by C S » Wed Nov 09, 2016 3:56 pm
Johnathon rubbed a shoulder. The awkward realization that a bunch of hardened, detached investigators and officers was not the best company for a person in some kind of abstract recovery period. That, compounded with the stress gnawing at Natalie, seemed to create a very unhealthy situation. Johnathon chuckled dryly. What if this was a reframing of the things that birthed Snicker? An overwhelming expectation, the sense of powerlessness to do anything about it?
That would just be perfect, wouldn't it? The squandering of a miracle. Yet all was not decided, despite the extensive talks and planning. The redheaded elf may still have a key part in how things concluded after all. The hand rubbing his shoulder moved to pinch the bridge of Johnathon's nose. "Miss Vix... Vixen, whichever you may prefer..." Ask any favor needed. Even if she doesn't agree to do it, at least you put it out there for Natalie's sake.
"I've been put in a little bit of a vice recently. The requirements of 'what needs to be done' and the state of mind conducive to that cause, versus what it means to actually be a person. Upholding the law does not usually allow them to mingle -- I know, I was surprised to learn that one when I started out. I've been battling with something else souring my thoughts, as well. A Snake in the grass, prophet of doom; that the root of all faults in our attempts to keep peace is the legacy that evil deeds sire. One who has been wronged will wrong someone else. Rape and pillage, inevitable crimes."
Johnathon pulled in a breath and shook his head. "It's the kind of thing that could run miss Gardener back into madness." He spoke softly so as to not worry -- or offend -- Natalie. "If you can find it in yourself to extend an offering of friendship, and maybe take her into a setting far from courts and jails, it would be an incredible help to both her and myself."
A help to him in more ways than one. Just as Vix did not know the true tale of Natalie Gardner, Johnathon had no clue what manner of woman it was he was speaking to. All he had to work with was Viho's trust in her ability to keep a secret due to her company. Said company included the knight present and one who was named after a poison, evidently.
Dahnae's fist slammed into the wall next to Firel's head with much more oomph than her play. The impact had a subdued echo in the hallway, and consequently, the girl flinched. Punching unyielding, unfeeling objects with all of one's strength only brought pain to the offender. Her hand started to quiver underneath her mitten, and it soon became evident it wasn't from pain as Firel understood it. Dahnae's transformations, isolated or full-body, just seemed wrong for anything of humanoid form.
Her mitten disappeared under black fur; the intricacies of shapeshifting and the conservation of clothing wherein. What was once a fist was a huge paw pressed against the wall. Dahnae pulled it back some to uncurl her digits before bracing against the wall once more, unsheathing her claws just enough to make Firel rethink his slight.
"You were writy-thinking," Dahnae deadpanned after she felt she'd made her point.
