Riven Wight

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Yay for motivation! :-D Eh, don’t worry too much about the character sheet. I mean, I’d love to read the updated version, but it’s not like the world’s going to explode if you don’t get to it any time soon. And yep, knowing a character’s family life helps tremendously! My gosh, for the MCs in my major projects, the bio section of their profiles are basically their own novelettes.

If it makes you feel any better about Mr. Rabbit, he was once quite cute and fluffy. *Grins.* Also, I’m glad and quite flattered that you’re so entirely on board! :-D I look forward to the whole thing! I can’t wait until our guys meet some of the other iconic characters in this part (which I've probably already said. xD). Just as a reminder, while I have a good deal mulling around my head, if at any point in time, things seem a bit slow, or you have an idea/suggestion for anything, don’t hesitate to say so!

Thanks! Yeah, I have them all on my wall, but in a way that I can quickly take them down and play with them (or, you know, defend myself if needbe. Intruders beware!). That’s cool about having a replica of Sting! You totally should put it up again. If you can find it, anyway!

Do let me know! That’s awesome she’s obsessed with them. I love mangos. Hope you both like the milkshake!

So, I know this is backtracking a conversation, but I ended up trying to remember what bow I have to find out if its weight is adjustable (I have it set at 30#, but would like to work toward more, if my bow lets me), and believe I figured it out. Thought I’d share a specs page with you, and ask if the ones you used resembled that (a compound bow) or not. I think it’s the Apprentice 2, since the first only came in pink, and I have the regular camo. It's a youth bow, but it was in my rather dismal price range at the time, and had a good range of adjustments that work for my needs, especially since I mostly do target practice vs. hunting.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra watched Ghent as he took the lead. Though she was sure she could have remembered—or at least figured out—where the two places were, she was glad for someone more sure-footed in the matter, and even more glad for the momentary silence that fell between them.
With him in front of her, Elayra walking just to his side to be capable of seeing the road ahead, her eyes strayed to him, wondering and thinking of the magic-less life he was about to leave behind. Her focus settled once more on his rather dreary physical state. Magic-less. It was one of the many things that had haunted her while trying to sleep; what if Ghent really could not use magic, here or in Wonderland?
She jumped slightly and turned toward part of the dwindling trees as something rustled in the bushes, a hand going to the sword at her belt, but whatever had caused the disturbance made no further appearance.
Her attention turned again to Ghent when he spoke.
She snorted. “If you know the answer, then why waste your breath? Worry about your pack, I’ll worry about mine.” All the same, she readjusted it again, scowling as it rubbed against the bruise, but too proud to let someone else carry it.
She glanced up to the barrier—a sheet of what looked like displaced, shimmering air splattered with raindrops—to the dark, cloud-covered sky, trying to guess by the lightness of the gray blanket whether or not the sun was rising behind it, then to Ghent.
Elayra remained ever diligent, her eyes flicking from one shadow to the next. Her gaze paused on a pavilion off to the side, just outside the reach of one of the streetlights.
She transferred her bow from the left hand to the right. “We’re making a short stop.” She gripped Ghent’s wrist and pulled him toward the pavilion. She had to know if he could use magic. Or, at the very least, feel it. After all, everything was riding on that assumption.
Should he not resist, Elayra stopped just inside the pavilion where the concrete remained dry. Releasing Ghent, she placed a few feet between them, giving the picnic tables crowded around them a wary glance, checking for any signs of danger.
Satisfied, she turned back to Ghent, leaned her bow against one of the tables, and crossed her arms. “Close your eyes.”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra quickly stepped back when she nearly collided with Ghent, a hand moving instinctively to the dagger hanging beside her quiver.
She gave a sigh of relief that it was only him. Placing the end of her bow on the ground, she looked him over as he did the same of her.
Elayra’s change of clothes, consisting of a green knee-length dress, a brown overcoat laced at the front and sporting slit puff sleeves at the shoulders, a pair of pants, and tall boots pulled over them, remained mostly dry thanks to the barrier above her. Mud caked the souls of her shoes, and a few dark patches splotched her well-worn garments from windblown rain.
Ghent, on the other hand was drenched, looking like something a kid had tried to drown before taking a walk in the park. But he could have been worse. Such as not even there.
“You actually came.” Elayra smirked. As much as she refused to admit it, having him there was a welcomed relief. After everything, Ghent had come. Maybe, just maybe, that bode well for them. “I’m impressed.”
She looked at him questioningly, wondering what she, “too,” was, before he elaborated.
“Right,” she drew out the word playfully, looking up slightly to meet his gaze, “sure you weren’t.”
