Description: Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet. The queen of diamonds is money the queen of hearts is love. Don't chase money you'll lose the little you've got. Chase love. Brandon Malone's sometime mentor comes to the rescue and after only the tiniest measure of respite digs him into even deeper heapings of trouble with only the promise of being a little more prepared for what was to come. The world has gone to hell in a handbasket, humanity has offended a god and his wrath was vengeful and temperamental. That was all in the distant past, a lesson in history, only it wasn't anymore and currently is happening once again. Oh, and they never successfully dealt with it last time...!! just engineered into a future generations problem. Seriously, fuck you people of the past!
After that bright flash of light, Brandon slipped out of sight. It was sustained a little bit longer than he normally sustain it but the last thing he needed was to be captured. While that blindingly bright light was covering his escape route, Brandon felt his way out of the parking lot and away from the area.
After he was a bit of distance away, he moved towards a hidden alley slipped behind a dumpster. And that's when his body gives out. He just needed to rest a bit. Just long enough to for his body to heal up a bit and then he can walk back to Duck King place where he was crashing every since Fumiyo wrecked his hotel room and almost killed him in the process.
He lays a few minor arcana cards around him with the Tower card near the of the circle of pretty much the only way to get near him. With trap set he gets himself ready to sleep. At first, sleep doesn't come quickly between the unpleasant aroma of garbage and the fact that his body is screaming out both in protest of the abuse that Cooper laid upon it and the abuse that he put himself through by using his power directly. Eventually his eyes close and he falls into the darkness that is slumber.
The cloaked and hooded figure swarms into the alleyway at speed appearing hurried, gliding closer but jerks to a halts abruptly upon reaching the edge of the defensive ward. A trap? Its head inclines questioningly as if studying, a puzzle box surrounding this prey they did not want to trigger. Interesting!! She liked a challenge.
It would only stop her for so long.
It's time to go to bed, and wonder where the moon will go in the night's sky.
You can float in your dreams or gaze at the shadows in your quiet loneliness.
You can sing a song or connect your feelings to greet this new day.
You can grieve at parting or admire those old days.
Still, it will be sad.
May it be crimson hairs or crimson clouds, I will reflect them.
The breath of my singing will last all the night, So it can reach that person.
But I wonder when...?
Was Yea ra sonwe infel en yor.
Sounds which had long since faded from any vocabulary accompanying a mellifluous tune both sweet and sonorous, an ancient lullaby sung by a pure maiden; Many voices rising to sing chorus alongside her and to answer her call.
The interior of the hotel room was undisturbed as if only recently inhabited. No personal effects visible aside from what Brandon had on him and though in a ridiculously fluffy and only possibly comfy bed, the circle he had established of defensive wards was still present. If anything the only change was yet another regular playing card added to the ward configuration facedown, atop the tower.
The source of the song however was not his dreams; it was the hooded figure from earlier. Busy bussing a silver tray closer to bed, No scalpels or instruments though, the gentle rattle of cup and saucer as they move.
Brandon doesn't usually dream or if he does, he usually doesn't remember. Here Brandon not only sees a hooded figure in garb he's never laid eyes on before, he's hearing a song with words that are unfamiliar and probably wouldn't be unfamiliar if he had got around to cracking that book that Trish had gave him. Brandon's been a busy man what with investigations involving cursed daggers, coma victims, the King of Fighters tournament.
When he wakes from his slumber, things are blurry however, there are some things that clue him in to something not being quite right. When he first went to sleep, he was in a seated position close to a wall(Not quite on the wall because that would break his improvised Tarot deck wards). He was laying down.
He closes his eyes again. This time pretending to sleep while he extends his senses. He feels energy from people moving all around him but as for his room, he feels his energy from from his deck, from his cards laid out in a circle a bit wider than his original arrangement. He detects two different anomalies. First he feels a familiar energy signal from a card that is covering his Tower card. The other anomalous object is the humanoid deadzone that is moving an metalic object around.
That card is the only reason Brandon is not freaking out right now.
Brandon slowly opens his eyes to keep the sudden increase of light being overwhelming and then looks over to the hooded figure.
"Ugh... I'll rise but I refuse to shine."
Standing at the bedside table just at the outside limit of the trap the figure pauses when Brandon speaks. An excited extra chitter of china and silverware before the tray is deposited. Turning toward the patient the woman buried deep with the cloak and cape leaves only mouth and chin visible. Straight and bright purple hair framing lips pained a purple like poison but still curling into a smile.
