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The Liandrils build up their mana enough to return home. They do so; the hotel charges Isabella a steep fee for the room service and the stay itself but not enough to break the bank and not enough to represent damage to the premises or anything.
They teleport away from their daemons, experience a moment of barely-there discomfort apiece, and keep them in a well-warded closet together where they will not be readily discovered or vulnerable.
The Liandrils report on the situation to some other mages.
Some other mages are... even more concerned than they are.
This Isabella character has clearly got to go, or at least be brought under some reasonable semblance of control.
What is the obvious way to do this?
Well, to these mages, the obvious way is:
They scry on her owl. He is having a rest in this tree, correspondence about obscure magic attached to his leg; he's not near her, but as they understand it, that doesn't mean there's no connection to exploit.
They come in a group so they don't need to linger longer than is necessary to seize the bird in three pairs of coordinated hands and then disappear again.
Miles away, in her kitchen, with a vial of safflower oil in one hand and a spellbook in the other, Isabella collapses breathlessly to the floor and convulses.
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Isabella wraps both arms around Path again. She leans her head on Adarin's shoulder.
"I don't know."
"I don't know."
prodigal_miser
He nods, again. Adarin can't bring himself to unpeel himself from Vern, but he wraps an arm around Isabella. Vern is on the other side, shivering a little.
"Okay. I love you."
"Okay. I love you."
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"I love you," she sighs, closing her eyes. "You're - you gave me - are you okay -"
prodigal_miser
"Yes," he says quietly. "It - didn't hurt."
It wasn't pleasant, either, though.
It wasn't pleasant, either, though.
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"Okay."
Unprompted to do otherwise, she will spend a long time here on the floor, Path held to her chest, tucked under Adarin's arm with her head on his shoulder.
Unprompted to do otherwise, she will spend a long time here on the floor, Path held to her chest, tucked under Adarin's arm with her head on his shoulder.
prodigal_miser
Adarin is probably not going to move for a while, either. He holds her, and he thinks.
He just killed people. People he knew, even. He would have thought it would have meant something to him, that he would feel disgust with himself. Or guilt or - or something. But he doesn't. He just feels nothing about them in particular. They needed to die, so they did.
The one thing he does feel is that he could have been faster, maybe he could have killed the three touching Path before the others, not just two. Maybe he could have figured out the teleportation spell faster. He could have gotten the scrying spell right the first try. There are a thousand things he could have done better.
So he's going to be lost in his thoughts, for a while. While he goes over every single one.
He just killed people. People he knew, even. He would have thought it would have meant something to him, that he would feel disgust with himself. Or guilt or - or something. But he doesn't. He just feels nothing about them in particular. They needed to die, so they did.
The one thing he does feel is that he could have been faster, maybe he could have killed the three touching Path before the others, not just two. Maybe he could have figured out the teleportation spell faster. He could have gotten the scrying spell right the first try. There are a thousand things he could have done better.
So he's going to be lost in his thoughts, for a while. While he goes over every single one.
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After nearly an hour, Path murmurs, "Maybe some day if it's safe and the magic checks out -"
Isabella shivers, but agrees, "Maybe."
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"After absolutely everybody who was less terrible, maybe," says Path.
"Maybe," says Isabella again. "If it's safe."
"Beating death," Path explains quietly for Adarin's benefit.
"Two-phase plan," Isabella murmurs.
"Maybe," says Isabella again. "If it's safe."
"Beating death," Path explains quietly for Adarin's benefit.
"Two-phase plan," Isabella murmurs.
prodigal_miser
"... Oh," he mumbles, quietly.
He doesn't know what else to say. So he doesn't say anything. He was the one who killed them, after all.
He doesn't know what else to say. So he doesn't say anything. He was the one who killed them, after all.
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"After absolutely everybody who was less terrible, maybe," repeats Path.
prodigal_miser
"Okay," he replies.
