Among Chaos (Viverescribere x Peregrine)






Imelda Fletcher


So you'll... see everything... anyway?

It wasn't exactly the response she was hoping for, considering the situation. But she supposed that if he could control every aspect of her body should he wish to, he would have to perceive it in some way or form as he said. With that thought in mind, Imelda released a terse sigh but resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing to be done.

Never mind... I'd rather... not know.

She startled as a knock sounded on the screen and Imelda quickly pulled herself together, resting some of her weight against the copper bath. After offering some words of permission, she smiled weakly to the Elder's wife who appeared with two buckets of warm water. A young girl was just behind her with another two, yet she seemed less concerned on the water she was carrying and more focused on the filthy, dishevelled Slayer before her. Imelda met wide eyes easily, keeping her weight against the bath as she allowed the girl to survey her with distraught curiosity.

"Any questions you want to ask, girl? Rather you ask me than you come to your own assumptions. Assuming is very dangerous, it's better to get the facts." Imelda drawled, voice rough considering she had forced herself to forgo water for the past 24 hours.

The girl flinched, gaze immediately dropping and cheeks warming, probably with the shame of staring so blatantly. Huffing, the Slayer added a small cough which she directed into her elbow, finishing the display off with a wince of her own.

"Two more buckets should soon be ready." Yvette explained softly, slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal. Imelda merely nodded, "Thank you, it's much appreciated." Her harsher tone that had been directed to the young maid girl turned more forgiving, watching carefully as the two turned and left.

Soon Imelda was left to her own peace. Soap and a washcloth sat on a little stool beside the copper bath and the towel remained hung over the screen for the time being. No use dirtying it when she could simply strip and hop into the bath. Taking a deep breath, Imelda began to peel the sap covered clothes from her skin, wincing as it pulled at the hair on her head, arms and legs. She growled softly at the discomfort it caused, the next sound a small hiss as her skin submerged into the warm water.

The Slayer quietly sank back into the water, breathing out a slow sigh as she adjusted to the warmth. Once done, her head tipped back and she closed her eyes, allowing the bath to soften the sap that was layered with dirt and mud on her skin, hoping it would be made easier to remove that way.

So... first thing's first... She began to think to him, eyes remaining closed as her hand reached out for the soap beside her, Plan of action for when I'm able to start moving through the village and asking questions. I can't ask such direct questions lest people become suspicious. I need to find out whose aware of these sacrifices you spoke about. What level of people know. If it goes right up to the Mayor which... I have a feeling it must do.
 
Although Imelda's 'words' to him were nothing more than flickering interpretations on his part, he was still able to get a sense of her worry and concern, both from the expression on her face, and the way her body began to instantly react to her feeling of anxiety, preparing itself for some danger. Unfortunately, as much as he longed to reassure that he could, in fact, do something about it, that was completely impossible. It was a part of his very nature to pervade through the body he entered, and temporarily merge with every cell within it. Trying to prevent himself from doing that was as difficult as a human trying to keep themselves off the ground—impossible after any particular length of time.

As he stumbled over how to reassure her, wondering if the semantics of 'seeing' would help to comfort her at all, Imelda seemed to reach her own conclusions. He could only do the mental equivalent of a sigh and a head shake. "I'm sorry."

An interruption came in the form of a rap on the screen, and he quickly shifted Imelda's weight to her right leg as she leaned against the tub, once again faking the appearance of her injured leg, and then devoted most of his attention to watching the strange conversation that was taking place in front of him. If there was one thing he was a master at, it was multitasking. After all, if he was in a normal human body, he had to fake all of the things that convinced people others were alive, do them all at once, while still maintaining a conversation and paying attention to the things that were happening around him. And, unlike a human mind which was able to handle the vast majority of that without conscious thought, he had to do everything by hand.

That was part of the reason he'd always somewhat enjoyed riding in living things, although he didn't do it often. All of the automatic processes were handled for him, which meant he could devote that much more of his attention to observing the things that were happening around him, which he dearly liked.