Elayra’s smirk turned into a scowl when he asked about what had happened. She opened her mouth to answer, but he went on to his next question before she could speak.
“You guys got into a fight, didn’t you?”
Again, she tried to respond with, “It doesn’t matter,” but her mouth snapped shut and she looked at him in surprise at his accurate assumption. But then, he rambled on. Her fists clenched at the concept of Drust “abandoning” her, accompanied by Ghent’s sigh and reassurances that kept her from responding.
“You hurt anywhere—”
“For the love of Absolem!” In a swift movement, Elayra gripped one of her arrows by its damp blue fletching, drew it, and shifted the sharp tip to point threateningly at Ghent’s chest. “Stop talking!” She gave an irate huff and placed the tip against his shirt. “Drust didn’t abandon me. This world and the Curse don’t mix well, so he’s waiting on the Wonderland side of the portal. For both our safety. Now, if that satisfies you,” she bit, quickly replacing the arrow in her quiver, “we’re wasting time.”
She brushed by him, her expression sour, and headed to the front of the storage shed. She shoved the door open, leaned her bow near a window, and reached inside to where she had placed her pack, ready to go. Forgetting about the bruise on her back, she slung the pack over her shoulders, and gasped when it thumped painfully against the spot she could not reach to tend to.
Trying to adjust the pack so it would not be bothersome, she turned and walked carefully toward the road, stopping once Ghent was in her sight.
“The portal’s in an alleyway between Frank’s Book Barn and Hava Java,” she informed him, annoyance at him and at the ache from the bruise in her voice.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra sat, cross-legged, on the damp earth in front of Drust. With his hands tied behind has back with rope she had found hanging in the shed, he had barely even stirred as she bound him to the tree. Though she had stopped most of the bleeding from the cut at her jawbone, her side ached, and she was sure the metal of his gauntlets had left more than just a nasty bruise akin to the one she felt forming on her back.
A light drizzle had begun to trickle from the sky, pattering gently against the foliage above. A small flame she had summoned flickered and sputtered as the wetness tried to snuff it out, but Elayra was careful to give it just enough focus to keep it burning. Every little sound in the woods drew her attention, making her raise her sword, ready to spring to her feet.
At long last, Drust groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He tugged once at the binds, then, realizing why he could not move his hands, a snarl twisted his face.
“Drust!” Elayra stood, her sword brandished in front of her in case the weathered ropes did not hold.
His head snapped up to look to her. His gaze quickly took in her defensive stance and apprehensive stare, before settling on the dried red she had missed just below the facial wound. To her relief, the Curse had receded to its normal appearance, and, slowly, Drust's body relaxed.
He hung his head and looked back at the tree. “Are you okay?” he grumbled, an air of self-contempt in his voice. His neck twitched slightly.
“I’m fine, Drust,” she reassured quickly. She hesitated for a moment, but then sheathed her sword as a sign of trust.
The sound of the sword sliding home made him look back to her before she knelt down a couple feet in front of him.
“But you…” she took a breath and swallowed, hating the thought of him leaving, but fearing what would happen if he stayed. “You need to go back. I don’t know what’s going on, but the Curse is too unstable here. Wait for us in Wonderland. I’ll stay to meet Ghent when he arrives.”
Drust looked at her for a long moment, then opened his mouth with a look of protest, before closing it again and placing his chin to his chest. He remained like that for a couple minutes, the rain growing slowly heavier.
Finally, he gave a stiff nod. “I’ll gather my pack. Then meet you both in the Hill.”
Elayra released a nervous breath she had not realized she held. If he had argued, to try to convince him otherwise could have ended disastrously.
“At least,” he looked back to her, and his brows rose irritably, “if you untie me.”
Elayra gave him a half, apologetic shrug, then cut the ropes with her dagger. “Your sword’s in a tree.” She nodded in the direction where the katana had all but ran one of the trees through.
She stood alongside Drust. She moved to follow him as he headed to retrieve his sword, but he held out a hand for her to stop.
“Wait here.” He turned slightly to look at her. “I won’t take long. I can find the portal myself.” He turned back around and continued toward his sword. “Be safe, Elayra.”
“Be prepared for anything.”
Drust paused with a smirk. “And always expect the worst.” With that, he muttered something under his breath, then left the small circle of light her flame provided.
She stared after Drust even once the night had consumed him. Slowly, she sheathed her dagger, then, taking a deep, shaky breath, leaned against a tree. She gasped and grimaced when the bark pressed against the bruise on her back, and quickly pushed away.
The thought of being left alone in this foreign world, waiting for something she doubted would happen, made a pit form in her stomach.
After what she hoped was long enough, she headed back to the shack. Once inside, she went to her pack, wanting to change out of the dress, but she stopped.
Sitting on top of her pack was the wooden first aid box.

