abraxaslogs | ( closed ) can you hear the fire alarm?

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( closed ) can you hear the fire alarm?

Who: Sephiroth & Ciri
When: Late March
Where: From Cadens to Aquila, then Aquila proper
What: Sephiroth and Ciri escort a merchant to Aquila. Things go pear-shaped near the end of the trip.
Warnings: Monster fighting violence! Injury! Will add if more comes up.

[The eclipse came and went, and many had considered it a portent; a bad omen, sure to usher in misfortune and misery. And so, in the days after, people were struck with an expected shade of paranoia, especially those whose livelihoods already relied upon good luck rather than bad — after all, merchants carting their goods down the long stretch of roads between cities had no need of numerous bandits or monsters cropping up along the way, putting but their lives and their wares in danger. It seemed those with the most to lose also had the most overactive imaginations, making their worries loudly known. Cadens responded by deploying more patrolmen than the standard, having the boots on the ground to spare. For the military men and women taking up these new priorities, the objective was simple enough: look for any on the road requesting an escort and accompany them should they ask for it.

Sephiroth, already working the city's patrol routes, knows it's just an effort to allay unfounded fears, but he does not complain. As always, he takes the task on with a quiet resolve, preferring a mission over none at all, and sets out beyond the walls of the city. He finds a traveling entrepreneur with a large, luxuriously impressive wagon shortly thereafter, its contents overflowing with bolts and bolts of delicate fabrics and textiles, pulled by sturdy-looking horses. There is barely any room for the extra camping gear needed for the week-long trip—should a local inn not suffice, for any reason—but it is there, arranged to take up as little space as possible.

He also finds he isn't the first to approach the merchant. Ciri had beaten him to the punch, having already procured herself the role of an armed escort, no doubt for easy coin. Sephiroth considers leaving her to it, acutely aware that this would be the second time he's interrupted her mid-job. But he offers his aid anyway, and is mildly surprised that they both accept, even if the man is convinced only after Sephiroth clarifies that no, he does not need to pay extra for two guards instead of one.

And so they set off. Their travels for the majority of the week are blessedly uneventful. For what conversation passes between the individuals making the trip, Sephiroth is rarely the progenitor of any of it, ever silent, coolly distant; but not prickly nor dismissive, willing to speak when spoken to, simply unequipped to handle the burden of idle conversation. The merchant finds some passing amusement in his truncated, grasping replies to mundane topics, and the silver-haired SOLDIER doesn't mind it, though he finds more comfortable conversation in Ciri's familiar company. Even if their topics amount to nothing during their travels, the words flow more easily to him, the stiltedness of first-meetings already filed down at the edges.

Eventually, Aquila draws closer, a day's travel away at most. Unwilling to push the horses too hard and confident in his half-hired help, the textile merchant decides they should make camp for the night. Not far from the main road, a swath of flat ground suited for laying out their overnight gear should suffice, and Sephiroth sets off to scout the area and ensure it's free of danger — with Ciri's help, of course. He treads beside her with the warm glow of a lantern clipped to his hip to light the way. His eyes, as always, are luminescent in the darkness, taking in their surroundings. All's quiet so far.]

Our job's been redundant. [It sounds critical, but it isn't a complaint. Though he often feels like an unused sword collecting rust when there's no need for his skills, he isn't foolish enough to wish for danger just to scratch that itch.] Do you plan on staying long in Aquila when we arrive?

[Since it's around the figurative corner, and her coin purse will soon weigh heavier with easy money.]

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[ Running into Sephiroth was a happy coincidence. Ciri might have made a joke or two about how he keeps interrupting with his help where it's not needed, but in truth, she's glad to see him and pleased with his company. He doesn't talk too much, but he's not a bad conversation partner either when the mood strikes; it suits her just fine. Knowing he can handle himself in a fight already (and that he won't be insisting on taking a cut of her coin), she has no objections at all to his joining their little party.

