Chapter Text
Earlier today, life had been simpler: it had made sense.
Earlier today, Echo had introduced some bed bugs to the Lord of Triel’s mattress and spent a bit of time loosening some of the screws of his extravagant bed frame just enough: it was a good start, and less palatable involvement would follow if he kept up his habit of harassing the local tavern maid with unwanted advances and generally boorish behaviour, knowing full well that he was abusing his station in doing so.
After that, she was on the road back to Baldur’s Gate, looking forward to a quiet night of camping under the stars and settling into a good bottle of wine (courtesy of the Lord of Triel’s wine cellar.)
But like so many other times in life up until that point her hopes had been dashed and instead of ending up glowingly drunk in the woods somewhere on the outskirts of the city, with a fire crackling merrily nearby, she instead ended up being abducted by an illithid nautiloid, where she was promptly infected with a writhing and very alive tadpole that is now making itself at home in her cerebral cortex; following that, a quick spin through Avernus, and to top it all off, some moderate head trauma and the unique experience of waking up on a beach beset by carnage wherever she turned.
Now some fool was holding a blade to her throat and threatening to kill her if she didn’t confess to her involvement in his own capture and… tadpoling.
Senna used to do some adventuring, she thought idly. I ought to ask him if he’s ever had a day like this…
“Ow fuck!” She hissed when the pale man gave her hair a yank, clearly of the mind she wasn’t answering him quickly enough. She had a mind to chide him for the hair-pulling stunt, and the words danced eagerly on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them - deciding that perhaps now wasn’t the time.
Instead she said, “Do I look like I’m one of them? You’re not the only one they absconded with like a set of fine silver.” She jerked her head towards her fellow survivor, Shadowheart, and squirmed in the man’s clutches, dismayed at the fact that he had her properly pinned. She forced herself to take a deep breath and relax, turning her gaze to meet his: his face was less than a foot from hers, and if he was going to keep a dagger at her throat, she was going to stare a few at him in the meantime. Was it a trick of the light or a consequence of the nasty bump to the head that make his eyes appear to be deeply red?
He shook her a little and began to accuse her of being a liar, but was interrupted when something caused him to cry out in pain, and she felt the strangest sensation roar through her: it was as if someone had dipped her brain and every nerve attached to it into freezing cold liquid. The pain radiated from the core of her brain and swept through every inch of her body before it gave way to… whatever it was that must be living in her captor’s head - a memory.
If this is his, is he seeing mine?
Her skin erupted in gooseflesh at the thought, and the sensation ended just as rapidly as it had come on.
The elf demanded yet more answers to the very same questions she had, and it occurred to her that much like herself and Shadowheart - for as much as they might try to deny it in an effort to maintain control - this individual was scared shitless. We all want answers, don’t we?
This realization, however, didn’t stop her from taking advantage of the slight coming undone of this person, and she was able to wriggle free from his grip. It wasn’t elegant in execution, but she did manage to get off a good kick to his shin which caused him to groan slightly, and it brought a smile to her face: she’d take what she could get today.
She regarded him from a distance far enough from the dagger in his hand: he was dressed well and there was a sort of uptight, high-strung energy about him that wasn’t uncommon in the more privileged of society. She wondered if he was of any importance, and then next wondered if he was an asshole: if he was - if he was guilty of throwing his weight around like so many others - she could just seize the opportunity to kill him on this beach and carry on: One less to worry about.
She knew this was irrational and not an option: She had no way of knowing anything about this man aside from what he chose to tell her, and besides that, passing up a useful pair of hands right then may have meant the difference between life and death.
“I was minding my business - presumably like you - when they took me.” She iterated, holding her hands out before her to indicate that she’s no threat. This didn’t seem to inspire him to sheath the blade. “And I really haven’t a clue what that—“She waved her hands around her head, “Was all about. I swear I’m just as confused as you.”
She needed him to listen. She needed him to trust her - just for now. Just until they could get off the beach and back to reality.
Just for a while.
The blade lowered.
She felt herself genuinely smile.
Now we’re getting somewhere.