[Evening Cadieux]

A couple of weeks ago the forest had been a brilliant sea of green. Now, the canopy overhead was a mosaic of chartreuse, yellow, and orange, with warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves to dapple the few red and golds already littering the grass below. The breezes were cooler but not yet cold, and they occasionally lifted the sweet, earthy scents of tree bark and flowers up to her. Fresh and clean, so different from the smog of Downtown.

Having strayed from the beaten path at least an hour beforehand, Eve picked her way through the undergrowth, her brown eyes sweeping the terrain for familiar plants. The frilly skirt of her black dress fluttered around her knees as she walked and a wicker basket hung daintily from her arm, making her feel much like Red Riding Hood albeit without the titular cloak nor the kindly grandmother to visit.

She was there to collect herbs for her store; why bother ordering online when she could simply gather them herself? She knew what they looked like, knew where to find them, and they were free! Sure, not everything she needed grew in Californian woods, but there was plenty of fennel and elderflowers and roots of all kinds – chicory, burdock, dandelion… She already had a bundle of each in her basket, laid neatly beside her pruning scissors and gardening gloves.

Not for the first time, she reflected on how nice it would be to live in woods such as these. Maybe she would save up for a proper witch’s cottage – the type with a pointy roof and a steppingstone path and honeysuckle vines crawling up its bricks. Her cats would probably enjoy the open space, the grass much softer under their paws than the tarmac and concrete slabs of her street. Although, she’d be worried about letting them out if there were bigger animals in the area. Animals that might fancy a kitty-sized snack like the wolf from Red Riding Hood’s tale. She shuddered. Perhaps there would be walls around her hypothetical home, high enough that the cats couldn’t climb out and making it her own personal grove. Then again, she’d seen Mischief perform feats that defied the laws of gravity; she’d need to keep an eye on him regardless.

The land under her shoes transitioned from grass to moss. She recognised the area well. There was another trail nearby, different from the one she’d entered the woods on, but nonetheless a route back to civilisation. Maybe it was a sign to head home. Her basket was pretty much full and she could always go back the next day if she felt her haul was lacking.

Her heel sunk.

Snap.

The sound echoed but Eve’s yelp was louder. She tumbled sideways, her ankle twisting sharply with a burst of heat. She hit the ground with an exhaled “oof,” her fall cushioned by the same moss that swallowed the heel of her shoe, and the forest blurred as water sprung to her eyes.

She rapidly blinked it back, biting her lip as she told herself it was the shock more than the pain that had caused the tears to form – her ankle wasn’t that bad, it was fine. The basket, however, laid a few metres away. Thrown unceremoniously when she’d flung her arms out in an unsuccessful attempt to straighten herself. For a fleeting moment she was annoyed by the disturbance to the aesthetic; she had organised her plants so prettily, and now most of them were strewn about the ground.

But there were more pressing things to be concerned about. She propped herself up, sitting mermaid-style to look across at her feet. One of her heels was… definitely caught in there, the delicate straps around her ankle having prevented her from simply slipping out of it when the moss took a bite. And it had surely bitten; that snap was unmistakable. She wouldn’t be wearing those shoes around town anymore – or in any other place, for that matter. How would she get home? Barefoot and limping, she imagined, unless she was to call someone for help. Except – would her phone have signal out there? How would she direct her rescuers to her? She didn't know the names of the trails, she simply knew where they were, and she didn't want to encourage her friends to wander aimlessly about in unmarked terrain for her. 

She heaved a heavy sigh, miserably eyeing her basket as she pondered what to do.


Gavyn Colburn

[Gavyn Colburn]

"Cause these plates, they smash like waves. And the wine stains hide the tears." Gavyn sung the lyrics softly into the woods, gait fluid and light as he stepped along the trail. One hand strummed at the strings of his guitar while the other slid down its neck, fingers pressing chords from memory, moving from one to the next without a thought. His canteens bounced against his leg, rattling against one another in jarring dissonance with the music, but he paid it no mind, hardly perturbed.

It was to be one last camping trip with the boys before the weather got too cold to enjoy the nights. They were going to get drunk, sing and hoot to their hearts' content and see who complained last when it began to rain. Maybe go shroom hunting as they ran through the trees amid the downpour, screaming to be heard over the sound of rain pummeling the forest floor. It was bound to be a night to remember. A night where no note was off-key and no chord misplaced. Nothing could go amiss. Everything would be taken in stride as if intended.

"But that breathing you hear, don't mistake it for sighs. Don't you realize? They're just battle cries, dear."

The lyrics died and his lips tucked into a pouty frown as the guitar struck a discordant chord. So much for that. He glanced down the neck of the instrument and fiddled with a knob, bouncing stride unchanged. It was his camping guitar — smaller than was fitting for him, the wood showed signs of being touched by moisture in the past and the sound wasn't perfect. It was precisely its rugged, beat-up charm that made it the perfect instrument for around a campfire. No fussing about tossing it down in the dirt or dusting it with ash. He continued to fiddle with it, giving it a few testing strums between each slight ministration until he was satisfied. Then the smile returned to his face and his lips parted to pick up where he'd left off.

