(2024-09-11) No Use Crying Over Spilled Coffee

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Author:	Athena
Summary:	After several weeks of working hard to find a way out of Count Amerith's pocket and therefore potential control, Natalyah and Lathrik agree to help supervise the next stage of Peril's warlock powers with a well thought out plan and sensible safety measures. Unfortunately, no plans are safe from the chaos, and for all their hopes of control, the trio find themselves losing control to another power one by one. Personal Plot RP 17k~ words.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Arc: The Red String Game

+ Show additional content warnings

descriptions of violence and blood/gore, characters in conflict, anti-Horde and anti-orc sentiment, mind control and mind controlled feelings, suggestive innuendos, romance

It's been a few weeks since the Dinnsfield-Kensington-Whit household began its renewed efforts to establish enough money independent of Count Amerith's control, and some of the effort is beginning to show — namely in how exhausted the inhabitants are, while their funds have only just barely shifted into the positive. Natalyah's earliest efforts had to be reinvested in her wardrobe, with more clothing options for working, and Lathrik had already nearly maxed out available shifts to work. Not to be outdone, Peril has also been working harder, but also safer; this evening he's invited both Natalyah and Lathrik to be present while he works on a new warlock power he's never done, and was once banned from all practice entirely until just a few years ago. Surely this plan will go perfectly according to, well, plan.

The summer sun has finally begun to lose its tight grip over the evening, and after dinner at seven, the city is already dimmer as sunset slowly transforms the sky into its brief play of light before the darkness will fall, and the even cooler air will surface. Natalyah is finishing the dishes, setting the cooking pot to soak, dressed in her dark jeans and a white cotton button up shirt that she's left unbuttoned to a teasing degree, singing a silly Gilnean shepherd song about a golden egg laying goose accidentally cooked for a festive meal. Speaking of food, today's meal wasn't even burnt a little, in fact, the meat in the stew was — dare we say it — tender and well seasoned; the vegetables and rice had been cooked beyond recognition of individual flavor, but at least it was edible. The bread was purchased, so it was delicious, and a very small indulgence of some of the extra coppers. Better fuel to combat the extra exhaustion.

Lathrik, having just finished making coffee in time for those dishes to be washed, sits back on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table to drink it. The extra shifts are taking their toll on him, and it shows; any night he forgoes coffee after dinner is a night he falls asleep immediately after, and this night, they have plans.

“I don’t like it,” he says out of nowhere. Presumably about Peril.

And as usual, Natalyah misinterprets the direction. She huffs, with a haughty sort of hurt as she halts her singing. "Well, I like it," she says, scrubbing harder at a fork than she really needs to. She likes…Peril's warlock powers increasing? "It's one of the only songs I know completely all the way through." Oh. No, not Peril. She thinks he's saying he doesn't like her singing. "It drives me crazy trying to only sing a chorus over and over, and I like having at least some sort of music when I'm working on things. So unless you have another song at the ready, you'll just have to face the music."

This fork is going to be so clean.

“That, uh. I didn’t mean the song,” Lathrik says, a little awkwardly. “Sorry. Peril. What he’s doing. I don’t like it. The song’s fine.”

The aggressive scrubbing dials down a notch. "Oh." Okay, well now she's a little sheepish, for a wolfish.

She puts the fork aside to dry, and picks up the last plate. "At least he's asking for your help, and not going off alone doing Light knows what with mysterious powers. He's in control of it, and not pushing himself into something desperate. Better to not like it than really, really hate it, and have to post his picture up on every mailbox with a 'have you seen this hat?' because we have no idea where he's gone."

“Have ye met my brother?” he asks. “It’s never that simple, with him. He can ask for help all he wants, ‘til he summons an infernal an’ wipes out half the town. The man doesn’t know what he’s gettin’ into.”

"It's not about him having a simple plan, it's about trusting in you that you'd stop it," she says, an odd combination of a tart snap and a gushy praise. "We're hardly simple ourselves. You're a paladin. It's not like you don't literally have cosmic powers dedicated to stopping evil. And I've never bitten through a demon, but I'll be sure to have Peril standing by with emergency chocolate for the aftertaste just in case."

“Aye, I’ve got the Light for stoppin’ evil,” Lathrik agrees. “So why’s he got to go summonin’ it? Why warlock of all things? He was a perfectly…” He pauses, reconsidering his words. “He was a good enough reporter before gettin’ into all that.”

Natalyah scoffs. "Do you have any idea how many times I've heard the same thing directed at me, but for Shadow? 'Why turn to the dark side of the Light of all things? You could do things well enough.' And the answer should be obvious: because it wasn't good enough. There were limitations I couldn't get past on my own. And the thing is with the fel, it's one of those things where anyone can do it. It doesn't require you to have magical ability or a certain body type. His options were more limited to give him what he needed for what he wanted to do. Peril isn't like you. You had other options, being all fit, fast, strong, muscular, stupidly good looking everywhere…" Her dishwashing slows significantly down, as she briefly loses her other tram of thought to instead consider all the ways Lathrik is under the paladin armor, smiling impishly and dreamily at the plate. He he he.

“Oi, I got this way because I worked for it,” Lathrik says, sitting up and squaring his feet on the floor. “Peril can use a sword if he has to. If he wanted power, there was nothin’ stoppin’ him from putting in the work. What he was after was a shortcut, an’ when he found one he took it, damn the consequences.”

There goes the dreamy expression, as she scowls. "He is putting in the work. That's what he's doing now, in fact," Natalyah counters defensively. "Anyone can start using the fel, but that doesn't mean they'll do it well without real effort. And it's not just about power as power. As a matter of fact there are plenty of things a warlock can do that a simple sword can't, no matter how much work someone puts into using it. Haven't you ever seen one of those Eyes of Kilrogg? It's a giant eye you can manipulate and see through without having to be in a place yourself, and puts no one at risk." She sighs heavily. "Believe me, I've considered it," she says. That's just what you need, Lathrik. Two warlocks.

“Light help me…” Lathrik mutters, dropping back against the couch and rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He opts to drink his coffee in silence, rather than argue this further.

That's fine, Natalyah doesn't need any help to argue on her own.

"With the way those demons work, it's like having a guard and assistant all at once, so that even if you're looking through the Eye, you wouldn't be able to be caught unaware. And, of course, there's those healing stones and summoning powers, and they can control shadow magic too," she says. "There are a lot of benefits for someone who wants to do independent fieldwork. It just has a bit of a downside of the fel, which apparently blocks out other things. You can't use the Light and the fel. You have to pick one or the other." She sounds incredibly grumpy about this fact.

“Alright,” Lathrik says, leaning forward again. “Eye of Kilrogg. D’you know who Kilrogg was? An orc. D’you know where warlocking came from? Guess what. Orcs. D’you know how the orcs came to learn that magic? Their demon masters that brought ‘em here in the first damn place. That’s right, the demons were the masters. The fel was built to corrupt those who use it, an’ it does so by the luring promise of easy power. Do not think to use the fel casually, or it will destroy you.”

The plate is set down hard on the drying cloth, as she half whirls in place, gripping the counter. "I'm not thinking of it casually!" There's a blaze of fury to her. "I've been thinking rationally and logically about what my options are at this point, between everything, and how Peril and I might work together. And even if I was thinking of using the fel myself, I'm not fragile or helpless. And I'm certainly not as stupid as bloody orcs." There's a touch of Gilnean accent popping out again, the way it sometimes does when she gets angry.

"And, just so you know, I decided already that I'm not going to do it, because I'm not giving up the ability to heal you, especially while you still can't do it, because you matter more to me than my fieldwork. Which you should know by now," Natalyah says, a war of indignant defensiveness and hurt chasing across her face.

“It’s got nothing to do with being fragile, helpless, or stupid,” Lathrik says, rising, his own anger beginning to show in the way the Light gathers around him, and the slight glow that accentuates his eyes. “If you think you can handle it, you’ve already fallen for the trap, and I will not let someone else I care about make that mistake. If it keeps you from the fel, I will swear never learn to heal myself, even if —”

A blink and the Light around him is gone, flickering and fading out swiftly and suddenly. He stands there in puzzled silence, as if he has forgotten the words he was saying as they were leaving his mouth.

“I didn’t mean that,” he finally says, after taking a moment to replay his own words.

Which is for the best, because the words hit Natalyah like a blow, the anger shattering into fear, as she goes ashen under the smooth tan of her skin. Her canes are propped up against the counter, waiting for her, but rather than use them, she slips into her worgen form to cross the room, shimmering back to her human form to throw herself into Lathrik's arms, shuddering from some strong emotion.

"You better not have," she warns, but the scold is lost by what sounds like tears half-choking her. "Sinners and martyrs, Lathrik, if it means that much, just ask it of me. But don't ever use yourself being harmed as a threat to — " She can't even finish the sentence, burying her face against his neck. "I'm not going to leave or choose the fel or anything if you learn how to heal yourself. For Light's sake, Lathrik. I'm not ever going to choose power over choosing you."

He almost fails to catch her, even though he can clearly see it coming; something seems slowed in his reaction time. His free arm wraps around her even as he staggers from the extra force, but the other hand, the one holding the coffee, is not steady enough. The hot liquid splashes free of the mug, fortunately not on anyone, unless the coffee table counts as a someone.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, holding the drink well away from her now, while his other arm secures her tightly. “I was… upset. I wouldn’t do that to ye, ‘Talyah. It shouldn’t’ve even been said. If you did make that choice, I… I’d live with it, as I do with Peril. I wanted ye to have the facts, and I got… carried away. Forgive me.”

The way she holds onto him, even if he wasn't holding onto her, she'd still be upright, and if he fell from a loss of balance, he'd take them both down.

She just breathes deeply, and slowly, her lips against his neck. "It's all right. You're tired, I know, and so it's easier to get worked up and carried away, and I'd bet you'd rather be worked down and settled away." This is accompanied by a leisurely kiss to neck, a slide of her lips against his pulse, a teasing touch of her tongue, as she presses the length of her body against his more invitingly. "I forgive you." She sighs against him, a warm exhale on his skin. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't realize it was that important to you. I don't want to hurt you, not ever. I wasn't going to, because of my own reasons, but I promise, for you, I won't touch the fel."

