[Some time has passed since the dreams-- a few days, a week, enough time that it's not at the forefront of most minds anymore. It's a perfectly normal evening in Lowtown, the usual hustle and bustle disrupted only briefly by the weaving of a familiar little spotted dog through the crowded street.
He stops to sniff at a dropped, half-eaten sausage in a bun, but rather unlike a dog, leaves it there and continues toward an alley.]
[She is en route to the ferry, carefully navigating a series of ice slick stairs leading down into yet another labyrinthine Lowtown neighborhood between here and there when, from that high vantage point, the flash of white passing bright under the light of some hanging lantern catches her attention.
On her perch, Fitcher pauses. And when the dog goes, she does too—picking her way curiously after it.]
[Trotting purposefully, the dog winds behind a row of buildings, and might be too fast to follow if not for the snap and yelp that cuts through the din of murmuring voices and booted feet.
Fitcher rounds the corner just in time to see the change: a panting dog with the toes of his front foot in a mousetrap, which had been cleverly hidden under some debris-- then, suddenly, a man in shabby clothing with his fingers in the same trap, hissing in pain and using his opposite hand to pry the contraption open.]
And for a moment, the surreal quality of what she finds there draws her up short there at the end of it. It isn't that the logic is difficult to follow; it is right there before her eyes, plain as day. But given recent events, one might be forgiven for feeling the vague prickling dread of Is this actually happening? come creeping out to grab her.
That said, it's a brief hesitation. Then she is a lone woman at the mouth of an alley, observing while an apostate mage shapeshifts out of his animal form.]
I trust Riftwatch command knows about this.
[She might has melted away instead - said nothing, faded back out onto the main street at her back. But as it happens, she has work in need of doing and could use some finger-grip of leverage.]
[He gives a terrified start, looking down the alley at that familiar figure, his hand still working at the trap. The fingers (toes?) caught in it are certainly broken, and his face is tearful from pain as a result, his knees shaking as they brace the contraption between them.]
Yseult, [Mado manages to say,] Yseult knows.
[He's not sure if it's the woman's face he recognizes, or her smell, or just her bearing. But he remembers what they were doing together, and his instincts cry out at her quiet approach.]
[A step further forward into the narrow alley is the sum of that approach. And then the dark haired Antivan woman draws up, stopping completely. The smile she adopts is easy going, and not at odds with the good humor she'd possessed in the dream.]
Good. I would hate to feel obligated to inform on you to the company.
[It's the pain that keeps Mado from relaxing, and finally, with an almost canine-sounding yip, he manages to snap the trap away from himself. Clutching his injured hand, his eyes squeeze closed for a moment to process everything happening at once.]
Please don't, [he says breathlessly, with none of his usual cheer. Then he looks at her again, slowly rising from his prone position, as if testing his permission to do so.]
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He stops to sniff at a dropped, half-eaten sausage in a bun, but rather unlike a dog, leaves it there and continues toward an alley.]
no subject
On her perch, Fitcher pauses. And when the dog goes, she does too—picking her way curiously after it.]
no subject
Fitcher rounds the corner just in time to see the change: a panting dog with the toes of his front foot in a mousetrap, which had been cleverly hidden under some debris-- then, suddenly, a man in shabby clothing with his fingers in the same trap, hissing in pain and using his opposite hand to pry the contraption open.]
no subject
And for a moment, the surreal quality of what she finds there draws her up short there at the end of it. It isn't that the logic is difficult to follow; it is right there before her eyes, plain as day. But given recent events, one might be forgiven for feeling the vague prickling dread of Is this actually happening? come creeping out to grab her.
That said, it's a brief hesitation. Then she is a lone woman at the mouth of an alley, observing while an apostate mage shapeshifts out of his animal form.]
I trust Riftwatch command knows about this.
[She might has melted away instead - said nothing, faded back out onto the main street at her back. But as it happens, she has work in need of doing and could use some finger-grip of leverage.]
no subject
Yseult, [Mado manages to say,] Yseult knows.
[He's not sure if it's the woman's face he recognizes, or her smell, or just her bearing. But he remembers what they were doing together, and his instincts cry out at her quiet approach.]
no subject
Good. I would hate to feel obligated to inform on you to the company.
no subject
Please don't, [he says breathlessly, with none of his usual cheer. Then he looks at her again, slowly rising from his prone position, as if testing his permission to do so.]
I know you.