The Wayhouse is much the same as the last time Lux visited it. The furniture is still sturdy enough for 400 lb. ogres to sit on without breaking, with warm brown leather upholstery thick enough to handle claws and scales and spines without tearing. The floors still have the same rugs, the walls are still the same welcoming-warm oatmeal to soothe the sensibilities of newly-escaped baby-lings with bland mortal mundanity, and some of the faces, too, have been here quite a while.
SOME of the faces, however, have gotten an upgrade.
In November's case, a rather dramatic one. On the bright side (quite literally, since she glows these days!), the Wayhouse now has someone to make 'babies' pee their pants about, seeing as her mere presence is so far beyond 'normal' as to be truly awesome in the fullest sense of the word. One might even call it sublime!
She's more slender than she was, more refined, more plainly -not- possible for a human being. No human has limbs so deceptively delicate, a waist so small, and, more to the point, no -human- would have six @&!*ing wings currently making it an uncomfortable endeavour to retrieve something from behind the entertainment center in the corner of the room. Dignity and faerie charm be damned -- the rainbow wriggles and squirms and twists like any other person, albeit more gracefully and with an inevitable spread of rainbow-misting frost over everything in her vicinity.
"'Your arms are thinner' my arse," she mutters under her breath, stretching forward on hands and knees with one arm behind the furniture. Her voice, too, is changed: there is more a sense of actually hearing colour as she speaks, not quite distracting, but distinctly present. Seeing without using one's eyes.
The door opens and of course there is nothing at first. Why would it? Someone like Lux deserves an entourage. Today, she is proceded by three fireflies, they float in through the door in a triangle pattern. Wisps of light are strung between them, tendrils of Wyrdfilled power drapped below them like silky cloth. They spread out with the tendrils (or they make it spread?) as they bob inward, coming around in a straight line, pausing within the main room. Lux is a few moments behind - glowing almost as much as November, her light silky and fog like as it floats off her, drifting down like fog off a cliffside. "Well." she says in her usual very haughty, arrogant sounding voice, its high soprano notes ringing just perfectly off any reflective service. "Now that is a sight to see."
Lux steps down into the area and moves with her usual grace. The fireflies settle about her, drifting like tiny spheres of light. They shift slightly into a more rose colored shade. "It seems my retreat had a bit of time adjustment as well. I did not realize I was that Deep within the Thorns. How... perculiar. Unless, my dear November, you decided to race down your most ultimate path?"
As Rocco stumbles blearily down the stairs, he pauses to watch November struggle with whatever it is she's doing. Mostly, he's checking out her ass as she's bent over. Because he's Rocco and even though she's Rainbow, he can't resist staring at a wiggling ass. Unlike the others in the room, as he is paused at the bottom step with his head tilted to watch, he is enveloped in darkness. So very dark it's like Vantablack come alive in tendrils and wispy lines that wiggle out around him. Of course, the black is not entirely black. There are flecks and motes of color glinting and sparkling faintly deep within the darkness, but he'd never admit to that part of it. Don't taste the rainbow, /ignore/ the rainbow. He is not rainbow. He is all darkness and pain like the goth he looks like. Only he's not really /dressed/ so much like a goth in his GOT BEER? t-shirt (complete with stains) and shredded jeans.
Now THAT is a voice she hasn't heard in a while. There's no startlement, no flinching, no banging of heads on hard objects -- the only acknowledgement of Lux's presence, initially, is the fluid shift of colours within the slender, icy creature's luminescent flesh and aurora, paling to pristine white and pastels with an ever-so-subtle hint of shadow. Traditional acknowledgement, technically. Light IS her name.
"Ha. Got you." Whatever had kept her straining to wriggle half-way between heavy furniture and the wall is small and dark, but gets tossed into lost space before it can really be seen clearly, and a slim black smartphone is drawn out and dictated into. "Note to self: tell Peggy to acquire grabby tools or a tunnelgrub next time she wants someone to act like a drain snake behind heavy objects."
For Rocco's sake, upon catching sight of -him-, the mimic's luminescent white promptly taints itself with swirling, inky darkness, bleeding black into the light to consume each and every bit. Artistically. Because hi, Fairest has to fair.
