toil and trouble

Under her shawl, fingerless gloves cling to her own reins, similarly freezing. Her normal baggy outfit is absolutely not equipped for this weather; but with a few modifications around her midsection, thanks to her helpful Forrest, it's easily the warmest outfit in her modest wardrobe. Obviously, her heat spell is the still working overtime to keep in her body heat, but it's the thought that counts. Or something like that.

Her cloth coccoon sits on the seat of a modest horse-and-carriage, though to call it such would perhaps be an insult to a proper wagon. A borrowed cart, empty save for a small chest and herself, rattles along the snowy road behind her mount. Of course, she had not been asked to bring this; but in the event that she must dissect the monster at the scene, she's prepared, if just a little bit. The scroll on her hip is still her only real preparation, in the event of confrontation; but this small box is the least she can do.

She eyes the fresh tracks delightfully. Soon, soon...

As the woman moves away from the road, Rhajat's little caravan follows closely behind. The less-than-ideal terrain prompts some jarring bumps in her plodding, though, and a frown creases her face. The pawprints are hard to discern, and do not seem particularly feline. More prominently, a curve in the trail marks something heavy being dragged along, scattering snow to the sides; the beast has taken its hunt with it. The underbrush is damaged, and the snow is subtly scuffed; clearly, they're on the right track. As a tracker, Rhajat admits that this woman is not unskilled.

"There, look," she points a dark fingernail at the tracks, mirth tinging her voice. "It will be too occuppied with its fresh prey to notice our approach. Muahaha..."

It was almost...optimistic. 

"With luck," Lachesis murmured her agreement, eyes narrowing briefly at the utterance of the quiet laugh, though she dismissed this along with the odd phrasing for the time being. 

The steps grew more dense, and deeper, and another pair of tracks beside them to boot as they drew in closer, smaller, less confident in their steps to her eye. Lachesis drew in a sharp breath at the amount of them, trailing in from all directions, clustering at points and tromping over older paths marked by yet another pair of tracks – paw and hoof, to little feet. 

Some rounded, shoeprints, others bare. 

"Is it...making them walk?" Why? 

There were dragged troughs through the snow, as though some had stumbled, semi melted and then snowed over again for another pair of feet to step through. 

And, from the opposite direction, she saw with fair certainty, another path – larger, longer strides carving deep trenches in the snow, making its certain way in the same direction they were headed. 

"It's probably just saving the children for a different meal. It's just an animal, after all."

Maybe it's naive of her to believe. But for now, there's no indication that this excursion should be anything but an opportunity for more data or ingredients... on top of the chance to save some kids, of course.

     First, her hands. Unlinked from Forrest’s they are smoothed by the caress of the Nohrian’s digits and gripped only tight enough to suggest her upwards. Upwards, and onto their shoulders: one on either side, able to be linked behind the nape if she so chooses. Then comes Forrest’s own, which slide past Rhajat’s arms, past her figure — docking upon her hips. A quick clutch of the fabric-wrapped flesh there betrays, perhaps, just a sliver of the possessiveness she reserves for her partner. Time spent together tends to rub those kinds of qualities off, doesn’t it? “You need only mimic the steps I make,” they continue, and they take one to elaborate. It isn’t complex — just a quick tap east — but will develop into all kinds of turns & swivels as the two build affinity for each other. For the moment, Forrest cranes their head forward, fighting the pinch of their top, 

You need only mimic the steps I make. "Yeah, yeah, I can do this."

Rhajat's normally downcast gaze works perfectly for this simple instruction, tracing the formal slippers she'd given Forrest as they sweep so gracefully over the floor. Her own tight-fitting shoes mimic the movements, only in slow fascination with the Nohrian's own. Clumsily, they follow as best she can. Forrest doesn't seem to notice, thankfully. More likely, they're ignoring the shoddiness, as they tend to do with things concerning her formality. It's a relief when they finally speak again.

"You can handle yourself, I know. But no one will get the chance while I'm around, it's true," she says. "Don't try to appease me like that. I don't fashion is more art than magic."

The Hoshidan pauses to flick her hair from her eyes, before continuing.

"I can't believe you're right, though. About finding solitude in the middle of a crowd of losers."

     They have to strain their legs not to fall over in those gigantic things.

     “Now, I’ve experience in both, but I need to ask,” they then begin, acknowledging their date with a quick squeeze of her palm. Said squeeze avows a gentle tug of Rhajat closer to Forrest’s arm, because standing just at the precipice of the most populated room of the Ethereal Ball puts them into quite a congested line of traffic. Eager couples dart past the mismatched pair and nearly bump their shoulders. Eager-er bachelors run at twice the speed in search of a partner. And Forrest’s concerns lie not in what they could do to Rhajat, but the opposite: what she would invoke onto them should they sufficiently stoke her ire. In the event that hexes do go flying, Forrest has already taken the liberty of stashing a couple of countercurse talismans in the bouquet cradled in their arms. They come from the Nohrian’s personal stash: protective wards meant for their sake, but utterly useless to them in the looming presence of the bodyguard attached to their hand.