A crooked index finger rises to conceal her lips, now her hands were free it betrayed something, amusement or relief.
"No dear, quite understandable. You were burning quite brightly earlier and understandably need the rest."
The damage involved in Brandon doing that was far more complicated to heal than the injuries inflicted by his opponent.
"I'll just add it to your tab shall I?"
The voice was familiar, not disguised in the slightest, she was concealing herself head to toe and even the colour of her hair had changed, but still opening up just a little. Though her eyes remain completely obscured it seems to not impede any actions in the slightest.
"That was quite a trick with the ward. I thought it best to just invert it and bring it with you in case there was any hidden surprise in its making, or in case disturbing it might wake you, and you came out of the corner swinging."
The cloaked figure mimes an excruciatingly poor punch technique for added emphasis. Returning her attention to the tray there is a unpleasant aroma, strong herbs and freshly cut grass that wafts into the air with the sound of water being poured.
"Don't make a face. medicine is rarely pleasant for a reason. Elsewise it might encourage recklessness or stupidity."
Because both the voice and the energy coming from are familiar he has a good idea of who he was talking to right now. The discussion of the tab confirms it. So he then knows where this conversation is about to go and he lets out a breath of air in a huff that had it been louder, it might've been considered a sigh.
And while that might've been an unpleasant aroma, Brandon's last thing smelled was the dumpster potpurri. The freshly cut grass and strong herbs were nothing compared to that fragrance. The taste may be a different matter all together. He is not looking forward to ingesting that.
And then the conversation goes exactly where he thought it was going to go. Recklessness or stupidity. While he knows that statement could've been referring to the act of confronting Cooper for information, he absolutely sure that it was in reference to him tapping into his power directly.
"Do you mean getting into that fight with that contractor? If so, that was my only lead and it was either that or spin my wheels until someone else tries to kill me. Speaking of which, if you mean me using my power directly, well... You saw that picture I sent you, right? She almost killed me because I was holding back on her. I didn't use my full strength then and the only reason you're chastising me right now was because I managed to get that picture to one of King of Fighters team mates who managed to call hotel security. Otherwise, you would've read about me dying in a hotel fire."
He then folds his arms and makes a face. Not because of the medicine but the recrimination that came with it.
"Oh? You almost died last time so you went all out and injured yourself this time?"
There's a pause to digest the implications of this while she seemingly keeps her attention on the brewing tea. Gentle and near silently agitating it with a spoon rather than a whisk and using an English tea set though the aroma was starting to smell more like a soured and potent green tea.
"Your life is your own, you're free to make any and all choices regarding it. Regrets at the end of your life are basically the worst thing someone can inflict upon themselves."
grasping the saucer the shrouded figure extends a teacup, a cream coloured china cup with pretty floral pattern and etchings. There was honey on the tray yet none had been added to this tea.
"I merely wished to ensure you were still breathing and to see what kind of condition you were in. With your big, important, fight ahead of you."
Trish would have been conserving her strength, the higher the stakes the more of an advantage she would be desperate to secure. She dropped those words like they were blows. She wanted to jab him with the contradiction between his impulse and the goals that brought him here in the first place. The picture of an assassin didn't truely bother her so much. Danges came form every side and wearing many masks.
"Though my aims in coming here were not selfless or altruistic. I had thought to perhaps borrow your help with a little manual labour. Honestly, the shape you are in now you best spend as much time resting as possible. You should be feeling completely fine in short order, without any remaining injury. The tea is mostly for the fatigue and little cleansing."
Almost like an afterthought she just drops a candid thought without and filtering.
"I don't know how your body would react if you went all-out with any amount of my energy still in your system. Alleric reaction? clog? Explosion?"
Best not to ever find out.
"Yes. Because as bad a condition as I'm in now, at least I'm alive because he sure as hell wouldn't have spared me."
The words were blows, all they encouraged was for the detective to create an emotional shell around himself. He went silent and stopped listening to the words coming out of her mouth, for the moment as he took account of his personal effects. He looked at the face down playing card on top of his Tower card, and carefully removes it before placing the playing card on the tray. He then reaches for his cards, gathers them up and slides them into his black leather pouch.
Because of the shell he almost doesn't hear her mention the line about not knowing how the body would react to him going all out again. He turns to the tea, knocks it back in two gulps, and places it back on the tray.
His voice devoid of emotion, he says, "Thank you. I'll be in contact with you about repayment for services rendered."