Now, as they walk the perimeter around the camp to scout for any signs of hostile monsters or bandits nearby, Ciri's already thinking ahead to a night spent in a bed tomorrow, and of course a proper bath. It seems Sephiroth's mind is similarly occupied. She almost laughs. ]

Depends how long our paranoid mutual benefactor takes to sell his wares, I expect. I'm meant to join him on the trip back.

On average, I'd say it tends to be about a week.

[ She's made similar trips in the past, not with this particular merchant but others like him. A happy customer's recommendation is her reason for being here in the first place, but she's not complaining; happy customers make for great advertising without her having to lift a finger to do much else. ]

Are you obligated to turn right around and march back to the outpost as soon as you've done your soldierly duty here?

[In truth, Sephiroth looks forward to a night spent in Aquila, far departed from the ongoing travels of the road. He’ll bear a weeklong journey for the sake of duty, or an official task, but a part of him prefers having access to the most basic of creature comforts. A warm bath, a sleeping situation that has nothing to do with the outdoors, a lack of grit and grime accumulated during a lengthy trek in-between roadside inns. Perhaps his station back home has spoiled him slightly, but he’s simply accustomed to a certain standard, and becomes keenly aware when he doesn’t have access to it.]

Soldierly duty can afford to wait a day or two.

[It’s earned, and it’s not as though he was commanded to march right back to Cadens as though it were only a mile walk away. The army is strict, but not unreasonable.

A week, though. He wonders if that’s too long, if he might grow anxious with nothing to do; and belatedly realizes that he’s assuming his company would be welcomed for the return trip.

He should probably… ask. A few beats of silence pass first before he does in his roundabout way.]

If you found my presence helpful, I could accompany you back to Cadens, too. It would make the most sense.

[ Ciri's brows rise. She stops, turning to look at him with one hand cocked on her hip. ]

It would make sense, would it? Not because you prefer companionship on the road back or because you also wish to sightsee in Aquila, considering it's your first time visiting. I suppose you have absolutely no interest whatsoever in the shops or the baths or even the beach just a short ride out.

No, you only wish to make yourself helpful to me. Because it would make the most sense.

[He stops when she does, suddenly and unexpectedly enough that his lantern swings against his hip with the halted momentum. That isn’t exactly what he expected as a reply, and he’s not sure how to unwind it in his own head. She’s teasing, of course; he’s gotten a taste of that inclination since their first meeting.

But it becomes obvious that the ideas that she’s teasing him with are mildly baffling, like he hasn’t considered some of them at all. His lips purse a little.]

…Yes.

[Yes, it does make sense. That would be the priority, making the best use of his time and presence. Everything else in-between feels transient.]

I don’t usually sightsee. And isn’t Aquila a hub for art and fashion?

[Foreign concepts that surely do not apply to him.]

[ A scoff, which might be about half laugh. ]

What? You'll have me believe you've no interest in art and fashion?

[ She smirks, pausing a beat. ]

They have very fine hair oils too.

[He looks as though he has a retort primed to fling back, mouth half-open to let it fly—

And then the remark about hair oils, and thus the implication that an array of hair products may be available to him in Aquila, has him reconsidering.]

You must think you know me so well.

[But that vaguely amused smile, barely there at the edges, creeps back across his face.]

Fine. Would you like the company? For a week.

[ Luckily, with someone like Geralt around, Ciri is well-versed in the language of barely-there smiles and tiny facial quirks saying nearly as much as might be said aloud. Her own smile grows, sharpening into a knife's edge slant, eyes sparkling in that particular way that Sephiroth might have learned by now means she's having a delightful time teasing him. ]

You want to spend a whole week with me?

[ A mock gasp. As though he hasn't already spent about a week traveling with the merchant wagon to get here. ]

What better test is there of my endurance?