Always preferring to be low-key, it was rare for him to ride in or control someone who was of high status. He was as fascinated watching the girl as the girl was fascinated watching Imelda, which, in turn, felt somewhat like watching him. It was a strange balance, but one he found entirely pleasing to pick apart and examine.

Aside from keeping track of Imelda's thoughts to make sure she wasn't trying to communicate with him, and maintaining her 'injured' leg, most of his attention went to watching and analyzing their relatively simple interaction. It wasn't until they were gone and Imelda was removing her clothes that he remembered their 'conversation', such as it was, from moments before. It seemed that it had become a moot point, or at least set to the side, and he was perfectly happy to leave it that way.

As Imelda soaked in the water, he took the rush of stimulation as a moment to take another pass through her body, repairing some minor internal damage and muscle strains that were created simply by a person living their life. Much like what he'd done to her back and neck a while earlier, it had no lasting impact upon her, but would simply help her to feel better and move easier.

A burst of thoughts from Imelda's mind once more shifted his primary focus, and he prepared to participate in a little bit of strategizing. However, after the first couple moments, her thoughts suddenly sped up, switching from a clearly language based focus like she'd used so far into more abstract thinking. He was only able to keep up with the most rudimentary aspects of it. Questions. The sacrifices. The mayor. Plans for action, he figured, albeit nothing in the specific details. "Do what you need to do," he replied, not overly worried about inquiring specifics from her. "Let me know if you would like my help in any way, or if you would like suggestions on a place to start your investigation."

It would be somewhat embarrassing if he'd missed her plans on where to start in that burst of mental activity, but he'd cross that bridge if he came to it.
 





Imelda Fletcher


Imelda hummed quietly to herself in thought, eyes remaining shut as she simply enjoyed the warmth of the water. While she was used to discomfort and not having such simple luxuries in life considering sometimes she was on a job for weeks or on the road for days, she couldn't help but still enjoy the pleasures a hot bath provided. How it eased her aching muscles and helped soothe her tender joints.

She worked up a lather with the soap, allowing a pause in her thoughts as she then scrubbed at her face. She knew it would probably take more than one round of a soap scrub to get all this sap from her body, and she could only hope that perhaps more fresh water was on the way. Although she wasn't entirely sure she would be happy with standing cold in her towel, waiting for the tub to be emptied just so more water could be filled into it.

Blowing out air between her lips, Imelda shook her head and soon worked the soap into her hair, wincing as her fingers caught on some of the stickier bits. It hadn't even occurred to her that Alarik hadn't picked up all that she had to say-- or think of. Having been too busy thinking through that process for herself more than anything. Yet she knew she would need his help. This time she purposefully slowed down her thoughts once again, wanting to discuss this properly with him.

I need.... to think about how... I'm going to make... my... inquisition... sound. I can't just go... go diving in there....

Imelda huffed softly, leaning back to wash the soap from her hair before reaching for the towel to dry off her face. She then towel dried her hair, while still in the bath, before leaning back and moving her hair so it mostly hung over the edge.

Perhaps I could ask questions... as if trying to find out more about the creature... that attacked me and my group. Act like I want to know... every possible detail... that might help. A Slayer doesn't go down easy, after all. I could act like... I want a... second chance...
 
For the first time since they'd reached Mineral Hill, he once more had to catch himself, as he almost nodded in response to Imelda's words. Instead, he could only focus on the words Imelda would hear, and what she thought back towards him.

"It's a good place to start," he said, making sure his slightly rough voice sounded agreeable. "It makes sense that you wouldn't be willing to let the matter go."

Only after he'd said that did he switch gears. After all, he knew far more about the 'monster' that had been tormenting Mineral Hill than Imelda ever could, since all of it had been his actions. Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed watching someone blindly work their way forward, trying to figure out the correct path. But after the time he'd spent with Imelda, for once, he had no particular desire to remain a silent observer. Instead, participating as a background commentator appealed to him far more.

"However, I don't think questioning the people in Mineral Hill about the monster will get you far. After all, I was always careful when it came to my interactions with the town. After your encounter, there is a good chance you would be the person who knows the most."
 





