Trapped in the mist

Lasair

Lasair's broken wrist was beginning to feel very wrong, but that didn't stop her from throwing her other shoulder against this blasted shield in this blasted wagon heading to blasted prison. It was suffocating, with the only light coming from the runes of the shield wall that enveloped her and the magic-repelling ones on the inside of the wagon walls.

Useless, all of it. She had no magic to break free with, and was nothing like the dangerous criminal they assumed her to be. Not any more.

"Let me-" She rammed her shoulder against the wall. "-out of here! You have the wrong -" She groaned, holding her burning wrist against her chest as her shoulder ached. "-person." She finished, slumping her temple and shoulder against the wall as her eyes scrunched tight in pain.

(134)

Vilas

"Break that shoulder of yours too, why not, I'm not stopping you," Vilas said from the opposite side of the wagon, sitting on a narrow seat with his back against the wall, adding then with a somewhat weary note, "Just know those shields won't be going anywhere without that brute here to will it otherwise."

This had been going on ever since the wagon door had been closed shut, her ardent denial of any guilt all the more irksome the longer her fight against her restraints went on. She was anything but innocent, but for all his annoyance and twisted triumph (already fleeting), there was definitely something off about the redhead.

Maybe it was that sense of confusion and details not adding up as they should that made him say almost tentatively, "And enough with the yapping - don't exactly see many other Lasair Andrastes walking around," before scoffing with a raised brow, "Though never did I think it'd be that old man who'd catch you after last time. Be glad he didn't turn you to a rotting heap then and there."

If there was anything to be grateful for in the moment, it was her doing a damn good job at distracting him, annoying enough to leave him no time to think about the darkness of the wagon. This small, dark box they'd been shoved into.

(226)

Lasair

A rotting heap. A disgusted chill ran down her spine and made her shudder, and she turned her head to look at him through her mussed hair. "Is everyone from the Order as violent as the the two of you? It's no wonder everyone tries to run from the likes of you." She scrunched up her nose and hissed through her fanged teeth. "...and he didn't catch me. I ran into him, he recognized me, and I thought..." That he'd be someone who could help, like Harrow and Aleister had. "...well. What I thought doesn't matter."

Whatever she'd done before her awakening last year was clearly coming back with a vengeance. She could be as bitter as she wanted to be about it, but it wouldn't change the fact that she was paying for essentially a stranger's sins.

She glanced at the man across from her, furrowing her brows. "I honestly don't know you, or what I've done to you. My memories begin only a scant few months ago, and all I have to go on are wanted posters and rumors. So, whatever I did to you, you have my apology."

She looked at him, unwavering and serious, then sighed and closed her eyes. "Not that any of that matters now." All that awaited her was prison, so any apology was rather tasteless, in the grand scheme of things. She could only guess what the crime had actually been to make him so dogged at chasing her down.

(248)

Vilas

"Oh, but it does. It matters quite a lot -" Vilas smiled, leaning forward with his hand resting idly between his knees as that smile turned into a sneer, "- what you did, that is."

Twice she had apologized now, and twice he had rejected the empty gesture. The Lasair he remembered would be sorry about sparing his life, if anything, were she able to recall such a detail-

... No, why would he buy any of this? All she did was lie, just like him. Her comment about the cruelty of the Order he didn't dare to deny, though, just like he hadn't denied it to tens of others who'd spat and snarled at him in anger and grief once caught. "It's Vilas, told you that before," He sighed as a perplexed frown settled on his face. "As for what you did, I suppose trying to bite my leg off and drink my blood was just another day for you, back then. Honestly I wouldn't dwell on it too much either." 

Looking back, it truly was strange to see her still have her wits about her. Lasair was clearly inhuman with her wings and furred feet, those feathered wings- and yet there was very little anything monstrous about her. A sorry sight, somewhat, with her red hair disheveled and that broken wrist resting limply against her chest.

And... as much as he despised the thought of it, the memory loss wasn't entirely impossible. Unlikely, even, the idea of it revolting in a silent way he couldn't let her catch any glimpse of as his stomach turned slightly. If Mordreaux had tried to dapple with his mind barely a season ago, and had indeed met Lasair at some point last year, what assurance was there that the man couldn't have succeeded at that attempt with another person? Maybe even with him, how could he know?

Would Mordreaux have done that? Why?

"Lasair," Vilas said slowly, his demeanor taking on a sharper edge, "Humor me. How did you come to lose all your memories?"

(340)

Lasair

She opened her mouth in response to his question, but was still busy grappling with the disgust of his description. Bite his leg off and drink his blood? What the fuck had been wrong with her to have gotten to the point of cannibalism?