"Lux, darling, it has been too long." Flicking a look Rocco's way while stepping around an armchair to get closer to the haughty Lux, she adds, "Rocco, please tell me you left the laundry sign on the knob."
"Has it?" Lux's airy voice asks without a hint of confusion within. More like a statment of distaste. "Oh November. It has only been a few days for me. Alas, Deep Hedge Retreats... well this is the case, is not?" She sweeps forward - Rocco darkness and stained shirt pointedly ignored - to draw her smokey light up and around her and November as she apprach. She leans in but does not touch - never touch - and kisses to each side of Novemebers cheek. "I needed a few days to myself and I return to find its been over a year. And you? My my my dear. You have progressed. Your progress does us proud - have you started to craft a Realm or Title yet? Or still hoping one will fall in your lap?"
Lux laughs, with a tinge of mockery in it. "And wings - Six?" Her fingers point out and count silently down one side and up the other. "How positively Angelic. Was that on purpose or did the Wyrd have a joke on you?" Her eyes dart toward Novemebers pointy ears and her lips twitch down in a frown slightly. She says nothing however.
For all the high-wyrd and bright eye-searing light, color, and dark, there is a smaller and weaker force wandering through the wayhouse. Well, okay, a /lot/ of them, but this one is on a mission. Said mission if figuring out where she put her stuff. Widget /thought/ she left it in....
Oh, that's a lot of people.
"You know what they say about girls with wings," Rocco says, his voice based in a London accent with a wash of Irish twang and some New York gravel thrown in. "They're flighty." He gives a sharp smirk to November as he tromps down the last step and shoves his hands into his jean pockets. "Don't be mentioning the word laundry around me, love. Can't get the smell of flowery detergent or whatever you used out of my new favorite panties. Be a love and fetch me a beer and do your hand magic on my poor aching head, will ya?" he asks as he moves to drop floppily onto the couch, fbooted eet up on the cushions so he takes up the whole damn thing. He watches Lux for a moment, judgy in his inspection. He doesn't even notice Widget's arrival.
A lot? Naaaah. Just three people who -feel- like a lot, one of which just happens to be legitimately godly and near-impossible to think about lying to.
A drift of serene galactic rose-blue-violets, complete with teensy tiny pinpricks of white and off-white pastels to resemble stars, drifts through the rainbow's inky flesh and aurora, sending shifting, rippling colours over the liquid-seeming silver at her gown's fluttering butterfly sleeves and floor-length hems.
"Mmmm...no. I am quite content to remain Waylady of Fate's Harvest," is her amused reply to Lux's dangerous question, gaze shifting toward Widget over Lux's shoulder when the gremlin makes her way into the room. "Widget. Could you fetch a pebble from the blue jar in the kitchen cabinet, please? Drop it on Rocco's forehead. From a high place. So it will hurt."
The wings, it seems, are a point of contention, because she flicks a speaking SAY NOTHING look toward Rocco and lifts her chin before raising said wings for a slightly less undignified display than Lux's earlier visual of seeing her splaying every limb akimbo with her rump up in the air. You know. Because dignity is sometimes a thing. In this case, it's a rather long thing -- those wings are between knee- and ankle-length, and she's six feet tall. Taller, in those heels. With laughing eyes and a sudden burst of scintillant colour, she lifts her hands, palms together, in a properly prayerful pose, a single brow raised as if to ask Lux if THAT is an angel.
Lux does not look up. No, she never looks *up* to someone. That is simply not done. Instead the light that swirls about her pulses with sudden crimson lightning that crackles through its mist like form. It is gone in an instant and the foggy appearance becomes a flat matte light, without a single blemish or shadow within its almost sudden two dimensional appearance. Controlled. Even as her light shifts from stormy to what might as well be a cardboard cutout Lux is ... larger? It's subtle. She isn't one for dramatic movements (usually). Instead as November straightens and seems to be a bit taller, Lux takes a step over to the side and ... is taller than November? A trick of the light must have made her smaller, right?