[He gives as good as he gets, especially when the walls he shores up by default start to lower, when familiarity allows for his humor—often edging on sarcastic—to rise to the surface. Encouraged, maybe, by her telltale look of enjoyment garnered from the exchange, though he’d be hard-pressed to admit it now.]

I’m—

[But further quips are severed on the spot, interrupted by a monstrous cry that upends the casual mood completely. It peals out in a shriek, piercing the air like needles in their ears, bat-like, and Sephiroth’s expression changes immediately; stolid, serious, eyes searching in the expanse of night.

Another shriek, from behind him, then another, evenly-timed. He whips around, hand on the hilt of his sword, and can only see the outline of a— creature. As tall as a man, with a hunched, spiked silhouette. It lumbers closer. It’s difficult to see in the halo of light cast from his lamp, illuminating erratically, but he’s sure he catches a glimpse of a long, writhing tail, spiked with thorn-like stingers, just like its carapace.

He unsheathes his sword.]

What is it?

[Ciri is the monster expert; as before, he won’t take the lead blindly.]

[ Ciri's smile vanishes just as quickly, replaced by hard concentration as she focuses on the noise. They shouldn't have been talking; it's closer than it probably should have gone unnoticed. With a curse under her breath, Ciri reaches for her sword as well, and it leaves its sheath with a soft hiss; the silver dagger glints in her off hand, and she's already shifting her stance, adjusting her center of gravity.

Though her eyes are a brighter green than most others' of a similar color, she is still only human. A Witcher in name only, Ciri doesn't share Geralt's abilities-- or, it seems, Sephiroth's. She frowns, brows furrowing, squinting through the dark. The moon above is luckily nearly full, but less luckily covered by scattered clouds that shift in front of it, limiting visibility.

She shakes her head, voice dropping low. ]

I don't know yet.

[ The next shriek definitely sounds closer. She can see a large, shadowy shape in the distance, lumbering closer and emitting that sound at steady intervals. ]

That doesn't sound like anger. A warning cry? We might be in its territory.

[It's a rare blessing to forget about the differences between himself and most others, his heightened sense of sight in the darkness, but now is not the time. He considers the moon hanging large in the sky, and decides its silvery light isn't enough to afford decent visibility in ordinary circumstances -- much less with a potential threat drawing nearer with each high-pitched shriek.

She's right, however. The creature doesn't sound angry or offended, emitting its wailing at perfectly-timed intervals. With any luck, they've not been noticed; and it's obvious this will not be their chosen camping site for the night.]

Then we should leave.

[-he says lowly, of a mind that Ciri will agree. There's no point in fighting something that only wants them to keep their distance. It would not even be a calculated risk, but a useless one.

And so Sephiroth steps back, making very little noise underfoot, eyes trained on the monster all the while. But quietude means nothing. Maybe they've lingered too long already. The moment his boot touches the sand with a second step backward, the creature stops, twists to face them, and lets out a horrendous scream that puts all the others to shame. It resonates through bone, freezes the blood cold.

He curses under his breath. Holds his grip tight on his sword, and launches himself in a dart away from Ciri, just in case it seeks to attack, so one of them might circle around it. His caution isn't misplaced: the shrieks are louder, its long gait caught beneath rays of moonlight to illuminate its newfound run towards them.]

Flank it!

[ In Sephiroth's defense, Ciri is quite used to keeping up with people (and monsters) whose abilities outpace those of regular humans; she's simply figured out ways to hold her ground despite her handicaps. She trains hard. She listens and watches. She studies.

There is no resentment or surprise, no fear or worry at all in the slow, accumulating realization over their time together that Sephiroth has abilities closer to Geralt's than her own. Ciri's smart enough to take advantage when it matters.

When their attempt to back away -- to which she'd nodded grimly, only to find it is too late -- doesn't work out as planned, Ciri follows Sephiroth's lead, lunging in the other direction. They're of the same mind. Unfortunately, Ciri can't see as well as he can what it is they're actually up against.