He moves to the door and while he doesn't know the layout of the hotel he's confident in his ability to figure it out and all he wants to do is go back to Duck King's pad and crash.
Trish closes her hand to pinch at the material of Brandon's vest and try to stop him leaving. Her mouth opens but words stick in her throat so those painted lips work soundlessly before any sense or sound is made. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be that harsh, please forgive me. With a quite resolves she firms her lips, none of those could be allowed to be true.
"The room is yours for the rest of the day. It's somewhere safe where no-one will know your real name or where you are. I can guarantee no 'normal' assassins will be able to reach you while you're here."
It wasn't her room and she clearly wasn't intending to stay.
"You aren't imposing and this is not my room. It's- merely one which was convenient and safe for our kind. If your friends would worry, call them and reassure them you're safe. Then get some rest."
Young men were always so impulsive and their feelings easy to hurt, especially when it related to pride or valour. She never understood how men could be so honest and open and yet completely deaf, as if encountering a show with a man reciting volumes of Shakespeare who was himself unable to read.
"Your fight in the tournament will be crucial, it's the all-important plan A. I'm already working on a plan B and had thought perhaps you might have the some strength to spare. Tapping and using you at the moment however would harm your chances."
There was more there but she's obviously holding back to avoid telling what he didn't need to know regarding this plan B.
"Don't mope. If you feel badly that you might have made a mistake, there's always a next time. Someone like me will always question the merit of going to look for trouble. Trouble has enough ways of finding me."
Like Brandon himself did. A hermit witch like Trish would usually never bother engaging or soliciting attention by talking shop with some random internet chatroom handle and letter sender who showed a heaped load of persistence.
Retiring toward the bed Trish retrieves the abandoned playing card and glances at it before tucking it away, the card falling inert before vanishing somewhere inside that cloak. Nothing of hers was left her excepting some boiled herbs.
"The tea really isn't so bad with a little honey. I merely wanted to see if you would sit and sulk with some terrible tasting tea or take the initative to add some yourself."
She was clearly teasing, but honest about being curious as to which he would have done.
When Brandon feels that tug on his vest, he stops dead in his tracks. He was not about to give himself even more stuff to use his cantrips on. Trish was right about how the last thing he needed was a willy-nilly expenditure of his power.
"There are some problems with that. The first assassin wasn't 'normal.' She had enough in common with 'our kind' to attack me by corrupting my illusion. So I'm not exactly safe here either. They may know where I am staying but I'll at least have strength in numbers on my side. Which means I still should probably go."
He puts his hand on the handle once again but he doesn't actually make a move to continue to walking out the door. At least, he's willing to talk again. And his voice is normal.
"My plan A required my team getting to the Finals and my plan B required my team getting eliminated before the Semi Finals and thus not having a 3rd place match upcoming. So right now, I'm working on plan C."
Brandon was choosing not to respond to the terrible tea part. He gulped it down without reaching for the tea because he wanted to consume the tea and get going.
She hadn't heard. Her intel wasn't perfect and she was obviously well behind on events relating to the tournament. A telling twist of her head at mention of a third place finish and she lifts her hand to her chin to contemplate and process this turn of events. Who were those remaining teams again? Would the outcome of them winning be influential enough to force her hand in moving up the timetable?
"Perhaps- ...I might need your help regardless if it comes to MY plan B."
She moves to one of the chair and stands gripping the back of it. Her fingers pale with the strength of the hold thought she does eventually drum them nervously before speaking.
"Are you in the mood for a story? ... ...I'm afraid I've been allowing you to play a game where everyone seated at the table plays their cards close to their chest and the stakes go unmentioned. It's probably time you at least knew about the worst case scenario. That however involves a little bit of history lesson; Japan's specifically."
She raises a hand to gesture at one of the other chairs, would he take the offer of a seat or latch onto her own projected sense of unease.
"There's a lot we haven't ever gotten into beyond the form and function of spells, the formula and theory behind spell craft but not the lore, the lessons learned at great cost. This relates more to chi itself. Specifically to a very real entity that once called itself 'Gaia's Will.' Wielding tremendous control over the forces of nature it waged a brutal war against humanity, who- rightfully /were/ creating an unnatural imbalance in the world at the time! Which angered this force and it wasn't alone, there will always be followers or believers willing to follow such. On the frontline, fighting back and defending humanity against a monster of their own making, the Kusanagi, the Yata, and the Yasakani, three immensely powerful clans of their time with three mystical treasures; they managed to defeat and seal it away eventually. Not so powerful these days that I would bet comfortably they could accomplish the same feat once again."