As Widget is mentioned, eyes flick toward her. If Lux ignored Rocco, Widget is even less of an interest and is almost instantly dismissed. Other than one of her little glowing balls of light that slips around Lux blinks suddenly, and darts toward Widget. It bounces in front of her face happily, before darting back toward Lux and dissapearing into the glowing light that sits as a plane around her feet now. "A shame dear." Lux says finally. "A shame. You would make a great Lady elsewhere, I think. But alas, this is your safe place. Now, who is this ... gentleman... " she asks, turning slightly on one foot so she presents her front toward the dishiveled, if powerful dark thing "So many of the powerful arrive here. Will you introduce us properly, November?"
Widget is below the radar, as expected. The mote of light is chased, the imp ending up out of sight as she tries to catch it. There's a secondary need, which is...well, pebble aquisition. Widget is being helpful! After a balancing act on the counter, she has acquired the blue pebble.
Right, time to build. Piping length, springs, discarded CO2 canister, some gears, rubber bands, bottle cap, bent nail, aaaaand okay!
So Novy asked the imp to bop Rocco with a pebble. Rocco is much taller than Widget and there's not much to climb on. The trick was to make it go fast from below. As in, a pepperbox pistol of pebble-based percussion.
Not enough to injure outside of some seriously stiny bruises, at least.
"You even think of touching me and I will crush you under my boot," Rocco grumbles out from his spot on the couch, pausing as the pebble does in fact hit him. He starts to get up, his expression a furious one. The pale white of his skin becomes even paler in contrast with the dark that suddenly leaks out from red-sparkled eyes. But he's distracted again by November or maybe what she says. "Oi, this really necessary? I'm in agony and you think it's for your own amusement, Rainbow?" Even so, at least the red sparks fade and the black tendrils of ink that leak out from his eyes fade back away, dissipating into the darkness around him. "Why is it I stay in this gods forsaken hellish place when I'm treated with nothing but contempt?" He almost /pouts/. But then he turns on his brightest, bestest smile for Lux. "Rocco. Gilded King of the Moon Court. You can address me as such."
The faerie Ancient doesn't visibly react to Widget's reappearance with her itty bitty pebble-shooter, because hi, how has -nobody- guessed which kind of god she is? She laughs when it -does- hit him, however, then steps closer, almost chest to chest, frosty fingers reaching up to frame Mr. Unwashed Former Royalty's aching forehead in icy cold.
"Rocco the Rock Rainbow," and ooooh how silkily she calls him -that-, "may I introduce Lux Shadowcaster, Vizier, formerly of the Ashen Sun."
Vizier, yes, whom November tooootally isn't silently laughing at for sneakily increasing her formerly 5'2" height past the 6'4" the rainbow's heels put her at. What's a foot or more of difference between friends..? She veils said laughter beneath the downward-sweeping motion of transparent lids and crystalline lashes, which...yeah. It does about as much good as one would expect TRANSPARENT SKIN to do. At least her eyes are see-through too?
Her 'magic fingers', or rather, her pleasant acquaintance with Spring, sweeps a rush of soothing, energy-returning warmth throughout the stinky rock star's everythings, and, that done, she steps away. It wouldn't do to stay within anything like kissing range of THAT mouth.
Lux's eyes are dead in their stark greenness, showing no emotion at all on Rocco's prouncement. After a moment of silence she tips her head slightly - more respect than she gave Widget, but certainly an order less than she gave November, when introduced. She chooses not to address him as anything, instead purses her lips slightly before taking a step to the side. "I hardly think, however, this place is forsaken of gods. After all, November here is properly worshipped. Or at least, she was when I last spoke with her." Her green eyes flicker toward November. "You are still a god, yes? I would hate to have you slide away from that lovely gift."
Meanwhile, two of the three orbs of light that follow Lux have bobbled out of their hiding places within her cloak, seeking their way toward widget. They bounce around the little tinkerers head, just up out of reach, darting away if it appears they may be caught. They shift in shades of blue and green, light pastels over their bright light centers.
Amity shoulders open the mudroom, carrying with her some groceries. She's helping out the Wayhouse by going out and buying some bulk stuff, especially with snow threatening. Gotta get that bread and milk, yeah? The Wizened freezes as she enters the main room and is immediately hit by the sight of November along with several high Changelings. Including another who puts her in the mind of the Gentry. She hisses between her teeth and tries to force her body to relax. Maybe she can just... scoot past the conversation.