It's probably for the best that she doesn't add even though I could definitely handle it, and maybe she just thinks it.

Lathrik leans slightly, to set the coffee down on the coffee table, then wraps his other arm around her, too, resting his head against hers. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to scare ye.” As her lips and tongue meet his neck, his arms tighten around her greedily.

She seems content to rest there for a while getting cozy in his arms — Lathrik might not be the only one running tired — or maybe she's thinking, because there's a forceful exhale through her nose eventually. "Is there some sort of petition place for warlocks, a naming society or whatever, where we could get that spell to be renamed something clever like 'Eye of Polyphemus Moth' or something?" She considers the person she's asking. Lathrik is probably not an authority on either warlock naming societies or moths, for several reasons. "Maybe I'll ask Peril about it. I'm sure we could come up with something better than an orc, which is admittedly a very low bar."

Lathrik is about to respond, when someone knocks on the door. It’s not a familiar knock, at least not to Natalyah.

Natalyah lifts her head up, tilting it to the side to listen, a frown on her face. "That's not Peril, is it? We're not even late," she says indignantly.

Lathrik glances at the door. “It’s not Peril,” he says. “Would ye like me to get it?”

Her expression says no, with a pouting — she was comfortable. But who knows what it could be these days. She reluctantly moves around him to plop back onto the couch. Her canes are not very much out of her reach without a worgen shift or Lathrik's help. "You might as well. With our luck, it's someone from the guard coming to say that oh, by the way, there's an incoming army of raptors after all, and it's time to suit up." She crosses her arms over her chest, her bust threatening to loosen another button at the pressure.

His gaze lingers there, checking to make sure it doesn’t loosen another button — if it does, he might forget the door entirely. But the knock comes again, and he tears himself away, finally answering the door. “Penny,” he says in surprise.

“Lathrik,” the woman outside responds. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Ren anywhere? I was going to check the barracks, but I thought I’d come here first, since you two are so close.” She peers past him into the house, and catches sight of Natalyah.

Natalyah narrows her eyes as she tilts more to the side to inspect this knocker. "What do you mean? Ren's missing again? I swear, if that man is off finding out where That Woman would or would not lick him, I'm going to learn how to smite things with the Light just to knock him to his senses," she threatens, somewhere between exasperated and affectionately.

The woman at the door looks slightly scandalized. “He’s… getting licked? By a woman?” She looks questioningly at Lathrik.

Lathrik clears his throat and steps out of the doorway to allow her inside. “This is my girl, Natalyah,” he says. “’Talyah, this is Miss Penny Hartrim. Ren’s sister.”

The young woman who enters the house looks a lot more refined and proper than Reniya himself, her ghost brown hair pulled back into a neat bun. Her clothes are business-formal, a white blouse tucked into a skirt and jacket that match her pale hair, and she carries a bag of decent size over her shoulder.

“My name is Penquin, but please, do call me Penny,” she says, approaching the couch to offer a hand to Natalyah.

Natalyah considers her position on the couch, and in the end rises up to a stand, balancing carefully, before taking Penny's hand to shake. Her palms are not smooth as a lady's might ordinarily be, but despite it and her plain clothes, there's something of a haughty noblewoman's bearing to her. "Natalyah Kensington-Whit, formerly of the Elwynn Kensington-Whits, not the Stormwind Kensington-Whits, published lepidopterist, cursed worgen, and a friend of Ren's, who I believe I said better not be getting licked by a woman, if he knows what's good for him. Which I'm not sure he does."

“He doesn’t,” Penny confirms. “Know what’s good for him. If he did, he might come home. It’s been like this ever since the accident. Mother is worried about him.”

“He’s been stayin’ with Elle, so ye won’t find him at the barracks at this hour,” Lathrik says, avoiding the topic of why he is staying with Elle, or that if anyone is currently licking him, it probably is Elle.

"Which means if anyone is licking him, it's probably only Elle," Natalyah says, but she's frowning harder. "But what do you mean, what accident? When?"

Lathrik covers his face with his hand.

“O-oh,” Penny says, blushing. “Does Elle… is that something they get up to…? No, wait—! Don’t tell me. I’ll never look at them the same. The… the accident happened when we were children. He was with Father on a fishing boat when a storm hit. The ship broke up in the storm, and they were rescued, but not before Ren nearly drowned. Ever since then, he started leaving home all the time, and getting into mischief, and coming back hurt.”

Natalyah sighs heavily. "Oh, Ren. Well, I'd admire his stamina for mischief after so long, but since it also seems to be that he doesn't learn his lesson about getting hurt, he gets no points at all. Don't worry though, he's not hurt right now, and he's not going to get hurt any time soon." Again, this sounds more like a threat than anything.

Penny smiles at her. “I’m glad Ren seems to have found a sensible friend,” she says. “Nothing against Lathrik and Elle, but they’re boys. Oh! You said you were worgen cursed?”

Yeah, you hear that Lathrik, she's sensible unlike the boys. (Is she though?)

Natalyah seems like she's ready to either bristle or back away, as she sits back down onto the couch, hands set to each side. "Yes. Why?"

“Well, you see, this might be out of nowhere, but…” Penny starts digging through her bag, then pauses. “Do you read Azerothian Interest?”

Natalyah cackles, the bristle banished by wicked amusement. "Do I," she says. "I love the Azerothian Interest."

Penny beams at her. “Oh, thank goodness, you never know with people,” she says. “I love it too, and I heard this rumor that someone saw Ren, my Ren, with the Peril Farrens. That’s why I’m looking for him. For an introduction. You see, I read the ad, you know, about the Back Pack? And I thought, wow, that’s a great idea! I can sew pretty well, so what if…”

After a bit more rummaging in her bag, she pulls out a cute little worgen backpack, this one silver in color. It looks fuzzy and huggable.

Natalyah gasps, reaching for it like she's just got to impulsively grab and hug it. "Just look at it! It's so fuzzy and huggable!" She smiles wickedly over at Lathrik. "Lathrik, look, look at it. It's the Back Pack! Oh, Peril will just love this. We have to show it to him."

“Uh-huh,” Lathrik says, finally sliding his hand down his face and eyeing the Back Pack in Natalyah's hands. He is not nearly as excited about this.

“You know Peril Farrens too?” Penny asks, eyes wide. “Would you consider… gosh, I know he’s probably so busy, but — do you think you could introduce me? Pretty please!”

Natalyah takes the Back Pack and does a squeaky Gilnean accented voice for the little worgen. "O' course, luv!" She laughs, an unfettered sound, going back to her real voice. "This is just adorable. I'll check in with him, and arrange a meeting for you, and let you know. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to meet a fan, and someone with such talent. Where do you get your mail?"

“On the outskirts of the Cathedral District, near the harbor. Lathrik knows the address, and if he has forgotten, he can ask Reniya,” Penny says. “Thank you so much. I’ve always wanted to meet Peril. You can hang onto that, if you want. The Back Pack. I have others. I’m just glad you like it.”

"That's so sweet of you. Really, it's an adorable prototype or whatever they're called." She's not an expert on these things. Natalyah turns it over in her hands, still smiling impishly, as she puts it on, with the worgen on the front rather than the back, like a little baby carrier. "Do you know all the colors worgen come in? I'm a black one, myself." Rather than let Penny imagine this, there it goes — the roll of black fur like a silent thunderclap, and she's in her worgen form, the white of her shirt now seeming even brighter against her fur, and seemingly impossibly, the Back Pack straps growing along with her.

“Oh, look at you,” Penny says, still smiling. “Can I… would it be alright if I touch your fur? For reference, of course. If I could improve the feel of my product, I know it could bring even more comfort to people, just as Peril said. I’ve heard of grey and silver worgen, but are there brown as well?”

Natalyah hesitates, glancing over at Lathrik, and not seeing any particular warning on his face, offers out her arms. Go on, she's touchable, and so silky soft. Is this all worgen? Maybe not. "As a matter of fact, there are yes. I've seen sorts of medium browns, and honestly what looks to me like a taupe. I'm one of the darkest blacks, but there's a range of it, from darker gray to light silver. The Gilnean king is actually white, which gets rather grisly looking after a battle, if you ask me."

“That is quite a range, I will keep it in mind,” Penny says, gently stroking Natalyah’s arms. “Oh, wow, you are so soft. I’m almost jealous of Lathrik.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Lathrik says. Maybe the mention of her softness is making him have certain thoughts that are inappropriate for company.

Natalyah giggles, but she draws her arms back to herself, an iridescent shimmer following, so quick it's hard to catch it, as she shifts back to human with a blink of effort. "I couldn't really tell you what other worgen feel like in comparison. I didn't really — " She looks down to the worgen Back Pack, her mouth twisting in memory, the amusement fading rapidly. "But from what I could see of packs, they do seem to like to touch each other a lot. Not romantically, or at least not all romantically, just comforting sorts of touches. It feels like an impulse. You just want to touch your pack. Unless you don't have any, and then you can only really sort of curl up on yourself." Well, that's a sad thought. She tosses her hair back, pulling her dignity to her like a shredded cloak she's pretending is intact.

"Anyway. I'll let you know about Peril as soon as I get a time from him. And maybe sometime I could come visit? See the rest of the Back Pack pack," she says. "We're meant to be going somewhere in a little bit."

Actually, they were probably supposed to get going several minutes ago. Natalyah is, as usual, running late.

“That’s what the Back Pack is for, according to Peril, and I do hope it helps. Absolutely you can visit, and I’m sure Mother and Father would love to meet a friend of Ren’s, too,” Penny says. “They haven’t even met Lathrik, because he doesn’t visit any more than Ren does.”

Lathrik raises his hands in surrender as Penny shoots him an accusing look. “Oi, I try to keep outa Ren’s private business,” he says. “The day he invites me, I’ll visit.”

With a soft sigh, Penny starts towards the door. “Well thank you, anyway, for your time. I will let you get on with your evening.”