Clasping her hands together in front of her Trish rounds the chair leaving just one arm laid across the back of the headrest.
"We see the same times once again, where human innovation and grasping without thought has angered and brought the wrath of another god; While we never successfully dealt with the last. Humanity postponed divine judgement and godlike wrath; that older god slumbers still but no seal holds forever or is beyond being broken or subverted with enough power or time."
Their meddling with the forces contained in the earth would inevitably give rise to another who thought they were Gaia's will, or strength enough to wake the sleeping one.
"Beyond the social connotations, the evil we might inflict upon one another when the very essence of life becomes a commodity to be bartered and traded. The planet itself is throwing its champions, or at least idols that have great meaning and influence over many people at us. Maybe just so we'll heed the message or possibly to extinguish us all and start afresh."
When Trish starts story time, Brandon removes his hand from the door. While he knows that Trish is serious right now, there's a part of him who is a little bit amused by how she used card terminology to refer to keeping cards close to the chest. Her process for transferring his improvised ward utilized playing cards. Besides, tarot cards before they were used for divination were also used to play games. He has the decency at the very least to not let that amusement appear on his face.
He remains silent as she goes over Japan's history. With his foundation coming from a Western tradition plus spending most of his life in America where there are significantly less mystics than there are in Europe or Asia, he wouldn't have as much access to this type of information.
The information of the Kusanagi, Yasakani, and the Yata gives context for what Trish says next. However, when she talks about the wrath of another god, he finds that the newspaper articles that he read before were incomplete pieces of the puzzle and now with the full picture, everything made sense.
"Hokkaido... There are times when I hate when I'm right... I told you about Chaolan's tendency to fly too close to the sun and that tendency might get us all killed this time."
Trish says, "Indeed you did. Wax wings of Icarus."
She cannot scoff at the comparison though her lips twitch. None could accuse Lee Chaolan of not flying high enough or daring to chasing the objects of his desires, recklessly and passionately. Crazed enough a man he engaged in an armed confrontation with her, the object of his desire (along with her friends and allies;) all to forcibly take Ayame as his. When that failed, he modelled his robots after her and dragged her through the courts. It all stunk of some sleazy romance novel then took a turn toward the chilling and unsettling.
"His robots utilizing chi was an oddity, it amazed me. Then the game-box that steals energy from its victims was folly and harm in equal measure. People are already wasting their lives away so much on those things adding vampirism into the equation is simply enslavement to a cruel degree! The generator however, was a sudden reveal and well past being the 'final straw'; drawing energy from the earth is an abhorrent and evil act."
As well they could be using souls directly and powering that damnable ark with the souls of the damned. At least then there might be some justice or willing sacrifice in the equation.
She could possibly have blamed a little of it on skepticism or atheism. A lack of belief left plenty of space for confidence in those hard sciences which produced results, repeatable and testable. Men abandoned their morality in favour of results and testing, that happened in wartime. Good men could perform unthinkable acts by not thinking about them.
"Some things that should never ever be done, at any price. Drawing the life out of the planet! Churning and macerating up unthinkable years of experience and knowledge, perhaps personalities and memories. History! Culture! The very fabric and thoughts of the dead. All for fuel or poured into a well for later consumption."
They saw evidence of it remaining in ghosts and spirits, reincarnate souls and the returned dead. Surviving or partial awareness? the pieces that slip through the cracks even if they were missing in part or faded and washed out, they still were. That one analogy she'd made though sickened her stomach; violently nauseous just from the images that came to mind unbidden. Bomb shelters and cellars being emptied with shovels or burned yet further to turn the gloopy contents therein to ash.
"The cycle of reincarnation itself? Is that at stake? Or perhaps both Heaven and Hell are ground up piecemeal to keep the lights on and the flimbobs and whatsits running."
Shaken a little, Trish takes a seat on the armrest.
"I don't actually know how far it will go or I will have to take it. As long as I've studied the leylines all I could ever confirm for myself is how little we understand about them. -- In my mind the pot is limitless and everyone is already all-in"
She fixes Brandon with what might have been a stare but instead quirks her head jovially and smiles. This was all much too heavy; a change in the mood even that falsity of cheer was a release of pressure. Another coping mechanism showcased by a woman who was almost always seen drinking.