There's something about the creature's shrieks, though. Not familiar, as Ciri's quite sure she's never heard a sound like this before, but-- Something in the back of her mind grabs onto it and picks at the sound, trying to unravel what it means. Aside from the imminent approach of a large, shadowy figure lumbering toward them faster than its bulk seems to suggest.

Ciri sheathes her dagger to grip her sword two-handed for increased strength behind the blows, darting around to the opposite side that Sephiroth is taking. It's then that the moon shines out from behind the clouds, and with its new proximity, Ciri can finally take full stock of what they're up against.

Distantly, she recalls a dusty old poster she'd seen in the museum once. Some vague passages. A paragraph or two in passing found in a large tome of collected desert creatures of the sort that might be real or mythological, depending on who you asked.

Ciri swears under her breath. ]

Sephiroth! It can't see! It tracks by sound!

[ Which she's just made a lot of, but Ciri quickly moves away from the spot she'd been standing in, lightly dancing backward as she wracks her brain trying to remember if the books had mentioned any sort of weakness besides its blindness. With its body covered in that spiny carapace, it's going to take a well-aimed swing to get past its defenses. ]

[Tracks by sound. It would explain the monster’s perfectly measured howls upon arrival. It would also explain why it twists its attention towards Ciri’s declaration mid-stride, lunging itself into the space where she once stood moments prior — its clawed limbs flail, only tearing through air.

Sephiroth misses the tools he once had at his disposal. His elemental materia, able to force shale to jut from the earth, would’ve disoriented the monster’s senses. His personal blade, long and precision-sharp, would’ve been able to pierce its hard carapace at just the right angle. With these tools stripped from him, his options revolve around a more straightforward tactic: become the brute force distraction, so that Ciri—whose knowledge about this monster probably outstrips his own—can take advantage of whatever weakness it may possess.

So he rushes forward, blade brandished, and closes the space between them, this time uncaring of his heavy footfalls. His target latches its attention onto him, but Sephiroth is quick to strike his blade against the hard, lengthy spike protruding from the monster’s arm.

It reels back, startled and shrieking. Its tail thrashes like a flail, raking across the ground, then rears up as if to retaliate. Sephiroth doesn’t waver under the threat of being bludgeoned, holding his ground, disallowing any breathing room. He can take more than a few hits from an angry monster. He trusts Ciri to take action with this bought time.]

[ Ciri appreciates the distraction, immediately understanding what he's doing, but there is one more detail she needs to relay when the tail starts flailing: ]

Don't get stung!

[ That seems a clear enough instruction. She dashes forward, blade raised-- only to be met by the thing swinging around its armored neck at her again, emitting a high pitched scream that makes the hairs on her arms stand on end. Its head, if it can be called that, sways back and forth, the mass of spikes around its mouth (?) acting both as defense and offense as it lashes out. Ciri knows the tail is bad news, and she's not willing to risk the head spikes either.

Once again, she is forced to jump back before she can get a proper swing in, twisting out of the way. It lopes toward her, pauses, then swings its head back around the opposite direction at the same time as its tail lifts to take another swipe in Sephiroth's approximate direction.

They can dance around this thing all night, but if she can't get close enough without it hearing--

An idea sparks. It's uncertain, something to resort to if they're truly out of options, but it could work against this beast even better than most. Ciri hesitates, adjusting her grip on her sword as she goes still again, watching and waiting for the next distraction.

The clouds shift again overhead. Ciri grits her teeth, scowling through the darkness. She should have brought a fucking lantern instead of relying on Sephiroth. Fuck. ]

[Don’t get stung. Sound advice that makes Sephiroth reconsider his willingness to take a hit from that tail, or any spiked appendage, despite the fact that he’s never encountered a venom that affected him. Again, it isn’t a risk he’s willing to take when another person is involved, and so he shifts away in a harried backstep as the monster whips its tail in his direction.