"Well, I don't stay out of anyone's business, least of all my friends'," Natalyah relates cheerfully. Sorry, Ren, you probably should have read the fine print next to the Butterfly Facts. She gives Penny a finger wiggle Society wave. "Toodles."

She only just now notices the coffee spill, and the unfinished coffee. "Lathrik, your coffee. There's no way you're making it through tonight without it."

Which is both accurate and inaccurate. They don't really make a coffee blend safe for consumption for the sort of night he has ahead of him.

“I’ll get it,” Lathrik says, showing Penny out.

When she’s gone, he grabs a cloth from the shelf by the door and returns to the coffee table, draining his mug, then setting to work cleaning the spill. That done, he straps his armor back on, and grabs his sword. If he’s looking a bit more tired after that, it’s probably because it’s late. (It’s not even 8pm.) He’s fine.

“Ye ready?” he asks, opening the door again, for Natalyah.

While Lathrik gets his armor on, Natalyah shifts to her worgen form to leap across back to the counter where her canes rest, and shifts back. She's got a bit of a shine of sweat from the effort of rapid shifts, but she doesn't seem much worse for the wear.

As she pushes along to the door, she stops by to press a firm, lingering kiss to Lathrik's mouth — open door disregarded as a potential for an audience — and it's not his imagination that the kiss seems to spark with the Light as a blessing of Fortitude settles into him. It's stronger than before. Maybe she's leveled up.

Lathrik leans back against the door frame for support at the unexpected Light kiss, his eyes taking on a slightly dulled glow in response. It takes him a moment to recover from the onslaught of experiencing his two favorite things at once, but eventually he manages to close the door after them and start the journey to the Mage Quarter wherein the Azerothian Interest Office is housed.

Natalyah keeps up with Lathrik's pace through to the Mage Quarter, and you would never guess that she's getting tired, except for the way that she's slightly breathless and gritting her teeth through the last stretch. So, you probably would guess. The way she stands when they get to the door, lifting her hands up one at a time to roll her wrists back and forth, suggests that her wrists are likely sore. She probably should have brought her crutches, but she doesn't usually favor them unless she knows she'll be on her feet a lot more. She's refusing to complain though, and waits for Lathrik to knock on the door.

And knock Lathrik does, wasting no time at all. The door opens quickly, almost as if someone was waiting just on the other side for them, and reveals Peril Farrens, dressed in his usual vest, pants, and hat, though he seems to have acquired a new accessory. A magenta collar encircles his neck, and to a more sensitive nose, smells strongly of some sort of perfume.

Natalyah sniffs the air, and freezes at the sight of the collar.

“Peril,” Lathrik begins, but the reporter steps aside, ushering them into the room.

“Lathrik, Natalyah, come in,” Peril says, a grin on his face.

Behind him, the office looks as it usually does, and there is no visible sign of whoever or whatever might have put that collar on him.

Lathrik gives Natalyah a Look, then steps ahead of her into the building.

When Lathrik looks at Natalyah, it seems to break whatever mental spell had seized her, and she pushes along into the room behind Lathrik. She sniffs the air again, suspicion and curiosity at war for space on her expression. "Wait a moment, did you actually want us here for a warlock thing, or are you introducing us to a girlfriend by surprise? Because I swear, Peril, if that girl is Ilanya, I don't care if you're in the honeymoon stage, I will be disapproving. She's dangerous and she licks people who she thinks look like Lathrik, which means she's terrible and no good for you." She's already moving into the center of the room, breathing in like she's trying to catch another scent under the perfume, like a clue of who it belongs to.

“Girlfriend? I couldn’t get a girlfriend if I tried!” Peril laughs, strangely cheerful about those words, and makes a beeline for the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. He seems a bit jittery. “Anyone want some coffee? I have coffee!”

The scent leads up the stairs, and has a tiny, familiar spice to it, but not from any particular person. It smells like fel.

“Peril,” Lathrik tries again. “The collar. Where’s that from?”

“Oh…” Peril pauses, reaching for it. “It’s mine.” His tone sharpens at the last, sounding oddly possessive, then sweetens out again. “But, coffee?”

Natalyah doesn't have her literal hackles up — yet — but there's a tension in her now that wasn't there before, as she follows the scent of the perfume. "No, no coffee. Peril — who gave you that collar? When?" Her words are unusually sharp, and there's a gravelly edge to her voice. "And why does it smell like the fel? Is this the warlock thing?"

“Fel?” Lathrik’s eyes widen and he reaches for his sword. “Peril, you—”

“I-I-I didn’t,” Peril stammers. “I just said the words, and then… You’re not going to hurt her, are you?” He glances frantically between Lathrik and Natalyah, then drops — yes drops — his mug on the floor and runs to the stairs, attempting to block them with his body. “You don’t understand, she loves me.”

“’Talyah,” Lathrik says calmly, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. “I’m going to need ye to stay down here and keep an eye on Peril. Can ye do that?”

Natalyah sighs heavily, looking equal parts worried and exasperated. "Oh, Peril," she scolds. "This is no time to live up to your name." She glances back at Lathrik, resignation in her eyes. "Yes, yes, I have him."

In the next moment, she slips the canes off her wrists, and shifts to her worgen form. It's harder to read her expressions now, at least of her face, but her body language is pretty clear as she lopes forward at an inhuman speed with intent. She braces one hand on the banister of the stairs, and with the other grabs hold of Peril by the vest, lifting him up off the floor several inches, and moving him out of Lathrik's way. The month of regular good meals have done their work, and the strength in her arm is significant.

Peril cries out in surprise and flails, attempting to free himself from her grip. “Nooo, please, don’t do it! Lathrik! Lathrik, I need her!”

Lathrik, wincing at the volume, starts up the stairs, pausing to call down to Natalyah, “If I’m not down in five minutes, leave us and call the Guard."

"Absolutely not," Natalyah argues over Peril's cries. She holds onto the squirming reporter in a way that suggests if she can't manage to hold onto him this way, she's going to put him down and sit on him. "I'm not leaving either of you." And you really probably can't make her, Lathrik.

“He’s summoned a bleedin’ succubus, and if I can’t handle it, I don’t want you facing it on your own,” Lathrik insists. “If I fail, and then you fail, we’re all dead, understand? Ye won’t be leaving us, you’ll be saving us.”

He can't see her, but he can probably guess at the look she's making at the mention that everyone will end up dead. Her silence doesn't bode well, because it definitely isn't the sound of agreement. In the end she just says, "You better not die, Lathrik Hazard Dinnsfield."

“I don’t plan to,” he says, then, unable to waste more time fighting for an agreement, he hurries up the stairs and disappears.

“He’s going to kill her,” Peril says, grabbing at Natalyah’s hand desperately. “Natalyah… Natalyah, please, it’s not her fault!”

"Really? Because I'm sure this is definitely her fault, something I'm only more convinced by every time you side with her over Lathrik, because that is not you, Peril," Natalyah says, struggling with holding Peril up. She may be strong, but a grown man is heavy. She steps closer to the wall to press him against it as she lowers him back to the ground. "Besides, as a matter of fact, he can't actually kill her, only banish her back to the Twisting Nether, so really, he's just sending her on a one way trip back home." Her eyes are on the collar around Peril's neck, and she shudders.

“I’m not,” Peril says, shaking his head. He looks as though he might be physically ill. “I’m not siding with her over Lathrik, I… why can’t you see it? He hasn’t even met her, but he’s going to hurt her. Why can’t we all have some coffee?”

"Because she's a demon, Peril. They really aren't like people, even the ones who look sort of like it. They're creatures of chaos, you can't ever trust them, and they do not love people. Even I know that, and you probably do, too, when you're not…whatever she's done to you," Natalyah says, uncertainly. She doesn't have a lot of ability to sense magic, but she leans forward sniffing at the collar. Unfortunately, she can't also try to take it off, hold onto Lathrik, and keep her balance. Not unless she was going to use her teeth, which she isn't risking. "That thing probably has to come off."

“No,” Peril says, squirming. “No, it’s mine!” One of his hands rises to cover the collar, blocking it from view.

There is a loud crash from upstairs, then silence. Lathrik does not come back down. Peril goes ominously quiet, too, listening.

Natalyah is distracted from the logistics of not having enough hands at the crash, her ears swiveling to point towards the stairs. Peril being quiet just makes it easier for her to listen, which she does for a moment, before calling out, "Lathrik?"

There is no response to her call, and Peril seems to calm down.

“You should meet her,” Peril says, conversationally. “Her name is Glynriana. I think you’ll like her.”

Rather than be reassured by this information, Natalyah's fear grows, and she pants in sharp, uncontrolled breaths. "Lathrik!" That's a call that could near wake the dead, filled with panic.

“Lathrik’s okay,” Peril says, smiling. “They’re just having a conversation. We should bring them some coffee.”

The silence continues from upstairs.

Natalyah's panic overwhelms her for a second, as she trembles, and her eyes go bright gold. When she blinks, she looks at the stairs, and then back to Peril, as she relaxes her grip on him. "Right. Yes, we should absolutely do that. Except, you dropped the coffee earlier, so you should get some new ones, and clean up the mess. I'll go get Lathrik." It's potentially convincing, but she doesn't stop to find out; she releases Peril and she's off like a shot up the stairs, because one way or another, she is going to get Lathrik.

There is a door at the top of the stairs, leading to a single room, and someone appears to have closed it. It is not locked, however, and when opened, reveals a tiny space, half of which is taken up by a bed, the other half, a desk. There is a window facing out into the Magic Quarter, the same direction as the front door, allowing for the observation of visitors as they arrive.

Lathrik is lying on the bed on his back, bleeding from a cut over his right eye where he probably fell and hit the desk chair. There is a lot of blood, but this is normal for such an injury. At his side, sitting on the chair in question, is the succubus, a winged, horned, hoofed demon, bearing resemblance to a woman. Her tail curls neatly at her side. Somebody, most likely the succubus, has removed Lathrik’s breastplate and set it aside on the desk, and a collar matching Peril’s own has been secured around his neck.

For one second, there's only fear in the worgen at the sight of Lathrik and so much blood, but the presence of the collar on his neck, rather than the wolf spirit, is what banishes this fear, and transforms it into a pure rage.

