Battle Hymn of the Republic

For the first time, Willow wished she had learned sign language when it was offered in school. It took her a moment to process Manon’s response, and a bit longer still to figure out how to continue. It was true that everyone had meandered quite a bit, and in truth Willow wasn’t quite sure where she wanted to go. All she knew was that she needed to be doing something to work out how restless her legs were feeling. Nodding, the Brit motioned her agreement, and then on featherlight feet made her way down the hall to the stairs.

In Johann's bed

Johann was helpless when confronted by Drysi's irreverent behavior and flippant response.

"I-- no, yyyyyou--"

Her forehead tapped against his. He flinched sharply, and defensive instincts kicked in. His hands came between them, trying to make space. He got two handfuls of Drysi's chest and pushed in what he wished was firm and authoritative but was rather gentle and weak-willed. Then he realized what he was doing and his face practically exploded a cherry red color.

"No! Sorry, I ddddiddididnt-- you just-- we, I mean YOU--" He pulled his hands away and used them to rise into a sitting position, then wrapped them around his knees. He pressed his nose to his knees; with his hood up, his eyes were barely visible between bony knees and his hood, but the skin around them was still visibly red. His shoulders shook with crazy nervous energy and his chest rose with unsteady breaths.

After a few moments of stunned silence between them, Johann tried to start the conversation over. "Evvven if you could-- be here, I mean, like... like if I wwwwanted-- umm, anyways, you shshshshouldn't. Wwwwwhat would Willow think?" He shook his head slightly. "It's mean. You should be thinking abbbbout her."

He gave Drysi a moment to process that, but resumed speaking before she could interject. "Yes. You can worry abbbbbout mmmme." He was smiling faintly, and though she couldn't see it, it softly colored his voice. "That's what fffffriends dodododo." He giggled nervously. "Doo-doo." Then he shook his head. "Sorry, I just-- sometimes my stutttututter is funny."

"And I'm fine. Really. How are you? Did you really get it all out?"

In the Guest Room
Something stirred the anxious guidance counselor from her light sleep. Whatever it was, she could no longer hear it, so she lay perfectly still and listened. She thought she heard the shuffle of bare feet, so she reached out with her mind to see who was where. Many of the answers surprised her, but she made no move to interject. No good could come from an adult trying to wade into the business of children; even if they were amenable to her presence, no 'good advice' would be received warmly. Much better to keep an occasional eye on them.

It was often hard for her, but it was a good exercise in self-control. And children deserved to have secrets-- even if she hated not knowing. With a self-satisfied smile, she closed her eyes and opened her mind's eye to the wakeful minds around her. She let the simplicity and innocence of the pool of thoughts around her lull her gently back toward sleep.

In Johann's bed

"Ahn!" was the sharp, audible gasp that slipped from Drysi's lips as Johann pushed her away. Her hands slapped over her mouth, as she kicked her way back to the edge of the bed. In one moment, Johann was sure he was about to get slapped, and in the next, he wasn't. Instead, accepting what had happened, Drysi curled her arms over her chest, red as the setting sun in summer.

From the neckline of her pajama's emerged a green snake, limp as a garden hose. Drysi's head jerked, as if she were having an angry conversation with the hose, which slowly coiled upward with the same deliberation as one would have getting out of bed. Gideon seemed to be speaking to her, occasionally turning a glance in Johann's direction.

Whatever they were talking about, it only made Drysi sulking worse, as she mirrored Johann's pose and sunk more deeply into her knees.

Her brow furrowed when she brought up Willow, and it looked like he was going to get slapped again, but she settled back down. Gideon coiled around her neck, doing his careful work of untangling the knots of her emotions.

"And I'm fine. Really. How are you? Did you really get it all out?"

It was if a cork had popped, causing the flood of tears to spill forth again. Whatever irritation and anger she had pendulated into swung towards the depths of emotion that she had been struggling with all day.