He raises his weapon to deflect it with the flat side of his steel, swatting it away. This close, he can see more clearly the details of its spiked carapace, or its head nothing more than a starburst, its strangely elongated anatomy. It reminds him of something cooked up in a scientist’s lab, and his serious expression becomes marred with distaste as the clouds pass over, shrouding them in darkness again.

His lantern light, at least, should be enough to illuminate himself and the monster in silhouette — enough to aid Ciri, who’s now gone still to wait for her next opportunity, he assumes. Easy enough to continue playing the part of distraction. Sephiroth waits for another swing of its tail, and parries it aside like he would another swordsman, then swings wide to cut it at an angle downwards, across those bird-like legs where it appears less armored.]

[ It is enough. When she holds still, between the shifting clouds and slivers of moonlight off and on and the glow from Sephiroth's lantern, Ciri watches and waits, holding perfectly still so the creature will forget about her while Sephiroth's got it busy. She familiarizes herself with its movements and speed, the way it swings its long neck and tail in counterpoint, the way it hops and rears and scratches with its birdlike legs when Sephiroth manages to get a hit in. The slash either isn't strong enough or doesn't hit at the correct angle to remove the limb, but the monster lets out another piercing shriek and stumbles away, once again defending with its tail.

The head appears more for sensing (it uses echolocation like a bat, as far as Ciri knows) than for attacking, though it's clearly well defended and would probably hurt like a bitch to get smacked with. The tail -- with long, flexible reach and that vicious stinger at the end -- is what they need to watch out for most, and the creature's main weapon. When Sephiroth slashes at it again, it seems better prepared, tucking its head down under its spiny shell and crouching to protect its more vulnerable legs, while the tail thrashes around to keep its attacker at bay.

The thing is made more for defense than offense, but in a way, that's even more frustrating. Makes it harder to hit, harder to take down, and chinks in its armor are difficult to find when the whole thing is colored in a way that allows it to blend into rocks and sand and shadow.

Ciri takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she makes her decision. Sephiroth can't keep it occupied forever. She's the only one who can get close without alerting the monster's sensitive perception of every sound and vibration on the ground.

She just hopes it works.

Waiting until Sephiroth moves in again for a distracting strike, Ciri concentrates her full attention on the place she wants to be on its opposite side, aiming for the injured leg. She steels her will around the thought, commanding it to work, shoving away the ever-present doubt and anxiety that scratches at the back of her mind every time she tries to harness chaos in this world. It had worked before when she needed it; now, it needs to work again.

Ciri leans forward carefully, as if she might lunge into a sprint, but instead of dashing into the fray--

She disappears in a flicker of blue-green light. Almost in the very same instant, she is behind the Howler, driving the point of her sword up under its shell where the upper joint of its leg connects. ]

Edited 2022-03-24 00:33 (UTC)

[He's twisting his body away from yet another lashing of the Howler's tail, ignoring its shrieking wails as it tries to land a hit on him. Sephiroth shifts his stance, readying himself for a counter-swing, when a bluish-green light flickers from just beyond the monster.

His eyes track its location, but it's a nigh useless effort; Ciri is no longer standing at a distance, but has appeared directly behind the Howler, instead, lodging her sword in the crevices of its armor in a single, swift action. For the briefest of moments, confusion has him staring -- how had she managed that? Was it magic? A trick of a seasoned monster hunter?

In the end, it doesn't matter. It isn't worth questioning in the heat of conflict, not when it has so easily given them an advantage against a monster who relies strictly on sound. Strange magics and odder abilities abound amongst the Summoned, and he has no reason to believe it is anything strange, other than the fact she had waited until now to unearth it. He can ask about it later. Now, he follows suit, stepping back to gain enough space to spear the tip of his sword under the lower folds of its shell, and wrenches it upwards.

The carapace cracks sharply. Assaulted from both sides, the monster rears its head up and screams, twists and buckles against the ground. Its limbs still flail, seeking purchase onto anything nearby.]

