“Hopefully the second one. They can’t just do that—”
Astrid cuts herself off with a frustrated exhale. She knows it might be naïve, but the sheer unfairness of it is stifling. Riftwatch’s work is delicate, a precarious balancing act of plucky overworked agents and their fragile network of allies. If their own allies turn on them, what else do they have to lean on?
If her contact in Minrathous turns on her, how fucked is she?
She’s still looking at what she can see of Talin, though, trying to size up his injuries, measure his state. His almost-visceral exhaustion, flopped in his bed the other side of the room. She leans, craning upward from her seat on the bed:
“Okay. Next up. You need an elfroot potion, mate? Or some food?”
If Talin were less dead on his feet, he'd probably be agreeing with Astrid and finding inventive new ways of cursing someone, and their bloodline, and their dog for good measure. As it is, he's barely conscious, holding onto awareness by his few remaining fingernails.
"Food," he murmurs, slurred and pressed almost inaudible into the pillow. He lifts his head and tries again, a little clearer this time, "Food. Already had a potion from the Doctor."
Could probably still use another, truthfully, but others had needed more attention than him and he hadn't had the energy to stick around waiting to beg another.
If Astrid has any clarifying questions, that's unfortunate—he's fully passed back out before she can ask any.
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Astrid cuts herself off with a frustrated exhale. She knows it might be naïve, but the sheer unfairness of it is stifling. Riftwatch’s work is delicate, a precarious balancing act of plucky overworked agents and their fragile network of allies. If their own allies turn on them, what else do they have to lean on?
If her contact in Minrathous turns on her, how fucked is she?
She’s still looking at what she can see of Talin, though, trying to size up his injuries, measure his state. His almost-visceral exhaustion, flopped in his bed the other side of the room. She leans, craning upward from her seat on the bed:
“Okay. Next up. You need an elfroot potion, mate? Or some food?”
🎀
"Food," he murmurs, slurred and pressed almost inaudible into the pillow. He lifts his head and tries again, a little clearer this time, "Food. Already had a potion from the Doctor."
Could probably still use another, truthfully, but others had needed more attention than him and he hadn't had the energy to stick around waiting to beg another.
If Astrid has any clarifying questions, that's unfortunate—he's fully passed back out before she can ask any.