     “Do you lead, or do you follow?” A simple question, asked as capriciously as someone’s favorite color or season. To the princess, the answer would matter little; Forrest intends to shuffle Rhajat in and join the movement of the crowd. Amidst the picture-perfect blazonry of just about every surface the space has to offer, and the bright beams of the spotlights cast upon every duet — seemingly infinite in number — the barrier for entry stands tall. Room to squeeze between other people proves scarce, and the ballgoers sway so tightly-packed that even a single misstep threatens collision. Managing to carve a path forward in the jaunty footwear Rhajat lent would similarly prove challenging, but Forrest would do so anyways. Careful, measured motions guide them toward the center of the room…

She lets herself be led towards the dance floor, slinking along beside Forrest despite the unfamiliar outfit. Her lynx-like movements make her more sinister snake than woman, to most eyes. A squeeze of her hand prompts her eyes to the other's, and she nuzzles closer instinctively.

"I'll follow you," is all Rhajat replies. Normally, she's a fish out of water— but her familiar effects bridge the gap. Here, in unfamiliar garb in unfamiliar atmosphere, though, she wants to cling tighter to the noble. They should let their prior knowledge guide them, she thinks. As always, Rhajat is happy just to hold her, and know that the royal belongs to her, as much as her clothes.

     “Even in my finest works, you find a way to seem so gloomy…” The sigh that follows isn’t truly weary, kindling more of the cadence of a joke than any real dismay. Further strides take them closer, until the footwear Rhajat picked out for them comes into view. If the sharpness of their wit hadn’t alerted her, then that length of leg most certainly will. “Is it really so bad, Rhajat? I think that the makeup in particular suits you rather well!” An inspection is then made of her face, and the rosy blush embellishing her cheeks: almost a perfect pair to the pink on her lips. Her black eyeliner had been stolen from her before the pair readied themselves to attend, and in its stead, Rhajat wears Forrest’s white. 

Her gaze finds Forrest's.

"...thrilled about." Not compared to you.

Motion returns to idle hands, and she makes for Forrest's own, catching one from the same sleeves that she herself has worn. Really, she doesn't mind the clothing she wears tonight (Forrest's clothing always seems to meet her in the middle), but seeing her in the witch's own clothes has given her heartbeaet accleration. Somehow, although it is an outfit that Rhajat has made herself extremely familiar with, it might as well be entirely new threads draped on the Nohrian. Loose, dark sleeves run about her, snaking from the breast about her shoulders, then coming down around her sides in black tears. Beneath, mesh nets encase the skin. The dress is a somber exoskeleton of fabric, outlining Forrest's glowing shoulders and sensitive palms, and on her back can be viewed the bones. Thin rods hold together the backless garment, truly offering skeletal vestments to the dark witch's robes. Long cords embellish her normally slight figure into one befitting a true sorceress. Forrest's blonde curls, usually an accessory to bright skies, are a beacon from the black ensemble.

At the mention of dance, Rhajat stiffens ever so slightly. Of course Forrest would ask this of her—that is the purpose of this outing. She only looks down at her lover and bites her abnormally pink lips. I don't dance.

Entering into the central hall has got to be the worst part, she knows. Brilliantly lit, and teeming with nearly everyone in the entire monastery, there's really no place she'd rather be less. She spies no one familiar in her first recon either; and so, awaiting her princess, she leans against a wall, as inconspicuous as one can be on such an energetic evening.

[ TXT ] : finding location data is easy

[ TXT ] : [attachment: kris's location]

[ TXT ] : don't ask how i got it

[ TXT ] : Who is this???

[ TXT ] : What is this???

[ TXT ] : I do not know what to do with this. But why do you have this, and who are you, and how did you know to text me?

[ TXT ] : Are you the car driver? Please do not text strangers. Call an ambulance.

[ TXT ] : why are you still awake?

[ TXT ] : hey, where did you go?

[ TXT ] : it's getting bad again.

[ TXT ] : guess i'll just sit in bed. alone. by myself.

[ TXT ] : you can't ignore me forever.

[ TXT ] : i can't stop thinking about you.

[ TXT ] : just saw i called you last night. how'd that go?

[ TXT ] : i really need someone right now.

[ TXT ] : we need to make plans asap.

[ TXT ] : have you seen the news?

[ TXT ] : you were blackout drunk.

[ TXT ] : testing to see if you blocked my number...

[ TXT ] : do you know anything about doing stitches?

[ TXT ] : just please let me know you're okay.

[ TXT ] : did you forget we had plans?

[ TXT ] : i know you see my messages, your read receipts are on.

[ TXT ] : meet me at [ location ], it's important.

[ TXT ] : do you need comfort, to vent, or a solution?

[ TXT ] : is there anything i should bring?

[ TXT ] : call me. please, it's important.

[ TXT ] : i can't sleep.

[ TXT ] : have you eaten today?

[ TXT ] : you are always going to be my priority.

[ TXT ] : i haven't seen you around in awhile.

[ TXT ] : i had a dream about you last night.