Ha! Yes! That was awesome! See that, Novy? She helped! Widget totally did as directed! Stowing the pebble-gun and indulging herself in victory fidget, the imp goes back to being distracted by the lights. These things really were neat, weren't they.
C'mere. Just. C'mon. Widget....can't...jump...that....high!
Oh hey it's Amity! The imp sidles over, skirting around the wyrd and political talk she doesn't understand. Nudge nudge. Hi!
Rocco slumps back down into his lounging sprawl across the couch, though he still looks warily at the gremlin. "Rainbow, you are indeed a goddess of unmeasurable use," he mumbles, turning his head against the arm of the couch where it rests so he can look at her for a moment before his gaze goes to Lux. "Vizier, huh? Not entirely useless. What's that thing?" he asks, motioning toward Widget. "Other than some pest that keeps lurking around needing squashing like a bug. Like some sort of distracted cat or something, iniit?"
The look November casts toward Lux is dry, a non-verbal 'really?' at the prospect of giving up her own divinity. Eloquent in her silence, the expressive creature veeeery clearly asks: why would she do -that-? Silence broken a few heartbeats later, however, she chides, "You would feel it if I weren't, no? Now don't go giving these lovelies any clues, darling; -they- don't know which deity I am. No one has even -tried- to guess." A disappointment, that, as evidenced by the pseudo-dramatic sigh which follows.
Because that's cleeearly the sort of conversation Amity wants to walk in on, that's what she gets the joy of hearing. November, facing the entrance, looks away from Lux when the mudroom door opens, colours subtly softening and gentling, intensities smoothed and blurred, and dips her head. "Amity Millikan, Lux Shadowcaster-" she gestures toward Lux, "-and Rocco the subpar rainbow. Excellent boozer, however, and if you ever decide to go out clubbing, remember, drinks do come from shelves higher than your ankles. Ask for them; he likes the taste of swill."
Beam! Such a good friend to Mr. Moonypoo. Speaking of, the rainbow tells him, "Widget is Widget. If you would like a gadget to automatically pass you new beer bottles, I'm sure she could create one for you."
The entrance of Amity only gets a glance from Lux, and a slight acknowledgement of some sort - what it might mean seems a bit lost at the moment. Next, Lux bows her head toward November - most certainly an inch or two farther down then the one she gave Rocco a moment before. "Of course November. Your secrets are kept as good as you keep mine, I'm certain." And there is a sort of honest integrety to that statement. It is then that Lux notices the lights bobbing about Widget. "Blink. Moonbeam. Return at once. You know better than to bother the help." As if that isn't an extremely rude statement in itself, she turns her attention back toward Rocco and the Rainbow, as the third orb of light about her shoulder pulses in what can only be called a satisfied manner'.
"It appears that Novemeber gives little credence to your royalty; then again, she gives little of any sort of acknowledgement to anyone's importance. Which," Lux says with the first hint of emotion in her those emerald orbs on her face. A hint of amusement, of the less mocking kind. "I suppose is just what makes her so dear to us."
Another pause before Lux continues. "Well. Rocco, lord of Dusk or Rainbow of rocks or whatever you may be called, I do not expect to be available much, but if you truely do fancy yourself a King, then my services as a Vizier are available - for a price, as you are not Crown Bearing Freeholding lord, if I am not mistaken." Her tone says she thinks she rarely is.
Amity gives Widget a weak smile in return for the greeting. November talking about being a deity. Lovely, really. Just what she wanted to hear today. She does her best not to feel too uptight or distressed by November's presence but resentful anger is bubbling beneath the surface of her pleasant placidity. Lux receives a dip of the head.
"Miss Shadowcaster. A pleasure." It is not, in fact, a pleasure. "And I've met Mister Rocco. Briefly." Her voice is stiff and formal. None of the relaxed, if withdrawn, attitude that Widget might be used to. She starts edging along the outside of the room, aiming to scoot by so she can go to the kitchen with her load of groceries.
Welp the lights were gone. And Widget was called 'the help. And of course she takes that as a compliment. See, she's going to help Amity make it into the kitchen because not even the imp is that blind and she's unsure if Rocco is actually going to try and stomp her to death.
