It’s only two syllables, it’s not like Vega needs to cut that down even more,
but Astrid takes that in bemused stride, a woman who habitually shortens names out of automatic comradely chumminess, whether wanted or no. She straightens back to her full height and rejoins Vega again, cheerfully heedless of any knives seething in the other woman’s tone.
“I didn’t hear your voice in that crystal chatter the other day, the one about nicknames or codenames. If you had to pick one, what would you pick?”
"No." And this is a catch-all no, applicable to every question.
But Vega is aware that she sounds stubborn and childish saying it and folds her arms across her chest self-consciously, disrupting the smooth sling of her bow across her body. She lifts up her chin, gesturing with her head. She holds her breath for five before she speaks.
Calmly, "We're not here to play question games, Astrid Runasdotten, we're here to work."
And we are going this way, in the same direction as that nod. Vega is starting to walk. She says over her shoulder, "If we don't make haste, we will lose them. I'm sure you would enjoy tracking them down again and following their footprints all over the forest, but I have other things I could be doing."
“Like what?” —is another question well-suited for a question game, asked with still completely undaunted cheerfulness. But Astrid falls in line behind the other woman, and they make good progress through the woods following this last portion of the trail.
And it doesn’t take too long before those tracks lead them to… a quaint cottage nestled away in a deep part of the woods, off the beaten path. Its shutters are oddly closed despite the daytime, but the roof is recently-thatched, as if some strapping soldier had perhaps climbed up on a ladder to mend it recently. There’s even a thread of smoke merrily wending its way from a chimney. There are flowerboxes affixed to the fence outside, now sitting dead waiting for spring.
When Vega comes to a halt, Astrid collides with her before coming to a stop. Then she leans up on tiptoe to scrutinise the cottage over the other woman’s shoulder.
“Hm,” she says. She’s staring at that chimney. The building’s small. Only big enough for one person to live, really. But the tracks clearly lead right to its front door.
“They can’t all still be in there. There’s no room.”
Vega doesn't answer and they trek through the forest together more quietly because now she is thinking very hard about where her feet go, whether or not they could come down on a stick and break it. This is what Astrid wanted her to do and so Astrid can't be mad at her about it.
The tiny little cottage makes her stop. Astrid bumps into her. They both readjust, craning their necks to see the cottage better but that doesn't stop it from being exactly that: a cottage. Presumably with people inside (though it looks so tiny she can't imagine a single person being able to bear living there for very long). She looks to her left, then her right. There is nothing else immediately in sight.
Vega is frowning. "Surely they don't think we're going to go up and knock on the front door?"
She reaches back and touches the staff on her back, starting to bring it forward.
“The whole thing? With magic? What, just like that?” There’s a mild trepidation in Astrid’s voice; not outright horror, she’s seen some magic conducted by the shamans and augurs back home, but it’s of a different stripe and far less explosive.
“We don’t know for sure there’s not some civilian insi—”
As if to prove the point, the cottage door opens. Astrid makes a startled noise and immediately drops in a rustle of leaves, dragging Vega with her, trying to still peer through a bramble bush.
The figure — an old woman, it seems? — is slowly and jerkily emptying various kitchen leavings into the garden for compost, old bones and rinds, probably just puttering around on domestic errands. Her head wrapped in a deep-cowled shawl, it’s oddly hard to see her face, but — is she wrapped in a Tevene cloak?
“They must’ve visited her,” Astrid whisper-hisses into Vega’s hair. “We should knock, ask for information.”
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no subject
It’s only two syllables, it’s not like Vega needs to cut that down even more,
but Astrid takes that in bemused stride, a woman who habitually shortens names out of automatic comradely chumminess, whether wanted or no. She straightens back to her full height and rejoins Vega again, cheerfully heedless of any knives seething in the other woman’s tone.
“I didn’t hear your voice in that crystal chatter the other day, the one about nicknames or codenames. If you had to pick one, what would you pick?”
no subject
But Vega is aware that she sounds stubborn and childish saying it and folds her arms across her chest self-consciously, disrupting the smooth sling of her bow across her body. She lifts up her chin, gesturing with her head. She holds her breath for five before she speaks.
Calmly, "We're not here to play question games, Astrid Runasdotten, we're here to work."
And we are going this way, in the same direction as that nod. Vega is starting to walk. She says over her shoulder, "If we don't make haste, we will lose them. I'm sure you would enjoy tracking them down again and following their footprints all over the forest, but I have other things I could be doing."
no subject
And it doesn’t take too long before those tracks lead them to… a quaint cottage nestled away in a deep part of the woods, off the beaten path. Its shutters are oddly closed despite the daytime, but the roof is recently-thatched, as if some strapping soldier had perhaps climbed up on a ladder to mend it recently. There’s even a thread of smoke merrily wending its way from a chimney. There are flowerboxes affixed to the fence outside, now sitting dead waiting for spring.
When Vega comes to a halt, Astrid collides with her before coming to a stop. Then she leans up on tiptoe to scrutinise the cottage over the other woman’s shoulder.
“Hm,” she says. She’s staring at that chimney. The building’s small. Only big enough for one person to live, really. But the tracks clearly lead right to its front door.
“They can’t all still be in there. There’s no room.”
no subject
The tiny little cottage makes her stop. Astrid bumps into her. They both readjust, craning their necks to see the cottage better but that doesn't stop it from being exactly that: a cottage. Presumably with people inside (though it looks so tiny she can't imagine a single person being able to bear living there for very long). She looks to her left, then her right. There is nothing else immediately in sight.
Vega is frowning. "Surely they don't think we're going to go up and knock on the front door?"
She reaches back and touches the staff on her back, starting to bring it forward.
"I could level it."
no subject
“We don’t know for sure there’s not some civilian insi—”
As if to prove the point, the cottage door opens. Astrid makes a startled noise and immediately drops in a rustle of leaves, dragging Vega with her, trying to still peer through a bramble bush.
The figure — an old woman, it seems? — is slowly and jerkily emptying various kitchen leavings into the garden for compost, old bones and rinds, probably just puttering around on domestic errands. Her head wrapped in a deep-cowled shawl, it’s oddly hard to see her face, but — is she wrapped in a Tevene cloak?
“They must’ve visited her,” Astrid whisper-hisses into Vega’s hair. “We should knock, ask for information.”