Imelda Fletcher


A soft huff of laughter escaped her at the thought. While Imelda it would be all for show, she knew that if the act she was playing out was actually real and she truly didn't know what had attacked her, she really would be focusing on healing and learning as much as she could about whatever the monster was. A stubbornness, yes, but how many Slayers out there didn't hold that trait?

Imelda shifted slightly in the bath, wincing slightly at the small ache that occurred from doing so in the right side of her knee. Perhaps from it carrying her weight for so long, she wasn't entirely sure. Not that it mattered. She sank down to begin scrubbing at her skin, once again losing herself to her thoughts as she silently agreed with what Alarik had to say.

Perhaps... perhaps...can req...quest to go.... to regional Slayer hub... once I have 'healed'. She finally thought to him, taking her time to do so as she now focused on her nails, nose wrinkling at the dirt and sap caked under them. They can assume... I've gone there to... research more... actually I can... poke around...

She growled softly at the filth that was proving difficult to remove from her skin, teeth gritting and eyes narrowed as she continued to dig at her nails.

But I... need a monster to tell... what attacked me. Some... thing... that seems unexpected and some... creature... we've not had... much experi...ence with.

Finished with cleaning herself to the best of her abilities, Imelda reaches for the towel before awkwardly standing. Clambering out, she releasing a long breath and wraps the towel tightly around herself. Her fingers soon run through her hair to comb out knots, and already she cannot wait for her second bath, whenever that may be. Perhaps she'll request to have one in the evening. It truly didn't feel like she got all the layers of grime from her skin.

Let us see... what they throw at us first. I need to deal... with a healer... Their diagnosis... of my being, physical... and mental... will decide how long... we are to remain... in the village. Although...

Imelda took a brief break, understanding it to be a lot to listen to at once. Clearing her throat, she perches herself on the edge of the bath, quietly flexing her supposedly injured leg with an expression of pain in case someone was watching her.

...others may... wish to speak... to me. Such as... the new S...Slayers that they... have called for, should they...
Should they arrive soon... And other El... Elders. Maybe... maybe even the... Mayor.
 
"The home of the local Slayers would likely be a good place to start," he agreed, quickly thinking back to the scenes he'd witnessed that had first drawn his interest to this place. As traveling with nothing but his own being was slow and particularly dissatisfying, he often took over the bodies of smaller animals to help him traverse the distance. They were unobtrusive, efficient, and provided countless different views of the world that he quite enjoyed. He'd witnessed a sacrifice himself, traveling over the area in the form of a smaller, migratory bird. "I'm sure you're aware, but the regional office is just at the edge of Mineral Hill."

Yes, there was no doubt that the local Slayers were intimately involved in the whole conspiracy. Before he'd killed them. Otherwise, they wouldn't have established their own headquarters so close to the mayor of Mineral Hill, and certainly wouldn't have been involved in hunting down the baited monsters.

"As for the monster, you are welcome to pick something different, but I would pick a mutated creature that lives in the middle depths of the Silent Forest, like a treant or woodworm." Mutated creatures were anomalies within the already anomalous Nightmare Territory. Born from when one of the more stable monsters that lived in the outskirts went too deep into the territory, and somehow managed to live long enough to stay there for some time, the same force that created the Nightmare Territory would transform the monster beyond their fellows.

Most of the time, they wouldn't be able to make it back out to the outskirts without running afoul of the truly disturbing creatures, like the one he had used to create Imelda's cage. However, when they did, they almost always wreaked havoc until they were successfully hunted down. It wouldn't be all that hard to imagine that, with the Slayers luring and hunting many monsters in the outskirts, that a mutated creature like that could have safely made it back out of the Forest's depths.

Once more taking control of Imelda's legs as she stepped out of the tub, he helped her balance the moment she stretched her leg, wincing slightly in feigned pain. "I imagine they will not give you much time to rest today, unless you insist upon it. Fortify yourself as best as you are able. I'll help you get the last of the sap off your skin this evening, if you are willing."
 





