Twice now... This was twice in one week the witch had managed to find herself in trouble. She was becoming sick and tired of being a victim of circumstance.
Up in a cold, dark room above the din of the Inn, Lilliana sat on the edge of a bed, her touch ginger to the red ruin of what had earlier been a perfectly whole and healthy shoulder. A large, discarded bandage lying at her hip on the sheets. Down at the bar, Fleet had done a fair job of cleaning and staunching the wound, but she'd bade the Lupe not to stitch it closed. It was the result of an attack she'd been too slow to completely dodge; her magic would heal it all given patience and time.
It had been a demon. Some pestilence ridden hellion that seemed to flow from the ground up in a mass completely composed of thick ooze and sulfuric stink. Lilliana had no idea what the creature's business was a few days past when she witnessed it attack on Reap and Eleanor, but she'd stepped out at the wrong time and taken the toss of Eleanor's body onto her own. The crash and bang to the ground as a result was epic, but the witch had only retained a bonk on the head and some scabbed up elbows for her troubles.
This time was different however.
There was no Eleanor brandishing her steel, no Reap to distract and be tossed yards away into the tree lining; no. This time it was Lilliana for her prior appearance and minor meddling. The demon rose from the middle of the red dragon's floors with abysmal, slitted eyes all for the wildfire witch and no other. She shivered remembering the feel of those wicked slits, more so as it hunched, inching closer, talking in that echoed, sliming voice.
'Eleanor's no' here t'nigh' demon...' She'd said.
'She would be a fool to sleep this night.' It'd replied just before it struck forward with a deceiving, inhuman speed and swiped it's monstrous claws at her.
For now the witch still wasn't sure what that meant, save, perhaps, it was always hunting for the knight? Either way, the brawl that ensued was fierce and drew defenders from corners she'd not been expecting, nor hoping for. Lilliana had always been her own knight in shining armor since she could remember... Being in love, nor having her family so close, would ever change that fact. But this night with the demon made her begin to rethink all that, as she had several times before. Raw emotion poured into her every inch now, taking hold and twisting while the pain was high and the fight was still raw in her memory. First moved Darcy, then the barrister, as they called him; Lucien. He'd stepped in behind her pale, pretty friend with a shotgun and firm jaw. Surprisingly, Doctor Fleet had been next, slow but steady to join the fray, then Zero, and once the storm had passed, and the creature dispatched, Dillon.
It was odd to think she'd touched lives in such a way since her move to the city, that folks would rise to her defense without asking. Lilliana was far from emotionally numb to the empathy and admiration of others, but when push came to shove the witch was always more than ready to take up the proverbial sword and shield alone.
Wincing as she laid her fingers to the edge of the largest gash, she murmured quietly. Fingering a salve with the other hand, she applied it liberally to the wounds, inside and out. A spell under-breath, some good, proper ointment, and a heavy week's worth of rest, and she'd be back to her fullest flesh without a single scar line to ghost the tale of her impromptu skirmish. The plan she'd developed during the evening post chaos was to hide out for the most of the week in the Inn room she'd acquired and make sure she kept her healing underwraps; her kit and kin seemed to get perturbed when she found herself in trouble and didn't ask for help. She especially didn't want to disturb the draconian... He worried about her in his own quiet way too much already.
The wound was under control and was on its way to being better, once it looked less menacing she'd rejoin the world, but for this little while she'd simply have to do with the solitary down time. The stray thought of being physically alone for so long after her body had gotten used to regular company was fleeting, but the witch laughed aloud in the quiet of her room before softly chiding herself.
"Don' be givin' the damn creat'ure more o' a head than he's already go', Lil'." She chuckled to herself as the motions of reapplying a sterile bandage went into practice.
Thanks to the odd aid of Dillon, Lilliana had regained what magic she'd expended during the evening and she could afford the strength to make some alterations to the room here and there more comforting to her exuberant personality. A bit of drapery here, a crackling fire there, a few dried, strung herbs beside the warm glow of the mantle, thicker blankets to her bed, and a set of clothes to the large oaken wardrobe in the far corner; oh what a twitchy, witchy witch she could be when in the right mood.
With her energy expended and her head overfull of food for thought, the gypsy disrobed and slipped in between the thick of her sheets carefully. The backs of her eyes were still flowing a mile a minute over the nights events, but Lilliana had a face or two in mind to help keep the 'demons' at bay.
She was to be an auntie; there came Niamh's smiling, porcelain face to her mind's eye with a curly mop of ruddy hair not too far over her shoulder, grinning with a lazy pride. Then the familiar, peaceful lines of her lover; Z'evs image always seemed to stir a symphony of sweetness. Such simple things were what lulled her to sleep...