[ The leg Ciri was after buckles, just as Sephiroth cracks the shell on the other side. The monster lilts sharply toward her as it loses its balance, forcing Ciri to jump away, wrenching her sword free with a wet scrape along the underside of its carapace.

The monster brings its tail around to lash at her, while it struggles to right itself on its injured leg, thrashing wildly. Its movements, while forceful and wild, lack precision; in a way, it is more dangerous this way, panicking and unpredictable, but Ciri's gotten a better idea of its reach now as well. She ducks beneath the tail, coming up around the other side in a spin that gives her the momentum to strike again, hard, against the base of the tail.

It hadn't looked as heavily armored from the side, but she's misjudged. Her sword hits, but the feeling is as though she's struck a rock, jolting up her arms and shoulders and chasing out a vehement curse. She stumbles, knowing the monster has reoriented itself to her, its leg kicking out.

Not what she'd meant to do. Alarmed, Ciri grits her teeth and Blinks again almost on instinct, leaving the monster scratching at thin air.

This time, she reappears farther away than she wanted to be. And higher up. Ciri snarls in surprise as she falls from thin air, rolls in the dirt, and comes up in a crouch, trying to find the fight again. Maybe it makes sense. She hasn't practiced in months. Or maybe it's the stupid Singularity fucking her up again.

She spins around, searching for Sephiroth beside the Howler's thrashing silhouette. Once again, she tries to concentrate, focusing on precision this time. ]

[His own sword dislodges when the Howler tilts and falls, and Sephiroth notes the new spiderwebbing crack along its shell, shifted just enough to tease at the softer flesh beneath. That would make for an easy target at just the right angle; a sword slicing through to puncture any vital organs within would guarantee them a killing blow.

But, perhaps in a panic, the monster thrashes more wildly once it’s buckled, seeking to desperately right itself. Sephiroth backs away, willing to wait for its injury to be exposed again, and it gives him just enough leeway to watch Ciri disappear in a flash to avoid its claws. He is ready to categorize this ability of hers as a reliable new tactic, nothing more — until he spots her reappearance at a distance mid-air, faint in the shrouded moonlight, falling back down in a way he can’t assume is intentional.

He readjusts his expectations. Maybe her teleporting trick isn’t something she can perform consecutively. Maybe it requires focus easily upended in the middle of a fight with a screaming monster with long, sharp limbs. Either way, he needs to stop forcing her into a position to use it. He needs to be quick.

Sephiroth closes the space again. He ducks under the Howler’s tail in the same vein that Ciri had moments before, and sidesteps again to angle himself around to its cracked side. The timing’s close. The monster knows which side to protect and tries to catch him in its claws, tearing instead at the shoulder of his uniform, only missing because of a lame leg.

He sees it now, the exposed soft spot of flesh. He should move away instead of risking an attack, but he is confident that he can meet his mark, even if the hard swing of the monster’s tail flails, aimed directly at the side of his head. He sees it, in his periphery. He knows he can survive it. He’s been knocked around by worse in Shinra’s training facilities. For the sake of ending this quickly, he chooses to aim his blade straight between cracked pieces of carapace instead of reeling out of the way.

From where Ciri stands, it will be almost impossible to tell which will hit first. But it does seem that, for good or ill, both Sephiroth and the creature will meet their mark, one way or another.]

[ She is too far. She'd meant only to reappear a dozen feet away to give herself enough room to avoid the tail and reposition, but now she's way too fucking far, and she can barely see what's going on. Ciri runs, dashing toward the fray just in time to see Sephiroth moving into the beast's weak spot. Just in time to see how stupidly careless he is about protecting his own exposed flank.

Ciri opens her mouth, the instinct to shout his name rising up in her throat, but the last thing he needs is a distraction. And besides, it won't matter when the stinger is aiming for his head or neck within moments. There's no time to make a properly thought-out decision. She simply acts.

