The first sign that something is wrong comes about half an hour after they make their way out of the caves, deciding as they do that a pretty light-show and some kind of message that Caleb refuses to repeat verbatim is certainly not the worst they’ve had to deal with in a cave to get something shiny. They probably spend too much time in caves.
“We probably spend too much time in caves,” Molly says out loud in case it helps, taking pity on Caleb, who is trying very hard to talk his way out of Fjord’s suspicious gaze while also keeping his dignity more or less intact. If anyone else saw the glowing thing point Molly's way, he can’t be sure, and he plays around with the looted sword and the necklace twisted around the hilt of it. “How much is this worth, again?”
“-neither dangerous nor particularly well-crafted instructions to complete the task it was summoned to oversee. Believe me, Tusk Love is literature by comparison,” Caleb is saying, a little helplessly, and realises his mistake as Jester lights up. “Is what I would say if I read it. Which I did not.”
“The magic thing told you to fuck,” Fjord says flatly. “That is what you are telling me.”
“If you gotta,” Beau snorts a laugh at whatever she means to finish that sentence with, then shrugs, gesturing articulately enough that words aren’t needed. “I mean, you gotta go have a personal moment, right? That’s cool.”
“I have no inclination,” Caleb says, blushing like a goddamn teenager, “to pay attention to these particular instructions until they pass. Not pleasant, but it will pass, so if we could move on?”
“Ogres. I know where I fucking am with ogres,” Fjord informs the middle distance accusingly.
“Too much time in caves,” Molly agrees, a little helpless himself.
“Nice of you to try,” Yasha says quietly at Molly’s side, to his immense embarrassment. She’s usually relentless when he goes a little soft-touch over someone pretty, or clever, or most horribly, both. The fact that she’s not now is somehow all the more frightening.
It is perhaps more accurate to say that they miss the first, second and third signs completely because Caleb is his own particularly obtuse brand of eccentric at the best of times, but the fourth sign comes half an hour after they drag themselves, in various states of disarray and loudly complaining, out of the caves and on to the road. They’re tired and miserable and taking it out on each other, but they all pay attention when Nott tugs Caleb’s sleeve with a question and after thirty minutes of fending off queries Caleb - there’s no better word for it - snaps at her.
“I am sorry,” he says almost immediately after, hardly taking a breath in between. “Nott, I apologise-”
“It’s alright, Caleb,” she says, shooting a glare at the rest of them, which Molly thinks is a little unfair. She tugs on his fingers, having had a hand in his since they left the caves. “You had a rough day. Is it worse? The headache?”
“It’s fine,” Caleb says earnestly, like he’s forgotten the rest of them are even there. “That is no excuse, my friend, I-” He sits down as he says it, more or less, then looks at the ground and back at his own hand in Nott’s with a certain amount of bewilderment.
“Things are a little blurry,” he admits, and pitches over.
Maybe the look she gave them was not entirely unfair; apparently Nott did not miss signs one through three.
Fjord moves to catch him but Beau beats him there, and Jester moves to the three of them in an instant. Nott is faster, scrambles close to her boy and wound as tight as one of her bowstrings. Molly barely has a moment to be grateful for Yasha’s arm around his shoulders. Gods, but he doesn’t deserve her.
“Okay,” Jester says after a second, quiet, eyes a little wide and pulling back with a sudden seriousness. “He’s fine.” She’s lying and she is terrified, and Molly is sure she is the best of them, so like hell that isn’t scary in itself.
“He called it… instruction?” Fjord says. Nott snarls a little, but shakes her head when they look to her. Beau, of all of them, flinches at that too. Molly will wonder later that he didn't notice it at the time.
“I don’t know what that means. But it’s- he’s okay,” Jester says, like she can make it so. Maybe she can. Molly doesn’t have a lot of years to lay claim to himself but there a different ways of being young.
“No he isn’t,” Beau says, just as goddamn young, inexpertly grabbing Caleb close. There is blood at his nose which he has been absently wiping away for longer than Molly cares to consider right now. It’s gotten on Beau’s wrist. “Guys? This isn’t funny anymore.”
