OTTERS.

[morthwyl]

[Let's backtrack a little. Maybe in the earlier timeline, a decade or two before Hadrian decided to just wander off with a smol child. See, Eiriol Maxwell was never a spirit. These days, it'd be hard to call her a demihuman or human or any kind of mortal, either. Maxwell is, in essence, a living anti-spirit weapon, impervious to most kinds of magic, able to grasp fire and lightning in her bare hands, with an even greater lung capacity than you'd expect from an average otter.

Of course, the Worldburner cell that experimented on her is very, very dead. And Eiriol, well...Eiriol vanished from where they were keeping her while they decided what to do with her.

She is currently halfway up a mountain several miles away, that seemed interesting to her. And given her body is covered with wards and she is honestly a giant beacon of magic, she's...probably standing out to anyone here, too.]

Comments

[thefightisall]

Before anything else? Likely exhausted from your ordeal. Do not concern yourself. You have time to consider implications. I have a feeling rain is coming; let that be your excuse to not continue your travels immediately.

[morthwyl]

I don't have anywhere to be in any hurry. It's nice here.

[Laughing a little, but she'll get up from the table, a little carefully.]

You take way better care of y'r fascinations than any human I've ever met, anyway.

[thefightisall]

Bring me your dishes, if you're going to be like that.

[She did get a laugh and a smile out of him.]

Well then. Do stay as long as you wish.

[morthwyl]

[She brings them over and kind of automatically starts trying to wash them. Look, some habits don't break easy.]

You know, I can't say I'm not surprised at this generosity but...I'm very glad for it. Thank you, Hadrian.

[So hey turns out she's real pretty when she smiles, if he's the sort who notices that about human-ish shaped beings.]

[thefightisall]

[Well, that does get him to smile back, and he is going for the dishes so that might be a bit close for her, but hey, it's his kitchen.]

You are welcome, Eiriol Maxwell.

[morthwyl]

[She'll move to let him get to the dishes but, well, she's pale as hell, that flush was visible.]

...Say, I didn't see one, but...there's not like, a workshop or anything up here? I know you all don't need those sorts of things, but...

[You hear those warning sirens, Hadrian?]

[thefightisall]

[He caught that!]

I am something of a blacksmith and a gunsmith in my spare time. If you feel the need to create as we do, then by all means.

[morthwyl]

A-ha.

[As opposed to her babbling over the illusion, this just seems to light a bright spark in her eyes, and a certain sort of half-grin that means she is now only barely paying attention to anything else.]

Well, I'd certainly love to see your work, but you were right. I'd only be a danger in such a place, right now.

[This surely won't end with her up to her elbows in the forge at the crack of dawn, surely not.]

[thefightisall]

Well, it is there for your usage at some point. Perhaps channeling your considerable power into forgework will allow you to calm those wards you've been endowed with?

[Putting away his now cleaned dishes.]

[morthwyl]

Won't know until I try it, anyway.

[SHRUGGING.] But until I get sleep, I'm mostly likely to fall asleep on something that'll catch fire.

[thefightisall]

Well, then. That is a bit of a predicament. My guest bedroom has been claimed, you see, while Nimhe continues to sort herself out. I suppose then I'll have to offer you mine? I can hardly have you sleeping in the living room.

[He gestures toward one of the hallways.]

[morthwyl]

I see...[She's giving him a look which is clearly her trying to decide how much bullshit that is on Hadrian's part, and then she shrugs.]

And what about you? It seems to me even if you don't need it, that you have a bedroom at all suggests you enjoy sleep.

[thefightisall]

I do, but I don't require it, unlike you. Therfore, I insist, you take the bed and make yourself comfortable. I am sure you can find me around, if you need me.

[morthwyl]

I can't argue with that. But you know, if I'm gonna be here a while...we should eventually find a solution to that?

[Her tone might imply a certain sort of solution to the bed problem, but she's heading off down the gestured hall to find what she hopes is the right room.]

[thefightisall]

[Well, Hadrian's kind of a centuries old spirit. His bed probably would take a group of grown men to move, being carved from ancient oak and with a massive mattress on it. Really the whole thing is a mixture of old-world charm and modern technology, it's probably secretly the most lavish and impressive thing in the house.]

I suppose we will have to.

[morthwyl]

[She's...kind of reflecting you could fit an entire family on this thing, but. She is incredibly tired so she doesn't really have it in her to gawk too much.]

Good night, Hadrian.

[Have some hours to reflect on your life decisions, Hadrian Gates.]

[thefightisall]

Good night, Miss Maxwell.

[Well, he will take them, to consider his next course of action.]

[morthwyl]

[So, remember what I said about the forge? Remember how Eiriol is finding she needs less food and, turns out, sleep than a normal demi?

Yeah, right around the crack of dawn there's an ungodly amount of noise and someone's definitely found the forge. Given the cackling, she...might be having criminal amounts of fun in there.

You invited this into your home, Hadrian. You did this.]

[thefightisall]

[Well, that's enough to get his attention, though it takes him a minute because wait, gotta not be full spirit around her.]

I see you found it.

[morthwyl]

Ah--ahahaha, there you are!

[Eiriol, how did you get this covered in soot are you just sticking your bare goddamn hands in the forg--

Yes. Yes apparently she is. She's not even a little singed. She's also holding a still red-hot sword and it's...well, it's an incredibly gorgeous piece of work, if rather old-fashioned. Although given what she's inscribed into the blade it's apparently made to...actively disrupt a certain line of old-world tech...?

Eiriol. Eiriol no.]

I never learned much about guns back at home, but I could probably make swords in my sleep.

[thefightisall]

[He looks it over and nods slowly, appreciatively.]

Swords seem to have made a comeback, these days. I suppose when you no longer need a gun to close range, you use whatever suits you.

[He chooses not to comment on the fact that she's hands deep in the forge again.]

You've made quite a mess, even by blacksmithing standards.

[morthwyl]

Hm? Ah--oh dear.

[She didn't seemed to have noticed. Her clothes are singed and ruined, since they weren't fireproof, but she's unharmed, and the wards are glimmering against her skin. Honestly, they're kinda pretty, like this.]

I guess I got excited.