The force of Natalyah's roar is deafening — Peril's neighbors are definitely going to have some questions, maybe questions they will just think, because investigating this particular sound might seem, well, perilous — the stretch of her jaw revealing the truly terrifying array of sharp teeth. She's incandescent with the rage, and not metaphorically; the Light has gathered around her, sparks of lightning and twisting fire all at once in white hot gold. It's unleashed in a wild, uncontrolled storm at the succubus, a [Holy Fire] that sears and burns.

The succubus lets out a shrill scream as the holy fire burns her, clawed hands reaching for her whip. A series of thumps follow; the sound of Peril scrambling up the stairs.

While the succubus deals with that, Natalyah leaps over Lathrik, her body covering his defensively. She could possibly shift to human, undo the collar with nimble fingers. But that would require a level of rational thought that is far out of reach. Instead, on pure instinct — and frankly, a high degree of sheer luck — she bends her head and clamps down on the collar with her teeth, biting through the material, ripping it off the paladin, without breaking his skin.

Beneath Natalyah, Lathrik lets out a soft groan, his eyes opening partway as one hand reaches for his head. “’Talyah,” he mumbles. “Thought I told ye…”

There's only a moment spared of relief, and a lick at Lathrik's wound. "It hasn't been five minutes," she protests. "So you really should think about how often I run when you think I should." The words are accompanied by a [Flash Heal], far stronger than a minor head wound probably requires. The good news is that with the actual injury, it likely reflects a replenishment of mana back into the paladin. The bad news is that Natalyah doesn't hide, or Fade out of aggro; she snarls at the succubus and launches herself at the demon, all teeth and claws.

Unfortunately, these are not skilled teeth and claws, and the lepidopterist is in real potential danger as she tries to rip the demon apart with techniques more on par with a Society slap fight than combat.

Lathrik’s eyes glow in response to the Light, the overheal, and a shuddering sob wracks through him. He sits up as she launches herself at the demon, who has recovered enough to send her whip arcing out to meet the worgen.

“Shit,” he mutters, reaching a hand towards Natalyah. A familiar bubble of Light encases her, blocking damage from both the outside, and within, and that is the extent of his mana. Again. Wherever his mana potions are, they are not tied to his belt as per usual.

As the whip comes at her, Natalyah's claws rake down against… the inside of the bubble. Even as a worgen, her momentary confusion is obvious as she becomes the 200lbs worgen equivalent of an angry hamster in an enrichment ball. "What — "

Peril appears in the doorway, frowning at the scene before him. “Stop,” he says. “Everyone stop. No one has to get hurt.”

The succubus darts behind him, as if to use the reporter as a shield. “Peril,” she croons. “The paladin man fell, and I was helping him recover. Then I was attacked.”

When the succubus tries to manipulate Peril, Natalyah's rage climbs once more. She might not be able to use her claws from within her safety bubble, but she isn't out of mana and the Light crackles around her. "How dare you lie to him — you shut up," Natalyah chastises, and the words aren't only words — they invoke the Light, a stinging shock of disorienting holy energy.

The succubus cries out, dropping to the floor in pain.

Peril stares at Natalyah in horror. “She wasn’t— She didn’t do anything wrong!” he cries, turning to the demon. “Hang in there, Glynriana, there’s a technique that I read about…”

Peril begins to channel something, some sort of red beam forming between himself and the demon.

Lathrik scrambles off the bed, glancing around for his sword, but not finding it. With another curse, he rushes Peril, mumbling an apology under his breath. His fist meets his brother’s stomach in a physical rebuke, forcing the air from his lungs and ending whatever spell Peril was channeling.

Getting to the succubus has now become even more fraught with peril, literally, and the size of the room complicates it further for the large worgen. Well, she has ranged abilities now at least. Maybe. Actually, she's not entirely sure how she did it the first time, and it shows in the lost time where Natalyah does nothing while the blessing of the Light fades.

"Damned graceless gods," she snarls. Okay, new tactics. She focuses on Lathrik, concentrating on another feeling, a defensive will to not let him be hurt — or interrupted. "Get that damned collar off him!" The order is accompanied by a shield of Light, transparent and iridescent as glass-like butterfly wings, seemingly fragile, that forms a protective cocoon over Lathrik.

Time might go a little strange within the shield, a sense that either Lathrik is now able to move with unusual speed, or that the world outside the bubble has slowed oddly, but either way, he has more time than he might have thought to get the collar off Peril.

“Aye, workin’ on it,” Lathrik says, catching Peril as he falls and nimbly setting to work on the collar. It’s off in… was that under a second? However quick Lathrik would normally be, his speed is enhanced by the bubble of Light around him. It’s so fast that Peril is still gasping for air, leaning heavily on Lathrik for support. “’Talyah, can ye take him?” he asks, throwing the collar aside.

It's a request, not an order, and so it's with a huff that Natalyah slips an arm around Peril, pulling him to herself to free Lathrik's arms, balancing a hand on the wall. She might not entirely know how to channel the Light without either hand to help direct it where she wants it to go, but the way she's glaring holy vengeance murder at the succubus might be enough to channel something in another few seconds.

"Now, Peril, get rid of her," she bids the gasping warlock. Give him a few seconds at least, Natalyah, gosh.

Lathrik takes up a defensive position between the succubus and the other two as a clawed hand swipes against the bubble, weakening it.

“Get rid of…” Peril wheezes, looking around as if to get his bearings. “I-I can’t.”

“Can’t? Why the hell not?” Lathrik snaps.

“I uh… I don’t know how,” Peril says. “I-I don’t even know how she got here, I was just practicing!”

"Well, now she is practicing on us," Natalyah snaps. "Next time, maybe don't practice so enthusiastically, or at least with less soul sucking bondage." The more the succubus focuses on Lathrik, the angrier the worgen becomes. "And you, get away from him." The words are half-growled at the succubus, and there is a gathering of enough holy energy to actually land against the demon, fueled by a true desire to smite their current circumstances.

The demon cries out again, but thanks to Peril, she seems refreshed. It doesn’t take her long to recover and start lashing out with her whip at the closest threat; the paladin. Two lashes sees her through what remains of the bubble, and the third bites through his shirt just under his ribs on the right side, inflicting a sizable gash.

Lathrik grunts in pain, but holds his position, his arms held up in front of him to block his chest and neck from her blows. “May have to punch her back to the Nether,” he observes.

“I-I could summon the imp?” Peril suggests.

“Oi, no more bleedin’ demons, one is enough,” Lathrik says.

"Regardless of demonic capacity issues, since when is punching into the nether a paladin thing? Where's your sword? Where are your mana potions?" Natalyah's voice has gone shriller with panic. Her grip on Peril loosens as she concentrates on Lathrik, and there it comes again, a monsoon of healing Light, although not so much of an overheal as usual — her own mana might be starting to flag, or maybe she's learning how to portion it out better.

“Ask her,” Lathrik says.

The succubus laughs at their plight, lashing Lathrik across both arms, her whip leaving a bloody trail. Her laugh is stopped by a swift punch to the gut.

“Stay calm, aye?” Lathrik says, despite the wounds he is taking. “We’ll have this. Doesn’t even hurt.” That last part is probably a lie.

The wounds don't last long, as Natalyah sends out another heal to Lathrik. It definitely isn't an overheal now, but that might be because that well is starting to run low. — at least for the priest, as mana builds in the paladin in reflection. "If you're going to lie to me, then I will ask her," Natalyah threatens. She's just waiting for an opening now.

“What, ye’d rather I complain about how…” A sharp inhale interrupts him as the whip bites deep again. His shirt is taking some damage. “How it might as well be metal she’s slicing me with?”

Peril looks around for a way to be helpful. Something. Anything. His eyes stop on a lamp sitting on his desk. Perfect. Without even a word of warning, he picks up the lamp and throws it at the succubus.

Only, it doesn’t make it that far. Peril, dear readers, is not athletic, nor does he have any skills such as throwing, or aim. The lamp, instead, meets the back of Lathrik’s head and shatters, bringing the paladin to his knees.

“I’m… I’m sor—” Peril drops to his own knees in a combination of panic and defeat, crawling towards his brother despite the sharp ceramic pieces scattered about. “Lathrik…? Lathrik, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t…”

Lathrik is conscious, but dazed, and doesn’t immediately respond to Peril’s calls.

Natalyah cries out and there's a bad moment of genuine fear that threatens to overwhelm her fully at the sight of Lathrik bleeding, on his knees. "Lathrik — " His name is a whimper, a high pitched canine whine.

And then the panic is gone, Natalyah's eyes are bright gold, and it is not gone in a blink. Instead, with a clear line of sight of the succubus with the paladin on his knees, the worgen is a blurred leap through the air, and this is no clumsy attempt of some inexperienced instinct; this is a deadly grace, an ancient dance of a predator, that lands with precision to close Natalyah's jaws over the throat of the succubus, biting down deep, and tearing through so quickly that the succubus' soul energy is already ripped back to the Twisting Nether before her body hits the floor, dissipating into nothing as the worgen lands.

Natalyah gasps as she hits the floors, hands catching her balance in a sprawl, panting as if she's sprinted for her life. "Wha — Lath …Lathrik?" Her words are hoarse and breathy.

Lathrik blinks, attempting to recover from his own disorientation. He doesn’t speak, but one hand slowly rises to the back of his head, returning covered in blood. Another blink follows, and he stares at his hand in confusion. Then his gaze travels to his left side, which is also still bleeding. Huh. Neat. What was he doing here again?

“I-I meant to hit the… It was supposed to go over,” Peril pleads, as though intention can rewrite the outcome.

Natalyah reorients herself. No one is where she thinks they should be, but she zeros in on Lathrik, landing in front of him. As she reaches for him, she shifts to her human form, shuddering as if she's cold, to cradle his face firmly between her hands. "Lathrik, honey, look at me. Lathrik?" She shouldn't have that much left in the tank for a heal, but this is a heal from somewhere else, an inner focus, and she gives it everything she has, pouring the Light into Lathrik as if he's near death (which he is not), the flooding of power desperate.