[ TXT ] : the names are gonna get mean if you don't text me back.

[ TXT ] : at the risk of sounding cliche, what are you wearing?

[ TXT ] : just say the word and i'll drop everything.

[ TXT ] : do you seriously not remember?

[ TXT ] : come to the front door.

[ TXT ] : have you been drinking?

[ TXT ] : how do you feel after last night?

[ TXT ] : are you up? please be up.

[ TXT ] : you looked beautiful today.

[ TXT ] : i have so much to tell you.

[ TXT ] : no one's heard from you. are you okay?

[ TXT ] : who is this?

[ TXT ] : are you taking care of yourself?

[ TXT ] : thought i'd reach out and see how you're doing.

[ TXT ] : i miss the taste of your lips.

[ TXT ] : that kiss was really nice.

[ TXT ] : stop acting so high and mighty.

[ TXT ] : i left my [ item ] at your place.

[ TXT ] : are we still fighting?

[ TXT ] : i need help and i can't go to the hospital.

[ TXT ] : are you thinking about me too?

[ TXT ] : call me, i wanna hear your voice.

[ TXT ] : i don't want to talk to you.

[ TXT ] : what do you have to lose?

[ TXT ] : you don't have to ask, i'm already on my way.

[ TXT ] : i want to take a nap on you.

[ TXT ] : even if you called 6 months later at 3am, i'd answer.

[ TXT ] : what's my name in your phone?

[ TXT ] : how's trying to forget about me going?

[ TXT ] : i have nobody else to ask.

[ TXT ] : what do you mean you're at the hospital??

[ TXT ] : sorry, i think you have the wrong number.

[ TXT ] : good morning! you up yet?

[ TXT ] : do i sense sarcasm in your tone?

[ TXT ] : you start your day at 2pm?

[ TXT ] : you need MY help?

[ TXT ] : stop texting me.

[ TXT ] : i'll leave that up to your imagination.

[ TXT ] : are you asking me to sneak out?

[ TXT ] : when will i see you again?

[ TXT ] : if you come over, i'll order us a pizza.

[ TXT ] : are we ever going to talk about it?

[ TXT ] : can you come get me out of here?

[ TXT ] : you mean like ... a BODY - body?

[ TXT ] : it's just been one thing after another lately.

[ TXT ] : forgiving and forgetting is harder than it sounds.

[ TXT ] : i want your legs wrapped around my head.

[ TXT ] : call me when you wake up.

[ TXT ] : what are you doing that's more important than me?

Barely a foot through the tarp, and a woman’s spindly arms clamp around their waist with no intention of letting go. Forrest stifles something in the back of their throat — pain, likely, from the wound that she presses — but steels themselves enough to stay sturdy and part with a laugh. “Well that didn’t take long… Though, I suppose it was never going to in the first place.” 

They bite the corner of their glove and free the bare softness of their hand, wrenching it toward their midsection to address the diviner currently hogging them for warmth. “You’re quite cold: I take it your battle didn’t go great either?” Equal but opposite, the pair bear the lingering stamps of their bouts. Where Rhajat feels freezing to the touch, almost enough to make Forrest shiver, the Nohrian has burnt up. They smell faintly of charred fabrics and their body still radiates much of the heat they were assailed with — their own heat. It serves to reason, then, that they would each regulate the other; Forrest warms, Rhajat cools. The longer they stay intact, the closer they come to complete thermal equilibrium.

So Forrest wastes no time budging their Hoshidan with their knee and directing the both of them onto her cot. Its size belies that it was made just for one, but doesn’t that just keep them closer together? “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to assist, but I am now, and I’ll remain as long as you like..” 

Rhajat is draped overtop, such that her jaw sits at Forrest’s clavicle and her face absorbs the balminess of every breath they take. And with her laid & comfortable, the blonde deploys their de-gloved hand to stream through her hair. Careful digits lift, stroke, and knead between her locks — pressing occasionally against her scalp so that she can feel a few ginger circles.

The moment exudes a soothing air of utmost calm: the perfect respite from the storms they both braved.

At the door, she doesn't have to wait long before familiar pink and gold enters. She jumps to them, grabbing them about the waist firmly. (Her drink is tossed aside.) Taller, she presses her cheek to the side of their head, lingering in the familiar texture of Forrest's hair. Her own attire, stiff from the frost, is unable to push its way any closer to them, though she tries, insisting her body as close as she can. They're warm, burnt; it sears her skin, but she only clings tighter. "They fucking froze me."

Their voice is much softer than her own. She lets the combination of it and Forrest's gentle movements guide her back to their cot, clambering uncomfortably into the blankets together. With gravity as her ally, she folds much nicely into Forrest's body, and tucking her nose next to their ear, breathes them in deeply. Were she not exhausted her mind would already be all over the place, concocting soothing ointments and rejuvenating potions. But, for now, she's content to just breathe Forrest in deeply, applying an ice cube mage to their burns.

When she feels the fingers in her hair, she initially bristles. She can't help but to, when she's touched, even by Forrest; but her apprehension subsides with every stroke.