In a flash of that eerie bright light, Ciri vanishes mid-step and reappears directly behind Sephiroth, back-to-back with him as the wickedly barbed tail descends right into her raised sword. The blade hits clean. It slices through, just as Sephiroth's own meets its mark--

And the sharp point of the stinger lodges in Ciri's shoulder, at the same instant she separates it from the rest of the tail. Perhaps, she considers dimly as thought finally catches up to action, teleporting directly into the strike line without an adequate amount of precision had been just a touch rash.

With a powerful downward stab, Ciri pins the rest of the thrashing tail into the sand, leaning her weight hard into the pommel of her sword while Sephiroth finishes off the beast. The pain hits a moment later, as she reaches up to yank the stinger free, and it falls from her fingers before she can even find the strength to toss it to the ground. Her jaw locks up; her knees buckle.

Ciri props herself up on her sword less to pin the dying monster now, and more to keep from falling face-first onto its twitching corpse. ]

Fffuck...

[He has no time to adjust for her sudden reappearance, back-to-back, but that is a blessing unto itself. There’s not even a second of leeway given to him; his blade cannot hesitate without potentially missing its mark, and so Sephiroth follows though — even as he hears her sword dismember the Howler’s tail from its body.

His own weapon pierces, pushing through delicate flesh and goring whatever lies within its main body. The monster gives a shriek, but it’s stuttering and short, likely due a pierced lung or air sac. He twists his blade, pushing the Howler down with his weight, watching as it crumples into a tangle of twitching limbs, still in shock. He leaves it skewered in the sand like a pinned insect, pausing only once he’s certain it won’t be getting up in the unlikely event of a second wind.

It won’t, its blood already soaking the earth at an accelerated rate. He glances over at Ciri, her gritted curse sending a spike of alarm down his spine. At her feet lies a severed tail, and a dislodged stinger in the sand next to it, faintly wet with blood.

Sephiroth’s eyes trail up to her shoulder, where she’s been freshly adorned with a puncture wound.]

Damn it. Ciri—

[Drawing a conclusion as to what just happened is easy. It’s the rest of it that’s worrisome, a sting from a creature with side-effects unknown to him. The way she’s putting her weight onto her sword must mean that its venom is already activating, whether that’s through simple pain or a far more serious reaction, and he immediately ducks down to slot his shoulder beneath her arm holding her weapon, and wrapping his own around her middle to keep her steady.]

Look at me. [Asking if she’s alright seems to be a moot point.] How bad is it?

[Will it just run its course? Will she need a healer, a doctor? They’re still less than a day’s ride out from the city, and suddenly that distance feels an age away. He is half tempted to hoist her up and hasten to the carriage, anyway, regardless of her reply. And if she can’t manage to answer, then that makes the decision easy.]

[ Thankfully, the blood soaking Ciri's blouse under her jerkin seems not to be flowing too freely; the wound is shallow, infuriatingly almost avoided, almost caught by the hard leather strap before it had slipped past to stick in the front of her shoulder beneath her collarbone. But almost doesn't cut it.

The venom burns, from the site of the sting downward into her left arm, a throbbing ache that leaves her fingers numb. She gasps when Sephiroth slides under her sword arm, tightening her grip to pull the blade out as he props her up and helps her straighten. Her other arm, she tucks up against her chest on instinct, trying to keep from jostling it.

His order is met with a wan glare. ]

Don't know. Hurts like a bitch.

[ She grits out through her teeth, only half-truthfully. She's come across Howlers in her reading and the effects of their sting. But she's also not sure how much of the venom is necessary to become fatal, and how deep her wound is. It's becoming increasingly difficult to tell as the pain spreads, but other than hurting and weakening her arm, she can move. For now. ]

Camp. Now. [ She bites out unnecessarily, as if Sephiroth might decide to keep trekking around the desert. Now that the shock isn't buckling her legs, she tries to pull away from him. ]

Bring the stinger. Carefully.