Lathrik trembles in response to the Light, his eyes brimming over with tears, but some of the alertness does return to them, and he takes Natalyah into his arms. “Is it over?” he asks, in nearly a whisper.

Natalyah half collapses into Lathrik's embrace, sliding herself further into her safety spot, her arms around him clutching him even tighter to her. She doesn't answer at first, which might strike him as not a good sign.

"I think so," she finally says. "I bet you're glad you had that coffee before you came here now, even though I don't think you're legally allowed the amount you probably needed for all this." The words shake too hard to land as full wit.

“Legally, or physically?” he asks, attempting to respond to her wit while soothingly stroking her hair. He glances behind him at Peril, who is a nervous, remorseful wreck, and says, “Ye’ve got a broom somewhere, aye?”

“O-oh, um. Yes. I’ll go get it.” Peril squeezes past them, trying as well as he can to step over the pieces of ceramic on the ground.

Natalyah just burrows in closer to Lathrik. She's still shaking so hard that you'd think the room is freezing. "I don't want to put any bets on what sort of caffeine punishment you'd physically be able to take." She doesn't lift her head, although now one hand has gone wandering over him, feeling through the blood and torn shirt for evidence of lingering wounds. "Are you still hurt? I can't tell."

Lathrik shakes his head. “I’m alright,” he says. “Are you? That was a bit rough.” And that might be an understatement.

Natalyah shakes her own head. "I lost myself for a few seconds. I don't really know what I did," she says, her voice down to a rough whisper. "I thought she would kill you."

“The succubus?” Lathrik asks. “Or…”

"The succubus," Natalyah says. "I wouldn't — the wolf couldn't hurt you. She can't." She might be too worked up from adrenaline for it to sound like certainty, but the threat definitely comes through.

“I wasn’t going to die, ‘Talyah,” Lathrik says, certainty in his own voice. “I told ye, I’d never do that to ye. If anyone was going to be the death of me, it’d be Peril bleedin’ Farrens.” It’s okay, Peril isn’t in the room to hear him say it.

"He was trying to help," she protests. And then she pokes a hard finger at his healed ribs. "And you, what were you thinking? Losing your sword and mana potions?"

“I don’t… remember it,” Lathrik admits. “I came in here, thinkin’ to exorcise the beast, and it turned out… My mana was too low. Next thing I know, I’m on the bed and you’re on top of me.”

"Which would normally be a good way to wake up," Natalyah quips. The way she fists a part of Lathrik's ripped shirt gives the lie to the lightness of her tone. "You didn't drink a mana potion before?"

“I didn’t realize it was that low,” he says, shaking his head. “Thought I was just tired. The drain…seems to be getting worse. I may need stronger potions.”

Her embrace goes from tight to uncomfortably tight, although her shaking is subsiding. "And you are tired, working harder because of me, because I —" She makes a sound into his shoulder. She was the one with the idea to look into the Count, revealing his connection to the brothers, not to mention the house repairs and need to support another person living there. "We'll get the stronger potions, to be safe, but if it's getting worse, Lathrik. We have to do something. There has to be something more I can do."

“We’re doin’ it, ‘Talyah,” he murmurs. “We’re doing everything we can. It’ll work out. This — none of this is your fault. Ye saw how I was living without ye. You’re helping, aye?”

She sniffles against his shoulder, and doesn't say anything that sounds like agreement. Instead, she turns her head a little more, relaxing her grip on him maybe because she doesn't have enough stamina to keep the hold that tight. "If I don't move off this floor with you, this is where we're sleeping tonight, and that is going to get very awkward with your brother's bed right there."

“Well as long as he hasn’t run off, he should be back soon with the broom,” Lathrik says.

Sure enough, Peril does return, and silently begins to sweep up the remains of the lamp. Every time Lathrik moves even a little, the reporter flinches, and it’s clear that guilt is devouring him.

Natalyah groans, as she tries to sit back. Her canes are downstairs. She'll have to shift to get around unless someone brings her canes to her. "Peril? Are you all right? How long did she… I don't know, have you?"

“I-I don’t know, an hour? Maybe two,” Peril says, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t — I wasn’t trying to summon her just then. I thought I’d… work on my pronunciation.”

Lathrik remains mercifully silent. That might be because he has started to doze.

"Well, apparently it was either perfect the first time around, or completely off, one of those. Two hours of that though, being under control like that —" Natalyah looks up at Peril from her place on the ground, her arms still holding onto Lathrik. "That must have been awful. Were you aware of what was happening, and couldn't control yourself, or did it seem normal in your head?"

“It felt so real, all of it,” Peril says. “I felt things for her, and I-I might still, I don’t even know. It was all so right somehow, and the only thing I can honestly say I regret is… I think I drank too much coffee.”

Natalyah winces in part sympathy and part revulsion. "That's so much worse somehow. The sense of rightness, not the coffee part. I don't know how to fix that, except that sometimes when people need to sober up they drink coffee, maybe it works in reverse. Too much coffee, drink some alcohol?" Sure, could do it.

A thought, however, occurs to her and she grabs Lathrik harder, almost shaking him. "Wait, she had that thing on you, too, did you feel things for her? Do you still feel things for her?" Okay, now she definitely is shaking him.

Peril falls silent, fingering the rim of his hat. He is probably seriously considering her words.

Lathrik, meanwhile, startles awake, tightening his loosened hold on Natalyah. “Hmm..? The succubus? I… No, nothing lasting.” That might not be the answer she wants to hear.

No, it very much is not by the stung look on her face, but at least it's honest. She looks over to where the succubus was, and there's a deep growl that doesn't sound like it can come from a human throat. "If it wouldn't be a spectacularly bad idea, I'd say summon her again so I could bite through her a second time and make sure that impression is lasting." The gravel sound in her voice makes the threat even more menacing. She turns back to Lathrik, and even with Peril right there, practically slams into Lathrik to kiss him deeply — she doesn't seem to care if it will end up with both of them on the floor at this point. All that matters is that for at least a moment, the only thing Lathrik should be thinking about is her.

"There," she says against his mouth. "How's that for lasting?"

And it does end with at least one of them on the floor, because for once, Lathrik seems too tired to remain upright. Still, he takes her kiss valiantly, and even manages to return it… You know. From the floor.

“Y-you um… can sleep in my bed,” Peril offers. “I can get an inn room for the night? It doesn’t look like either of you are safe to make the trip home, and really, it’s the least I can do for causing… well, everything.”

"What? No, an inn room costs money," Natalyah says, with a bit of tone of someone who has only learned of this relatively recently — did you know, as a matter of fact, that renting a room costs money and you don't just give them your name and it goes into the mystical aether? Natalyah sure did not until a few months ago. She's sprawled on top of Lathrik, and honestly, she's making it look like it's comfortable, but she sits partially up, looking down at Lathrik, with a frown. "How about this, since you probably can't sleep from that much coffee anyway, we'll take a two or three hour nap here, and that should get us enough to get home for the rest." It would mean walking home at probably after 1am, but to be fair, Lathrik's one of the people who would be patrolling at those hours in the night shifts anyway.

She drags her head up to look at Peril, drowsiness and weariness waging a war of common enemy (Natalyah herself) in her expression. "Besides, I'd just worry about you anyway. You made a mistake, Peril, well. Mistakes. The lamp was definitely not a good idea. But, none of it was on purpose, and you were trying to be responsible. You don't have to be punished or anything. That whole trapped in your head thing was punishment enough. And I'm glad we were here on time enough to help, because it would have been so much worse if we weren't. So, for what it's worth, I forgive you."

Peril takes a step back, towards the stairs, his hat covering his eyes. His lower lip quivers a little, betraying the sincerity of feeling as he says, “You’re a good person, Natalyah. You, and Lathrik, you deserve each other. But this… Even I know that this was worse than my usual mistakes. I… I hit Lathrik in the head with a lamp and no one yelled at me. No one got mad. You both… you’re scaring me, a little.”

Natalyah flinches at the last, looking away and curling up into herself. "I'm not — " She doesn't finish the rest of the words, as if she can't bring herself to say anything that might fit. She's not scary? Peril shouldn't be afraid of her? Those might not be true. Instead she bites on her lip, and then tosses her head like it's fine, she's fine. "Look, I'm not saying I'm thrilled he probably had a concussion, but it was just an accident, Peril. Believe me, I have made far worse mistakes than any you've made tonight. No one is dead. No one's even hurt anymore, since I healed Lathrik. The worst casualty is his shirt. And I guess your lamp. Not even a paladin could get that Light back on."

There is a soft chuckle from Lathrik. He must have woken up for that one.

“Where… Where are you going to draw the line?” Peril asks pleadingly. “When I accidentally summon a felguard? A doomguard? Half the Burning Legion? I… I need… some time. To myself, I think.”

“Peril, what ye need is supervision, that’s all,” Lathrik says. “Ye can join the WEB, have some proper folk keep an eye on —”

Peril does not even grace that with a response, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.

“Light preserve…” Lathrik mutters, rolling his eyes. “’Talyah, if ye don’t mind, I’m goin’ to sleep.” Right there, on the floor, presumably.

Natalyah huffs out a breath, and moves a hand up to Lathrik's hair, smoothing it back from his face — which still has quite a lot of blood on it. With some effort, she lets her worgen form roll over her like a thundercloud, and scoops Lathrik up into a fireman's carry, lifting him up off the floor, and onto her shoulder before climbing up into Peril's bed awkwardly, and dumping Lathrik in a heap nearish the pillow. He can scoot up a bit maybe. She tried. Natalyah doesn't bother trying to shift back into her human form, she just pulls Lathrik closer, snuggling into him like he's a very fuzzy and huggable Back Pack of maximum comfort.

"I love you," she tells him, sounding like she's just a breath away from a sob, and the only reason it isn't one is that she's too tired and low on mana to muster it.

Lathrik seems to take his experience as a sack of potatoes fairly well, all things considered, but he doesn’t bother with the pillow. At her words, a light frown comes to his face, and he looks her over more thoroughly, which isn’t nearly as thorough as it would be if he was more awake. “Ye better not be dyin’,” he mutters, wrapping an arm around her.

