Difference between revisions of "Log:Sororal Stubbornness"

3 July, 2018

Merle was too protective for her own good, saw things she shouldn't have, and now needs to make a pinkie promise not to blab. Only problem is, she's stubborn AND protective. Sophia calls in November to attempt persuasion, because a High Wyrd Fairest who thinks she's a god is totally the right person to convince a barely ex-Hunter to submit to being bound to Fate by fairy magic. Nobody died, and Merle even got cold beer out of the deal.

Sophia's Place

Merle's curled onto the edge of the couch, and even though her sock-clad feet are tucked under her, there's a vibrancy to her posture that shows she's on edge and prepared to move quickly. A bottle of beer dangles from her hand and the table nearby has a mostly empty bottle of amber liquid on it. The knock on the door gets her attention and her head swivels to look over at it, then toward her sister as if waiting for Sophia to open it and admit whomever is there.

Sophia does so, standing and moving to the door. She checks the peephole. "November," she breathes, and opens the door, admitting the icy rainbow Lost. And then she makes introductions, realizing that November was probably too High Wyrd to deal with this well--but what's done is done. "November, this is my sister, Merle. Merle, November. Merle followed me into the Thorns earlier. And... well. She knows now."

      Clearly, Sophia knows some interesting people. In this case, with those kick-ass leather boots, the Totally Human Yes Really stranger at the door is a 6'3" androgyne in a ruffled fuchsia peasant blouse and galaxy-print leggings. More female than male, with a knee-length fall of entirely too rainbowy hair and teal/green/golden eyes which, given context, likely aren't contact lenses.

      Smiling to Sophia when she steps in, November dips her head, a quick glance around the apartment, exits noted, preceding an extension of that smile toward Merle. The rainbow carries herself with implicit authority -- the world will shape itself to suit her whims, because that is what it does. It isn't arrogance. It's simply fate in action.

      "How much does she know?" The question, while using the third person, is spoken directly to Merle herself, one lovely russet brow arching in patient inquiry. If Merle is the observant sort, she may note that the rainbow seems to have her very own personal Photoshop filter; she's ever so slightly more -real- than the world around her, more vibrant, higher contrast.

Merle's eyes narrow slightly as she studies November. "Fuck," she mutters under her breath before taking another swig of the beer, setting it down after a moment of consideration. Chug the rest or no? Apparently the answer is no, since she sets it down. She uncurls her legs from under her and slowly gets to her feet, hands shoved into the back pockets of her too-tight jeans. "I'm guessing you're... you know. One of /those/?" The last word is practically sneered out. "I know enough. About the same as I knew before, if that counts for anything." Which really doesn't answer the question and she's well aware of it, but she waits to see how the rainbow punk reacts.

Sophia facepalms. But she just waits, not apologizing for her sister. "She needs convincing that Ensorcellment is the way to go, November," she says after a moment of awkward silence. "I can't figure out how to get her to promise. She's always been too fucking tricky."

<< I rolled Potential 1 and Potential 2 on Merle. >>

<OOC> Merle says, "Merle is very biased. Racist, almost. She feels that anything that is not entirely pure mortal is wrong and should not exist. She's spent much of her time and energy in the bulk of her life actively fighting against supernatural stuff. And in addition to that, she's afraid of what actually /seeing/ Lost all the time as they appear to each other is going to do to her sanity. She's pretty sure she'll go off and end up on a mindless killing spree if she's forced to see it."

<OOC> November says, "November would like to check: 1) how thick the line of relationship is between the two, to see if they actually ARE, you know, sisters or people who have known each other for ages, 2) Merle's intensity of feelings toward Sophia, and 3) Merle's feelings toward Sophia at this very moment."

<OOC> Merle says, "Yes, they are actual sisters (half sisters, just a few months apart, share a deadbeat father). Merle loves her sister and is highly overprotective of her, part of it based on guilt about her being Taken and Merle not stopping it. Which plays into #3 which is that Merle is angry at Sophia being Lost, but not at her as her sister. Tinged with a healthy dose of being mad that, in Merle's eyes, Sophia is forcing her into a position where she is going to lose her mind and end up a mindless killing machine."