Brandon would probably disagree with some of her thoughts on the creations. He found the first Combots abhorrent just due to the fact that they were created without the fighters who they were based on having a say in the matter. The models that could use chi, well they were rubbing salt in an open wound. When it approached the gaming console and generator however, that was where their opinions seemed to align even if it was unspoken on his part.
As Trish goes on her completely justified rant, Brandon is silent throughout though a look of distaste can be shown on his face. A look of bitterness on his face that far exceeded the look on his face when he threw back the tea without honey in a bid to get out of here as quickly as possible.
He had a lot of new information that needed to be passed on to his team mates. There was also the fact he would have to get in contact with representatives from the two finalist teams as to get a feel for what would happen to the tech if either of the teams won. And then there was the issue of Trish needing help.
"So as for your plan B?"
He won't commit to it without knowing what his part would be in it. He won't go in blind if he can avoid it.
A timely response
"After hurriedly making this cute little outfit, all to ensure I could get close enough to that reactor. To break it myself, or even more important now it's already damaged. All of my chakra points covered and wards placed on every layer. Effectively? --think of it as a hazardous materials suit with a little panache! The reactor may have been destroyed but there's no telling if it was emptied or what mechanism were left intact below it."
Visit the reactor, make sure there was no energy still trapped or going stagnant in the area and return what she could to the earth. Cleaning up after Lee Chaolan.
"As circumstances permit; Then... I'll kill as few as I can get away with in order to bury this technology."
A discordant and algid tune rising in the background as the witch continues to smile. The premise of killing a few to save a greater amount of others doesn't bother her. This was triage, removing a gangrenous limb in the worst of conditions before it claimed a healthy life.
The greater good.
"I can see little other alternative and there is more incentive to move on this quickly, to limit the spread rather than spend an equal amount, or heaven forbid lose time gathering up power and allies."
There was being impulsive as Brandon had been, and there was being decisive and quick to act. The only difference between the two was whether it resulted in success or failure.
All for the greater good.
As Trish goes over her plan to go the generator in her custom hazmat suit and ultimately bury the technology Brandon nods at first. It makes sense especially considering the situation. Lee Chaolan was the type of person who would've kidnapped a woman after a live fight. What secrets would he kill to keep there? If any were attempting to put her down it made sense that killing force would be required.
As the discordant tune rises in the background, the private investigator gets a bad feeling. Beyond that tune, however, he can't put his finger on why. But as much information as she had given him on the plan B, he still didn't have the information he needed to make an informed decision as to whether he would help.
"Theoretically speaking, if I were to offer my assistance, what role would I play in this plan?"
Without a hazmat suit of his own, he figured he'd be poorly suited(pun not intended) to support her in the field. And he wasn't about to offer his assistance without it being an informed decision.
Trish gives a short, half-suppressed laugh; she was giggling at his unease and the careful path he was treading. Viewing someone else's paranoia and misgiving's from the outside and finding them charmingly naive she couldn't help but react so.
"It was as I mentioned in the manual labour sense. I needed help digging a few holes."
Raising her hands she gestures towards Brandon in a 'halt' motion and continues speaking at an accelerated pace.
"OH, No! I realize now how that might be misinterpreted."
One hand turning back inside her clock and tucking in close to where an inside breast pocket may be she removes a something, she drops and allows to dangle this leaden plum bob looking weight. It hangs suspended and sways beneath her hand while she toys with it a moment.
"It's an instrument of sorts. Here, you can possibly tell what it is yourself just by taking a closer look."
It waaaas: A tiny well, with almost nothing in the way of capacity and open at both ends. Something like this would never contain or hold anything, energy would pass clean through, a hole or port on one side was larger than on the other.
"I would be a fool to interfere with a device such as that reactor without taking readings regarding the effects it was having on the environment both before and after my meddling. Taking samples and getting readings from the right places would surely require a little shovel work. Not to mention how difficult the terrain might be to traverse and clear."
//Literally!// A request that involved and focused on manual labour, an almost insulting request on the surface.
Digging a few holes? It's at this moment Brandon wonders if he might've just fucked up. The color drains from his skin and the already fairly pale investigator takes a sickly, almost ghost-like pallor. At least until gives the signal to halt his thought processes and explains that it's for taking readings that he calms down, slightly.
He then takes a closer look at the object presented in order to examine it both from a physical and metaphysical perspective. When he's satisfied with his findings, he returns his attention to the witch and nods.
