't a general speechifying. Thad kinda just got back from the dead a couple hours ago at best, and is in the main concerned with his lady, and the practical aspects of getting them from Point A to Point B - honestly, not so sure what you're on about?

eta: Is it too late to put in an order, for a dozen of those evil-flavored cupcakes? Siya could likely open her own business, if this whole B&H thing doesn't work out...