<<>>

      How November reacts? She tilts her head, oh, half an inch to the right, wordless confirmation that she is listening, and regards Merle with polite, expectant silence -- her question hasn't been answered yet, see. A slow blink and an ever-so-slight hint of a smile is all the confirmation Merle's getting regarding whether the rainbow's one of 'those'.

      Glancing aside when Sophia speaks, the Definitely A Human Ancient shakes her head, hair rippling in the motion's wake in such a way that it almost seems to be shifting colours on its own. Almost. "We do not ensorcell the unwilling." Angling her head as she speaks, to make it clear that she is speaking to Merle, as well, she adds, "-We- had limited choices. It is your sister's right to preserve her own. A pledge of secrecy would be enough."

      Speaking more directly to Merle now, she adds, "I will not apologise for what I am, but I regret the discomfort your current situation has caused you." Her head cants again in silent speculation. "I envy you." And she seems a smidge perplexed to discover that, though naturally, being November, she doesn't clarify just WHAT she envies.

"I was there," is Merle's gruff response as if she was silently asked for further information by November's head tilt and silence. "I was there when my sister got... Taken away by whatever. I /saw/ it." She just thought it was a side effect of the drugs, though. "And I won't, either. Apologize, I mean. I... I've been fighting against things for so long, I can't /see/ it. Seeing it makes it..." she seems to sort of trip over her words a little, like she's not quite sure what to say, let alone how to say it. "If I have see the things I saw there all the time? If I look at someone and they're... not /natural/, I can't promise I won't react the way I always do. And I don't think you'd want me cutting a swathe of blood through your whole damn secret society without meaning to."

Sophia blushes and looks down, for some reason. "Yes, November, of course. I wasn't going to, I just... want her safe." A tender look at her sister, then, concern writ large over her features. Then she nods. "It's hard. Can ... can we Pledge if I promise you won't see what you don't want to, Merle?"

      November accepts the explanation, gruff as it is, with a sober nod and a glance toward Sophia. Granted, that sobriety falls face first into an entirely too-fey peal of laughter when Merle mentions Not-Natural people, and a quick lift of graceful fingers covering her lips in belated manners.

      "I won't expect an apology," she assures, because of course if she HAD expected one, she would have received one, right? That's the way the world -works-. "-and I laugh at our present circumstances, not at you. I...am significantly more myself than Sophia has become. She clings to her humanity." And, because this IS November, the mercurial creature is suddenly perking up, eager to share. "Would you like to see me?" She hastens to add, "No pledge necessary."

Merle's eyes narrow a bit at November's words, the glare skirting sideways to where Sophia had been sitting before conveniently leaving the room to let the conversation continue without distraction. Slowly she swivels her head back toward the rainbow punk and even more than before, she holds herself in the manner of a fighter who is on edge and just waiting to get slammed from any direction. "Show me," she says quietly, her voice a quiet near-demand in tone. Even as she says it, her fingers curl into her palms, held tight and firm like her fists are going to anchor her hands at her sides. "I want to know exactly what the fuck I'm dealing with." Apparently she means that to be this situation specifically and not in general since it goes against her 'in general' mindset. "But it doesn't mean I want to see it any other time." Clearly it's 'I want to see it when I feel like seeing it and the rest of the time y'all can kiss off.'

      Yeeaaaah. You know that Totally A Human part? That was a fib.

      "For the sake of pertinent disclosure, I am one of the founders of the local freehold. I have a vested interest in its safety and continued security, and presently function as the leader of the organisation tasked with handling sticky situations such as these." While she speaks, November, being November, makes the intense effort of overcoming the Mask LOOK like easy breezy nothing. Pfft. Vanity, thy name is Fair(est).

      While she isn't any taller than before, she -seems- taller, limbs attenuated ever so slightly more so than a human's could be, proportions subtly .. well, more beautiful, in a faerie sort of way. Smoother, too, and, you know, the whole MADE OF TRANSPARENT ICE thing. Light refracts a bit too much, too eagerly shattering itself into its component spectra, from the spiraling fractals of glass-like feathery/ferny frost over her skin, and, more obvious now, the floor around her feet, too, is covered in a slight outstretching series of frost-swirls, colours rising like so much rainbowy steam above them, a blurring of the lines between faerie and mundane reality.