But for serious if Rocco wants a machine like that it's totally possible and here have a hand-made limited edition catalogue of all the stuff she can do at decent rates or barter okay back to the groceries.
See, helping.
"If I ever find myself in such dire straights as to require a Vizier, I shall keep that in mind," Rocco says, and despite his lounging position on the couch, there's just suddenly something entirely regal about him. Even his Mantle, all full of dark and specs of color, seems precious and jeweled, like a rare black fire opal of exceptional quality. Even his clothing seems somehow to radiate royalty. But just for a moment. "It's Moon," he corrects. "And no, I have thankfully gotten rid of that pesky Crown I held for many seasons. I'm taking this loop off. Like I did the last when my lovely Shadowsnake took one for the team and found herself with the Moon Crown."
He pauses a moment to turn his attention to Amity, as much as he can turn without actually getting up from the couch. There's just a slight nod from him toward her. And then he's back to being a grungy lazy wannabe punk rock star sprawled loosely across the couch cushions. "You," he says to Widget, snapping his fingers at the help. Because that's clearly what she was addressed as and is. "Beer. Now. And if there are any of those nasty craft brews in there, dump them down the drain like the swill they are."
Say this about November: she does respect Amity's feelings. The rainbow draws no further attention to the Chatelaine, and doesn't speak to her again, letting her pass without any provocation she can avoid. She can't avoid -being- here.
"If he were to pilfer the Crown from our darling Zillah next season, I would call him King," she disagrees, returning to the conversation with Lux and Rocco. "I respect my oaths, once given. He has yet to be King of -this- freehold."
Hearing him address Widget, the colourful creature amends his request with a smooth, far more polite, "He forgot to say please, Widget, and belay the last request. We will have a very grumpy hippo (NPC often at the Wayhouse) if we dump that beer."
Blithely indifferent to relative heights, she and all of her rainbow glory move to claim a graceful perch upon the arm of the couch by Rocco, just close enough to ensure that -her- Mantle will be playing merry hob with -his-. The instant she gets within about a foot of the furniture, faint traceries of frost begin to bloom over the leather's surface, strengthening as she nears, and spreading in colourful profusion once she actually gets her hip up on the arm.
It's not like Lux isn't above petty tricks with Wyrd and Glamour. Afterall, shes now over a foot taller than she was just a bit ago, just so she wouldn't have to look up to November. A year ago, she never would have done that trick but then... she was smaller... but more powerful, in a way. Time is a harsh harsh mistress. "November, darling." She has almost a coo to her voice. "When you get a chance I've been meditating on the problem of transition. I may like to discuss it more with you." She considers the play of the mantles between the two and sighs. "Ah, were I still had my Ash." she muses slightly, then shakes her head. "And speak of that, November it may be time for me to settle into a Court again. Without the Ash to sing for me, the Dawn may be the next best thing."
Well. Amity /had/ been going to go to the kitchen but Rocco's instructions to Widget make her pause. She turns more fully towards the man, sapphire eyes blazing. "Widget, don't go anywhere. You: don't order her around like a servant," she says stiffly, glaring at the other Lost. "You have legs. Go get your own beer." She's stiff and tense, her jaw clenching tightly with the stress of not escaping the room immediately. Sticking up for Widget, though, feels more important than her own comfort. Her telling off accomplished, she turns to continue her course towards the kitchen.
Wh-
Go Amity!
Widget smiles at Amity, looking genuinely touched someone stood up for her. Kind of? Widget isn't entirely sure what Rocco /did/ but it was still really nice of Amity.
And Rocco was kind of mean she was starting to think so the imp puts herself /right/ between the Wizened and the...whatever Rocco was. Rocco could hurt her. Everyone did eventually. But Amity was new and tough and entirely too real for that sort of thing.
Plus Widget was strapped. That too.
It takes a moment, but Rocco does draw himself upward from the couch in a liquidy smooth motion and is on his feet to head after Amity. But he stops short, looking down to realize there's a thing in his way. A Widgety thing. So his gaze moves downward as he looms there, a shadowy dark tower with a sliver of pale pale moon-lit white through it. He's close enough that she can't miss that his gilded royalty radiates off him in waves, even though to the others, it's only clearly evident in their periphery vision. "Step. Away." Two words, spoken in a quieter voice than his usual loud boisterous self. One pale hand reaches upward, fingers going below the edge of his collar to pull forth a thin twisted band of gold that doesn't fully close in the front. It's a torc. "I would hate to lose your ability to do whatever gadgetry it is you engage in." It's not that his voice is threatening, but there's just something menacing about it. About him in general. It's chilling to most, but such is the way of his Mantle.