"What?" That's obviously not the response she expected. "I'm not — I'm fine. You made sure of that, with that time out corner of a shield thing," she says with a pout. "Why would you think I'm dying from — " She sighs heavily. "You know there isn't a law where you can't speak about your feelings except in whispers and on a deathbed, right? Unless the Church has updated their rules recently, in which case, prepare to become a sinner, because that's ridiculous." Ah yes, the soothing, dulcet tones of scolding and scorn for the Church of the Light. It's like a bedtime story.

“Look, it’s been… It’s a rough day we’ve had, and I can’t say I fully trust everything I saw this evening. I blacked out for some of it, and Light help me, all of this could be a dream, that’s how tired I am,” Lathrik says. “I… I feel the same for you, ‘Talyah, ye know I do.”

Natalyah curls up further around him, a soft worgen blanket. "I know you do," she agrees. "And if you could confuse this with a dream, I feel like I should worry about what kinds of dreams you usually have even in the best of times. At least you could make me shirtless or something, they're your dreams."

Another light chuckle follows, but it fades as the paladin falls into sleep. It really has been a rough day.

An Hour or So Later

Natalyah jolts awake with a shudder, grabbing onto Lathrik with a clawed hand — dangerous, but she doesn't pierce his skin — looking around her with the frantic panic of someone who has no idea where she is or why. As soon as she places Lathrik as there, leaning down to inhale his scent like a touchstone, she calms, and it gives her time to trace the steps back. Peril's office at the Azerothian Interest. The succubus. The room. The bed. Right.

She rests her head back down on Lathrik's chest, watching him sleep with the rise and fall of his breathing, and she might have gone back to sleep, but a realization hits, and she lurches upright again. "Oh, no," she says, looking around her again, this time searching. "You didn't drink a mana potion before you went to sleep. Shit." She doesn't try to rouse the paladin; he's tired enough, and one way or another she's going to need to find him his mana potion. He's not dead, at least, just exhausted dead-to-the-world.

Even in the darkness, she sees well enough to know that the mana potions aren't out anywhere on the surfaces of the room, but still, she gets up to prowl through the small room. "If I was an evil soul sucking succubus bitch, where would I stash a paladin's mana potions and sword," she asks herself. She looks under the bed.

Nope.

Okay, that was just her first guess. She hasn't been an evil soul sucking succubus for very long. Second guess is… she turns in place. The window. She lopes to it. "Oh, she better not have — " she threatens, sort of uselessly. She's already destroyed the succubus violently.

But she had. The pouch containing Lathrik’s mana potions is lying flat on the pavement outside the office, and, having been thrown from the second story window, it is not surprising to see the drying remains of a blue liquid that had once been contained in little glass bottles, seeping out of the pouch. It’s likely the sword was thrown out, too, but there is no sign of it outside. Someone passing by might have taken it. Free sword.

Natalyah goes an ashy color, and sways into the window frame, looking down at the bottles like she can see it as both the coins tossed out of the cost of replacing them, as well as Lathrik's own lifeblood spilling out and drying on the ground. "Oh, no, no, no," she says, uselessly. She doesn't carry mana potions on her, and even if she were to leap out the window after these ones, there might not be even one single mana potion left intact, and it won't spontaneously explode in the next few seconds even if there was.

She turns to look at Lathrik, sleeping deeply, and she straightens up. "It's okay. I'll get a plan. I can handle this. Just you keep breathing," she orders him. She bounds across the small room, opening the door, and dashing down the stairs, looking for Peril, to help get Lathrik out of peril danger. "Peril!" It's not the loudest of shouts, to not alarm Lathrik, but she's certainly not whispering.

The office below is dark and silent, and the observant person might notice a few key objects are missing. The Super Snapper, usually stored on Peril’s desk, is gone, along with his travel bag, and his scent trail leads outside.

Natalyah leaps down the stairs in one go — taking the steps one by one is for people with two legs and no sense of hurry to them — and both looks and sniffs around. "Graceless gods damn it, Peril," she curses. "I need you here." So much for that plan she'd started. She looks for cabinets, and drawers, anything that might have an emergency mana potion storage.

Peril, unfortunately, does not keep mana potions. Unlike his brother, he does not have mana problems, and Milo is a civilian. He does keep fan mail, however, and books. Lots of books.

None of which will help with waking Lathrik up, or keeping him from going into a coma — some might even do the opposite of sending him deeper down — and Natalyah gives up the search quickly. If Peril has some sort of extra super secret stash, she's not putting in the time to look for it. She knows where there are mana potions.

All the way across town, back at home. And she's already tired.

Doesn't matter. She's doing it anyway if she has to. For Lathrik.

She leaves the Azerothian Interest building, shutting the door behind her, and lopes off to go collect Lathrik's bag. Maybe she'll get lucky and at least one (1) mana potion survived.

There is only one vial that is even remotely intact inside Lathrik’s bag, and it is cracked, most of the potion having already leaked out. What remains would not survive the journey up the stairs. There is, however, a familiar scent on the wind, almost buried in the over strong smell of perfume — the faint smell of spiced apples.

Natalyah gathers up the bag to herself, wrapping the hopeless cause of the vial in it, out of some desperation, leaving the rest of the shattered glass on the ground — technically littering, but come on, who in the guard is going to come and fine this gigantic wolf creature hunched over in the night — and sniffs at the air. She moves away from the acrid scents of the mana potions and the cloying perfume, following to where the spiced apple smell is stronger.

The scent comes in waves, almost lost in the perfume, but it is close. When she reaches the source, she sees two people; Reniya, and an unknown woman on his arm, probably the source of the perfume. They are walking towards the Canals, on the way out of the Mage Quarter, and the woman is laughing at something Reniya said.

After a close enough inspection of hair and scent determines that the woman is not 1) Ilanya or 2) another succubus from who knows where, Natalyah makes a rough scoffing growl. The odds that Reniya is for some strange reason carrying a supply of Lathrik level mana potions are too low to bother with, and rather than stop and explain — or maybe it's rather than stop and ask for help — Natalyah leaps forward, sprinting out of the Mage Quarter and towards the house in Old Town as if she's being chased by the entire Burning Legion itself, rather than just the consequences of one (1) of the demons of the Twisting Nether. Surely that won't be any cause for alarm, a giant worgen tearing through the Stormwind streets.

“Oi — !” Reniya calls out in surprise as she gallops by. Does he recognize this worgen? Maybe, it’s hard to say. He steals a last kiss from his date, then goes sprinting off after her. Will he catch her? Who knows.

Though she probably does give many of the guards on the night patrol a hair raising experience, nobody else goes out of their way to stop her, and she passes through the streets if not peacefully, then at least without incident (minus Reniya chasing her, of course.) Worgen, man, they’d better get used to this.

Natalyah's pace to the house is punishing and beyond what a human on foot could manage. But her direction is obvious. She's not attempting to lose a tail (either metaphorical or literal, as worgens don't have tails), and she's taking the route towards Old Town across the open roads and bridges. She makes it even easier to spot her when she might have disappeared into a few alleys, and instead goes up, climbing up the buildings to leap from the rooftops as a dark shadow of black against the red tiles of the district for an even more direct way to the former gremlin house.

Once at the house, Natalyah struggles with the door for a few lost seconds, shifting to her human form and fishing out her key panting heavily and shaking with a mix of adrenaline and fatigue, before shifting back. She leaves the door wide open behind her as she goes to the cupboards, picking out two of the mana potion stash and shoving them into Lathrik's bag, heedless of the broken glass within, which proves to be a mistake as she slices open two of her fingers, and gets a large piece jammed into her palm. She yelps, as she pulls back her hand, shaking it as if she can shake the pain off. It does make the shard of glass go flying across the room — a possible hazard for later — and she stares at the wounds in the darkness.

Nothing happens. No Light comes to her call, no healing magic surrounds the cuts. Maybe she's out of mana. The way she closes the wounded hand into a fist, and shame curls her body suggests that there may be another reason. She sniffles, and then huffs, as she forces her hand back down to the ground, wincing at the pain. She makes sure the bag is secure again, that the mana potions within won't break, and hurtles back out of the house, closing and locking the door behind her. She's much slower now, and keeps to the street, her stamina flagging badly, and her stride awkward as she flinches with each time her wounded paw hits the cobblestones.

Before she leaves Old Town, Reniya catches up. Or, rather, intersects her. He looks a bit winded, but the man seems to have quite a bit of stamina. Or he took some shortcuts. Possibly both. “Swallowtail?” he asks, probably for confirmation.

Natalyah draws up short with a yelp of surprise, jolted off her stride like a horse shying suddenly at some unknown danger. She was not looking at people, focused on the goal ahead of Get To Lathrik. "Ren — sinners and martyrs, are you trying — to give me — a heart attack?" She sounds hoarse and out of breath both, raspy inhales in between words. She's trembling slightly, and she is keeping her right hand off the pavement, fingers curled in a way that resembles a puppy with a hurt paw. "What are — you doing? Don't you — have a date or whatever?" She looks around for the perfumed woman, her eyes slightly lambent in the dark.

“I did, yeah,” Reniya says, frowning. “Why’re you runnin’ through the streets like you’re on fire? Where’s Lathrik? Are you — did you hurt yourself? Let me see it.” He reaches for her.

Natalyah practically jumps away. "It's nothing," she lies. She can't even believably put her weight on it to convince Reniya. She really is not an actress. "Lathrik's at Peril's, and he's — he needs a mana potion, there was a succubus who enslaved him and Peril and we fought her and he's already exhausted and if he doesn't get it soon I don't know if he'll wake up. I need to get to him." That's as much of an explanation as Reniya is going to get before she's off again, running through the street at her reduced pace. She is not going to drop down to a walk though. She is just simply not.

“Oi, oi, oi, slow down Butterfly,” Reniya says, jogging to catch up. “Stable’s nearby. Let’s take Risk. I know an injury when I see one, and ol’ Lathrik’d kill us both if you keep this up. Trust me, we’ll save time.”