Imelda Fletcher


Remaining sat on the edge of the tub, she lowered her 'injured leg' with a small sigh, raising a hand to rub the back of her neck and then tangle her fingers into her damp hair again.

No... no. Better to leave me... to get rid of it... Besides, it'll... give me an excuse to get... time away from them... and their prying. We can... talk more... in peace about what... to... do next.

Pushing herself away from the tub carefully, Imelda moved to poke her head around the screen to see Yvette sat with her book back in hand. The Elder's wife looked up, offering a concerned smile, "Everything alright, Slayer?" Imelda nodded, holding her towel tightly closed even behind the screen, "Ah yes, I was just wondering if... you had any spare clothes..."

Yvette's mouth moved into a soft 'o' as if having forgotten that small detail. Quickly, the woman was on her feet and moving through a small archway that Imelda assumed led to a bedroom. A moment later, Yvette appeared again, holding out a small bundle, "They may be a little big - they were my son's. I didn't think you'd want a dress, I don't think I've ever seen a Slayer in a dress."

Chuckling lightly, Imelda smiled, "Yes, typically dresses don't make good clothes for fighting in." She commented conversationally. Her smile was shared with the Elder's wife who soon moved back to her chair and book. Imelda hesitated, lingering to add to her act, "Yvette... would it be possible to organise a second bath for later this evening? I don't feel as if I've truly got everything off my skin but I wouldn't want to keep Elder Nathaniel, or the mayor, waiting while I try to scrub everything off."

"Of course my dear, anything. It's the least you deserve, I can't imagine what you must have gone through. I'm sure my husband will have questions for you, but I'll make sure you have food to answer them with." Yvette nodded, a hand spread over the pages of her book to keep the object open.

Murmuring her thanks, Imelda ducked behind the screen again to change as quickly as her 'injury' could allow. She was grateful for the belt that had been provided with the trousers, unsure if they would have stayed up without them. The Slayer ducked out from behind the screen once she was changed, keeping the towel in order to continue drying her hair as much as possible.

"Better?" Yvette questioned, briefly glancing back up from her book. Imelda smiled, nodding, "Much, thank you."

 
As Imelda was changing into the clothes Yvette had brought her, a faint sound of voices could be heard from outside the little home. Between the thick walls, designed to keep in heat during the cold winter, and the fact that the voices were clearly not trying to speak particularly loudly, it was impossible to make out what they were saying. However, it was more than possible to pick up the general tone of their conversation—a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Finally, after several minutes of unknown conversation, there was a sharp rapping at the home's door. Only once Yvette had stood to open the door were the speakers finally revealed.

The first was Nathaniel, looking somewhat awkward about having to knock on the door to his own home. The very first thing he did once he stepped inside was to glance in the direction of the bathing screen, only for a faint expression of relief to cross his face when he was instead met with the sight of the fully-clothed Slayer, looking somewhat more presentable than she had several minutes before.

The second man who entered was a short and stocky middle aged man, with close-cut salt and pepper colored hair that was just starting to recede on his temples. He was clothed in a nice leather overcoat that had hints of fur around the collar. Both Imelda and her new traveling companion would be easily able to recognize him as Mineral Hill's mayor.

He, too, looked relieved upon catching sight of Imelda, mostly hale and whole from her journey. After offering a muttered word or two towards Yvette, he rushed over to her, moving surprisingly quickly considering how relatively short his legs were. "Slayer Fletcher," he said, voice warm and rich. "It is so wonderful to see you returned safely." He hesitated for a second, but ultimately shook his head slightly and cast her an inquisitive look. "... The monster?"
 





Imelda Fletcher


"The return wasn't entirely safe, Mayor Winsley." Imelda answered, reaching out to give the man's hand a shake before moving to take a seat, on account of her 'injury'. Once settled, she stretched out the supposedly hurt limb, exhaling as she looked up at the man once more. At his hesitant inquiry regarding the 'monster', Imelda sighed and shook her head, "Unfortunately still at large. I was... I was the only survivor."