After a few hours of fitful sleep disturbed by every little sound, she gave up on sleep and opted for or a bit of target practice, taking out her worries and frustrations on the trees behind the shack. Incapable of telling the time, the cloud cover promising a late-waking sun, she could only hope Ghent would be on time, if he showed up.
Though it took her a couple tries, she succeeded in creating a magical shield to use as an umbrella, the neglected magic of the world a bit too eager for use. Beneath its dry safety, she quickly lost track of time, firing one arrow after the other before retrieving them from her designated targets, glad for the distraction.
She was only on her second quiver when she heard someone approaching above the patter of the rain.
With her hair tied up with a woven bit of twine, in the dim light that just illuminated the area, she loosed the arrow she had drawn back. The head sunk into the wood of a tree just above a line of others with a loud, satisfying thock. Swiftly, she nocked another and turned as the crunch of footsteps and huff of heavy breathing grew nearer.
She blinked in surprise when, despite all odds, Ghent called out from the front. She slowly released the arrow, preventing it from firing. “I’m around back!”
Removing her arrow from the bow, she went to pry the others from the tree. Careful to not aggravate what remained of her newest battle wounds, she made short work of freeing the weapons, then turned to see if Ghent had decided to join her here before striding toward the side of the shack.

To Cure a Curse

Ah! Either I forgot, or managed to overlook what trigger's Calanon's curse. Either way, I got a bit excited that our characters' curses feed on opposite aspects. xD Anger and hatred, and love and companionship. That's freaking perfect!

To Cure a Curse

Rayadell watched Calanon return to the fire after tending to his animal companion. Her expression unwavering in its impassive façade, she allowed herself a moment to admire the way the flames and shadows waltzed over his lean features with each flicker of firelight, focusing on the play of light and dark.
Thought the cold did not bother her much, the heat rising from the fire to where she stood was welcomed as Calanon warmed his hands. She looked back to the hypnotic flames as he commented about the tree spirit. She only jerked her head up in a nod of acknowledgement. They were everywhere, tree spirits, but normally shy creatures. Creatures as frightened of the dark aura about her as horses or the trees themselves.
Rayadell felt his gaze on her after she asked her question, but she did not return it, rather keeping him in her peripherals. A silence fell between them, turning the two into living statues, the only sign of life that of the lively flames and the hungry Elk. When at last Calanon moved again, Rayadell’s gaze flicked to him as he unwrapped what she had mistaken as bandages from his arm.
She inhaled and her chin rose at the first sight of the magically charred skin beneath, an unnerving aura radiating from it without the protection of the fabric. She glanced to him as he gave his quick explanation, before following his stare back to his arm.
She let another, short silence fall between them once he finished, broken only by the crackle of the flames eating away at its wood. He, too, was cursed, forced to hide the mark of it as she hid the effects of her own. Which left the question of how the Carishes had found them. As trustworthy as the couple seemed, years of forcing herself to focus on the emotions Calanon was forced to avoid, of always looking over her shoulder and training herself to trust very few, suspicion about the two and their daughter nagged at her.
“They’ve offered both of us a cure, then,” she finally said in her usual monotone. Her jaw set. Seeing no harm in it, she slowly reached up and brushed back the black-tipped white hair draped over her face. She hooked it behind her pointed ear.
Elegant, swirling lines created a filigree pattern over her pale skin from the corner of her left eye to her jawbone. At first glance, it seemed little more than a silvery tattoo that shone in the firelight, until she turned her head just right. Specks of sickly black glittered amidst the silver, eliminating any illusion of intended elegance in the pattern. It was a mark, the binding element, and an eternal reminder of her own curse. Should he choose to focus on it, an unsettling air would reach to him, like the evil aura of an infuriated sorceress.
Without offering any further explanation, once Calanon had time to see it, she fingered her hair so it fell back in place, concealing the mark once more. She looked back to the flames, a sense of sorrow and pure hatred flashing in her eyes.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

… First off, sorry about the post length. I got a carried away (surprise, surprise). Love you. xD Just so I don’t feel too bad, remember you don’t have to match length or anything. If you don’t have too much else you want/have inspiration to do with Ghent, you’re welcome to do a time skip in your next post to the morning, and I’ll do the same.