"No," managed Drysi between sobs, "ya handsy bastard. I didn't get it all out."

Shivering fists cleared tears from her eyes, but it was a futile effort.

"Mr. Flynn's dead," she choked, struggling to keep it to whisper, "I can't feel him anymore. The connection is gone. Almost a minute after we came through the portal, it just went blank. I texted him. His phone didn't even get the message. He must've died with Chief Brennan."

In the throes of a wretched mood, she gripped her hair and pressed her face into her knees.

"But what keeps me awake is knowing that no one can kill him," what was tortured sobs became crazed mutterings, "I know the numbers. Mr. Flynn is master of the mid-range. Mystic wars are won in the mid-range. He's unbreakable. Unflappable. Like that oak on the edge of the bend of the river in the Wilderwood. No matter how you beat him down, cut him, break him, he rises above."

By this point, Drysi had become a twisted knot of limbs, deep in her own recursive thoughts, "He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead. But he's gone. He's not dead. He can't be dead."

In the Living Room

While Willow carefully descended the stairwell, Manon came over her shoulder, and sailed down. She peeked one way, and then another. A finger extended, shook, and then was pressed to her lip. Left? Right? After a couple moments of indecision, she gripped the edge of the wall, and glimpsed the empty living room. So when she should've gone right, she floated left.

Then, easing herself down to her toes, she began to tiptoe into the living room before twirling onto one of the couches in a careless tackle.

"Liberté!" whispered Manon, stretching out like an alley cat, "What tragedy a've we been caught up in now, eh, Willow? Je me demande s'ils font des tampons de passeport pour les traumatismes..."

The Brit rolled her eyes as Manon drifted passed, but a smirk played at the edge of her mouth. Once downstairs it felt like her shoulders were lighter, but she found her feet were still restless. As such, she was a little disappointed that Manon seemed to be laying down stakes a tad prematurely as she had assumed Manon had been miming for car rather than couch. Obviously she wasn’t gunning to commit any sort of felony, but she had figured she’d have a better chance of getting outside through the garage. Her foot tapped restlessly as she leaned against the arm of the couch rather than sitting; if Manon was lounging like an alley cat, then Willow was a cat on a tin roof in July.

“The wrong tragedy,” Willow said simply. All day her mind had been running through the events back at Safeholme, and every time she thought about it her stomach churned with guilt and anticipation. She had the capacity to help back in Japan, and now she was on the other side of the planet sitting on her hands. While it was a thought she was trying to suppress, there was a part of her that resented Drysi for pulling her through the portal; and every time that thought surfaced her stomach felt even worse. “I want to be doing more.”

"You always want to do more."

Manon kicked her feet up and came up to a sitting position. Then, she scooped handfuls of hair, coaxing it into the shape of a ponytail, before snapping a hairband over it. It was a unique sight, mostly for the fact that Manon's magic often did her hair for her.

"Y a pas de souci avec ça, au contraire, c'est même admirable," she shrugged, and then recalled it was Drysi who spoke French, "I'm glad you are here. Je me sens plus en sécurité quand tu es là."

That part had been French on purpose, and Manon tried to play off the meaning with a coy smile, "Were it juz me; then I would be résponsible for all of zése children. If something happens, you are here to handle it. That was why you put yourself through all zat training, non?"

Her eyes slowly drifted down to Willow's restless feet, "Tes pieds vont finir par se faire la malle sans toi. Want to go for a run?"

Just as Willow was about to remind Manon that she still didn't understand French when the clown asked her if she wanted to run. Part of her was almost offended, feeling like she was being talked to like a dog before a walk; but at the same time her foot stopped tapping as Manon spoke to the part of her that wasn't almost offended. The part of her that did want to run. Like with her metals, the allomancer had a reservoir of coiled potential energy waiting to burst like a spring under tension. She felt the urge to be moving, so even if it was just doing laps around the house she would probably be much more at ease after burning off that energy.

"Cats yeah, I want to run."