[He frowns. Though her snappish replies are better than none at all, it still isn’t very reassuring to receive a non-answer. Sephiroth is hesitant to let her pull away so soon after taking a venomous sting, but ultimately offers no resistance if she thinks she has the strength to walk despite everything. (Even if she’s earned him keeping a keen eye on her all the way back, whether or not she thinks she needs it.)

He’s silent as he stoops down just low enough to pick up the long stinger, careful to avoid its tip despite his gloved hands. He’d argue the point of it, but he knows there’s a dread practicality to keeping it nearby; in the worst-case scenario of having to craft an antidote, should they suddenly need to hasten their way to Aquila. A contingency plan, one he hopes they won’t have to rely on.

When Sephiroth straightens, his frown’s deepened, knowing that what transpired could have been avoided — not with better handling of Ciri’s magic that he hadn’t known about before, or with quicker and more precise swordsmanship, but with his own failure to communicate. His perpetual struggle, for many reasons, but all the more unacceptable when a friend’s gotten hurt on account of it.]

You didn’t have to take that hit for me.

[If she moves, he follows — after wrenching his sword free of the monster’s corpse. Maybe a little too closely, too, like he believes there’s a 50-50 chance she could crumple into the sand courtesy of that troublesome sting.]

I should have said something. I’m sorry. [An apology that comes naturally, unstilted, because concern wills it.] If the pain worsens, we’re close enough to the city to find someone who can help.

[ She only moves a few steps back for now. While he picks up the stinger and collects his own sword, Ciri shakily wipes her blade and sheathes it. With the heel of her now-free hand pressed to the wound to staunch the bleeding, she turns toward the direction of the camp. For now, Ciri resists any further efforts from Sephiroth to support her. There's nothing wrong with her legs. It's just that every step makes her clench her jaw in pain, and her nails dig into the top of her shoulder keeping the pressure in place, breathing shallow and tight.

His apology -- what? -- earns Sephiroth a brief look of confusion, and perhaps some annoyance. ]

Said what?

[ And with what time? She'd made that decision in a split second, barely even aware she was going to make it herself. Sephiroth could have done nothing to prevent it. The fact he's sorry she saved his ass is just fucking selfish.

Luckily, it's far too much effort to say all that, so the grimace will have to be enough. ]

[He could have said something before. Days ago. From before the start of their journey, setting out from Cadens. Back home, he is used to others simply being aware of his differences, knowing that he isn’t the same, that he isn’t normal. They would not have rushed in to take a Howler’s tail-swipe for him; he believes his lack of transparency has only proved reckless for them both, in the end.

And yet, faced with having to state it aloud is difficult. It shatters the illusion of normalcy, seems to always wedge a strange distance between himself and everyone else. He keeps a slow step with Ciri, unsure whether or not her annoyance prompts it out of him faster, or more inelegantly.

Maybe both.]

That I’m not like most people. I’m more resilient than anyone I know. I heal faster, too.

[His sword finds it sheath, though his eyes still are intent on reading her expression.]

I could have survived a swing from its tail. Withstood its venom. You should have known that before we even set out.

[ That revelation does give her pause. Literally. Unable to multitask quite as effectively as usual, she slows (not that she was going very quickly, to be fair), and looks back up at him again. Her brows furrow, the annoyance lingering in the set of her mouth, tucked around the pain tensing her jaw sharply, but there is a flash of something else in her eyes-- anger, but not quite at Sephiroth. Frustration. Envy.

She can still hear Geralt scolding her, all those years ago, reminding her how easy it is for her to die when all a proper Witcher needs is a handful of herbs and time to cobble himself back together. Whatever Sephiroth is, apparently she's outmatched again.

With a sharp exhale, Ciri picks up her pace again, shoving her feet forward one by one and ignoring her body's protests at each step. ]

Spare me. You're not that special.

I survived it too, if you can't tell.

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