Legolas: the ultimate archery goal.

Truth! The day after when all the candy’s on sale is the best part about it, in my opinion.

Thank you! =^.^= I’ve felt like I’ve been a bit off with Drust lately, so it’s good to know that apparently doesn’t show up in-story.

<>Gosh, Axel. First you clean his room, then you just have to snoop in Ghent’s backpack. Such a cute kid, in an annoying little brother kind of way. xD <>Trust me, Ghent; you really wouldn’t have preferred the White Rabbit. Well, not now, anyway. Muhahaha. <>Aww, the feels of family bonds! <3 <>Tahaha! Pinky swear. Man, I haven’t heard that in ages! <>Farm-boy makes a good point. <>Character tag! “Gee, thanks!” :-D

Hmm. *Rubs invisible beard in thought.* I’mma gonna kinda talk plot for a moment. Because if I don’t, my brain might explode. Depending on how we end up feeling when/if we ever get to the end of this, I have a subplot in mind that would work its way through the story--if I can do it right--and a possible outcome depending on how things turn out for a kind of “part two” that would involve traveling to other fairy tale worlds, and even Earth (again, only if we’re not tired of the RP and you haven’t gotten sick of me by/before then. ). I don’t have much thought out for that, since, well, it’s a long way off and not the current focus, but I think it’d be interesting to incorporate Ghent’s adoptive family into it somehow if it happens, if you’d be up for that. But, you know. That’s a LONG way off yet.

I wouldn’t say impressive, but it’s decent. I have quite a few collections, so tend to pick and choose what to add to and when, and that one has been a bit lower on the list lately. Other than twin hooks? I’d honestly love to find a saber (one reason Elayra got one), a flamberge (I’ve liked that blade style for years), and more throwing daggers, which I want to learn to use.

Perfect! *Grins as the gears in my head begin to turn.* I’ll come up with something for him once we get there.

Sounds like with my parents and movies, to be honest. It drives me crazy. They have so many double copies of movies, it’s insane. Only, that’s still in present tense for a reason. I try to be frugal, but for me, it’s art projects that get me. And, well, my more impractical collections.

O.O Well then. That game rating escalated quickly... Good to know. Thanks!