Her mouth twisted as her face paled, and she was silent as she swallowed that little revelation down, bitter as it was. She'd try to apologize more earnestly if it looked like it'd do any good. There was a limit.

"...I woke last winter in a ruined shack." She said quietly as the wagon rocked over a bump in the road. "Two mages were arguing, and I knew neither of them, and remembered nothing of how I'd gotten there. There was talk of corruption and then one of them punched the other in a fit of rage. His crown fell and he had this awfully self-satisfied air to him as he left. Then another mage came in to kill the first and I can only imagine that played into what that smarmy bastard intended, and I tried to stop that from happening." Lasair sighed again, not wanting to use any names. She didn't want to get Aleister in any trouble. "Murder set aside, the remaining two generously hosted me, told me what my name was, and...some of what I'd done. Not all, but some."

She shifted so that she put her back against the shield wall. "That's the first memory I have. Nothing before that point. Whatever the reason I lost my memories, I suppose you'd have to ask that mage with the crown."

(269)

Vilas

So Mord had done something to her. Not just 'stopped', like he had so cleanly put it before trying to take that memory away from him for good to-

Fuck, to do what? Make things up at a better time?

Where his expression had been bordering on dismissive at the start of her explanation, by the end of it a clear sense of unease had settled over the scarfaced Witchfinder. He wasn't one to judge anyone's morals or the goodness of their character, not after all he had done, but all of this felt viscerally wrong. He was pale, the faintly glowing runes stealing all warmth from his face.

"Did... Did he have long hair? Black as night. About my height, a bit older than me?" The name just wouldn't leave his mouth. Even with planks of wood between them and the driver and that guardsman, he couldn't bring himself to say the name of the wanted man he'd thought of as someone dear. Someone to trust, but...

"I just might. Ask him, I mean, if the mage is who I think it is." How Lasair and Mordreaux had known of each other, Vilas couldn't say. Maybe they hadn't? That was possible, much like a hundred other things were possible, none of which he could fully bring himself to either trust or believe.

(223)

Lasair

She widened her eyes at her paled captor. "Yes -You've seen him? Black clothes, red cloak with a double-headed eagle on it, dreadful mannerisms." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Positively reeked of villainy so intensely that I thought I was waking up to a stage play, so seamlessly did it turn foul in his wake. If you see him, do be a dear and punch him again for me, won't you?" She looked away. "Call it a last wish from an enemy of yours, if you like. I'd be satisfied with that."

She pursed her lips, then added, "He also may have...well. I wouldn't pretend to know how, but I have found myself magickless as well as memoryless. Perhaps he had something to do with it, perhaps not. but this?" She rattled her shackle chains. "Is quite unnecessary, I'll have you know. I have no ability, nor desire, for violence."

She pursed her lips. "Or cannibalism. That was quite tasteless of a thing to do to you....Vilas."

(170)

Vilas

"Suppose breaking a lady's wrist wasn't much better," He said flatly, that uneasy look still etched on his face as he leaned against his elbows, looking at her shackles. Despite his threat behind the tents, he... didn't think she would let him do it. This woman, who would've in the past turned into a dragon or some other beast in the blink of an eye.

It'd been like snapping a twig, and it hardly sat right with him in the light of all that she had just told him, if he were to take her word as truth.

His heart hurt imagining the scene Lasair had been met with; his own meeting with the man, Mord's lack of hesitation to go against his will when he'd tried to walk away; the chance Mordreaux could've taken his magic away too, but hadn't. He had laid so much of himself bare before that man, hoping he'd understand, but it seemed all too likely the fellow Nymenian he had wept for only existed in his thorned heart.

It hurt, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

With a heavy sigh he rubbed his temple and slumped back against the wagon's wall, watching her distantly. "And let me guess. You really were on a date... were you not?"

The wagon bounced slightly - a rock or something in the road - but he hardly paid it any mind, clearly well accustomed to less than stellar travel conditions.

(244)

Lasair

Lasair gave him a petty little scowl, her lips pouted without any real scorn behind it. "It could have been a date. I haven't known them long enough to say that for certain, but they're very sweet and thoughtful and will likely be very distraught that I've vanished." Then she actually frowned at him. "Do you know how rare it is, to wake and have someone who earnestly cares for you, despite a terrible list of larceny, arson, and whatever else? To see that recognition in one person, and then not know if another is a friend or scorned foe like you?"

Her lips twisted in self-derision. "I was a fool to think that awful old man fell into Harrow's category. I shall simply start assuming the worst whenever I see someone have that 'aha!' moment next and run in the other direction."

If that was even an option in the future. Running, that is.

(155)

Vilas

He huffed plainly, "Good. Had you been wise, you would've done so from the start."