Before he could get the first renewed strum out, however, a noise gave him pause. His feet stilled and he tipped his head, straining his ears to listen for more. It had been a cry, far enough away from him that it was too softened to discern exactly from what, though it had seemed distressed. There were rumors of wolves in the forest that Gavyn didn't doubt, but he couldn't imagine the yelp befitting of one. Plus, where there was one wolf, there were many wolves — he'd be more like to hear an answer.

Whether it was curiosity or concern that moved him, he himself wasn't sure, but Gavyn stepped off the trail in the direction of the noise, swiveling his guitar to rest on his back and adjusting the strap across his chest so it lay askew but secure against his camping packs. He picked his way through the trees, eyes scanning around him.

When he saw her — a woman thrown upon the forest floor, presumably the source of the yell — his step faltered and he was momentarily struck dumb. She was slight, her skin fair, and dressed very atypically for a hike through the woods. Or better yet, her attire — and even the way she lay toppled upon a bed of moss with her legs beneath her, looking disconsolate — was more fitting for some storybook or fantasy movie. As if he'd stumbled upon some elusive, ethereal wood nymph or faery. Or perhaps one of those mythical creatures that lured its prey by disguising itself as beautiful, otherworldly women in distress?

He hesitated but, shaking away the thoughts, moved forward with a quickened pace, his pack and canteens once again banging around noisily. "Hey, are you okay?" He called, slowing as he approached her. He stopped a respectful pace away, too familiar with how some people might be wary of strangers in the woods. His eye drew to the basket, flung just out of her reach, and then to her... heels... one of them sunk into the moss. Somehow, despite the realness of the scene before him, the whole thing had a staged, almost unbelievable quality about it — her dress, the shoes, her painted lips, the fact that she somehow looked completely put together and flawless despite the tumble — oh, shit. Struck by a sudden, horrifying thought, one perhaps a tidge more realistic than fairytales and storybooks, Gavyn lifted his eyes in a quick scan of the woods around him. Had he just interrupted a shoot for some movie or music video?

It was the perfect explanation — he could see her now, running in slow-motion between the trees as some dainty, elegant ballad played. Perhaps violin and pan flute. Dress flowing behind, clutched in her hands as she chased the camera. Music crescendoing to a chaotic head before she takes a tumble. Cut to the basket flung through the air to roll to a stop out of reach, music abruptly quieted and tapered. Somber and wistful. "Oh. I didn't just ruin a take, did I?" He spoke absently, waiting for some perturbed director to scream 'cut' and yell his frustrations at him. No such persons appeared though, stepping around tree trunks or revealing cameras hidden among the brush. After a moment, he looked back at her with a few, surprised blinks, then unshouldered his packs and guitar so he could take a tentative step forward. As if she were a wounded animal that might bolt if he were too hasty. "Are you okay?" He repeated, dropping to a crouch as his eyes pulled again to the heel sunk into the moss. "Did you twist it?"


Evening Cadieux
OOC: Gav was entirely inspired by Joey Batey and the Amazing Devil, so appropriately, the song he is singing is one of theirs~

[Evening Cadieux]

All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. She could have fallen into the shallow, muddy ditch only a few paces away. Her gatherings could have been scattered somewhere irretrievable. She could have fallen far from any trail and broken a limb, unable to find her way back to civilisation before nightfall. It was lucky she stumbled when she did.

New sounds reached her ears. A strange clinking and rattling and steady footfalls beneath that, decidedly human, interrupting the relative quiet of the woods. She turned her face towards the noise in time to see a man encumbered with what looked to be camping gear emerging from the trees.

Canteens bumped against his leg, producing the clinking sound. It was difficult to gauge his height from her position but he was definitely tall. His strong build (which she likely wouldn’t have noticed if they’d met in a different setting) made her chest flutter in alarm in the context of being a lone woman in the forest, and for a moment she felt the urge to flatten herself to the ground like a frightened rabbit, as if doing so would hide her from view and cause him to move on. Humourlessly, it occurred to her that having her own little cottage deep in the woods would realistically not be as idyllic nor safe as she’d fantasised.

His initial call to her was not met with a verbal response. Eve only smiled – instinctively, sheepishly – and kept quiet in the vain hope that her telepathy would stretch far enough to hear his thoughts and intentions. Of course, it did not. And even if it had and uncovered something sinister, it would only have served as a warning. But rather than continue his stride towards her and fuel the panic that was beginning to twist within her, he slowed to a halt a short distance away. Confusion (or perhaps alarm – Eve struggled to tell) flickered across his features as he wondered aloud, seemingly to himself, if he’d ruined a take.

