The seditious youth looked past the entanglement of flames below her eyes and towards the stranger; watched the slightest portions and pieces falter, narrowing her gaze suspiciously, wondering if the amusements had worn off, away, or something else altogether. Had she of known, would she have ceased? Would it have mattered? Or would her impulsive, ruthless nature still have come to the surface? A suitable pause in the calamity, Fangorn maneuvering out of the way, the surrender slipping from his mouth, the girl lowering her bow until it faded away, the arrow put back in her quiver. Victory – though it didn’t quite taste the same, not something truly savored.
So she maneuvered forward, hand extended to shake on their shared triumphs, a bridge, a gap, to coax and onward, instead of one more bristling assignation. [say]“Well fought, sir. I’m Melita.”[/say] Something they might have proffered ages before, but unfortunately not laden until these precise moments. Backwards, perhaps – the notion pressed an inward shrug. Her grin returned, sunshine and mischief, regaling and inquiring. [say]“Who are you?”[/say]
Adrenaline fizzles out slowly, limbs aching with exertion. It lingers, but Harper eases down from his stretching and walks towards Melita with a warm smile. No longer a threat to her in any way, if he ever had been considering how playful this moment has been. The bow and arrow are summarily tucked away, replaced by an outstretched hand that Harper happily takes and shakes firmly. [say]"You as well, miss."[/say] A sincere compliment, pleased to have found a worthy adversary even if only in mud-slinging.
[say]"The name's Harper, Harper Quinn. And you? And you'll simply have to tell me this little creature's name, I absolutely adore it."[/say] Pointing at Fangorn with a childlike beam. Unsure of the gourd's gender, if it even really has one? But he certainly wants to be friends with the mischievous little monster.
Melita tilted her head, studied him for a moment, putting a name to the face, the features, and the mud-slinger now. Then attention veered off to Fangorn, presiding near her ankles, an eerie, enigmatic turn of his eyes back towards Harper. He hissed and grumbled, but it was a friendly, amiable gesture, as if he too found Harper a worthy opponent, instead of an enemy, an adversary, or some other twisted soul yearning to hurt either of them. The girl bent down to pick him up, holding him in her arms while she extended the rest of their introductions. [say]“This is Fangorn – a vampire gourd. They tend to come out in Leafchange, but most people just destroy them.”[/say] A shrug, because she’d been one of the same, until she’d found the little survivor tucked amongst branches, brambles, and nettles. [say]“He’s my companion.”[/say] The smile thereafter was proud – gratified to have such a friend.
The little gourd makes an odd hissing, growling noise and Harper wrinkles his noise and makes a guttural imitation of the noise right back. Unashamed of being considered childish, too entranced by this magical little creature. One whose name he finally is rewarded with as Melita scoops him up into her arms. His face falls at the idea of killing the murderous little cretin that he is already so fond of. [say]"That sounds horrible,"[/say] he admits softly. Murder is something his mentor has always forbidden, any kind of taking of life no matter if it's a person or an animal. Unless your own is on the line, another way should always try to be found. Many have called him weak for such thinking, but even imagining Fangorn not existing due to someone carelessly and cruelly smashing him apart makes his heart sink. [say]"Well then he's very lucky. It's a pleasure to meet you Fangorn."[/say] He would extend his hand teasingly, but the gourd would likely nibble on his fingers - or worse. [say]"I won't keep the pair of you long if you have elsewhere to be. But thank you for entertaining me, it was a good exercise."[/say] Warm smile is aimed back at Melita, sad to say goodbye already but aware neither of them had necessarily planned for this little diversion in their day.
Lucky, enduring, a survivor – Melita glanced fondly down at the vampire gourd in her arms, as Fangorn grumbled and hissed again in favor of Harper’s tones. Her eyes lifted back to Harper again after the final statement, the passing of moments and diversions, back to prior antics and endeavors. [say]“Let me know if you ever fancy another fight,”[/say] she laughed, wild and carefree, but meaning the statement just the same, a shrug in her light ambience, in her mud-spattered existence. Then she scooped up the rest of her belongings, bestowing another nod to the man, and lowered Fangorn back down to the ground, so he could traverse and bobble around on his own. And with a wave, they were both gone, vanquishing and vanishing along roads and paths, hopefully to take a bath and wash out the muck and grime.
- FIN
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