      Yadda yadda full body halo of ever-shifting colour, yadda yadda SHE HAS A FLIPPING FROST TIARA growing from her head, yadda yadda her hair is actually defying the laws of physics by floating around like a semi-liquid substance and being transparent enough to see through if it weren't, you know, also constantly a fantastic drug trip's worth of colours. Little floaty diamond-dust snow and ever so slightly larger chips of ice splinter the light, as well, in her vicinity, drifting this way and that like significantly more aesthetically appealing dust motes in a sunbeam.

      Yes, yes, also the ears. St00pid pointy ears. St00pid looking like a st00pid elf.

      ...also the OH RIGHT, haha, gut-punch to the hind-brain with HIIIII I sure feel a LOT like the creepy monster who kidnapped your sister.

As Merle stands there, she makes no move other than the way her hands at her sides clench tighter, releasing slightly only to clench up again. It's clear by that and the set of her jaw, firm and unwavering, that she's holding back something. Her eyes barely blink, but there's a hint of water building in them, combined from the emotional reaction that she stomps down and the fact that she is unblinkingly staring. Yes, it's like that creepy monster who kidnapped Sophia. But she knows, she /knows/, that monster and this thing are not one and the same even if they feel like it. No, this being of layered ice and glitter and light is not THE enemy and her brain tries to process that it's not even /an/ enemy.

She swallows hard, gulping back the sudden acidic burn stemming from her belly to her throat in response to the way her body and mind react to the change. But she manages to not flinch, not wince, not turn her gaze away even though it's clear some part of her wants to. "How much do you know about me?" she asks in her gravel-pocked voice. "How much do you know about what I do to things like you?" Yet it's not a threat. Clearly it's not. It's almost a pleading sort of question, as if she's making a plea to understand why she reacts the way she does and somehow make it clear that's not the route she wants to go.

      For her part, November seems quite content to stand, inhumanly still, and wait for Merle to process her reaction however seems appropriate.

      When Merle asks her questions, she moves her head to the side in a half-shake of negation. "You, personally? Very little." That Irish/Massachusetts blend is .. ah, well, beautiful. Some people have musical voices. Then there are flipping High Wyrd Fairests whose voices -are- music, the tones lilting and pure in a way human instruments could never master. "Hunters? A bit more. I knew one, once, who became one of us, but she was broken even before that."

      Silent a moment, those slanted, alien eyes regard Merle without blinking as her colours swirl through sober blues and teals, quite visible, thanks to the conveniently creamy walls here in the apartment, the rainbow's focus weighing the other woman against some unspoken standard. Wisps of rose and gold streak through her ice as she offers, "I belong to the Dawn, the Auroral Court." A slight pause. "The Court of Sacrifice. The Court of Hope. Potential. In many places, we are hunted out by our own kind, or, less likely to cause bloodshed but certainly a source of psychological decay, shunned by them." Glancing toward the direction Sophia had gone, she looks back to Merle to explain, "We cause change. We open doors, and we believe that, despite the darkness of the world, the light will hold its own. Change, for those of us like myself and your sister, is particularly dangerous; we are caught between realities, and it is only our grasp on what is real that keeps us sane."

      And, because she is -trying- to be truthful, she tacks on a judicious, "For us."

      The sober blues shift, warming abruptly in golds and ambers touched with paler sky-colours, desert sun, as the living rainbow smiles at Merle and breathes laughter. "I tell you this to help you understand; I am less individual than ideal. There is very little left of me which is remotely human, and there are a fair number of us like me here. You may sense them." A hand lifts, gesturing a vague, but graceful sweep westward. "Stay to the west bank of the Tam, here in the valley, and you are not fair prey for the true dangers, the True Fae."

      More sober again, golds muddying toward earthy browns, she adds a more softly-spoken, "Your sister could become like me, if she relies upon the magic too often, instead of mundane means. Keep her close. Don't let her be tempted. The slope is deceptive, and it is all too easy to slip."

Yes. Merle's slight dip of the head at the mention of sensing them seems to be an affirmative response on that. She, apparently, knows what that means. She's sensed it. Felt it. Been surrounded by it. But as she listens and takes it all in, she gives a slight look away, studying the wall like it's somehow a better focus than the shift of colors that keeps threatening to draw her eye back to the Fairest.

