BWP We all fall downnnnnnn - Printable Version

The dream visitor was back, and he had no good news to spare. The plague continued to press in from all sides, and he pled for whoever was listening to help. To search. To save the land. Wisp had woken with a gasp for air and quietly extracted herself from the nest, ears pinned, pelt spiked with uncertainty. She shut the door tight behind her, asked Naya to make sure it stayed that way, and slipped from the cabin without much fanfare.
She couldn't go anywhere. The thought echoed in her mind, bounced around her skull, tortured her. She couldn't just leave. Mal was on the mend but still Not Great, Lyra would be pissy for some time, and Sarge was... not good, at all. She worried about him a lot, about how his healing was coming along and whether or not he would regain faculty of his abilities again. He could barely handle healing let alone being left with the kids, and nobody else was high enough in her graces to be watching her kids for several days alone.

The skinny grey Wisp stalked the yard, frustration creasing her features and lifting the fur along her spine as if there were some real enemy to sink her teeth into lurking in the pine forest beyond. Snow fell in great fat flakes from the sky and settled on her back, but if she was cold pacing about in the snow nearly half her height, she didn't show it. In fact, the cold felt good against her belly; between Wendi's gnawing and Selkie having started eating the fucking SALT Lyra's dumb fae-cist ass was putting everywhere, she was sore, and numbing her underside a little wasn't the end of the world.
Ears pressed against her skull, she pushed through the snow and stared off into the woods, tail lashing, brows furrowed.

She had a job to do, and she couldn't, because she'd weighed herself down with responsibility and commitment.

If everything else going to shit wasn't enough, that goddamn dream visitor had to make a reappearance. Appealing to them. Begging for them to help save Mythris.

Outside their little cabin, the world was crumbling. They were running out of time.

And Mal was stuck laid up with a bum leg and a small host of other still-healing injuries. Two weeks offered some distance from the attack, provided enough healing he wasn't completely bedbound but…Mal wasn't an idiot. He knew he had no business walking more than the handful of steps it took to cross the room, but also decided he just didn't give a shit.

He'd already been pushing it; what harm was a little more going to do?

Besides, saving the world aside, if he stayed cooped up indoors much longer he was going to lose his fucking mind. Anything—even a painful walk through two feet of snow—was preferable to another morning watching dust settle.

When Mal heard Wisp leave the cabin, he stiffly climbed to his feet and limped his way out into the yard. Snow continued to fall in fat, heavy flakes. It piled up without warmth or sun to melt it, drifted high against the wooden walls of the structure, and threatened to drown the world in endless white.

It pissed him off, Mal realized. A spark of anger that flicked to life like a small, but stubborn flame. Mal was sick of being toyed with. Pushed around. Fuck all this stupid fucking snow, and fuck the end of the world, and double-fuck whatever shithead was behind it.

The apocalypse could kiss his ass.

Mal huffed, and continued his slow journey towards the figure pacing at the edge of the woods. Sharp pain splintered up his hind leg and crooked tail with the movement, but after a couple steps, he fell into a rhythm, and thought he could manage a longer walk. Just…maybe a slow one.

I'd ask how you're taking the news, but ah, judging by the trench you're wearing in the yard—I'm gonna guess 'not great'. As far as greetings went it wasn't the warmest, but dark humor was the best Mal had to offer. Shit's pretty fucked up, huh? A huffed exhale, followed by a wry grin. So—how 'bout a walk? Dunno if there's anything out there to find, but it beats sitting here on our asses waiting for the world to end.

Rune Discovery : 「 Success 」

The snow falls in droves, heavy and unrelenting. As you gather and speak to one another, you realize it has only gotten worse … the thick flurries soon moving sideways through the sky and obscuring your vision. The morning becomes totally enveloped in white …

… except …

You see something in the distance, a bright blue color reflecting against the pale white blizzard. At first, you could imagine it is your mind playing tricks on you, but as you focus your gaze, you notice that beneath a nearby tree is a pulsating glow. An ebb and flow of magical blue light.

It could be risky to move outward into the storm, but that light calls to you. You know, based on these recent dreams, that a rune is settled there, cradled in winter’s grasp. It only took a white-out to see there was more color left in Mythris than you may have realized.

Drire sepal hoke yet. The voice percolates through the wind, peppering against your ears as you feel yourself compelled to pick up the rune that has presented itself to you.

The crunch of snow alerted her of company, and a brief flare of her nostrils told her it was Mal. Her heart thundered in her chest; it hurt to look at the lad, to know she was responsible for his wounds by way of not doing that job, either. Why wouldn't she have fetched Sarge to their bed when it was time? Why wouldn't she have been careful? Even if she never said it out loud, they'd had a good system going on. One that worked.
Until Wisp let her PTSD-suffering husband get drunk and left him alone. Yeah, great, what the fuck did she think was going to happen? Her fault.
Her fault Mal was hurt.
Her fault Sarge was broken.
Her fault that things were so heavy, now. The feeling of being unwelcome pressed in on her every time she passed Lyra, every time she got a whiff of blood off Mal, every time she passed looked at or came to the cellar door.
Her fault.

Wisp pretended she didn't notice him, hoping he was just... off on a little jaunt, stretching his legs. Hanging out. She was not so lucky. His voice, muted in the snowfall, rose up behind her. She let her stride hesitate, lowering her head to cast a one-eyed look his way, shame rounding her clouded orbs.
He looked so bad.
Wisp's chest clenched as she grunted a noncommittal greeting, and she turned her gaze back to the forest, halting to wait for him. Thin's got so complicated, she murmured, a tremor running down her spine, Ah should be out there, doin' mah job. Ah have'ta be here, doin' another. The grey woman heaved a sigh. Ah cannae pick, but ah cannae leave. Ah dinnae feel ah'm doin' th' right thing anywhere ah go.

So, no, not great. She tried to match his smile but it fell short of her eyes, and she couldn't look at him head-on, but she nodded as he offered a walk. She'd let him set the pace, match his gait.

She forced herself to look over anyway, brows pinching with anxiety.

Mal, ah'm fuckin' sorry. Ye know that, right?