"Horses… don't like… me," Natalyah protests, but the combination of trying to talk and run breaks her down to a forced walk-jog, that particular sort of awkward pace of someone trying to move quickly when someone holds a door open for them just a bit too far away, where she's not walking, but she's not moving very fast. And then she's forced to a walk anyway, slowing as fatigue rears its ugly head. She's not even halfway back yet. "I can do it." She probably can, but at what cost?

“Risk’s met you, he’ll be fine,” Reniya says. “An’ at the pace you’re goin’, the sun’s gonna rise before you make it to… Where was it, you said, Mage Quarter? Come on now, it’s important, right? Do it for Lathrik.”

"The suns not going — to rise for — like seven more hours," she corrects, although she's only vaguely in the right ballpark for it. She drags onwards doggedly, flinching each time her hand lowers to push her along. The fact that she's not leaping immediately to the suggestion that this could help Lathrik more means there's something she isn't telling Reniya. and the fact that the next words out of her mouth are an admittance of it is probably only because of Lathrik. "I can't — ride. I fall off. Because of my leg."

“Oi, I’m not askin’ you to ride Risk alone,” Reniya says. “I’ve got you, Swallowtail. I won’t let you fall.”

"I can do it. It's not that far," she insists again, as she keeps walking. See? She's doing it.

“Would you rather ride me?” Reniya asks. “I can take you. Won’t be as fast as Risk, but those are your options. I can’t let you keep goin’ like this, lass.”

Natalyah whirls on Ren, and it's only the worgen form that lends such aggression to the snarl, her lips pulling back from dangerously sharp teeth, a reminder of why so many look at worgen and see a monster. "I don't need your permission to keep going," she says, as if Ren's implied that. "I don't need any help to get across the city, and as a matter of fact, I am just as fast as Risk." The indignant anger is like a second wind, as she takes off with renewed strength lent by pure spite. She's going to pay for it tomorrow, or possibly even tonight, but for the moment, Reniya has goaded her into pushing her limits to their maximum.

With a light curse, Reniya steps through the shadows before she can get out of range and all but dives at her in an attempt to tackle her to the ground, while one hand draws a length of rope from a bag at his side. Why does he have rope? Does he always carry rope, even on dates? Yeah, it’s Ren. It’s pretty obvious what he intends to do with the rope.

As Reniya tackles her, and she catches the sight of the rope, something snaps in Natalyah. It's some parts fear, and some parts rage, the amounts shifting back and forth like a leaf caught in gale force winds. Her uninjured hand closes on Reniya's back, her claws slicing through the nice date night clothes and into his skin, and then Reniya gets an object lesson for why worgen have been so desired to join the Alliance army, how even civilians like Natalyah were enough to take back a city overrun with the Horde, as she throws him off her to fly through the air with a roar.

She rises back up from a roll, her fur having kept off the worst of the scraping against the cobblestones, but she likely has a sizeable bruise forming from where she hit the ground, but for a moment neither the fall or the cuts on her hands seems to register past the indignant rage. "How dare you — "

The worgen strength throw sends Reniya crashing into the wall of a building, which he fortunately does not hit with his head, having had proper training in safe falls. Blood is rapidly seeping through the clothes on his back, however, and as he rolls to his feet it becomes clear that his limbs are shaking from the trauma. She might have dug deeper than she’d intended. He wears a smile, though, and still has that rope as he starts towards her.

“Like I said,” he informs her, “I can’t let you keep goin’ like this. Lathrik’d do worse to me than you ever could if I let you go on without help. At least let me see to the wound.”

It's probably not Reniya himself that generates such fear in her, her eyes on the rope in his hand, as she scrambles ineffectively back from him, all panic and no strategy. "Don't — I'm not — you can't — don't, I'm not a monster, I'm not a monster," she pleads, the echo of some other time perhaps. And then Reniya is not looking at Natalyah at all, as something else peers through her eyes, so bright a gold that they glow. The thing that isn't Natalyah stares Reniya down.

Natalyah blinks, and her eyes are that velvet brown once more, only faintly luminous, and she gets herself back into a stand. "You're not coming anywhere near me with that rope, Ren. I am not an animal to be subdued. Lathrik can heal me when I get there."

Wait. That's a good point. Lathrik could heal her, but Natalyah's proven she can heal people as well, as Reniya knows. Why isn't she doing it now?

“Aye, so you should make it as bad as you can before then?” Reniya asks, tossing the rope aside and holding out his hands to show they are empty. “You think you have to suffer for ‘im when there’s an easier way? You say you wanna help him, but you’re doing the opposite, and you don’t even see it. Come on, lass. Let’s get the horse.”

Natalyah looks down at her hand, and repentance sits heavily on her, and guilt edges into the way she ducks her head down like a dog that's been kicked. Rather than admit anything, or agree, she just shoves her hand out towards Reniya, palm up.

It's hard to see against the black of her fur and the dark skin of her palm, but even in the low light of the streetlamps and darkness of the night, there's the visible cuts and a deeper gash where the glass wounded her. It already looks worse than it was, aggravated and inflamed from the damage she inflicted on herself from running.

Reniya looks over her hand, then fishes through his bag. It’s not rope that he pulls out this time, but water. “Now, I could take you to the healer I see, he’s still up at this hour, y’know, but I’m sure you’re in a hurry to get back to Lathrik.” He pours the water over her wound, cleaning the dirt out as well as he can. “I still recommend seein’ him after, if Lathrik’s doin’ as poorly as you say. Givin’ him a mana potion only to have him use the mana on you? Counter productive, lass.”

Next he pulls some sort of salve from his bag and smears a glob of it onto her hand, fishing out the bandages after. “If you’re wonderin’ why I’ve got a full medical kit while I’m out for the night, it’s because…” He pauses to eye her. “Eh, you can probably guess.” When her hand is bound, he jerks his head back towards the stables in Old Town. “Now, let’s get on back to Lathrik, shall we?”

Natalyah glares at him from under dark brows, and squirms repeatedly as he sees to the wound, wincing and whining at the pain. She is not a stoic soldier. "Lathrik can have more mana potions at home, but he's got to be able to wake up enough to get there. I'm not going to floor him with something this small. This is barely a scratch, not even worth the mana to heal except that he'll insist on it." That's debatable on how much of a scratch they are, but okay, it's not as bad as say, for example, deep claw wounds in someone's back. Which were caused by another someone.

"You had no right to try to force me, or use Lathrik against me to manipulate me into doing what you think I should do," she tells him. "Don't you ever try to manhandle me like that again." It's a real threat this time. But, it's accompanied by her reaching out and laying a hand on Reniya's shoulder, a hot flash of the Light striking through him aggressively healing the wound on his back and then some.

Reniya rolls his shoulders as the healing Light sweeps through him. “You’re a scientist, aye?” he says. “You base things on fact and observation, more than feelings? That ain’t what you were doin’, lass, and I’d throw myself in your path any number of times to make you see it. What happens if you never make it to him? You pass out somewhere, and no one’s the wiser? You didn’t ask for help, so no one even knows where he’s gone. By the time you wake up, or someone figures it out, what’s happened to Lathrik? This ain’t even about takin’ it all on alone, this is about someone else relyin’ on you, and you makin’ choices to protect your pride, rather than him.”

Natalyah's pride is obviously stung, as she straightens up, all haughty heiress noblewoman despite the worgen fur. "I'll have you know, I am nowhere near passing out, he has someone who knows where he is and cares about him, and you have no idea how far I can push myself from being wounded. I have dragged myself over hundreds of yards while bleeding out near death, and this is nothing." She snatches both her hands back from Reniya, glaring murderously at him.

"And you don't get to lecture me on not asking for help, Reniya, or have you forgotten who healed your wounds from your ill begotten plan to get repeatedly beaten on, putting who knows how many people in danger with a guard hiding that he isn't at full capacity?" She's already pushing past him, furious and menacing. "All you've done now is slow me down so much that taking Risk is worth the trouble to get to Lathrik faster, when I would have been fine if I hadn't been stopped and shoved around. I had a plan."

Lathrik's heard that one before.

“I hate bein’ the one to tell you this, lass, but your plan sucked,” Reniya says, following her. “No one wants you draggin’ yourself anywhere near death. And if he’s got someone who cares about him and knows where he is, why isn’t that person runnin’ through the streets chasin’ mana potions? If it was for you, Lathrik’d be on his hands and knees begging anyone and everyone he could to help you, and you know it. Natalyah, I would do anything for that man, and I know you feel the same, but trust me on this, hurting yourself for his sake will only drive him away. I don’t want to see that for either of you.”

Natalyah whirls on him, pure fury for a moment, and then turns back away as she picks up her pace, forcing him into a jog. "I am not hurting myself, I'm ignoring a minor wound to get to a serious problem. You're not the one who watched him getting whipped and beaten unconscious barely two hours ago, so exhausted by the end that he could hardly stand, and these mana potions might be the only way he's going to wake up again, so stop treating me like I have no idea what I'm doing and get a move on. You are wasting his time."

“Aye, look, I’m tellin’ you, he’s not going to see it that way,” Reniya says, increasing his pace to keep up. “That is not a minor wound, and by the time you got where you were goin’ it would have been a thousand times worse. I’m not tryin’ to attack you, lass. If I’m bein’ honest, I’m scared for you. Your priorities are dangerous, and… You’re like him, aren’t you? Can’t heal yourself?”

"You think I didn't try?" She snarls. Shame has her hunching into herself, as she tries to keep at the pace she's set, each touch of her wounded hand on the street clearly painful. "I cut myself a bit of glass on accident. I would never hurt myself on purpose again. Lathrik has ignored far more serious wounds for less reason for me and has the scar to prove it, and I wouldn't ask him to treat a little cut on his hand before coming to me if he knew I was in danger. That wouldn't be fair to him, and he can't ask the same thing of me. I knew he could heal me if I got to him, which is what I was already doing, and then it would be fine again. I wasn't going to lie about it, or resist it, or hide it from him, unlike some people." This is bitten out with a growl.

"And you're forgetting what I am, what sort of monster people would see. I can't go around knocking on random doors and expect help from anyone, and the only safe place I know for sure is where Lathrik is."