He blinked at her. She blinked back, lips parting before abruptly falling closed again. Did he think she was filming something? It was difficult to decide how she should feel about that. Flattered, perhaps, that he would look at her and think she could be an actress. Embarrassed, that her state of dress was so inappropriate for hiking that he had to assume she was doing something far grander than what was essentially flower-picking in the woods.

He unshouldered his belongings and kneeled down, once again asking if she was okay, and her eyes were drawn to the instrument he’d set aside. The sight of it… soothed the wariness in her. Perhaps it was naïve but, in her head, someone who took a banged-up guitar on a hike was unlikely to be someone criminal. Especially when that someone had soft-looking curly hair and laughter lines on their face. Besides, if he were dangerous, why pretend to be anything else when she was clearly in no position to do anything about it?

“Oh, um –” Eve stroked a strand of her own hair, averting her gaze to her heels. She bit her lip. Tried to figure out what to say. She was out of her element, much more accustomed to introducing herself to strangers with an air of mystery and calm – something she couldn’t exactly do while sprawled on the floor. Should she ask for help? She had been debating what to do before he arrived, maybe he would have suggestions or even an offer that would solve her entire dilemma. But what kind of help could he really provide besides pointing her back to the trail? He looked prepared for some sort of trip; she couldn't ask him to walk her out of the woods and drive her home. That would be selfish to ask, especially of a stranger.

“No – I mean, yes,” She looked back at him, smiling warmly in a way she expected was out of place considering the bizarreness of the situation. “I’m alright, thank you. No, I didn’t twist my ankle. No, there’s no… take.”

Her ankle throbbed as if scolding her for the lie. She ignored it.

“Thank you for coming to investigate,” she continued. The least she could do was show some gratitude, some recognition that he seemed to be a good Samaritan type. His arrival had given her the prod she needed to stop sitting around and thinking about what could be done. It made her realise the only thing she really could do was stand up, start walking, and call a ride home when she got to the road. “If I’d been hurt, you would have been a life-saver.” Thank goodness she wasn’t. If she’d broken her leg she would have been in floods of tears and even more embarrassed than she already was. 

Carefully, she pushed herself to her feet, leaning her weight on her uninjured leg. She brushed down her dress and gave her trapped foot an experimental pull. Lightning flashed within her flesh. She grimaced. Ouch. The heel remained buried. Conscious of her audience, Eve sent him a reassuring smile. “I got it, hold on –” Would it be rude to wave him off back to the trail? Send him on his way? Maybe she would have more luck if she didn't have eyes on her.

Another pull. Same result. She tugged again, hard. Too hard. And yelped as the heel broke completely off and freed her from the mossy prison.

She staggered straight into the shallow ditch.

Mud splashed her legs and swallowed her shoes, the cold sludge spilling over her feet and sinking her deeper. She hissed through her teeth with another grimace, heat bursting anew through her ankle. The only saving grace was that she’d managed to stay standing this time around, her arms held out slightly to steady herself.

Disgusted and incredulous, startled and mortified, she shot a wide-eyed look towards the man like a fawn caught without its mother.



Gavyn Colburn

[Gavyn Colburn]

The woman — not a fairy wood nymph or folk-song music-video performer — seemed unsure, perhaps even a little embarrassed or at a loss, as she blinked at him and stroked her long, dark hair. Her gaze drew to her ankle, taking a moment to seemingly mull over her circumstance. Even the way she eventually assured him she was unhurt was a bit affected, as she fumbled from a 'no' to a 'yes'. For a brief, disheartened moment, Gavyn considered the distressing possibility that it was his presence that caused the uncertainty — he might have to convince her he was a decent person and not some large, creepy man prowling through the woods, hungrily alerted to sounds of suffering.

But then she turned her face back to him and offered a warm, reassuring smile. Gavyn was quick to return it, his eyes lighting and his lips spreading in a wide, instantly-relieved beam. Not only was she okay, but now she'd smiled and he'd smiled — friendship unlocked. Good. No need to be cautious or wary now. With a reciprocated upturn of the lips, they'd established their good intentions and that was that. No more fuss. Still smiling, he dipped his head in a vigorous nod as she went on to explain that there was no performance and thanked him for coming along. "Of course!" He half-chuckled the words warmly.

A little unsteady, the woman stood and Gavyn did the same, a hand falling to still the noisy jostling of his canteens. Now that the immediate concern for her wellbeing was out of the way, he allowed himself to be momentarily amused at how slight she was beside him. A whole head shorter and, if he had to guess, close to half his weight. She brushed down the front of her pretty black dress — again, an odd choice for hiking attire that he would have to inquire about, now that it couldn't be explained away. Not that it required explanation exactly — he himself fancied a wild dress every now and again — but he'd have to know why, even if the answer was nothing more nuanced than that she liked them. Planting his fists on his hips, his gaze pulled again to the basket that'd presumably been flung from her arms when she fell. Bundles of plants littered the ground around it and he started forward with the intent to begin collecting them.