Was he insulted? Not particularly. If anything him going all out in his fight with Cooper was a reason he might need to ease up on his mystical heavy lifting for a bit. So far he has no problems with offering his assistance from a morality standpoint. From a scheduling standpoint was another matter all together.
"What's your timetable for going on this expedition? If it works with my schedule, I'm in."
"Mhmmn, like I said earlier I was concerned about your condition. While I have no doubts about your strength! You've been flexing and working those muscles a lot lately. I likewise prepared a cloak to protect an assistant from similar affects as the one I'm wearing, not as extensively since they needn't get as close. It does however require a steady supply of mana the entire time it's being worn."
Something that would definitely hinder recovery and run completely against resting oneself for a fight.
"In answer to when? I will head out and start travelling shortly. Quite the drive ahead of me! Catching up after I've been there awhile would be quite simple but there aren't many people who would trust in using someone else's transportation magic. That kind of thing is mostly used for worst case scenario flight in the face of danger. The slightest of errors through neglect or intentional planning--"
Not good, really not good. In any case it was not something she expected, demanded or offered. Volunteers only need apply. The smile remained the same and fixed throughout while her hands had lowered and folded one atop the other in her lap.
"You needed decide to follow me just yet, there's time enough for you to rest, you'll fight and be seen by people and cameras to be miles away from the scene of any strange disturbance. What kind of shape you are in after the fight might be more a factor than anything."
Trish says, "*needn't!"
As Trish lays down the particulars such as scheduling, equipment required, and the amount of rest required to prep for the expedition, Brandon himself makes mental notes as to what he wants to either address as far as concerns or perhaps ways of making her life easier.
"Since I already know the location it shouldn't be a problem to catch up with you. And since you're giving me enough time to fight in the third place match and rest up it should also give me time to do some prep as well."
He pauses as he looks down at the pouch on his hip and it looks as though an idea pops into his head.
"Actually... May I have an opportunity to examine the assistant's cloak you had prepared? My Minor Arcana cards aren't as powerful as my Major Arcana cards but they in turn tend to be more flexible in usage. If I can adjust my Minor Arcana cards to act as a power source for the cloak, in order to ease if not mitigate the draw of mana from me personally."
He moves his hand towards the door once more and turns back to face Trish.
"Looks like I will have a lot to pass along to my team mates. They were adamant about keeping them in the loop as far as my investigations into this tournament were concerned. Any other thoughts or concerns?"
Trish cannot fault any of his logic. She had outlines what she was doing and if anything seems more pleased (or at least a more pleasant smile) by this talk of preparation, clear analysis and perhaps even a thirst for knowledge with wanting the cloak already. So be it. They were not unreasonable requests and the cloak itself made somewhat more in line with Brandon's height and breadth of shoulders. Most magus and mages she knew would positively get lost inside it.
"Since you asked so nicely."
Shifting the bulk of a satchel around to her lap and drawing the veil of the cloak back she removes a plain white rectangle folded as tightly as a brand new shirt. A little heavier than one it's still markedly smaller and not a tenth the layers Trish is wearing.
"Covering as many chakra points as possible without you know, making it harder to move your arms and legs or dig a hole."
Considering the very top of the package when she handed it over was a circle ward with geometric lines trailing off and away from it, a flap of cloth which hangs right down and obscures the face. Very Minion, not entirely stylish.
'I was pressed for time and it's functional. If you manage to get the powering just right then you'll be able to see. You don't think I'm blundering about blindly like this do you?"
It would be exhaustive trying to uses sense or magic to try and compensate for blindness, especially when all you had to do was feed all that light and information the eye would usually process to the brain with just a little filtering, for safety's sake.
"Brandon. There's one last thing I will add, though not for the benefit of your team. Be absolutely sure of what you want before you start down a path like this and know where it is that you must stop. So you can yet live with yourself and look others in the eye still. I cannot heal a broken spirit or undo mistakes in the past."
The satchel slides back into place. A solid white circle with a red cross dimly visible on the facing side, sun faded and worn; threadbare and patched like it had seen serious use. The cloak bulges as though the obscured hand had given it a reassuring pat to ensure it was closed and nestled properly.
She remains seated on the armrest and makes no further move to stop Brandon. He was a big boy and his decisions were his own.
"Have a safe trip."
In Japanese, the standardized and cliche response to when someone informed the house they were leaving; made all the more surreal by a self-declared murderous witch, wishing for a safe journey.
Log created on 22:28:00 09/28/2017 by Trish, and last modified on 18:23:06 10/03/2017.