[h3][u][color=C2B280]Fleo Plector -=- Tree near a Hillside Farm[/color][/u][/h3]

Almost half an hour passed while Fleo Plector sat.    Her headache, soothed by deep, peaceful breathing, faded mercifully away.  The wind rustled the leaves above her head, creating a soporific melody that soon saw the dust woman dozing off.  All those painful questions of past, present, purpose, and protection vanished as the veil of sleep took hold, and for a few minutes she lay, propped against her friendly tree, in a comfortable, dreamless slumber.  The sound of gravel crunching beneath Nolan's heel as he approached roused her at length, but no sooner had her eyes flickered open then they were shut again.  While the Ash God Slayer's callousness couldn't be denied, Fleo hadn't thought of him as a bully purposefully pursing her with a sadistic desire to upset her further.  She suspected that one of the other guild members, one who actually practiced what he or she preached, had forced him to come.

Did she want an apology?  No definitive answer revealed itself for that question.  An apology wouldn't kill the flower of hopelessness and terror blossoming inside her; only she could do that.  Having glimpsed a sliver of Nolan's true nature, Fleo expected that such an apology wouldn't be genuine, either.  She sat, once again surveying Magnolia, as the Ash God Slayer smoked his pipe and milked the silence for all it was worth.  Then he began to speak once more.  Fleo managed not to flinch at the sound of his voice, vacant of feeling as it was.  However badly she wanted to ignore him just to spite him, she forced herself to listen.  

A few moments in, she realized with a start that he was telling her his story.  Her first instinct was to brush it off, as brusquely as he had treated her, but as the tragedy of the Waltz family laid itself before her, she grew more conflicted.  No etiquette class could have prepared her for a situation like this—what could she say?  Did he think he could excuse his cruelty by telling her what cruelty he himself had suffered?  Or did he mean to share a buried secret with her to show he was human too?

No apology then, it would seem.  Nolan merely uttered more questions, probing the wound he created thirty minutes ago.  This time, however, he looked directly at her.  Fleo examined his face, no doubt as he did for her.  He had shiny black eyes, feathery brown hair, and an unflinching face that hid behind it a mind that she now realized was damaged goods...just like her.  Though several years her junior, Nolan appeared older by the seriousness etched onto his features.  Either out of her heart's fairness or its pity she decided to humor the Ash God Slayer with a response.  [color=C2B280]“Before I answer that, I guess you should see something.  A little insight into me, since you just gave me a little into you.  You had better keep it a secret, though, to pay me back for making me cry.  If you tell anyone, I might suffocate you in your sleep.  Or hug you.  Whichever hurts you worse.”[/color]

Fleo held up her left hand and began to unwind the bandages.  After a few moments, her entire left had was uncovered, and her secret was bared to the person she now hated most.  In the back of her mind, she hoped that leveling with Nolan would help remedy the strife between them, and maybe turn an enemy into an ally.  She blinked twice and allowed her magical grip on the dust to loosen, and just like that her hand fell apart to be spirited away by the cheery hillside wind.

[color=C2B280]“The both of us are damaged goods.  You lost people, which I can't pretend to have gone through.  The experience made you what you are.  Lay down your life, huh?  At least you could do that.”[/color]  Her tone turned bitter.  [color=C2B280]“You had the power to do something about it, to swear vengeance, to find a purpose, to help people.  I...I got sick.  I was in bed a long time.  I couldn't... couldn't do anything about my situation.  All I could do...was sit there.  Unable to live, but too afraid to die.  It was a miracle that the right person happened along to give me a second chance.  That's why I want to live, but it's not that simple.”[/color]  Her soft voice took on a certain edge of resolution, no longer bitter, but affirmative.  [color=C2B280]“I've never narrowed my existence down to a single purpose.  I can't say, 'I'm going to accomplish X, no matter what.'  I don't just sit around with my life, though.  I've traveled the continent, been in multiple guilds, had many fights, done many jobs, seen incredible things, and a whole lot more.  I've made lots of friends—given them lots of memories.  Um, and they've given me a lot too.  Whether I try to or not, that's the legacy I leave behind.”[/color]

Pleased with herself for thinking up a nice speech on the fly, Fleo put her head down and reformed her hand, then set to work embalming it again.  A weight, however small, seemed to have lifted from her.  [color=C2B280]“Remember Mr. Afraid-of-Women, not a word, or I will find you, and I will hug you,”[/color] she threatened, that trying-to-be-optimistic smile gracing her face once more.  She jumped to her full height and almost toppled over, momentarily woozy from the sudden rise.  Shaking her head, she steadied herself and lifted off the ground on a layer of dust.  Perhaps being quick to forgive was a sign of weakness or spottiness, but it remained a trait permanently interred in her character.  [color=C2B280]“I, uh I'm in the mood for pancakes before these dark wizards come calling.  How about it?”[/color]