Oooooooh and the Charmed Circle pulls out the -Torc-.
Proving true to Lux's description of her, however, November sidesteps the Moon's menacing chill, rising from her perch with a grace which belies the speed with which she moves. Interposing herself between the gremlin and the walking Dio impression, a hand lifts to cup Rocco's jaw, oh so cold and, aside from, you know, feeling like ZOMG A FLIPPING ICE CUBE, quite tender. "Rocco, dearheart, please don't give me a reason to strip you and find where the anti-hospitality brand shows up on your hide. Seeing you in all your glory once this week was surfeit enough."
She twists her torso, close, but not quite shifting to stand beside him as she lifts her free arm to indicate Amity. "She was a servant to her Fae; her response was reasonable. You did treat Widget rather poorly."
With a look toward Lux, she asks, "Not Spring? You -are- ambitious, darling, and you haven't yet met Carter Logan, I believe."
Lux scoffs silently, as the three orbs of light that follow her about sense a sudden change. They dive into the seething mass of light that has taken on the appearance of water over rocks. "Oh darling November," she says after a moment, to give a second for the reminder of Hospitality to sink in to Rocco. "Spring? Me? Never my colorful reminder of what is to come. I could never go so far as to deal with that bunch. It would be back to Winter if ... ..." Her mouth opens but no words come out for a moment. It continues to move like it should have sound, and Lux continues as if nothing had happened. "but I don't think the cold reaches of that season will be for me. Dawn sounds much more pleasing if I can't wear my Ashen Mantle once more."
Pausing, Lux tilts her head to the side as if listening to something distant. The light about her feet fades slightly, slipping from its bright bubbly glow into something a bit off colored, as if someone tried to clean a white pillow but it just never got back to that same brightness. Scuffed. Dingy. "Yet it seems," she says, her voice having lost some of its arrogant quality and drifted into more subtle tones of undirected menance. "This isn't quite a place for me at the moment." She lowers her face, hiding her eyes from watchers as she steps over to November - and is once again her 5 feet and shorter than the winged goddess. "I have things to check up on... hopefully it wont be so long again till next time dear heart." She reaches out and places a finger - just one - lightly on Novembers arm.
Then Lux is standing straight and tall, her eyes flashing green with some sort of hidden anger. "Yes. Well. I suppose that means I must be off." there is an annoyed tone to her voice.
Amity tenses as Widget steps between her and Rocco. She doesn't think the man will touch her--to do is to violate hospitality--but he seems volatile enough to consider it. That fear is realized when Rocco gets to his feet. She reaches out, placing a hand on Widget's shoulder (she'll need to wash it later). "Widget, no--. I'm not letting you fight this for me," she hisses, glaring over the other Changeling as Rocco looms. Where before there might have been fear or anxiety there is... still fear and anxiety, but a tiny spark of indignant anger. They were free people now, what was this ordering around /bullshit/.
Then November's overwhelming presence sweeps over them as /she/ intercedes to remind the man that hospitality is a thing here in the Wayhouse. She stands still, refusing to leave Widget's side as long as Rocco is still there.
Flinching when she feels Amity's hand, the imp looks back with a bizarre expression. Somewhere between terror and as close to genuine anger as Amity is likely to ever see the gremlin show. Not at Amity. Rocco was gonna...gonna something. For that.
Through it all, Rocco had been perfectly still aside from the fingers that move slightly to play along the torc before it is dropped to lay against his neck again. The touch on his jaw by November cools whatever has him fired up and the waves coming off him slow and fade. It's not entirely immediate, but it doesn't take long for him to relax back to his slovenly self. He turns a startlingly bright smile toward her. "You can't wait to see me out of my trousers again," he says with a bit of amusement. Now that he's relaxed more, he looks back down at Widget, then at Amity. "She said she was the help. Can't blame a bloke for giving her a sense of purpose. She seems to need it as much as she needs a good bath. Here I was just helping. But please keep in mind, I'm not in the Circle for nothing."