She fell silent for a moment as Yvette stood and took Nathaniel to the side, watching the two for a moment before Yvette exited into one of the other sections of the hut after some hushed words from her husband.

Clearing her throat, she provided the Mayor with her attention once more. "I believe it to be some sort of... mutated creature. A mutated treant, from what I saw of it. It was brutal, it fought without care for it's life. Most monsters will attempt to inflict the most amount of damage while incurring the smallest amount on themselves. However this one... it battled us without any attempt to protect itself."

Taking a deep breath, as if to compose herself, Imelda glanced between the Mayor and Elder Nathaniel, who had now occupied his wife's seat.

"With your permission, I would like to face this monster once more. However I will need to spend a day or more at the Slayer's Hut nearby." She explained, wincing as she pushed herself up into a better sitting position, "Those few days will give me the opportunity to heal while learning more about this particular mutation; it's weaknesses, how it can be killed. It murdered those who I considered my family, so I would like to be the one to potentially end this once and for all."
 
"A mutated treant," Mayor Winsley repeated, the words sending a faint shiver through him, which caused his clothes to shake slightly. Anyone who lived near Nightmare Territory would have heard of the rumors of mutated creatures. However, they were usually nothing more than legends, the kind of stories told to scare children. Now that there was such a creature threatening his town, it almost seemed too much for the stout mayor to withstand.

However, a second later and he collected himself. "At least we know now. It's taken... far too many lives already." Winsley shook his head sorrowfully, his eyes downcast for a moment in memory of the Slayers who had come before Imelda and her team. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, but all of Mineral Hill is grateful that you were able to return and give us this information. Who knows how long it will be before it's no longer content with stealing livestock from the village? We will all perish when that happens."

The mayor's brows furrowed slightly at his own words. There was no telling exactly what he was thinking, but the deep wrinkles in his brow clearly indicated that it was not a simple matter.

"As for your request, I hate to disappoint, Slayer Fletcher, but there would not be any information on such an unnatural creature at the Hut. I was close friends with the Slayers who were stationed here before... before they too were swallowed up by this abomination. They were admirable warriors, but poor record keepers. You are the person who would know most about the creature at this point."

It was a refusal, albeit a most indirect and tacit one, as he had not outright denied Imelda access to the Hut. Under normal circumstances, even as the mayor of Mineral Hill, there was no way he could refuse any Slayer access to the Hut. After all, they had been set up by the Masters specifically for the purpose of sheltering Slayers who were visitors to the area. However, with the death of the local Slayer party, there was no telling what situation the unclaimed Hut had ended up in now.

But Winsley was pushing the conversation forward before Imelda would really have a chance to find a way to reply to his words. "Please, Healer Uriel has managed to prepare a potion for you while you were bathing. It is my fault for delaying you for my own selfish curiosity. Shall we go?"
 





Imelda Fletcher


It was a natural instinct, for her eyes to narrow at the subtle refusal the Mayor had just offered her. Even without her suspicions, it irked her that the man was denying her wishes to visit the Slayers' quarters. It was not his right, in the slightest, to control who entered the Hut; yet there he was, gently refusing her. Not to mention his words regarding those that would have once lived there. Close friends? Poor record keepers?

However before she could retort through gritted teeth to the older man, he was already guiding her away from that subject and onto the topic of the Healer.

Licking her dry lips, Imelda allowed her eyes to linger on the Mayor, a part of her hoping to make him feel uncomfortable. While she knew the importance of not seeming like she was suspicious of anything going on in Mineral Hill, she knew she still had a right to be pissed and therefore would make it known. Her piercing gaze was paired with the fact she refused to move, even a few minutes after his offer for them to leave Elder Nathaniel's hut. The fingers on her one hand gently drummed against the arm of the chair, as if contemplating what she would do next.