How To Be Close To Someone So Distant 2/? (Caleb/Molly, hints of polynein)
The first sign that something is wrong comes about half an hour after they make their way out of the caves, deciding as they do that a pretty light-show and some kind of message that Caleb refuses to repeat verbatim is certainly not the worst they’ve had to deal with in a cave to get something shiny. They probably spend too much time in caves.
“We probably spend too much time in caves,” Molly says out loud in case it helps, taking pity on Caleb, who is trying very hard to talk his way out of Fjord’s suspicious gaze while also keeping his dignity more or less intact. If anyone else saw the glowing thing point Molly's way, he can’t be sure, and he plays around with the looted sword and the necklace twisted around the hilt of it. “How much is this worth, again?”
“-neither dangerous nor particularly well-crafted instructions to complete the task it was summoned to oversee. Believe me, Tusk Love is literature by comparison,” Caleb is saying, a little helplessly, and realises his mistake as Jester lights up. “Is what I would say if I read it. Which I did not.”
“The magic thing told you to fuck,” Fjord says flatly. “That is what you are telling me.”
“If you gotta,” Beau snorts a laugh at whatever she means to finish that sentence with, then shrugs, gesturing articulately enough that words aren’t needed. “I mean, you gotta go have a personal moment, right? That’s cool.”
“I have no inclination,” Caleb says, blushing like a goddamn teenager, “to pay attention to these particular instructions until they pass. Not pleasant, but it will pass, so if we could move on?”
“Ogres. I know where I fucking am with ogres,” Fjord informs the middle distance accusingly.
“Too much time in caves,” Molly agrees, a little helpless himself.
“Nice of you to try,” Yasha says quietly at Molly’s side, to his immense embarrassment. She’s usually relentless when he goes a little soft-touch over someone pretty, or clever, or most horribly, both. The fact that she’s not now is somehow all the more frightening.
It is perhaps more accurate to say that they miss the first, second and third signs completely because Caleb is his own particularly obtuse brand of eccentric at the best of times, but the fourth sign comes half an hour after they drag themselves, in various states of disarray and loudly complaining, out of the caves and on to the road. They’re tired and miserable and taking it out on each other, but they all pay attention when Nott tugs Caleb’s sleeve with a question and after thirty minutes of fending off queries Caleb - there’s no better word for it - snaps at her.
“I am sorry,” he says almost immediately after, hardly taking a breath in between. “Nott, I apologise-”
“It’s alright, Caleb,” she says, shooting a glare at the rest of them, which Molly thinks is a little unfair. She tugs on his fingers, having had a hand in his since they left the caves. “You had a rough day. Is it worse? The headache?”
“It’s fine,” Caleb says earnestly, like he’s forgotten the rest of them are even there. “That is no excuse, my friend, I-” He sits down as he says it, more or less, then looks at the ground and back at his own hand in Nott’s with a certain amount of bewilderment.
“Things are a little blurry,” he admits, and pitches over.
Maybe the look she gave them was not entirely unfair; apparently Nott did not miss signs one through three.
Fjord moves to catch him but Beau beats him there, and Jester moves to the three of them in an instant. Nott is faster, scrambles close to her boy and wound as tight as one of her bowstrings. Molly barely has a moment to be grateful for Yasha’s arm around his shoulders. Gods, but he doesn’t deserve her.
“Okay,” Jester says after a second, quiet, eyes a little wide and pulling back with a sudden seriousness. “He’s fine.” She’s lying and she is terrified, and Molly is sure she is the best of them, so like hell that isn’t scary in itself.
“He called it… instruction?” Fjord says. Nott snarls a little, but shakes her head when they look to her. Beau, of all of them, flinches at that too. Molly will wonder later that he didn't notice it at the time.
“I don’t know what that means. But it’s- he’s okay,” Jester says, like she can make it so. Maybe she can. Molly doesn’t have a lot of years to lay claim to himself but there a different ways of being young.
“No he isn’t,” Beau says, just as goddamn young, inexpertly grabbing Caleb close. There is blood at his nose which he has been absently wiping away for longer than Molly cares to consider right now. It’s gotten on Beau’s wrist. “Guys? This isn’t funny anymore.”