But he paused as the woman began to give her leg a tug and he realized she was more stuck than he'd initially thought. He also didn't miss the flash of pain that contorted briefly across her features. He always noticed it — was fascinated by it. It was always difficult for him to gauge how much certain wounds or knocks affected people since he himself had never felt anything of the sort. By necessity, he'd grown watchful for bruises on both himself and others — acutely aware of the grimaces and grunts that indicated when he wasn't being gentle enough or hugged a little too hard.

"Here, let m—" His eyes dropped to her trapped shoe and he began to crouch so he could try and help nudge it free. But the woman gave a particularly hard pull and the heel snapped — sending her careening sidelong with a startled yelp. Flinching, Gavyn reached out to steady her but was too slow; his fingers catching only air as she staggered into the muddy ditch beside them. His inefficacious, outstretched hands lifted to cover his mouth — smothering the bemused quirk that pulled, completely unbidden, at his lips — while she hissed and shot him an appalled look, her eyes wide and her arms lifted to either side of her. He could have giggled at the sight and the ridiculous escalation of her situation, but he was somewhat guiltily aware that his role as a spectator might have played a part in it. And that she might not appreciate a chuckle at her expense and misfortune.

Despite his intentions, he couldn't suppress the giggle completely — a low, hearty chuckle slipped quietly from his lips as he lowered his hands, face etched clearly with apologetic amusement. "I'm sorry to laugh, really, but gosh... what luck! Stumbling out of the frying pan right into the fire or whatever they say!" Gavyn pushed forward with a small shake of his head, keeping one foot planted firm on level ground and the other anchored against the slope of the ditch. He outstretched both arms toward her, palms up and fingers splayed, keeping himself just above the mud. "Come on, I got you." He tipped his head and blew an amused snort through his nose, lips curling briefly before he spoke. "Before a tree falls on you or you stumble your way to some unexplainable cliff in the middle of the woods. Get bitten by a snake? I dunno, Lady Luck seems to have it out for you right now."

Evening Cadieux

[Evening Cadieux]

Evening watched him cover his mouth. Watched him try – and fail – to stop the chuckle that slipped out from it. Weirdly, she felt she ought to be mad; most people she knew would have gasped and hurried to lift her out, fussing over her all the while. But she wasn’t mad at all and she exhaled in a rush of air, releasing a giggle of her own as her arms flopped back to her sides. 

The stranger moved closer and reached out to her. She shook her head with a wry smile, biting her lip as it struck her that despite his visibly larger and stronger frame, with one of his feet on the slope she could probably catch him by surprise and yank him into the mud too. If they were friends she might have given the mischievous impulse some honest consideration, or at the very least she would have teased it; innocently asking if he would like to join her while she gave his fingers a gentle tug. But as it were, she decided it wouldn’t be very kind. Too early to tell if he would be so smiley if their positions were reversed, especially when his gear indicated he wasn’t purely there for a day trip. 

She sighed airily. “I think you may be right; I must have done something to offend her, or else tempted her sense of humour with my choice in footwear.” Really, it was a miracle this sort of thing hadn’t happened before. She’d gone on countless foraging trips (all in heels of varying sizes; she didn’t even own a pair of trainers, let alone hiking boots) and not once had she stumbled... Maybe the semi-precious stones on her keychain needed cleansing, their luck tainted, or else in need of recharge.

She slipped her hands into his (inwardly praying her palms weren’t clammy – with her two recent stumbles and the still-present ache in her ankle, it seemed likely), and let him help her onto drier land. The mud pulled at her with cringe-inducing squelching sounds and she winced as she drew free, but it was far easier to escape than the moss had been – presumably due to the additional aid. She grinned up at him and didn’t immediately drop his hands, content to keep the proximity if only for a few extra seconds. It was a good excuse to hear whatever thoughts floated around in his noggin; one last check to ensure he wasn’t an axe murderer, waiting for his chance to strike. “Thank you. That tree over there does look a bit suspicious. It might have fallen at any moment.”

With a friendly squeeze she let go and carefully (unevenly) stepped around him towards her belongings, trying not to think about how weird it felt to wear a heel without a heel. It would make sense to take both shoes off, she supposed. But then she’d get mud on her hands too, and when the terrain eventually faded from moss to dirt to concrete there’d be nothing to protect her soles.

She paused, leaning more of her weight on one leg than the other. Her gaze pulled across to her basket, then down at her mud-splattered self, and she put her hands on her hips with another sigh, one that was still more playful than genuinely distressed. “What a mess, hm?” Would it be better to let the muck dry? To brush it off afterwards like she would with sand after a day at the beach? Or should she find something to wipe off the worst of it while it was still wet? It was a question she'd not had to consider before. One far more suited to her sister, who was much more accustomed to being pelted with mud from playing whatever sports she took a fancy to. Either way, once Eve had gotten home and showered off the worst of it, she was definitely having a bubble bath.