I like the alliteration of it. Mint mango milkshake. It was easy enough to make (though the blender and knife fought me... I now have battle wounds from making a freaking milkshake. I feel so pathetic). I hope you find some! Oh, as a tip in case you didn’t know, look for mangoes that have a yellowish peal. Those are the ripest ones, I do believe.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Wishing she had thought to change out of her dress, more worn and tattered than it had been earlier that day, Elayra hooked her sword belt around her waist, her quiver of arrows still inside by her pack. After looking over her surroundings, searching the shadows for evidence of any enemies lurking about, she drew her sword.
The long, curved blade slid from the sheath, the gentle sound a whispered reassurance from an old friend in this world filled with unfamiliar uncertainties. She ran a hand down the flat of the blade, ever careful of its double edges, her touch almost tender. The blade glinted a majestic blue in the light of the small flame still hovering near her.
Removing her hand, she swung it a couple times, stepping expertly with each swing, testing how much strength she had recovered from filling her stomach and taking what could not have been more than an hour’s nap.
Though she had regained enough strength to stand and brandish the weapon, a dull ache still lurked in her muscles. But as much as the impending match was punishment for her for mouthing off, she knew it would help sate some of the Curse’s effects. At least, if it would act the same here as it did in Wonderland. If it would help Drust, she would give it no less than everything she had.
Elayra took a deep breath, and her hand tightened on the saber’s hilt. She loathed the volatility of it all, from the Curse to Ghent, and everything that fell in between.
She shook her head as frustration heated her chest. She could not afford to dwell on that. Now more than ever, she needed to have enough level-headedness for the both of them. If that was even possible.
The door to the shack-of-a-shed creaked open behind her.
She spun around, her sword swinging with her, ready to draw it in to block any possible attack.
Drust, his katana strapped to his back, stepped back and raised a hand, a tight-fitting gauntlet protecting his arm from fist to the crook of his elbow. Elayra’s sword clanged to a stop against the gauntlet, the metal of the armored glove a dirtied shade of white.
“Not here,” he snapped, his red flame extinguishing as he pushed her sword out of the way. He jerked his head toward the side of the shed, then turned before she could see how much of him was ruled by him, vs. the Curse.
Wiping any emotion besides arrogant determination from her face, she followed Drust silently to the back of the shed.
The scent of an impending rain rode a gentle, cool breeze as he led them to a space not far behind their shelter. A few trees spotted the area, providing a few obstacles to work around, hopefully far enough from the road for the sound of battle to not carry to anyone who happened to pass by.
Drust gestured for her to stop, then took a few more lengthy strides from her.
“Fists or blades?” she asked as he turned to her. She glanced to his gauntleted hands, unsure which would be worse.
Something between a sneer and a smirk pulled at his lips. “Brighten your flame.”
Elayra’s eyes narrowed fractionally at his lack of answer. That’s never good.
“Elayra!” he hissed harshly at her short delay.
She concentrated on the small lick of fire and the sensation of magic surrounding it, giving it the order to grow.
The flame twisted, then grew larger and brighter.
“You were once rather talented in magic, for a toddler of human birth.” Drust drew his katana without looking from Elayra. The magical firelight reached him, glittering in his eyes; though the colors of the Curse were still more prominent than she would like, it had, at least, diminished slightly. “Many of her subordinates can see in the dark.”
“I’ve only known that for how long now?” she said with a slight roll of her eyes.
Drust snarled at her, the Curse’s colors pulsating, and she sobered, snapping her mouth shut and taking a defensive stance, her left side angled away from him.
“Don’t let your light go out,” he ordered sharply. He muttered something under his breath.
Elayra's body tensed, ready for some kind of magical attack, but instead, a pale green light flashed over his eyes, then vanished.
Her brows furrowed for a moment in curiosity, before, without warning, he lunged at her, his sword’s reach far greater than hers. She slid to the side, his sword slicing through the air, and her flame dimmed slightly as her full attention turned from it.
Drust angled both his sword and body to swipe his weapon sideways at her, but Elayra jumped back and moved her sword to swat it off course, just managing to step around a tree trunk.
Instead of returning the attack, she stepped back, hoping to lead him to where the trees grew closer together, where the length of his sword could potentially be turned into a disadvantage in close quarters.
Drust smirked, and came at her again, bringing his sword down toward her with both hands.
Elayra, one leg back so her body dipped down, raised her saber horizontally above her, its flat side ready to take the blow and a palm bracing it near its tip milliseconds before Drust’s katana clanged hard against it.
She gritted her teeth at the jarring impact, her flame sputtering without her complete control and dwindling further. She spared it only a glance, trying to stabilize it as a short-lived spark fluttered toward the ground, but Drust gave her little more time than that.
Using the rebound of his blade hitting hers, with impeccable speed, he arced the blade down to the side then up toward her stomach, the metal glinting maliciously in the remaining light.
Hiding her fear behind a snarl, Elayra barely managed to jump back and knock his sword away with hers just enough to avoid more than adding another tear to her dress.