Funny how it was those same faces she held with such ardor that were what kept her from seeking her caravan this evening.
Up in a cold, dark room above the din of the Inn, Lilliana sat on the edge of a bed, her touch ginger to the red ruin of what had earlier been a perfectly whole and healthy shoulder. A large, discarded bandage lying at her hip on the sheets. Down at the bar, Fleet had done a fair job of cleaning and staunching the wound, but she'd bade the Lupe not to stitch it closed. It was the result of an attack she'd been too slow to completely dodge; her magic would heal it all given patience and time.
It had been a demon. Some pestilence ridden hellion that seemed to flow from the ground up in a mass completely composed of thick ooze and sulfuric stink. Lilliana had no idea what the creature's business was a few days past when she witnessed it attack on Reap and Eleanor, but she'd stepped out at the wrong time and taken the toss of Eleanor's body onto her own. The crash and bang to the ground as a result was epic, but the witch had only retained a bonk on the head and some scabbed up elbows for her troubles.
This time was different however.
There was no Eleanor brandishing her steel, no Reap to distract and be tossed yards away into the tree lining; no. This time it was Lilliana for her prior appearance and minor meddling. The demon rose from the middle of the red dragon's floors with abysmal, slitted eyes all for the wildfire witch and no other. She shivered remembering the feel of those wicked slits, more so as it hunched, inching closer, talking in that echoed, sliming voice.
'Eleanor's no' here t'nigh' demon...' She'd said.
'She would be a fool to sleep this night.' It'd replied just before it struck forward with a deceiving, inhuman speed and swiped it's monstrous claws at her.
For now the witch still wasn't sure what that meant, save, perhaps, it was always hunting for the knight? Either way, the brawl that ensued was fierce and drew defenders from corners she'd not been expecting, nor hoping for. Lilliana had always been her own knight in shining armor since she could remember... Being in love, nor having her family so close, would ever change that fact. But this night with the demon made her begin to rethink all that, as she had several times before. Raw emotion poured into her every inch now, taking hold and twisting while the pain was high and the fight was still raw in her memory. First moved Darcy, then the barrister, as they called him; Lucien. He'd stepped in behind her pale, pretty friend with a shotgun and firm jaw. Surprisingly, Doctor Fleet had been next, slow but steady to join the fray, then Zero, and once the storm had passed, and the creature dispatched, Dillon.
It was odd to think she'd touched lives in such a way since her move to the city, that folks would rise to her defense without asking. Lilliana was far from emotionally numb to the empathy and admiration of others, but when push came to shove the witch was always more than ready to take up the proverbial sword and shield alone.
Wincing as she laid her fingers to the edge of the largest gash, she murmured quietly. Fingering a salve with the other hand, she applied it liberally to the wounds, inside and out. A spell under-breath, some good, proper ointment, and a heavy week's worth of rest, and she'd be back to her fullest flesh without a single scar line to ghost the tale of her impromptu skirmish. The plan she'd developed during the evening post chaos was to hide out for the most of the week in the Inn room she'd acquired and make sure she kept her healing underwraps; her kit and kin seemed to get perturbed when she found herself in trouble and didn't ask for help. She especially didn't want to disturb the draconian... He worried about her in his own quiet way too much already.
The wound was under control and was on its way to being better, once it looked less menacing she'd rejoin the world, but for this little while she'd simply have to do with the solitary down time. The stray thought of being physically alone for so long after her body had gotten used to regular company was fleeting, but the witch laughed aloud in the quiet of her room before softly chiding herself.
"Don' be givin' the damn creat'ure more o' a head than he's already go', Lil'." She chuckled to herself as the motions of reapplying a sterile bandage went into practice.
Thanks to the odd aid of Dillon, Lilliana had regained what magic she'd expended during the evening and she could afford the strength to make some alterations to the room here and there more comforting to her exuberant personality. A bit of drapery here, a crackling fire there, a few dried, strung herbs beside the warm glow of the mantle, thicker blankets to her bed, and a set of clothes to the large oaken wardrobe in the far corner; oh what a twitchy, witchy witch she could be when in the right mood.
With her energy expended and her head overfull of food for thought, the gypsy disrobed and slipped in between the thick of her sheets carefully. The backs of her eyes were still flowing a mile a minute over the nights events, but Lilliana had a face or two in mind to help keep the 'demons' at bay.
She was to be an auntie; there came Niamh's smiling, porcelain face to her mind's eye with a curly mop of ruddy hair not too far over her shoulder, grinning with a lazy pride. Then the familiar, peaceful lines of her lover; Z'evs image always seemed to stir a symphony of sweetness. Such simple things were what lulled her to sleep...
Funny how it was those same faces she held with such ardor that were what kept her from seeking her caravan this evening.