Lux's fingertip is frosted, too, the moment it makes skin contact with the rainbow's arm, though body heat means that the frost melts almost as soon as it appears. The faerie Ancient simply smiles toward Lux and dips her head, a queen-in-waiting bidding an advisor farewell. "I look forward to your return."
As for Rocco, November drops her gaze to his groin, then returns it to his face, one frosted brow raised. "Only if your undergarments have sparkles on them. Princess Sophia down there deserves her glitter."
Toward Amity and Widget, she tactfully prompts, "I hope you haven't any refrigerables. Rocco isn't sorry, but -I- apologise for the delay." And will have to melt a few layers of skin off, since she's still standing so close to the man.
"You're one to talk about needing a bath," Amity snaps before she can restrain herself. For once, real anger flits out of her mouth before she can catch it between her teeth. She feels her cheeks flush, partly from embarrassment and partly from the strange sensation of anger tightening her chest. She gives a small tug on Widget's shoulder, glaring one last time at Rocco before she starts to move towards the kitchen again.
"I swear--" She half-snaps, half-mutters to herself as she moves onward, instinctively taking on a sort of smooth, gliding step that speaks to one who has served nobility. Or was nobility themselves? Who can say.
O-okay Widget is just going to follow Amity. She doesn't know what the Circle or the gold thing or the anything was but she knows it can go bad and this is quite frankly way more than she expected today. Still rattled from the threat, the gremlin follows closely behind Amity and looks very keen to get wherever it is she's going.
"This damn freehold pledge is all that is keeping me from destroying every last bit of her life and watching her wallow in the ashen remains, Rainbow," Rocco mutters to November as if warning her that despite her there, he is clearly /this/ close to snapping. "Gobby wench doesn't know what she's asking for." At his side, his hand tightens into a fist before he opens the hand up in a stiff motion, only to close it again. At least he's turned that attention to Amity and not Widget? "Seems pretty intent on getting me into the bath, ain't she? Like I'd sully my danglies with--" he pauses. Eyes narrow slightly, but it's not a menacing expression. "Did you call my danglies /Princess Sophia/?"
"Technically," the Waylady points out, scrupulous and meticulous, "the freehold pledge only explicitly prevents you from killing her. You could ruin her life all you liked, but she would have the right to call Challenge on you and find a Champion to maim you in unpleasant ways if you couldn't provide suitable recompense."
Those colourful eyes dip toward his 'danglies' when she speaks of maiming, because really, what would Rocco value losing most?
Leaving the two women to the groceries, November slips an arm behind Rocco and urges him toward the front door. "Still crashing at Zee's? I'll show you the movie, and you'll understand the reference to your pretty pretty princess."
Amity forges her way intensely into the kitchen and sets her grocery bags down on the counter there. She stands there for a long moment, her whole body tense and trembling. Then she starts to quietly let out her stress in big, fat, silent tears that roll down her cheeks as she opens the fridge and starts ferrying milk inside. She is Not Okay. Definitely not okay. But she has a thing to do first, so she can't break down. She just... has to keep moving.
You know whay Widget does? The same thing. It's audible, the girl muttering to herself as much as she works putting thing away alongside Amity. She's got that pebble in her hands, worried by rusty fingers until the polished surface goes dull and gritty. Always forward. Always forward. Sniff. Shiver.
"I get done with someone, they end up dead, either by my hands or their own," Rocco murmurs up close to November, his voice quiet almost like he's whispering sweet nothings to her. But the flash of a smile, the edges of his pointed canines flashing for a moment (and really, isn't this part of why he embraces the vampire moniker?), is a dark thing. The look of a psychopath killer dripping with dark seduction. No wonder he has so few people willing to embrace friendship with him let alone having anyone comfortable in his presence for long. If he knew he had Amity in tears, he would probably love that fact. "And yes, I am. When I've nowhere else to go. Somehow ended up here last night, or was it this morning, in a drunken haze. So this your way of saying you want to Netflix and chill? Though with you, the chill is literal." The pair of Amity and Widget have apparently already been forgotten.
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