He readied to swing again, but they were now deep enough into the thicker part of the skimpy woods to prevent him from gaining full momentum without losing his sword to a tree. Apparently realizing this, he offered her a smirk on the verge of approval.
Instead, mid swing, he drew his sword back, and, with a twitch of his neck, hurled it forward.
Elayra, her eyes widening, yelped and jumped aside. Her back hit a tree, and the flame sent off a shower of sparks with her surprise, the light shrinking even further.
“Drust!” she squeaked out as his katana embedded deep into a tree trunk behind where she had stood. “You’re not supposed to actually kill—”
She gasped and jumped away as he swung at her with a gauntleted fist. The metal plates protecting his fingers swatted the fabric of her garment just below her rib cage. She looked to his face, but the scant light that remained was not enough to make out his eyes. Not that she needed it to guess how far the Curse had consumed them.
“Drust!” She raised her sword and hand beside her in a show of surrender. “I think we should call it good for to—“
Drust aimed another punch at her jaw.
Elayra ducked beneath it, and swiped her sword at his stomach, hoping to make him back off. The tip of her blade sliced through the fabric of his shirt, but before she could tell if it did any damage beyond that, she shouted in pain as his fist collided with her, sending a burst of pain through her side.
What remained of her flame sizzled out as she stumbled away. In the complete darkness of this part of the park, she slipped on a patch of grass and leaves still wet from the earlier rain. She turned mid fall to land on her back, raising her sword protectively in front of her, listening for Drust.
“You’ve lost your light, little blind mouse,” he taunted from off to her left, the sickeningly familiar gravely tone once more in his voice.
I wasn’t provoking it! her mind screamed in fearful confusion.
“Drust, listen to me,” she began, trying to sound as bold and fierce as she could as she hurried to her feet. “You need to go back. I-I think this place is effecting the Curse in you.” Trying to avert her focus to her other senses to locate him, she stood still, her sword held in front of her. “I’ll wait for—”
She gasped and stumbled forward when another fist slammed into her back. She swung around with her sword, and the clang of the blade being blocked by one of his gauntlets rang through the woods.
With her eyes adjusted as much to the dark as they could get, turning the brighter areas of the world into blurry lumps of gray and black, she heard and felt the vibrations of Drust sliding his gauntlet over the blade to grip the sword.
He pulled it and her forward, trying to disarm her, but she refused to let go. She brought her leg up in a swift kick. With a sense of satisfaction, she felt it hit its mark, making Drust grunt, but the sensation was short-lived.
Before she could retract her leg, he gripped her ankle and forced her to turn, one hand still gripping her sword. Kicking her knees out from beneath her, he quickly adjusted his grip to her wrist and pulled her arm painfully straight behind her, his other hand pressed against the back of her head.
She inhaled sharply as he twisted her wrist, and she dropped her sword. Gritting her teeth, the metal of his gauntlets cold against her skin, she moved as quickly as possible. She ducked forward, ignoring the pain the action sent through her shoulder, twisted her body and arm so she had better leverage, gripped his wrist as well as possible, and pulled at him as hard as she could.
Drust snarled as, caught off-guard, he stumbled forward and slipped on the same slick area as she had.
Before his weight toppled onto her, she kicked out in the dark, hitting her unseen mark, then heard him land instead beside her. She swiftly drew her dagger, and tried to straddle him. Her palm landed on one of his shoulders, and she placed the blade of her dagger to where she thought his neck was.
“Drust! Snap out of it!” she begged.
He gave another snarl, before one hand gripped her dagger-wielding wrist, and the other pressed against her back to force her into him. He rolled over so he was on top of her, pinning her other arm between them, and twisted her hand so the wavy blade of her dagger rested at her throat near her ear, her chest heaving from a mix of exertion and fear.
Magic! There’s magic here! she reminded herself. She reached out to it mentally, straining to think of a command to give it that could help her.
“Inexus!” she breathed, her eyes closed, hoping it was the correct command.
With a surge of power, Drust was thrown from her, the blade of her dagger sliding over her jawbone and creating a stinging line.
The thick thud of Drust hitting a tree was followed by a heavy groan as Elayra struggled back to her feet and summoned another lick of flame. The golden light illuminated the forest, revealing Drust slumped, apparently unconscious, at the base of a tree.
With drops of sticky red seeping from the cut on her jaw line, she retrieved her sword before slowly approaching Drust, unsure if he was really out, or tricking her. Her dagger lay on the ground just outside his relaxed palm, his chest rising and falling evenly.
Tentatively, Elayra tapped her foot against his, then hurried back a step. When he did not stir, she tried again, to the same effect.
She rested a hand on the side of her neck, staring at him with a mix of concern, fear, and indecision.
She needed to tie him up, to keep him from attacking if unconsciousness was not enough to bring him back to her. With a shaky hand, she collected her dagger, her eyes never leaving his face as she neared enough to take it.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped away a streak of blood she felt dripping down her chin, then sprinted back toward the shed, hoping she could find something to tie him up with and return before he awoke.

