well any man with a microphone
can tell you what he loves the most
can tell you what he loves the most
August is not the kind of man who raises a brow at the idea of coincidence.
He might not be so quick to call it fate - but he has had many brushes with chance in his life, and most of them (barring a few notable exceptions, namely the deaths of his parents) have worked out in his favor. So, to find his father’s former captain and closest friend here, on a rampantly magical island, at the base of a nightmare tree, with a girl moaning prophecies in the dirt -
Well, fine, it pushed the edges of his belief and raised both his brows. But it did not strike him as impossible.
Hey, kid, the silver woman says, and he does not bristle at the word the way he might have if it came from someone else. There is (though it feels shameful to note it) even a part of him a little grateful, a part of him that thinks yes, I’m little more than a boy, let her be in charge. But August has not had the luxury of passing on responsibilities for some time now.
“I was wondering if you were the one that brought it,” he returns, and his mouth is still shaping a grin, though it vanishes as soon as both their attention returns to the girl. August leans back on his heels as Locust addresses the stranger, leaving her room to breathe, giving himself room to try and assess the situation. He curses himself as a fool for not bringing more supplies with him; he should have known better than to set off into the unknown with not even his sword or rudimentary first aid supplies. They are not children in a story.
Locust’s warning only reminds him of that, and he lifts his attention to the tree, which is indeed looking particularly ghoulish. “Happily.” After the birds and the butterflies and the pearl-dropping ivy, there’s no doubt in his mind that the tree is capable of something. With any luck they won’t find out what.
The threat has a not-dissimilar effect on the stranger; at her exclamation and the flurry of movement August steps back again, gaze curious but sharp on the dog and his companion, relieved for any change in the direction of normalcy.
When she continues (in a blessedly normal voice, nothing more of that terrible rasp) he can only laugh with a shake of his head. “No need to apologize. We’re a hard pair to scare. Are you, ah, feeling alright now?” He still can’t shake the vague sense of familiarity, as if they’d passed on another in the markets - but he would remember anyone accompanied by such a dog.
When he looks back to Locust, there are no fewer questions in his gaze than moments ago. “Maybe we shouldn’t stick around to find out.”
@Locust @Kassandra
