abraxaslogs | • OPEN •

Irascible?

[please don’t use words that she isn’t extremely acquainted with. wanda frowns, noting the mild deflection, but keeps on, listening to him elaborating on where the spriggans are.

almost instinctively, she puts her hands out to take hold of the small bag he produces.]

I’d rather work with those further out and then come back towards Josie’s. If she is to force me to rest, it better be after we’re done.

[why does michael always have snacks with him? an interesting notion.]

[His bad. Most days, he leans on her reading of his unguarded thoughts to provide further context to his words. He voices the same thought more simply:]

If I raise my voice more often, will you do what I tell you?

[A bad habit to encourage, for the record. Michael gives in to anger often enough as it is.

He gives a quick nod. Her logic is sound. Josie is overbearing at the best of times; faced with a genuinely ill Wanda, her mothering would be suffocating. It'll be a left turn at the next fork in the road to take them to their destination.]

Try not to finish that before we complete our task, if you would. We do need some for the spriggans.

[He has a snack purse dedicated to Wanda on his person, too, but that's for later. He doubts the crunch of bone will encourage the spriggans to leave their hiding places.]

If you raised your voice at me, I’d most likely ignore you. [without missing a beat—] Probably hit you for it.

[she isn’t about to take disrespect from him, even if it’s hypothetical; even if he’s just posing a question to something that may not come to pass.

at the insinuation that she might eat the snack meant for the spriggans, she hurries her steps to walk at his side. look! she’s not eating it!]

I wouldn’t — and I’m not hungry, anyway.

That's a sin, Wanda.

[Or frowned upon, at the very least. He's not sure any of the various religions centered around his Father ever got around to codifying the consequences of smacking an angel. Most believers wouldn't even consider it, and angels rarely hang around in slapping range.

From the lift in his tone, Michael evidently isn't taking the threat very seriously. Violence is an inherent part of disagreements between angels, but Wanda is not an angel.

He glances aside at her. He doesn't believe she isn't hungry, just like he doesn't believe she shouldn't be resting, but at the moment it's not worth the argument.]

Try to work up an appetite for later. It'll please Josie to feed you.

[The woman's never satisfied her hospitality has been accepted until her guest downs at least one sweet and a cup of tea. Michael disappoints her on the regular.

He turns his attention back to the road and raises an arm, pointing at a small stone cottage up ahead.]

There. You see the garden on the side? The bald patches are allegedly the work of a lost spriggan.

Is it?

[a sin? she’d be willing to try and see if it is or isn’t, and michael should know better than challenge wanda to test out that theory. still, she’s never really thought of hitting michael… and doesn’t want to start thinking about it either.

at his more big-brother-esque comment, about trying to work up an appetite for later, all wanda does is nod; she understand josie’s struggle with hosting someone who doesn’t need sustenance.

wanda raises her head as he points at the cottage.]

That place’s abandoned, isn’t it?

[—one of the people who had gotten abducted by josselyn and her crew.]

I wonder if it got fixed up to look nicer, if someone would consider moving in.

[like a summoned, maybe. for now, spriggans are their task. wanda quickens her pace to reach it.]

Just the one spriggan?

Wrath.

[Delivered very matter-of-factly, but half-joke to anyone who knows him well enough. Sin is a far more complicated concept than a one word reply—as well as a human construct that Michael doesn't exactly believe in—but if he needs to relate it to one of the big seven to make his point, there it is. It's also the pot calling the kettle black. Few people are as wrathful as Heaven's eldest son.

Michael nods an affirmative, then gives her another sideways look. Should he be taking that comment about fixing up the place as subtle encouragement to move into a home of his own? Josie seems happy enough to host him, though it does come at a price. He'll have to consider it further later.]

Just the one, so far as I've been told. [Though if they happen to find another amid the rocks and weeds, he expects they're to gently encourage it to move out, too.] Perhaps the fact that it's abandoned is why it chose this house.

[It's not nearly as dilapidated as the houses in the Abandoned Settlement, but the lack of noise or occupants might have seemed close enough to home to the spriggan.

He stops just shy of setting foot in the garden and takes a moment to listen for clues of the creature's current whereabouts.]

[wanda puffs up her cheeks as they come to a stop, listening to michael. because she promised that she'd listen to him, she doesn't want to head first into any kind of trouble without figuring out what exactly they're up against.

sure, a spriggan, cute and all, but who knows what mood it'll be in.]

I could use my magic to drag him out, you know.

[she says this after a moment of utter silence between them and the abandoned home. she offers her magic, too, like it isn't the likely reason she's been all faint lately.]

[What's it going to do—stand in the way and make them stub their toes? The few he's encountered have been docile enough that he's assuming it's the general nature of their kind. For being made of rock, the spriggans seem to be soft-hearted little creatures.

He gives her a flat look, clearly disapproving of that suggestion. They're supposed to be luring the creatures back to their home, not dragging them kicking and screaming.]

And leave me to juggle both an unconscious body and a panicked spriggan? Plan C, if that.

[Passing out while they're still on the job will not be helpful, Wanda. She can take a power nap after they've finished.

Their conversation catches the attention of something hiding nearby. A patch of tall grass shakes, then the bush beside it. Dark eyes and a stone-grey face peek out from below, curious but fearful.