With a yawn, the Slayer rested back in her seat before pushing herself up to her feet, "Perhaps Healer Uriel would be kind enough to see me in the hut you have organised for me - that is what Elder Nathaniel said would happen when he first found me. I would rather not have to walk through a potential gathering, with people who hold their own selfish curiosities, more than I need to." She raised an eyebrow, a hand reaching out to the rocking chair besides the armchair she had previously been resting in. She held it firmly, bringing herself up tall in order to look stronger, "I'm rather tired and would prefer to take this potion in a bed of my own. Sleep is just as big of a healer as any, would you not agree?"
 
Imelda's invisible companion didn't simply hide in the background as she was having her conversation with the mayor. It wasn't his way. He might hide under the surface, but it was only so that he could watch the events and gather information, slowly steering everything in the direction he wanted them to go. So, not only was he studying the mayor—who was already showing signs of guilt to a trained eye—he also kept his attention closely focused on Imelda.

"Of course," the mayor agreed almost instantly to Imelda's request, his smile simple and somewhat flattering. He stood up and gestured politely to the door. "I am sure the Healer will agree."

As the mayor finished speaking, the being riding with Imelda stimulated a gentle ringing in her ears as a form of alert that he was preparing to speak. It wouldn't do well for either of them if he accidentally startled her under the observation of others.

"Your facial expressions are all over the place, Im," he warned softly. "I don't know how adept the mayor is at reading people, but he's clearly a suspicious man. Would you like me to help?"
 





Imelda Fletcher


Forcing a smile onto her lips as the ringing started, Imelda made herself aware to Alarik's words as the being started to talk. She allowed herself to be escorted out of the hut, ensuring to add the odd wince or cringe every so often as if her body was still giving her grief. She was grateful for the lack of small talk, both because she could then listen to Alarik but also because she simply hated small talk.

A small muscle in her jaw jumped at his offer to help with her facial expressions, and Imelda bit her tongue to keep from snapping back - despite not actually verbally saying anything to him.

I think... I have a right... to be fucked off... with... him not allow...allowing me... to access the... Slay... hut. He has... no fu...ck...ing right to... nor the...juri... jurisdiction...


The Mayor had already made it onto Mel's list of people to check out without his overly charming behaviour. As she mentioned, he had no right to deny her access to the Slayer's Hut and should the opportunity present itself, the Slayer would be more than happen to make that known.

But then she inwardly paused, considering what the being had to say. She didn't want this entire search to be blown simply because she couldn't control her resting bitch face-- or her pissed off expression, for that matter.

With a soft, silent growl, Imelda inwardly shook her head and sighed.

What... do you... suggest?
 
"It's perfectly reasonable for you to be angry," he agreed. He'd never bothered to check out the Slayer's Hut in the time he'd been there, the evidence he'd gathered with his own eyes being more than enough for him, but none of the Slayer parties who had come to Mineral Hill had ever gone to visit it, either. They'd had their mission, and had begun to pursue it immediately. And he'd been the one to ensure that such hasty parties wouldn't have the chance to come back.

Who knew what was wrong with the current Slayer Hut, but with Imelda's reaction already confirmed, there was no doubt that the mayor would go about 'preparing' it so that it was ready the next time Imelda asked. There was no way around that, as no Slayer would take being tacitly refused access to the Hut well. "I'm talking about the contempt and suspicion. I've found that humans are incapable of fully concealing their emotions on their faces. You were looking at him like... he was a criminal, not like he was someone you're supposed to protect who said something unreasonable."

These tiny expressions that he was referring to were often too subtle for most people to pick up, but those who were good at understanding people were often better at it than those who weren't. He made the offer in hopes of making things easier for Imelda, but it shouldn't be a problem if she refused. "All I'd be doing is making your expression match what you're intending to say, rather than whatever you are actually feeling. It wouldn't be as... invasive as my limp. Your face just might feel stiff occasionally."
 





Imelda Fletcher


Imelda bristled slightly, but not at the criticism of her expression. No, this was at the idea of him taking control of yet another part of her body. She had asked for him to implement the limp, yes. However, she hadn't exactly expected the need to 'hide' her expressions either. The length of time he had been riding with her, but had yet to actually completely take over, did relax her slightly against the idea that he would. Yet she was still on edge to that possibility. It was in her nature to be cautious, and the paranoia would undoubtedly take longer than simply a couple of hours.