Oh, slippery slope huh? Merle seems to know that sort of thing all too well. She even has the decency to slightly shudder at the idea. But the track marks on her arms show it's an entirely different slope that she's slipped down more than once. "Sophia and I-- we're... we /were/ Hunters. I dragged her into it. She really had no business being one. I wanted to protect her from it all. It's my curse and I had no right to force her into it. But I did. And she was /good/. Better than me, I think. I just had the experience she lacked. And maybe we never came up against the-- the True Fae as you call them, but we have fought things before. Vampires, demons, things that changed shape at will and became bloodthirsty monsters. This is just-- it's yet another in the long list of things that go bump in the night and in the daytime." She pauses, but only for the briefest of moments before continuing, finally looking over once more. "My first instinct is to kill. I can't control it. And I knew /some/ of this before. When Sophia disappeared, I was there. I tried to get her back. I tried for years. I learned everything I could, tried everything. So I'm not entirely clueless even though I maybe don't necessarily know everything. And this isn't even the biggest secret I've ever had weighing on me. So while I think it's useless to ask me to /promise/ not to say anything, I have no problem doing so. I just don't want to have to look around and see it all every time I open my eyes because if I can't hold back, if I strike out, I could put my sister in danger. And I don't want to do that. But you have to understand I can't /control/ it."

      November hears Merle out, nodding agreement here and there, when appropriate, but not interrupting the flow of the other woman's words, colours a slow swirl through the spectrum. Once the (ex-)Hunter is through, she lifts a hand in a graceful gesture of ambivalence, palm and fingers uncurling as they turn to face the ceiling, then fall back to her side. "Ensorcellment has its own risks. Those who involve themselves too often in our world are .. more attractive .. to the Fae, especially those who promise to evoke as much conflict as you do."

      Curious, hints of teal and aqua sweeping through her flesh, she asks, "Did you know that we dream of Faerie? Reliving it, our enslavement there. Your sister wouldn't, not often, and wouldn't recall much of it -- perhaps dread, perhaps a few flashes, faces, situations." She doesn't seem particularly distressed when she admits, "I dream of it almost every night. Those of us with so little humanity all seem to do so."

      And, getting to the POINT of that tangent, she explains, "In your case, I expect it would suffice to pledge that you will not betray the secrets of the freehold or those associated with it. As a people, we understand, very much, not wanting to be bound."

Merle doesn't deny that she causes conflict. Lots of it. She's a walking disaster just waiting to happen, like she has a glowing target on her that she refuses to turn off, seen not just to the True Fae in question but also to the supernatural in general. She turns back to the couch and settles once more on the seat, beer snagged in passing, dangling between her fingertips, elbows resting on her knees as she sits there in a manspread sort of pose, hunched forward. "She has dreams. Sometimes." Merle says quietly. "I hear them. I've been crashing here lately. But she had nightmares before. It's nothing new. I just assume at least some of those dreams are from... what happened to her."

Her eyes lift and she studies November for a long moment. "What exactly is this pledge? I just know it's some sort of promise of secrecy and protection and in return I'm supposed to see-- /that/." There's a wave of her hand in November's direction as if to explain seeing through the mask. "I don't know how all this works. But I do know one thing. I know that I will always, and I mean /always/, protect my sister in any way I can. I know that accepting what she is now is part of it. And I'm trying my best to accept it. But if any of your people's goons come after me, I won't hesitate to kill them all. Do you understand? I'm being entirely up front with you because I don't want there to be trouble. I don't want there to be any sort of misunderstanding about why and how I do operate."

      "Pledges as a whole, or ensorcellment specifically?" November queries, idly curious and at least partway rhetorical, since she continues without waiting for any confirmation on Merle's part. "Pledges as a whole are quite literally binding one's oaths into the fabric of the Wyrd -- of Fate. In return for keeping your oath, you are given benefits; have you ever wanted to become a Kung Fu master in under a minute? Ensorcellment..."

      Here, she smiles, though it's a bit rueful. "We are not like the Kindred, lovely; our 'magic', so to speak, comes not from human blood, but rather the excess of human emotion. You get overwrought, you start glowing, so to speak, and we can siphon off a bit of that energy to use, ourselves. The True Fae can harvest from us, but we -- aside from finding goblin fruits to supplement it -- can only gather what we require from you. It...is a very pleasant experience. Quite addicting. Some of us do go too far with it; we're no more perfect than the humans we were before we were taken off to be altered."

