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[hyanaimne]

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❝If this is important, you are better off coming to find me. Otherwise, leave a message.❞

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[hyanaimne]

[the darkening marks on her neck and wrists says it's a a problem, but she won't argue]

Mmm.

[miscreant]

Are you certain you do not want to see a healer?

[She closed her hands and let them fall.]

Holy magic often counteracts our own.

[hyanaimne]

[with a wry noise, Tempest lifts her right hand and wiggles her fingers - only four, because one is missing]

If that worked, I would have all my fingers.

[miscreant]

[Seviilia observes quietly. Her tone is quite deadpan.]

You could always opt into undeath. Quite easy to reattach limbs in that state of being.

[She wiggles her own fingers, the normally glowing blue runes etched in them inactive and black.]

[hyanaimne]

While that is a kind offer, I think I will have to pass on it.

[miscreant]

Good.

[She likes you as you are. She almost says it, but...then she doesn't.]

[hyanaimne]

[it's sweet that you thought it, at least, Sev]

Mm. Will you be escorting me home, then?

[miscreant]

[Distracted by her own thoughts, the question seems to catch her off guard -- like she can't tell if she's being asked or being volunteered.

The awkward silence hangs for a second before she comes back with:]

That depends. Am I meant to carry you there?

[hyanaimne]

Do I look like a damsel in distress?

[miscreant]

[All she answers with is a smirk, thought light, and a very slow full-body appraisal.]

[hyanaimne]

[Tempest's response to that is something very, very rude in Elvish]

[miscreant]

[One slender eyebrow raises. Even with the different dialect, she gets the idea, and purses her lips.

If that is the game she is going to play then:]

Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but I have carried heavier and much less shapely damsels around than you in the past.

[hyanaimne]

I am not shapely—

[wait a goddamn minute here.

She cuts off with a sputter, because WHAT]

[miscreant]

[Calmly, with a slight flick of her ears:]

I think I am meant to be the judge of that.

[hyanaimne]

[where has this conversation gone]

I—oh, shut up.

[miscreant]

Of course, as the lady wishes. Shall I return you to your quarters, then?

[She offers a hand, but that smirk doesn't go away. Too easy.]

[hyanaimne]

No, no, I think I can manage by myself, thank you.

[there's no real bite to her words, despite the expression]

[miscreant]

[She makes a show of curling her fingers palm to her palm before letting her hand fall.]

You really are too much.

[hyanaimne]

Oh, piss off.

[you can thank Charlie for that one. She shifts her weight a bit, just to make sure she really can make it on her own before turning to walk away]

[miscreant]

[Seviilia plans to follow her all the way home anyway, so she stays just a few paces behind with hands folded behind her back and spine straight.]

[hyanaimne]

[Tempest can hear her walking back there, so she does her best to ignore her and focus more on stepping through the snow so she doesn't fall over.

IGNORE IGNORE IGNORE]

[miscreant]

You're stumbling.

[Said ominously from behind.]

[hyanaimne]

The hell I am!

[she says, stumbling]

[miscreant]

You're stumbling, milady.

[Falling in step beside her, but not helping.]

[hyanaimne]

There's a lot of snow here.