No... it would be... too much. Too much for... me.


They spoke about trust and for Imelda, with trust came honesty. She wasn't about to lie to him and come up with some bullshit excuse to keep him from controlling her expressions. He ought to know just what she was feeling, if he hadn't deciphered it already.

Perhaps it wouldn't be as 'invasive', like he suggested it wouldn't, but that didn't mean she would be okay with it happening. With the limp and the facial expressions, it would seem like slightly too much at once. Not to mention, it felt different, it being his suggestion. She had asked for the limp, requested it and knew what she could be getting into. The facial control? It would seem like it was more of her body being controlled than him than she would truly be comfortable with.

Maybe... once the limp... no longer has... to be used. I-- I'll... think... ab...out it.


It was a compromise, at least.

The walk to her temporary hut didn't last much longer, and the Healer was already waiting at the door. It was a relief, as it was mentioned, at least the act with the limp and her aches wouldn't need to continue for much longer.
 
Sensing Imelda's reaction to his words, he was momentarily taken aback. However, a second later, and he felt able to collect his surprise.

Right. He'd forgotten, with how smoothly things had been going thus far, that Imelda didn't particularly like having him in her body.

In truth, her reaction felt illogical to him. He didn't understand why she was okay with something as drastic as him simulating her having a limp, but keeping her from revealing unwanted emotions was unacceptable. It seemed entirely backwards to him, and outside of a brief flash of something that was either anger or fear, he'd been unable to keep up with her other subtle thoughts to help him understand her reasoning.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't respect her decision.

It wasn't such a critical matter that it would get in the way of Imelda's investigation. It was merely a potential benefit, something that had a chance to help make her investigation smoother. It wasn't mandatory.

All his contemplation had taken up but a moment, and he moved on. "Of course," he agreed. "If you don't like it, I won't do it."




Healer Uriel was a thin, middle aged man, with a sharp, aquiline nose. His clothes lacked the elegance of Mayor Winsley, but they were clean, neat, and smelled vaguely of medicinal herbs and the unique, acidic metal scent of Catalyst. A faint layer of white stubble was growing on his chin, and his eyes looked tired.

"Slayer," he said, voice hoarse, but still managing to sound pleased to see her. "I'm glad you survived. Come in, and let me take a look at you."
 





Imelda Fletcher


An inward sigh would breeze through her mind, reflecting her feelings toward the whole thing. His understanding reaction only served to make her feel guilty, something she had to keep scolding herself for. She was a Slayer, she had a right to be apprehensive and hesitant about any further agreements she made.

Like... I said. Maybe... once... we no longer... need the... limp. She began trying to explain again as she smiled to the Healer, nodding in greeting. It just feels like... too much... at once.

She didn't elaborate on what it felt too much of. He was an intelligent creature, and Imelda knew he would work it out for himself. Too much control being handed to him. It wasn't something she agreed to. Minor things, or things she believed may truly help with her cover. But her face and lower half both being controlled by him? As little as the help would be on her facial expressions, Imelda simply wasn't eager to dive in to that prospect.

I'm sorry.

The apology came quickly, hastily as if a last minute thing added on. Imelda knew she didn't need to apologise, but also knew that her guilt would not leave her until she did.

"Healer Uriel. I can safely say the feeling is mutual." She feigned a weak chuckle as she fully focused on the beings in front of her now rather than the one riding with her. "Music to my ears - where would you like me?"
 
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"It's fine." Over time, his imitation of Alarik's voice had grown smoother. In that moment, they might as well have been back in the yard in front of Alarik's little cabin, as he reassured Imelda after she got carried away and broke one of his clay pots with her wooden sword. "You're always allowed to refuse. It's your right."

He fell silent after that, allowing Imelda to focus on her outside interactions. He, too, focused his attention on Healer Uriel.

A Healer was a specific subset of alchemist who had focused all their attention on alchemy that would help modify or repair the body. The best Healers were capable of bringing people back from the very brink of death with their medicine, but he was quite certain that Uriel was the kind of person who barely qualified for the title he wore. Otherwise, he would not be living in such a small village.