She blinked, looking back over at her newly acquired companion. She supposed it couldn’t hurt to introduce herself, seeing that he was being such a good sport about it all, and maybe it would prompt him to return the favour, so when she inevitably recounted the story to her friends or sister or parents she wouldn’t be referring to him as ‘the stranger in the woods’. No, a man with a name would be far less alarming, she imagined, and of course she was curious herself; maybe she'd do some sleuthing after the bubble bath she'd promised herself. “I’m Evening. Or Eve. Whatever you prefer.” Her hands laced together in front of her, her thumb stroking the side of her index finger. “I don’t suppose you could point me back in the direction of whatever trail you came from? And tell me roughly the time it took you to get this far?” She was almost certain she already knew where the trail was and how much distance stood between them and civilisation, yet she figured she would ask anyway. There was always a chance she could be wrong, and with how unlucky she'd been thus far – well, that chance was looking more likely than before.


Gavyn Colburn

[Gavyn Colburn]

Still stuck in the muck, the woman's horrified expression fell away and she giggled, her arms falling to her sides as if she'd figuratively exhaled the threatening despair of the entire ordeal. Allowed herself to laugh it off and find a bit of gaiety in the ridiculousness of the whole thing. The sound and sight of it coaxed Gavyn's own lips into a wider beam, not only pleased that she wasn't upset with him for chuckling but pleased also that she could laugh at all. Sometimes it was easier to give in to negativity — to be angry and irritated at one's own misfortune. He wouldn't blame her. But it was nice to see her sidestep the pessimism completely and embrace levity in the face of her tribulation.

As she slipped her hands in his, she smiled in a way that was almost sly, which prompted Gavyn's eyes to narrow slightly, suddenly suspicious. His fingers flexed reflexively and he could very nearly guess at what wild thought floated through her mind — because it was something he would unhesitatingly do, had the roles been reversed. Something he could expect from any one of his friends. A part of him dared her to; the suspicion in his gaze backlit by a faint glow of knowing challenge. But she allowed him to pull her from the ditch without incident and his expression smoothed. Crisis averted. Though it'd be far less of a crisis and more like a fun turn of events; quickly-forged camaraderie in the fact that both of them were completely mud-slathered and could now laugh all they wanted at one another.

The thought nearly had him leaping into the ditch himself, loudly exclaiming his total disregard as he took it a bit further and rolled around. But he refrained. It would be a bit much. He didn't want to scare her off already. Not at the very first, genuine laugh!

Back on solid ground, she steadied herself. Her hands were small in his, fingers thin and delicate, and as she thanked him and kept the ball rolling on his "can't-trust-a-tree" line of humor, it occurred to him that she didn't immediately pull them from his grasp. He bent his head back with the obligatory, perhaps overly done, laugh that the joke warranted and felt his heart give a familiar, warm squeeze in his chest. Immediately, he could hear his roommate's voice, made harsh and chiding with annoyance, in the back of his mind; berating him for his inclination to carelessly swoon over every person who gave him a bit of attention and was nice to him.

She did slip her hands from his then and stepped around him, casting her gaze about her scattered belongings and planting her hands on her hips with a sigh. It wasn't truly forlorn and still edged with a particular, playful levity. Gavyn frowned, trying to think of how he could help. Unfortunately, he wasn't the one in his group who packed in preparation for unexpected mishaps... if any of his rag-tag group were. They were unprepared for most things. "I have... clean socks?" He began, the words tilted with uncertainty as he cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders with a small, somewhat-sheepish tuck to his lips. "In my pack. If you want to... I dunno... wipe the muck from your leggies?" 

A little bit of mud never hurt anyone. But he imagined it was uncomfortable, perhaps even cold, and would be even more uncomfortable when it dried and clung to her skin. But ah — it wasn't the brightest suggestion. Who would want to use a stranger's socks? As if to keep her from having to politely, perhaps awkwardly, assure him that "uh, she'd pass, thanks", Gavyn shook his head with a coy chuckle and stepped forward to pick up the wicker basket. He stooped over the scattered array of plants, eyes darting across them thoughtfully.

For what purpose had she collected them? Did she study them? Press them like some people did with flowers? It was obvious they'd once been in neat, organized piles, but her tumble had strewn them about the forest floor haphazardly. Though Gavyn could tell the difference between some of them, there were only slighter variations between others and he was suddenly wary of being too quick-handed or thick-fingered — not wanting to ruin any delicate, ordering system she perhaps had or to handle them with a perceived lack of care.

The woman introduced herself and, still bent over in his study, Gavyn took a long moment to play with the fit of her name in his mouth. Swished it on his tongue. Repeated it a few times in his head, comparing the sound of the full name against the shortened nickname. Finally, with a convinced nod, he decided there was something in the added syllable — or was it syllables? ... he mentally repeated it a couple more times, emphasizing it in different ways — that really tied the whole thing together. Made it prettier and complete. "Evening," he repeated thoughtfully, nodding again as he decided wholeheartedly that he'd made the right choice.