“Oi, I’m not blamin’ you for anything,” Reniya says as they arrive at the stables and he starts preparing Risk for the trip. “I’m concerned, is all.” His focus appears to be mostly on the horse, now.

"Really? Concerned? That's what you'd call taking out a rope to tie me up like an animal?" The hurt in her voice is stronger now that she's had time to catch her breath. "If that's your idea of concern, then I'll thank you to take a blasé attitude towards me from now on. I can't believe I stood up for you not having to go back to your family, especially having met your sister," Natalyah snarls, rising to a stand holding the wall of the stables, to keep the weight off her wounded hand. The growly anger of her voice is likely doing no favors this close to so many large prey animals.

Reniya murmurs a few words to Risk in an attempt to keep the horse calm in the face of this outburst, then he turns back to Natalyah. “It wasn’t the right move, an’ I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I was scared about what might happen to the both of you, and keepin’ you still until I could calm you down was the first thing I could think of.” A blink. “Sorry, did you jus’ say you met Penny?”

Natalyah can't cross her arms and hold herself upright, but she manages to look as closed off. "I've been tied up and caged before, like a monster, and if you ever think to do it to 'calm me down' I'll show you how much I can bite through. I'm not ever going to be treated like that again," she threatens. "Penny came by the house looking for you, and she was very kind and sweet."

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, lass,” Reniya says, leading Risk out onto the street. But he follows with, “I won’t do it again.” He does not comment further about his sister, but there is probably some amount of relief in his expression that he managed to miss her. Apparently he doesn’t care why she was looking for him. “How d’you wanna do this? I can lift you into the saddle, or I can climb up first and pull you up.”

Natalyah eyes Risk and Reniya both with equal wary suspicion, and approaches. "You get on first," she orders him. She doesn't say it's because if she tries to sit there without help she might fall off even without the horse moving.

Reniya swings into the saddle, then offers a hand to her. “If you grab hold of the saddle, we can both pull on the count of three,” he says. It’s a suggestion. Maybe Reniya has figured something out.

Risk stands very still, as if a sudden movement might startle the inexperienced rider.

They could both pull. Or, Natalyah could ignore Reniya’s hand, grip the saddle with her injured hand and leap right up — shifting to human in mid-air, a wild feat of balancing the forms, that has her landing hard in the saddle, clinging to the pommel to stay there. She's not that small a woman, and the saddle, intended for one, is a tight squeeze.

“I’m going to hold on to you now, alright?” Reniya asks, setting aside the question he really wants to ask, for now.

"Just do it and let's go," she commands with that imperious noblewoman's tone. But she turns to look over her shoulder, glaring at him under dark brows. "And make no mistake, Reniya Hartrim, keep your hands civil or I will throw you from this horse. And no, that's not a threat of a 'good time' — you couldn't handle me as a good time, let alone what you would get."

This close he might have no choice but to notice some of the details — the dampness of her shirt plastered to her from where she's been sweating hard from her run, the fact that the white shirt isn't just shadowed by worgen fur but by some other dark stain (blood, Lathrik's), and that the bandage he tied around her hand has altered its size to fit her slim human one.

Reniya, for once, does not say anything, and holds her only as much as he needs to in order to keep her on the horse, urging Risk into a brisk trot. Something she said must have gotten to him. It isn’t until they are halfway through the Trade District that he finally opens his mouth again. “Why’d you do it?” he asks, vaguely.

Natalyah keeps the bag with mana potions steady, as if the trot from the horse could break them (they're fine), as she bounces awkwardly in the saddle. She is not comfortable, and her inexperience with riding means she is basically a very heavy sack of potatoes on Risk's back. Neither of them are having a good time.

"Why'd I do what?" She snaps irritably.

“Pull up with the injured hand,” Reniya says. “I could’ve helped.”

Risk does his duty, despite any discomfort. He's a good boy, and he probably knows they are going to Lathrik.

"I didn't need your help," she answers. "I'm not so fragile and helpless and pathetic that I can't get up on my own because I've got a little cut on my hand, and I don't appreciate you treating me like I'm a glass doll."

Reniya shrugs and doesn’t press her further, allowing the rest of the ride to pass in silence.

When he finally stops Risk, it’s directly in front of the Azerothian Interest office. “D’you need help down?” he asks.

"No," she says, as she makes sure his hands are off her before she slides to the side, falling off the horse — only to catch herself on the ground in her worgen form, leaping to the door to get back to Lathrik as quickly as possible.

Reniya slides off Risk and pats the horse’s neck, murmuring, “Think she’s got it from here, aye, lad? Now, you wait here for ‘em, and I’m goin’ to make myself scarce for a bit.” And with that, Reniya disappears into the shadows.

Thankfully the door is not locked, and Lathrik is exactly where she left him, sleeping peacefully.

Natalyah shuts the door firmly behind her, and the only reason she doesn't lock it is she isn't sure where Peril is or if he brought his key. As she passes by her canes left scattered on the floor, she swipes them up to hold carefully in her mouth, bounding up the stairs, faint huffs of pain as she moves on her injured hand.

Back in the room, she wastes no time getting over to Lathrik, leaping onto the bed, tossing her canes over to one side, and shifting back to human. It leaves her panting heavily, and she sags onto Lathrik's chest for a moment. Just to catch her breath. She pulls herself upright again through sheer willpower, and opens up the bag. This time, she's much, much more careful, reaching in to remove the two (2) intact mana potions she brought with her. She drops the bag back over the side, and sets the mana potions on the pillow.

With her non-injured hand she takes hold of Lathrik's shoulder and shakes him. "Lathrik? Wake up." Maybe it's not too late, before he's too deep under.

It takes a while, and his skin has already started going cold, but Lathrik does open his eyes. Only, they aren’t the light brown eyes she is expecting. Lathrik’s eyes are covered in shadow, and his hand reaches up to touch her face, as if examining it.

For the first time, Natalyah jerks backwards from his touch with a startled, "What — " before flinging out a weak iridescent shield. Not over herself, but over Lathrik.

As if satisfied by whatever was seen, Lathrik’s eyes close, and when they open again, they are back to normal. He frowns at the shield around him. “’Talyah?” he mumbles.

Natalyah breathes out heavily in relief, throwing herself onto Lathrik, passing straight through her own shield over him. "Oh, thank the Light." She presses several kisses all over his face, heedless of the blood still there from his earlier head wound. "Here, you need to drink a mana potion," she tells him, as she reaches over for one, sitting up awkwardly as she avoids putting any pressure on her fingers and palm of her right hand.

Lathrik catches the strangeness of the movement almost immediately, and his frown deepens. “What happened?” he asks, half-sitting up.

She shows him, reluctantly, the bandage wrapped hand. Blood has seeped through already, and the bandage is dirty on the palm side where she's had to set it on the ground. "The succubus threw your bag out the window. All the mana potions were broken, so I went back home and got more. I didn't clear out the glass out of the bag, which was stupid of me, I know, and I cut my hand on some of it. Don't worry, Reniya was out on a date, and he cleaned it up and put something on it, and I knew you'd heal it when I got back to you. It hasn't been that long." That might be stretching it a bit. It's been over half an hour all told. "It's just a few cuts. Drink a mana potion before you do anything," she bids him, a pleading tone in her voice.

Lathrik curses softly and grabs one of the two potions, biting off the cork and draining it. Then he takes her hand in his and calls the Light, a gentle warming burst that tingles as it sets to work. “Ye ran on it, didn’t you?” he asks. His tone isn’t angry, but it is lightly remorseful. “I’m sorry t’make ye do that. Ye said Ren patched you up?”

There isn't the slightest resistance to the healing; if anything, there's almost an odd greedy sense to it, like she's trying to soak up the Light as much as possible. The wounds heal, fully, leaving no trace at all behind but the dirt of the streets.

Natalyah nods, to both questions. "He brought Risk, so we can take him home. Reniya's probably still outside." Unlike Lathrik, she does sound angry. "I didn't hurt myself on purpose, and I wasn't trying to suffer. I just wanted to get back to you before something worse happened, that's all it was. And I'm not sure I did." The anger at Reniya is overwhelmed by distress, as she pants several times, like she's holding onto a sob. "You had Shadow in your eyes when you woke up and I don't — I don't think it was you the first time. I think there was someone else looking through, they reached your hand out to me, to do something."

Whatever questions Lathrik might have had about the Reniya situation melt away at her distress. “Are you — did anything happen? Was there any — are you feeling alright?” He sits up more fully, taking her shoulders in his hands and looking her over for further damages. “It was probably… most likely my mother.”

"I'm fine, it's you I'm worried about," she says. "She shouldn't be able to do that, unless she's close by or I don't know, if you're vulnerable. Peril mentioned that before you knew about the mana potions, that you sometimes — " She shakes her head on the rest, and drops forward into him, her head into the crook of his neck, and both arms around his chest. "I should have thought of it sooner. If I hadn't gone to sleep, if I'd gone looking for the mana potions first, I could have gotten them to you in time." She also wouldn't have been exactly leaping over buildings without that rest, but okay.

“Oi, if we’re playin’ that game, then I shouldn’t’ve gone to sleep either,” Lathrik says, holding her in an affectionate cuddle. “We’re alright now, aye? Let’s not place blame.”

Natalyah sighs, and presses a firm kiss to the side of his neck. "Peril's gone out. I don't know where," she tells him. "I just want to go home, where there's plenty of mana potions and you can get the blood off you and tonight can be over." She's not crying, but it's a near thing as she clings to him. All the defiance and determination and rigid refusal to be seen as weak of earlier is gone. She's tired and she's been worried, and her hand had hurt a lot, and it shows.

“Peril will be alright,” Lathrik assures her, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go home.”

She nods, sniffling noisily. "I don't know where your sword is," she says. For someone who wants to go home, she doesn't seem eager to move out of his embrace to start moving in that direction. Maybe they could teleport?

“That sounds like a tomorrow problem,” Lathrik says, making the first move towards the edge of the bed. He doesn’t let go of her, it’s just the hint of a suggestion, a subtle movement that takes him further away. Maybe she’ll follow.

For Lathrik, yes, she will.