      Yes, altered. Like the Fae merrily pluck up humans like too-large slacks and have them altered so the waist will fit.

      A hand shifts, fingers waving away the tangent with a graceful uncurling of digits. "In any event, this energy, which we call Glamour, is power. An ensorcellment pledge would require Sophia to grant you a measure of this power, to leave a bit of Glamour within you, which would grant you the ability to see us as we truly are. Breaking the terms of the pledge, whatever they happened to be, would revoke that blessing."

      The rainbow's colours swirl slowly, throughout, hair and ice motes lazily drifting this way and that on unfelt currents. "The freeholders of Fate's Harvest are legally obligated to protect all ensorcelled from harm by the Fae and their agents. Were you to be ensorcelled, you would, in effect, be an adjunct to the Freehold itself. Generally, ensorcelled are expected to pledge their own membership to it, since it is the safe thing to do. Dozens of protectors are better than none."

"What if I can protect myself?" Merle asks. It's not a show of hubris, it's clearly a sincere question asked by someone who honestly believes she's capable of it and, for the most part, it's an accurate assessment of her ability when it comes to supernatural stuff in general. This is just a situation she hasn't yet had to master, in her eyes. It's just a refocus of her skill set.

"The whole energy thing, the uh, the Glamour as you call it. I heard about it before. In learning about what happened to my sister. I /did/ learn things. But it's easier to read a textbook than it is to figure it out on your own by trial and error. Took me months to learn that much and here you are just laying it all out." Merle's no slouch when it comes to research, she's just lazy about it if there's a better option. "So this blessing that lets me see things. It's not something I can turn off?" She frowns a bit at thoughts of the pledging membership. "I'm just... not used to being a part of a group. I don't do well in groups. I tend to fuck things up and leave on bad terms because nobody else seems to think hit first and ask questions never isn't the best option in every situation."

      Still standing, and, it seems, content to do so, given that she keeps lapsing into that sculpted stillness while waiting for Merle, November observes the other woman, then breathes another quiet, too-musical-to-be-human laugh. Seriously. Fairests deserve to be shoved face first into the mud. It's NOT FAIR for them to be that pretty in all ways. Sophia, now, she has that earthier, kick-ass physical quality to her. November's got more of the fickle, deceptively delicate and inhumanly lovely ice sculptures the wind makes sharp enough to cut thing going on.

      "You are only human, Merle. If they get you into the Hedge, you're lost as a wee little lamb. Even we are in danger, there, always, but we're bound to the Wyrd, yes? You still have all of that delightful human self-determination in that head of yours; you can't feel what we feel, can't navigate. It would more than likely be a case of stumbling blindly about, slowly going batshit insane as the Hedge nipped away your sense of right and wrong, little piece by little piece. It doesn't urge you toward immorality; it simply doesn't remind you that morals are necessary."

      Morals, schmorals. November doesn't seem particularly bothered by the topic. It's information, and she's relaying it, calmly and, as always, in such a way that it's a pleasure to hear, if not a pleasure to listen to what she's actually saying.

      "It's a psychoactive realm, a feedback loop. The Fae can navigate it as easily as breathing. Bring hand-forged cold iron against them, and the form you face will more easily be destroyed, but the physical structure you see is not the Fae itself. You -would- piss off the equivalent of a god, however. Quite thoroughly, as well. Do you enjoy the prospect of molesting the divine?"

Merle's not the most moral person, though she does have this very strict underlying sense of right and wrong. She's borderline Lawful Evil aside from that core belief. The ends justify the means as long as certain lines don't get crossed, but everything else is up to interpretation. Break the rules if it means breaking faces! "I enjoy the prospect of righting wrongs," she responds. "And I'm not afraid. Not of unnatural beings. Not of dying." The thought of being lost in the Hedge, of losing herself on several levels internal and external, churns in her mind and is considered and weighed even though it's not commented on as of yet.

The bedroom door opens, and Sophia peeks in, making sure the pair haven't killed each other. She stares, wide-eyed, for a moment, before closing the door softly again and disappearing.