He realizes that he didn't even care if they just stayed dead. It didn't matter. If they stay gone he will not care. At all.
Vern doesn't say anything. She can't even look at Adarin.
He realizes that he didn't even care if they just stayed dead. It didn't matter. If they stay gone he will not care. At all.
Vern doesn't say anything. She can't even look at Adarin.
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Isabella snuggles Path. She turns herself in towards Adarin, presses closer.
Path still isn't touching him, but they're not being careful.
Path still isn't touching him, but they're not being careful.
prodigal_miser
He hugs her back. He notices the lack of care, and he - he can't help but say, so quietly it can barely be heard, "I killed them. And I don't care."
Maybe it's a warning to Path, or Isabella. That they should back off because he is terrified of himself.
"We thought - we thought we would care, that it would matter to us," supplies Vern. "We - we value life, but..."
"But neither of us feel a sliver of guilt that I just killed - fuck I don't even know how many people. They can be gone forever, no retrieving them, and I won't give a damn."
Maybe it's a warning to Path, or Isabella. That they should back off because he is terrified of himself.
"We thought - we thought we would care, that it would matter to us," supplies Vern. "We - we value life, but..."
"But neither of us feel a sliver of guilt that I just killed - fuck I don't even know how many people. They can be gone forever, no retrieving them, and I won't give a damn."
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"We aren't about to mourn either," Isabella murmurs. "There are billions of people more worth it in line ahead of them. For grief or resurrection or anything else."
Path says, "We thought it might make you feel better that it might not be forever. If it doesn't matter that's all right too."
Path says, "We thought it might make you feel better that it might not be forever. If it doesn't matter that's all right too."
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Isabella tucks her face in against Adarin's neck. Neither she nor her daemon say anything.
prodigal_miser
Adarin and Vern join in on silence. He continues to hold her.
(While he thinks.)
(While he thinks.)
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Eventually Isabella slides into Adarin's lap and finds a way to sit that doesn't require her to hold herself up much - and falls asleep.
"Cranberry," she mumbles.
"Cranberry," she mumbles.
prodigal_miser
So he holds her. The mumbled words are soothing, it's - comforting, like he's home. (He is home, but it didn't feel like it until she started mumbling.)
He could pick her up, carry her to a better spot to sleep - but he's not up for it, right now. He decides, out of duty, to at least find out how many people he killed. Adarin does a few scryings, and - the total is six. Strange, it felt like more than that. Either way, it's not a small number, in terms of mages. He left survivors, though. They'll remember him.
The mages going to be afraid of him, now. Good. They should be. If being terrifying is what it takes to make them stop, then he will do it. Gladly. He can be the boogeyman beneath their beds, or the villain in their horror stories, for all he cares. Maybe that's what all of the people before felt, why there are so many horror stories. Maybe they got sick of it and decided that being scary was the only way anyone would leave him alone.
But he doubts it.
He doesn't actually manage to muster up the energy to move Isabella. He falls asleep, snuggled with her and holding her.
He could pick her up, carry her to a better spot to sleep - but he's not up for it, right now. He decides, out of duty, to at least find out how many people he killed. Adarin does a few scryings, and - the total is six. Strange, it felt like more than that. Either way, it's not a small number, in terms of mages. He left survivors, though. They'll remember him.
The mages going to be afraid of him, now. Good. They should be. If being terrifying is what it takes to make them stop, then he will do it. Gladly. He can be the boogeyman beneath their beds, or the villain in their horror stories, for all he cares. Maybe that's what all of the people before felt, why there are so many horror stories. Maybe they got sick of it and decided that being scary was the only way anyone would leave him alone.
But he doubts it.
He doesn't actually manage to muster up the energy to move Isabella. He falls asleep, snuggled with her and holding her.
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Isabella wakes up blearily at about seven the next morning when the sun comes streaming in through the kitchen windows right into their faces.
She doesn't move, but she does fall silent.
She doesn't move, but she does fall silent.