Not needing to steer much is nice.

Okay, Emergency Plan B: pray you're not over water. By the time she's nearly out of essence, her anima banner is definitely going to be showing, and then she can't escape into a bird.

They pass over the smoky city, out the busy harbor, over ships under sail and steam alike. "I hate smoke ships," Helas complains. "Ugly. Smelly. Awful. I hope they do not come to my home."

"You're not from here?"

Yeah, yeah, different accent, but there are too many accents here.

"I am not. I am from a place with islands, long shorelines, warm always. White stone, sea air, olive trees... I do not know much of history but even I have heard that Athens was an important place for a long time. A city that has stood for more than two thousand years."

"Two thousand years? That's impressive."

It isn't, but hey, no reason to contradict her.

"But it is going to be destroyed by the demons. Like everything else. I will go to combat school when I am old enough, and fight them."

Okay, how is someone old enough to pilot one of these ridiculous things, but not old enough to fight? What.

"Are the demons imminently near it?"

"Last I heard, the line of defense was from Tirana to Thessaloniki, two hundred miles from Athens. But I know that will not hold forever. My home will be destroyed. Is it not better to accept that now and mourn in advance than to hope and hope and have that hope crushed? Besides, my mater and pater and sister are safe, so perhaps I have brought my home with me."

"There's something to be said about mourning before hand. Less gut wrenching when it finally happens." ...and nope, not going to get maudlin about Thorns at someone who isn't even old enough to fight, even if it's really tempting.

"Though it's always better when you're family manges to get out too."

"Yes. They are safe. I made sure of it. Everyone says I am too young to do these things. What am I supposed to do, weave baskets and fret about the demons? Bah."

"'Oh, howabout I just sit here and wait for someone else to do it! That's a perfect plan," she says in a sing song voice.

"Right! Oh, how about I just pray and burn a sacrifice to the gods, I'm sure they'll solve all my problems! My fate is already decided! Not!" Helas is speeding up steadily as she works herself up.

Marena is going to try and... not to do that. And maybe chill Helas a bit? That seems like a non terrible idea.

"I know some people who think that spiders enforce fate. Special ones. But still. Spiders. Spiders of Fate."

...and here's hoping she won't be struck down by some narky pattern spiders. Sorry spiders, no mid air sacrifices for you.

Nothing reaches down from the heavens and smites them into the sea.

Helas slows down again. "Who controls the world? Spiders. Ghostly animals. Petty godlings living on a mountain. Giant winged lizards. One all-powerful vain man who we must venerate, as is the fashion here. Or humans?"

"Wait there's only one vain man, I thought they were three? ...though that just bolsters your point.

Humans have a lot more power than most give them credit for."

"Yes. Even those of us without magic to call their own have more power than they think they do."

She sighs loudly and closes her eyes, maintaining perfectly level flight despite this.

"We are here. It is now. We have a job to finish, yes?"

"Yeah, let's get this over with.

Thanks for the lessons. And making sure I didn't splatter myself."

"No problem. Maybe you stop me from splatter myself some day."

Helas goes quiet for the rest of the trip. They pass a few more ships in the sea, and eventually come to the shore again, on another, slightly smaller city's port. Helas goes in on a smooth, slow descent to land.

They spend about two hours in the air in total. And when Marena stops flying this thing, there's a strange sense of soreness that doesn't seem to have a particular location. Probably from all that flying.

That is... hella weird. Essence expenditure doesn't usually make you sore. ...and there's no good way to ask if she's pretending she's a normal witch.

Probably a bad idea to go straight back in the air while mysteriously sore and Essence depleted. Unless they want her to turn straight around, she's going to find a pub, and regain some Essense (or "regain" some "Essense"), then head back.

It'll be a couple hours, that's standard. They need to sort and unload and stuff. Helas finds a friend of hers and disappears somewhere.

There are plenty of pubs! Some with live music and everything! They're not as busy as they could be since it's still early afternoon, though. This city has less constant noise and construction than Bristol, and the buildings are a different style and on average cruder, but it's still a city. And the Christian code seems to be less strict here - there aren't nearly as many random crosses on things, and people are dressed more relaxedly.

Two hours might be a little short to do anything in quotation marks, but it's totally enough time to get a drink and some food. It's a shame though, considering the levels of relaxedness.

She heads towards the grimiest and cheapest looking pub nearby.

The most promising candidate, the Stubborn Donkey, has a few scruffy men and a couple of women sitting at tables or the bar, one bored-looking bartender, and two musicians arguing about what to play next.

"A fairy! Beauty of the forest put in flesh!" Proclaims one of the drunks.

"That's no fairy, ya idiot. Just another girl from the colonies or somethin'. Come on, I think that's enough. Your wife'll kill me if I let you drink yourself asleep again."

"Don't mind them," the bartender tells her. "What'll you have? I got ales, beers, brandy, wines, and a little of this vod-ka stuff I got from a friend if you want something exotic."

She probably find it funny that the drunks are not entirely wrong. She's definitely on some level forest-y.

"Hey, at least they were complimentary about it. I'm feeling a little exotic--" she sticks out her tongue "--so I'll try the vodka."

The bartender blinks at the tongue, then breaks into a grin. "Hah! Well, most of my usual b- er, my fine and kindly patrons have never seen anything more exotic than a particularly fat sheep! I don't know your story but whatever it is I'm sure it'll be entertaining. I'll get the vodka. Mind, it's strong stuff, and exotic doesn't necessarily mean good..."

With that caveat he pours her a shot glass of clear, strong vodka from a tall bottle labeled in Cyrillic.

"No one has ever accused me of having good taste in alcohol. Or anything.

My story's interesting-- but hard to tell in a way that sounds true. As soon as you say 'magic forest' people start going 'uh-huh, and I bet the fat sheep flying were flying too.' Not unreasonably."

She takes a sip from the glass. Fuck that's strong. She just about manages to not make a face, and downs it all.