Finally coming to the conclusion that he just couldn't scoop the plants ceremoniously back into the basket, he stood and offered it to her instead. "Nice to meet you. I'm Gavyn. Gav, if you like that better." His brow lifted and his mouth parted slightly; a thought thundering visibly across his features. Should he consider the nickname Vyn? It had never occurred to him before. But it was so effortlessly cool. Maybe he'd take it for a spin someday soon. Though... he could imagine the deadpan, instantly disapproving stares of his friends as he laid it on them for the first time. They'd either laugh for minutes without end or stare him down in stony silence until he rescinded the ill-advised attempt completely. So... after all, maybe not. Oh well. The thought disappeared as quickly as it'd come and his expression smoothed instantly.

"How about I do you one better and show you the way back to the trail?" He chuckled, stepping now toward his discarded guitar and camping packs. "I can't very well leave you to walk through the woods alone, now that we've both acknowledged that the trees may have it out for ya." His brow crinkled as he tried to think how long he'd been walking the trail up to this point. Twenty minutes? Forty? Time always passed so weirdly when he had his guitar with him while he hiked. It was difficult to gauge how long he'd gone when half the time was spent walking at a snail's pace, moving languidly while he strummed a sorrowful ballad, and the other half was spent all but sprint-skipping to an upbeat and jovial ditty.

"I don't think it's.... terribly far? Back to civilization." He voiced finally, painfully aware of how unhelpful that was. As he slung his guitar over his shoulder, his gaze drew back to Evening and he narrowed his eyes with a small purse to his lips. "But first... are you sure you're okay?" His voice wasn't necessarily accusing or suspicious... but more... lightly chiding. As if he were imitating his own mother, asking him again if he'd done something bad after he'd initially denied it — giving him one more chance to own up to the truth that she was already fully aware of. Asking him again if he'd been bothering the family cat after he'd stubbornly denied it, covered head-to-toe in bloody scratches with the cat visibly annoyed across the room. Or if he'd eaten the last slice of cake and he'd refused to comment, entire face smeared with crumbs and chocolate.

Evening said she was fine, but he'd seen the winces. The intentional favor of weight on one leg. It seemed to him that her options were already limited — she could keep the shoes on and hobble through the woods with a horribly stilted gait. Or she could take the shoes off and risk the forest floor barefoot — not advisable with the occasional bramble, rock, or tree root waiting to penetrate an unprotected sole. Both options weren't too amazing if she'd actually hurt her ankle.

Gavyn offered her a cheesy beam. He crossed his arms over his chest and drummed the flats of his fingers against his biceps in a quick drumroll before stretching out his arms performatively. "I can carry you if need be? These arms are for two things most of the time — hugging... and carrying girls with broken heels out of trouble."

Evening Cadieux

[Evening Cadieux]

The man offered his socks to clean her legs with, sounding a bit uncertain of himself as he did. Eve immediately wanted to refuse, not because she thought the offer was particularly odd or insulting but because she would feel bad for ruining his nice clean things. Yet he chuckled and moved away before she could, and as he picked up her basket and cast his eyes over her scattered plant clippings it was clear he intended to gather them back together. Again, a protest formed on the tip of her tongue, ready to assure him that he needn’t go to such trouble for her. But the thought crossed her mind that it might come across as rude, like she was snootily telling him not to touch her things because she believed him to be 'unclean' or something.

At least his offer answered the mystery of whether she should try to clean up. The sludge was cooling rapidly, increasingly frigid on her legs as the autumnal breeze swept over it. Maybe she could find a suitably large leaf…

She scanned the clearing's edge, lips curling into an amused upturn as she listened to him repeat her name in his head, testing it with slightly different pronunciations, and curling further as he introduced himself with the fleeting consideration of using the nickname Vyn. She took the offered plants and basket from him with a knowing smirk. Personally, she thought Gavyn was a much more fitting moniker, but she was unable to resist the temptation his musings presented.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too, Vyn.” It took tremendous effort not to lay emphasis on the nickname. She willed herself to be patient. To let the suspicions build and build and build. As fun as it was to uncloak her gift without preamble, to dump it on people's heads like a bucket of water and watch them splutter under the shock of it, it was sometimes more fun to draw out the reveal. To create multiple ‘coincidences’ until finally her target started to squint at her, started to test her, suddenly shouting in their heads or thinking of catchy songs – whatever they could do to catch her out.

Noting the lily-pad-like foliage of an umbrella plant, she hobbled over to it as gracefully as possible and rested her basket on the ground, crouching beside it while Gavyn offered to walk her back to the trail. She blinked at him over her shoulder, meeting his lightly chiding look as he asked again whether she was okay. She supposed... there really was no point in hiding it, not when he'd proven to have no ill intent toward her. Her head tipped forward in a reluctant nod before she turned her attention to the plant. “I twisted my ankle a bit,” she confessed, and (after a silent apology to the plant) snapped off a fall-reddened leaf. “But it’s fine. I’m sure it will calm down.” She got to wiping her legs, creating interesting streaks against her skin but ultimately ridding herself of the worst of the mud. It started to dry more quickly, now the layer was barely paper-thin.