And what had Harrow been thinking? Nevermind failing to tell Lasair that she's not exactly popular with one of the most infamous professors that Namarast has ever raised and funded, but that she was the type they'd choose to go for? Boring old Harrow, having a thing for this little arsonist? Who would've thought.

"... Not that it's better really. Safer, sure, but better? Wouldn't know about that," Vilas continued in a hum, half lost in thought. Oh, he knew - how rare it was to find someone who cared despite it all. He wouldn't dwell on it more than he had, though. Not now when the mere thought of Mordreaux was enough to make his already sour mood plummet.

"If it consoles you, I'm pretty sure Harrow will have my hide for this." And fuck if it was turning out to be more and more not worth it.

(162)

Lasair

"Good." She said firmly. Then her lips twitched, and she melted into a rather sweet sigh. "Did you see them facing off in that fight, before you so rudely interrupted? They could teach you a thing or two about a good, honest fight that doesn't involve mercilessly breaking a lady's arm like a twig and chasing her like some scoundrel."

"And wisdom, my dear Vilas, rather concludes a depth of experiences to fall back on. I doubt you would fare any better in my shoes if you ran the risk of imprisonment should you bet on the wrong reaction."

Then she lifted her chin and placed her good hand over her heart and said with mock-dignity, "But if you believe my woeful tale as you seem to do, I will humbly accept your apology in the form of release. And an arm splint. Preferably in that order."

(147)

Vilas

He snorted. Harrow, good and honest? Oh please, had they replaced Lasair's brain with cotton balls?

As for the redhead's apology... His lips tightened slightly, the spark of amusement replaced with the look of detachment from before, followed by a faint smile. "A splint I could arrange, sure. Maybe heal that bruise too, were these shields not in the way, but releasing you is out of the question." Someone could be listening. If not the guard, then the driver, nevermind their confused murmurs and exclamations about something out there. Boars by the road or something, who knows. "We all have our own burdens. Yours is the past, mine you are not privy to, but I assure you, whatever would come after a careless stunt like that would be far worse."

It wasn't a threat. At least it didn't sound like one, but there was gravity to his voice that demanded to drop any and all arguments.

As messy as things could get at Namarast, he'd rather risk Lasair's and Harrow's anger any day, than whatever hell Agathias might come up with next if he arrived empty handed. He'd thought himself a cold man, undeniably numb to a variety of things since his days in Nymene, but compared to his mentor? Studies that had begun as means to unravel the meaning of magic and corruption, had within a few years become something much, much more grim.

Or rather, had always been. Just one more thing he himself hadn't been aware of.

"For your information though, Harrow and I have fought before, and it wasn't me doing the threatening and throwing people around at the time," Vilas softly sneered from his seat.

(280)

Lasair

She took his soured demeanor in stride. "Are you admitting that they thrashed you, then?" She leered a fanged, playful grin. "How delightful. If you do have a repeat performance when Harrow becomes inevitably upset at you, do it within sight of my cell window, won't you?"

She leaned back with a sigh. "Alas. It was worth a shot, if you happened to feel actual remorse. I suppose I might throw myself on my uncle's mercy next." She quieted, becoming somewhat distant as the sounds from the front of the carriage started to grow louder. "...he shall be so heartbroken, but that would be preferable to the guillotine."

(108)

Vilas

He quirked a brow, mildly curious. "Thought you weren't close with your family. Or so the rumors say, anyway. 'The golden flower, the apple of their eye, blah blah, ditching her illustrious House to turn to a life of crime instead', oh the woe."

The mention of a guillotine prompted him to continue though, "Either way, doubt they'd get rid of you as easy as chopping off your head. It would've been a spectacle, I bet, but who knows what happens when you might as well have been possessed by someone else in the past compared to now."

The talk outside wouldn't quiet down.

"Speaking of now, can you feel your fingers? I meant it to be a clean break," He continued, somewhat distracted as he glanced towards the front of the wagon, then at the back door. Their traveling company may not have been silent but everything else was. The wagon muffled much of the sound but not to this extent.

(162)

Lasair

She sighed at that attempt to assure her that immediate death wasn't awaiting her once they got to their destination. To his dig at her rumors, she said, "Yes, well, one becomes rather close with a family member when they find you living in a cave and then grant you a lovely chateau to hide in, his Order-ties be damned."

"And no, I cannot feel my - " She frowned as the sounds from the front of the wagon became shouts. "Are they normally so disorderly, your men? You'd think there was a fire on the road with all the -"

The drivers screamed and the entire wagon veered sharply off the road as the reins were jerked to avoid something ahead. A steep embankment followed, and Lasair cried out as she was slammed against the shield wall.

Then the wagon started to overturn, and Lasair screamed as well, trapped in this unbreakable cage, before all went black.

(155)