Don't Rock the Boat

Well, he hadn't fallen flat on his face. True, Sylen didn't react favorably about his, uh, harried advances, but Uwe had been using it as a cover and didn't really mean anything by it. Right? Right. While there were elements to Sylen that Uwe found attractive, he just didn't seem... exciting enough. Not like Apollyn, his secret boyfriend that he definitely wanted to put into prison for his own safety. Not like other, dastardly fellows who had robbed Uwe... of his heart! And some of his chains, his money, his medals, but, well. That was life, and Uwe had learned to buy many of the same necklaces at once, to make sure that no one ever saw him without. That would be worse than knowing he was robbed. They'd never, really, done more than threaten, though - at the first sign of what he determined to be danger, he took his necklaces - but not his collar, that would be going too far - threw them at them, and then used his magic to drew an abstract picture in front of himself to make it difficult to see that he was fleeing. That's how it was supposed to go, in theory - he'd never asked for someone to look at it, check to make sure it worked, but no one had killed him yet. Usually he wouldn't be so cavalier about possibly failing, but it meant something remarkably different when he wasn't around people that were actually important. Someone who wasn't a peer and wasn't a ravenous mob just didn't really matter.

He briefly shook his head, bringing himself at least slightly into the moment. Sylen didn't matter enough that badly flirting was wrong, but he did matter enough that it wasn't Uwe's favorite idea to look entirely inept. He just... hadn't done anything like this. He hadn't lived a pampered life as a child, not by any means, but it was primarily being bossed around by a mother who, herself, did not know anything about being trapped in a cellar or how to survive. She was trying to move them up, not down. "That seems... well, that seems easy enough." Still holding the crowbar incorrectly, he inserted it into the earthen shoe, slightly slicing his foot in the process. Uwe did not swear - that wasn't his way - but he did allow a yip that any anxious fox would be proud of. In good news, though, he could still feel his feet, and he hadn't really thought about being worried about that before Or had he? He couldn't quite remember, but he was trying to wiggle the crowbar through the (admittedly slight) pain and memories weren't the easiest to keep a hold of at the moment. "Nothing's coming," he panted, though not out of true exertion. Maybe he needed to wrench it back harder (he did)? After more than a few but less than an inane amount of minutes, Uwe was able to pull one foot out. If his foot - or sock - were actually cut, he couldn't see any proof, and he took a few minutes to gather himself before working on the other.