      Righting wrongs is something November seems content enough with, but it's the statements which follow that catch her attention.

      "'Unnatural' by whose laws, lovely?" the rainbow challenges, arching an amused and frosty brow. "Yours is only one world of many, and human scientists spend lifetimes finding brand new ways to break the face of established order."

      Helpfully, she extends an arm to gesture toward Merle's band shirt, which has gone from a respectable white to a 'I'm a soft and fluffy baby bunny' shade of pink. ... for a week.

      "I communicated with Colours. We made a bargain. It will do certain things for me in return. 'Law' is a construct of agreed-upon rules and regulations. The 'laws' of 'nature' were simply agreed upon by people other than you. Existing outside of that range is no more a crime than licking lollies instead of biting them."

"You might subscribe to a different definition, but I know exactly what is natural and what is not." And as Merle glances down at her shirt, the color shift catching her attention, the fact that /that/ is clearly unnatural is written all over her face. She tugs the shirt away from her chest a little and squeezes her eyes closed a moment before looking down again. Nope. Still there. Dammit. "I'm mortal. I go to church. I might be flawed beyond repair, but I was made in God's image. And anything that isn't human is against the laws of nature which I believe to be true. It's what keeps me sane. It's how I function. My sister might be one of you now, but as long as she rejects that part of her, as long as she works her way back to humanity, she is a victim. Those who embrace it, who revel in it and turn away from what is supposed to be natural and human are not victims. It's cut and dry. Black and white." At least, for her it is. "I can't change that. I won't. When you've been in the situations I've been in, when you've become so surrounded by things that shouldn't exist that you have trouble remembering which way is up, that is all you have to cling to. It's what keeps me from going over the edge. It's what keeps me from blindly lashing out." She shakes her head a little and drinks some of the nearly forgotten beer, wincing a little at the acidic flat beverage that's long ago gone warm. "I understand if you lot don't want someone like me around, but if I leave, I'm taking my sister with me. I won't be separated from her. Not again."

      Black and white? Sure! November can do black and white. That's what Merle wanted, right?

      That shirt, once white, turns black, and the design upon it is a lovely shade of white instead, the precision of hues involved chosen to best flatter Merle's own natural colouration. Yellow-toned, blue-toned, red-toned, whichever makes the skanky wonder look her best.

      The rejection of herself as a person, and her personal choices? Oh, her colours take on a slightly sharper edge, less dreamy, and the limey greens and chartreuses grow a smidge more prominent amidst the rest, but the rainbow's tone never changes: calm, polite and reasonable.

      "I respect your belief in your deity." She would, wouldn't she? Being one, and all. Threads of blues weave through the green. "It can be a source of great strength and solace." Her head tilts, and, just as calmly, politely and reasonably, she adds, "It can also spark genocide, religious/racial/sexual prejudice and persecution, and in-system biases which torture millions of people without perceptible consequence due to others' heartfelt belief in sociomoral rectitude."

      The rainbow frowns, a thoughtful, evanescent shift in ice which SHOULD, by any reasonable law of nature, be -solid-. "It's a pity he is inaccessible. The Christian god certainly has a lot to answer for." Because casually chatting with deities is something people do. "At least most humans aren't tearing out each other's hearts on pyramids these days." That's a plus. Right?

      With a shake of her head, she dismisses the speculations and lifts a hand to wave toward Sophia's hideyhole. "Mutual non-violence. Add it to the pledge. You don't attack us, we don't attack you. Both of us benefit, and if you run into a nightbumper you'd like a bit of help with, at least you know -we- don't eat our human friends when we get peckish."

"And if I can't promise that?" Merle asks, shoulders rising like the conversation has raised her hackles even though she doesn't continue on the topic of her deity and faith. "If I can't promise not to lash out without meaning to? Because if I feel surprised or cornered, my initial reaction is definitely not the flight part of fight or flight. I nearly killed my own sister the first time I saw her looking like-- like /that/." Meaning seeing beyond her Mask to the new reality behind it. "I snap without intending to and what, it becomes open season on me?" She rises slowly, draining the beer from the bottle as she moves, then pads over to the side table to swap the empty bottle for the nearly-empty whiskey bottle there.