Fortunately for Imelda, the advantage of having her treated by a low-end Healer was that his knowledge of anatomy would probably be quite lacking. There was no reason to understand too much about the human body when alchemy was already such a complex process to learn, and a properly alchemised potion could act as a cure-all for most common injuries.

"Please just lay down, preferably on the bed." Uriel gestured towards the hut's bed, a wooden frame with a straw mattress. "Tell me about what hurts, and I'll run a quick physical examination of my own, and then I'll apply the creams."
 
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Imelda Fletcher


Imelda's eyes closed briefly at the familiarity, noting how much better he was getting at re-mastering Alarik's voice. Memories of her own flooded her mind and she released a long breath. Her behaviour, naturally, only brought on the concerns of the men around her. Elder Nathaniel stepped forward to take her wrist, brow furrowing.

"Slayer Fletcher-- are you quite alright?"

Jolting back to reality, Mel quickly opened her eyes and focused on the men. She reached out to hold the Elder's arm, feigning a weak spell. "Yes-- yes. I do apologise, I just-- a dizzy moment. I think I just need some more water."

Eager to move past that moment, Imelda focused on the Healer and followed his instructions, taking care to walk slower after her supposed light-headed moment. The last thing she needed was for any of them to become suspicious, however she supposed that they would all excuse her zoning out or odd moments to what she had recently been through. And when she supposed, Imelda hoped that would be the case.

"Ah yes, yes of course. It's mainly-- mainly my knee. I injured it back a few years ago and, admittedly, I never went to a Healer about it. It healed up on it's own but it's always been slightly weaker ever since," she confessed, knowing this would help to her current lies (although the story of her first-time injuring her knee was true - she had feared being kicked out of training if it was known she had an injury). "It got damaged again at some point. I'm-- I'm not entirely sure when, could've been when we were fighting the mutation or it could have been after. You've seen my limp, I struggle to put weight on it - it just sends a pain straight up into my hip. It would be nicer if someone was simply stabbing a knife into it and twisting." She joked.

Imelda made herself comfortable on the bed, resting so she was sat up with her back against the wall. There was something about laying down with the three of them around her, it simply made her uncomfortable.
 
Nodding gently at Imelda’s words, Healer Uriel quickly proceeded with his examination, using two fingers to lightly prod across her body, feeling her skin under the layer of clothes. However, the more he examined her body, the more a faint frown began to appear on his face, his brows wrinkling in on themselves. Gradually, his lips pulled tighter and tighter, until they were nothing but a thin line on his face.

Watching Uriel’s change in expression through Imelda’s eyes, it didn’t take much guesswork on his part to speculate what the Healer was thinking. Even with his lacking medical knowledge, Imelda was in too good of shape for her time in the forest. Good enough that even a villager who was consistently left in awe of Slayers was starting to feel bewildered over the matter.

Had he had a body of his own, he likely would have been sighing at this point. Internally, he rebuked himself for not having the nerve to speak with Imelda about faking injuries on her body. Up until now, it had never felt like there was a suitable moment for him to broach the subject, especially about something as psychologically delicate as damaging her body, even temporarily. But they’d been moved on to the healer so fast, and now

“You…” Uriel said, glancing at Imelda with heavily lidded eyes, before shaking his head slightly and starting his examination again.

What would she want him to do? It wouldn’t take more than an instant for him to fake simple damages, that he could heal again as soon as Uriel moved his fingers away from her body. However, his taking initiative wasn’t a simple matter in this instance. After all, he would be taking the initiative using her body. As he recalled her reaction to a suggestion as simple as him smoothing out her expressions, he couldn’t help but hesitate.

Would she forgive him?

He honestly didn’t know. Even if she did, how much would it damage the tentative trust they’d built up in these few hours? It didn’t take him more than an instant to realize he’d rather risk blowing their cover and sending her whole return off the rails, than risk damaging that fragile trust.

He did nothing.