She stood again, turning back to him as he drew attention to his arms, pointing out the strength that had stirred wariness in her when he first appeared. The declaration, however, that they were used for hugs and carrying girls with broken heels – made her hiccup. Caught between a laugh and an incredulous exhale.

“Carry me?” She was not proud of the way she squeaked the words. She wasn’t usually so easily flustered – flirtations being more likely to earn an amused roll of her eyes or shake of her head. But this – It wasn't flirting, she was sure. Just a very generous proposal that left her feeling a little bewildered. “I – I couldn’t possibly expect you to–” The mental image of him sweeping her up, bridal style, flashed through her mind. The fantasist in her, the part that consumed romantic dramas like nobody’s business, thought it was a great idea. Thought it was a shame she wasn’t wearing a longer, more dramatic gown – something with lots of tulle to cascade almost to the ground. The realist in her, the part that reminded her she was an adult, disagreed. She wasn’t an especially heavy person, but carrying someone for an unknowable amount of time was no simple task. She used to tire from carrying Sunny around, when she was a baby.

“You’re already carrying a lot,” she pointed out. “And aren’t you headed somewhere? I’d hate to ruin your plans…” Seeing that he had a guitar, she assumed he was meeting with someone. Then again, it was possible he might have wanted to serenade himself under the stars. But then she remembered – he’d only said he’d show her back to the trail, right? She was getting ahead of herself. Maybe she wouldn't be taking up too much of his time after all. She eyed him, hesitant and unsure. “Just back to the trail?”


Gavyn Colburn

[Gavyn Colburn]

She called him Vyn.

Gavyn blinked dumbly at her, trying to decide whether he'd been musing aloud rather than to himself. Could it be that the nickname was far more obvious than he'd thought? That it was a shortening that could occur to someone years, decades even, before it ever occurred to him? So fitting, perhaps, that a stranger could immediately attribute it to him with no encouragement? The idea was honestly baffling. Made him momentarily reconsider his entire life, his perception in the eyes of those around him, and whether or not he could ever live up to the "tough, cool guy" front that the nickname merited.

He imagined not and shook the mystified thoughts away as he watched Evening scoop the worst of the mud from her legs with a large leaf. He nodded knowingly as she admitted that she did, in fact, twist her ankle. It was no big deal though, she assured him, and Gavyn really had no way of gauging whether or not that was true. How much did a wince hide? How much pain warranted a hiss through grit teeth? He couldn't be sure. Could only trust that she was being honest with him and that erring on the side of caution was the best route to take. He himself had been the poster boy for exacerbating injuries his whole life; a cautionary tale for worsening fractures and breaks by insisting they were less severe than they were.

His offer to carry her invoked a far more immediate and open reaction. She parroted his words in a startled squeak, sounding hesitant and nearly bewildered by the idea. Gavyn nodded enthusiastically, brow lifted imploringly and eyes flashing with prepared reassurance when she began to sputter a refusal, pointing out his things and worrying about his plans. But Evening's protests trailed instead to questioning acceptance, uncertainty still evident in her tone.

"Ruin my plans? Nah, I'm only camping with some friends and we'll have all night for that." He smiled wide, trying to make the encouragement apparent and palpable before he turned away to nudge his pack and guitar next to one another at the base of a large tree. "I'll just leave my things here and come back for them on my way up. No biggie." There was nothing in the packs that curious animals would be interested in. He wasn't the one of the group to be trusted with food and the like. If he was, the whole group would be doomed to snacking the whole night on peanuts and Guinness, and no one would be happy with him then.

He turned back to her, sucking in a long breath that he then exhaled with faux, exaggerated resignation. "And I suppose, sure — just back to the trail." If that made her more comfortable and he couldn't convince her that she wasn't putting him out, then he'd reluctantly part ways with her there. But if she decided she needed help down the trail, or just wanted the company, then he'd be more than happy to accompany her further.

He approached her and — after making sure in a soft murmur that she was really okay with it, hoping she'd shoo him away before he made her uncomfortable — scooped her up. With one arm braced under the crook of her legs and the other supporting her back, he lifted her and reconciled his center with her added weight. A piggyback ride might have been easier, perhaps more practical, if not for the dress, but this was hardly a task. Far easier than toting around a drunken, wriggly roommate who couldn't make it up the stairs of their apartment.

"Good?" He checked, allowing her a moment to settle and ensure she was comfortable enough before he stepped forward. He picked a careful path through the undergrowth, watching for reaching roots and trying to be mindful of where he walked so he would be able to find his way back to his things when the time came. When he felt steady enough with her weight and the pace, he sighed airily. "So, Evening," he cracked a grin at her name, pleased again at the way it sounded. "What are you doing out here? Besides just enjoying nature and all that great jazz. What are you collecting?"