      That icy reserve of patient curiosity and intellectual study remains, Merle's reactions regarded in silent interest. "No," the Ancient asserts, tone mild and factual. "You would be marked as an oath breaker. A weakness. Fate would do it for us. Perhaps you would be cursed, or perhaps you would be utterly defenseless against your sister or her powers. Perhaps you would go deaf, or blind, or dumb. The sanctions, the 'bad stuff' of pledges, are largely up to those who swear the buggers in the first place. Sophia could go quite gently on you."

Merle's eyes narrow slightly and she pauses to rip the top off the bottle and drink right from it. Screw glasses. She swigs right from the bottle before responding. "So it's swear not to do something I can't control? Tell me again why that sounds like a good idea." The exhale that comes through her nose is almost a sigh and she shakes her head a little. "I'm not trying to be obstinate. I'm being a realist here. People often have trouble deciphering between the two."

      November watches the bottle, suddenly cheerful, and helpfully volunteers, "I am very useful as a glass holder, if need be. I keep liquids quite chilled." Lively yellows and rosy pinks flirt through her flesh, staining the world around her.

      Yes. That is totally what Merle wants to do right now, November.

      "As regards oaths and oathmaking, your actions will reflect upon your sister." A point of leverage? Possibly, but the rainbow's overall attitude seems more geared toward the dissemination of information. Little emotional energy is invested in it. "I am a wildcard, by our standards. It is what I was made to be. Open-minded. There are those among us with temperaments more similar to your own black and white; I rather expect that they would look poorly upon Sophia, were you to actively hunt our people. Cutting an idiot for being too stupid to listen to your warnings is something else entirely; I'm quite fond of Darwinism."

Yeeeaaaah. That's not what Merle wants to do, November! She just looks over at the offer, not letting the bottle out of her hand even at the thought of having the beverage chilled. She shakes her head in the negative. "Well just so you know, I make no promises not to cut an idiot, or worse, for being an idiot. I can't control it and I'll make no attempt to. It's just too ingrained in me and my reactions tend toward the violent."

Merle has, apparently, swapped her emptied beer bottle for the mostly empty whiskey bottle she clutches in her hand as she stands there, watching November through halfway-lowered lashes. "I suppose you'll have to like warn everyone or something. Not to take it personally if I turn around, see one of you like /that/ and find a knife in my hand."

      Alas. Drink-chilling capabilities, wasted.

      "Were I to request a pledge regarding violence from you, I would make no such stipulation. Fools deserve to reap what they have sown, if they have proven that they will not learn better." Yep. Snowskin here. Ex-Hunter bitch-slicing someone in da face for being stupid? Nooooo problem.

      Smiling to Merle, however, November turns to step closer to the exit with a light, "Warning others is your job, and Sophia's. I will inform the Council, but please do work out terms for secrecy with your sister, if only that of the freehold. It -is- a pity your reaction is so...mmm...sharp. We could use more hunters to protect the humans of the valley. I rather doubt you would appreciate the Thorns on a regular basis."

"I trust my sister." At least Merle doesn't say it in a way that states she /doesn't/ trust November. She just doesn't state it. Maybe the trust isn't solidified enough yet to be spoken. "I'll talk to my sister. She'll let you know what we decide." Oooh, is that almost a /dismissal/ from Merle? Because November is totally someone you dismiss. Sure. Yep. It's probably her overly inflated Hunter ego taking over for the moment, leaking into her words. "I protect my kind and my family. Just don't forget that, even if my protection doesn't always fall in the same guidelines your kind expect it to," she calls out after November. "I /will/ do what's necessary to keep people safe."

      "Yes." That is the sum total of November's response.

      It is a polite agreement, a confirmation, an acknowledgement and a closure, all in one.

      Plucking it out of nowhere, the rainbow half-turns toward Merle and lobs a light underhand toss toward the woman's original seat, rather than at Merle herself. A pale pebble bounces there, one side speckly, the other less so. "Keep the speckles up. It chills liquids, but only in glasses."

      Isn't there something bad about accepting gifts from fairies?

      "A gift, freely given, with neither let nor lien."

      Ah, there we go. Merle's safe! Merle's safe, and November's opening the door to slip outside, humanity sliding back to veil the oh so much prettier truth as she tugs the handle behind her.