Schooled in Magic

When the focus of all three tailors turned to her, Jazelle looked to them and backed away a step, unsure if she had crossed some line, had said something to draw their suspicion and ire. Her hands ever in her muff, she gripped her butterfly knife tightly, unsure what to expect from them.
She inhaled when the woman spoke first, then could not help but give a quite sigh of relief when she realized they were only angry at her lack of recognition of them.
With no little effort, she bit back a snide remark at their arrogant pride, mostly because she had no idea if they had magic of their own or not they could use against her if she annoyed them, but snorted when one of them called Sunder ‘darling.’
“Okay, okay,” she said with a smirk, her voice about as mocking as the hand she raised as if in defeat as they all shared a gloating stare. “You’re the masters of fashion here. Got it,” as she said the last, she snapped her fingers and pointed at them in one smooth motion.
Her attention turned with the tailors’ to Priscilla, glad for her interruption to get the trio back on track. She glanced to the three to see their reaction to how she addressed them, expecting them to puff up egotistically again, but instead, they got to work. Jazelle's smirk deepened as the three went to various areas of the room, finding amusement in how they scurried about. She warily watched the first of them return and head to her, a tailor’s measuring tape in hand.
Jazelle let them take her measurements, feeling awkward as she stood there, being positioned as they needed. Once they finished, she hesitantly followed one of them to a closet door, hanging back slightly and trying to get a look at what was inside before the man pulled it open.
He ducked inside, then reappeared long enough to toss a couple robes at her.
Jazelle pulled her hands from her muff and just managed to catch the partially folded garments, before he threw another, followed by a few more. She stacked them quickly, trying to avoid dropping them, both hands forced out of her pocket and away from the security of her knife.
The last thing he threw out to her, this time apparently actually aiming, were two pairs of shoes. They landed on top of the pile of clothes, making the stack teeter precariously.
With the sleeve of the robe on the bottom of the pile draping toward the floor, the tailors ushered Priscilla and her from the room, giving the older girl an odd-looking backpack.
“Yep,” Jazelle mumbled to the woman that followed them out, her focus more on keeping from dropping the stack of robes.
Alas, she jumped at the clang of the door closing behind them, and the shoes and top couple robes toppled to the floor.
She scowled down at them, glaring as if just her stare would make them jump obediently back to the top of the pile.
“Great,” she mumbled both to Priscilla’s comment, and at the garments.
When Priscilla headed down the hall, Jazelle hastily knelt and messily tossed the garments and shoes onto her pile and hurried after the girl, trying to not trip on the fabric that hung down toward her feet. She paused, realizing that now the hall stretched in front of them, instead of to either side. She tried to think if they had left through a different door, but was certain they had entered and exited through the same one.
“Man, this place is freaky,” she muttered to herself, then quickly caught up with Priscilla to avoid being left behind if the halls decided to change.
She followed inches from Priscilla, doing a double take once when she saw two servants exit through the same door, the room beyond changing each time.
I rest my case, she thought, looking over her shoulder at the door as they passed. All the same, curiosity nagged at her, wanting to know how that happened, whether it was the halls that changed, or the rooms.
When they reached the courtyard, at last giving her an idea of how many stories Sunder’s home was, she nearly ran into Priscilla when she turned to face her.
The shoes and garments threatened to fall again when Jazelle halted, and she moved a hand to steady it. Another sleeve of the bottom robe draped downward to join the first.
“Uh,” Jazelle raised an eyebrow at Priscilla's question, her eyes flicking between the servant girl and the pile of clothes. “Dumping these off somewhere would be nice... How the freak do you navigate those halls?” She jerked her head back toward the door they had exited through. “It’s worse than a maze! I mean, at least mazes stay consistent...” Or do they, here? “Well, in my neck of the woods, they did.”

They Live Among Us (Vampiricchild x Siaya)

Victoria’s grip on him tightened as Alex stood. She sighed at his reprimand of not trusting him, and her brows furrowed about her having ‘other protections.’
“The… necklace?” She glanced down slightly toward the chain he had given her as he stepped toward the window. It was just out of her sight, the pendant strung on it hidden between her and Alex’s back, but just knowing it was there was good enough for her.
“I was just trying to poke fun, is all,” she muttered when he finished.
When he gave them, she followed his instructions, her fingers linking together in front of him, though she instinctively tried to avoid cutting off his air supply. “Besides. It’s gravity I have an issue with right now. Not you.”