Michael glances in its direction, then back at Wanda. Still got that bag of treats in hand?]

That's just you being lazy.

[she mutters under her breath, trying to find light in the situation despite his comment of her being prone to just be an unconscious body should she try a little bit of magic.

please, michael.

but she catches sight of the movement, and it doesn't take any encouragement from michael for wanda to just — stuff her hand inside the bag, and sprinkle out the treats in an arch before them, like she's trying to feed pigeons. or, well, like she doesn't know and has never fed pigeons before.

at least the spriggan makes its way closer??]

[Michael looks up at her with an expression that doesn't take a mindreader to decipher. Do you really want him to carry you, Wanda? He might tell passersby that she's weak with longing to see her beau again, and they'd never doubt that eternally serious face of his.]

Only you and the old woman have the gall to call me lazy.

[But since no one else is listening in, he's putting up with her bratty behaviour. Younger siblings are incorrigible (in general, even the ones that aren't his).

He sighs a bit at her pigeon-feeding approach. It works, but they're going to run out of enticements long before they reach the abandoned settlement at this rate. The spriggan is also taking its sweet time, spoiled for choice as it picks up each treat and sniffs at it to find the best bits to eat.]

We're not at the park, Wanda. One at a time.

—there's no rule book on how to do this, you know.

[and she will be bratty, because it's michael and because no one else is here to judge her for said behavior. she pauses on the feeding, at least, and just waits for the spriggan to eat off of everything it finds on the floor that wanda threw about.

she glances over at michael.]

What's the plan? To Hansel and Gretel it with treats all the way to the abandoned settlement?

[pick it up michael...]

Didn't we agree I'm making the rules?

[Spoken with stoicism and serenity. He can be a pain in the ass, too—and although no one's watching them, his brothers wouldn't have to be witness to this for her to convince them of it. They already know.

All in good fun, of course.]

I was thinking of it more like training a dog. Teach it to follow in exchange for a reward.

[And maybe then, once it trusts them enough not to lose its mind like a rabbit with all four feet off the ground, they pick it up and carry it the rest of the way.]

[okay, except he’s giving her pointers on how she’s throwing about the treats. it’s completely different from the concept of him making the rules for the entire chore. so, all she does is give him a side eye, turning her attention back to the spriggan and tossing one new treat a little closer as soon as there are no more on the ground.]

It takes a long time to train a dog.

[she’s just being contrarian.

tossing another treat, the spriggan draws closer.]

I seem to remember that they’re generally really friendly.

[That's just what making the rules means to Michael, a consequence of once having had power over life and death. Being in charge means being in charge of all of it, down to the tiniest detail.

It gives Wanda something to fight him on, anyway. It's good for her.]

Less time when food is involved.

[Though Wanda may have a point. She's probably had more experience with dogs than he has. And, maybe even more importantly: a spriggan is not a dog. Michael tilts his head, considers the little living jumble of rocks and moss as it approaches Wanda.]

See if it will let you touch it.

[michael gives out a command, and all wanda does is crouch down. for a moment she wonders if she should put out her hand to see if, in fact, the spriggan will let her touch it.

instead, she sets the bag with the treats down (is it bigger now?), opening it up.

the spriggan perks at this and, with little preamble, rolls its little rocky body inside the bag. why see if she can touch it if it will just roll to where the food is...?

wanda turns the bag upright in her hands, keeping it by her lap, and watches in amusement as the spriggan is contently eating the treats within the bag.]

[He's about to ask what she's doing, but the spriggan rolls into the bag before he can even open his mouth. Michael waits for it to realize its mistake, but there's no sudden struggle. He can hear it continuing to munch away, the sound now muffled by the fabric of the bag.

For a moment he pauses, the goal-oriented side of his mind butting up against the one that wants things done his way. In the end, results always win.

He sighs.]

I suppose that will do.

[Michael stands and makes his way over to Wanda's corner of the garden, so he too can peer down into the bag and observe the spriggan.]

Mission accomplished.

[she says, from her crouched position, looking up at michael as he approaches her. there's a small smile on her face, one that claims some kind of mischief from her part.

because what are they if wanda isn't trying to knock over his authority in subtle, harmless ways?

and now she stands, and hands the bag over to michael.]

What next?

[sure, listening to him now.]

[That's the kind of look that suggests to him that she's cheating in some way. If she had used magic he'd have noticed, though, and she isn't suddenly looking faint, so he supposes it's just the satisfaction of getting to do things her way.

Michael sighs. You win some, you lose some.

He accepts the bag and loops the drawstrings over each arm, carrying it like a front-facing backpack. The spriggan seems content nibbling away inside but if it tries to let itself out, he'll see it.]

Now we take it back to the Abandoned Settlement. If the other spriggans are particularly happy to have this one back, we may receive flowers and a dance.

[He assumes once they put it back, it's going to stay put. There are no more roaming beasts to chase it away from home.

There's chittering from inside the bag, a sound like pebbles clicking together, and a small hand emerges, a sunflower seed clutched between its fingers. Michael looks at it, hesitates, but then accepts the seed with a weary expression.]

Thank you. [He looks to Wanda.] Let's go.

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