Evening Cadieux

[Evening Cadieux]

Evening worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Despite his assurances, she felt bad for cutting into his time with his friends and hoped they wouldn’t mind waiting as he implied. She would hate to cause them anxiety if Gavyn took longer to show up than they might have expected. However, this particular concern didn’t seem to cross his mind, so she felt tentatively safe in assuming the timing of his arrival wouldn’t be a problem.

He leaned his belongings up against a tree, informing her he would collect them later, then turned to her with exaggerated resignation as he agreed to only take her as far as the trail. Good. That shouldn't take much time at all, and even if the sky began to darken, her exit from the forest restricted by her twisted ankle, being on the path would ensure she got home before the day ended entirely.

With a quick nod to confirm she was okay with it, she allowed him to pick her up and carefully looped her hands behind his neck to keep herself upright, holding herself very still as if that would somehow make her lighter and make carrying her easier. Her basket, with her arm through its handle, rested in her lap.

As he checked whether she was comfortable, she nodded again. “Yes, thank you,” she murmured back. She felt a lot less like a fairytale princess than she'd imagined. Rather than appreciating the aesthetic, she was fretting over his comfort, her belongings, his belongings and friends, her dress, and the idea of muddy remnants on her legs getting on him. She felt very much like a cumbersome kid having to be carried home after playing a little too hard, though she couldn’t actually remember being picked up in such a way. Her dad had always sat her on his shoulders whereas her mom would perch her on her hip, until Eve grew too much for it to be comfortable anymore.

Gavyn was careful as he carried her through the woods, checking for obstacles and obstructions and making note of the route so he could retrieve his belongings later. It was reassuring. And Eve had relaxed somewhat by the time he asked what had brought her to the forest.

“Oh, I’m out here because I’m a witch,” she told him in the same airy manner that he’d sighed. She let the statement hang for a moment, looking around at their surroundings with a neutral expression, then turned her eyes back to him with an impish quirk to her lips. “Don’t worry, I’m not like the kind from Hansel and Gretel. You’re perfectly safe with me.”

Her gaze dropped briefly to her basket, returning to him thoughtfully. “I was gathering herbs to sell in my store, Moondweller’s Cauldron. It’s downtown, maybe you’ve seen it before? Though, it’s only been open for a few months, so maybe not. You may think it’s a little unfair for me to sell things that people can come here and gather themselves for free, but most people don’t know what to look for or don’t have the time or don’t know how to prepare them.”

“The roots I have – burdock, chicory, and dandelion – and the fennel are all good for digestion and have many antioxidants and other benefits, so I make them into tea blends. Chicory root is especially popular; it tastes a little like coffee but without the caffeine, and it can help if you’re stressed or anxious.”

“Elderflower is delicious. Sweet, a little floral and fruity. I’ll sell most of it as tea like the rest, but I’ll keep some of it for myself and mix it into cakes or, more likely, jams, and give them to my sister and friends. Fennel is good in cooking as well – for flavouring, that is.”

Realising that he hadn’t actually asked for a lecture on plants, she closed her mouth before she could launch into a more in-depth explanation of what each of her gatherings could do. He was already doing a lot to help her, it wouldn’t be polite to talk his ear off with topics he may have no interest in. Additionally, she was curious about him. 

She smiled at him with a hint of apology, silently sorry for giving more information than he may have expected. “Do you go camping with your friends a lot? Play your guitar for them by a fire?”


Gavyn Colburn

[Gavyn Colburn]

OOC: Bruh, I meant for this to be a quick little speedrun post but it turned into an unnecessarily-long hot garbage fire lolol, that's my bad~ Feel free to have them come to the trail or whatever you want, or let me know if this isn't enough for you to actually work with.

----

Evening seemed to settle well enough in his grasp. In the arms resting across his shoulders and the hands clasped behind his neck, he could feel her gradually begin to relax. Reassured by her relaxing, and realizing the walk through the undergrowth wasn't particularly difficult or treacherous, Gavyn let himself gradually become less cautious and wary; pace transforming into something somewhat strolling.

Then came the breezy answer that Evening was out in the woods because she was a witch.

Gavyn inwardly startled, blinking dumbly. She'd said it so flippantly. So inconsequentially. As if were a commonplace thing to claim. He was reminded of when he'd first stumbled upon her — looking so out of place, tumbled on the forest floor — and momentarily considered if she were some elusive, mythical being trying to lure him in by calling out for help. How silly he'd felt a moment later. But had he been right after all? Had he tried his hardest to come across as non-threatening and amicable, unaware he was the one who shouldn't feel safe? Unaware that she only wished to disarm him so she could turn him into a toad or chop him up for tonight's stew?

Only a beat passed before she angled her face to him, the beginning of knowing, mischievous pull at her lips, and reassured him that he didn't have to worry. She wasn't the type of witch from the horror stories. He was safe with her.

As if that weren't exactly what a scary witch, snaring unsuspecting men in the woods, would say.

Gavyn chuckled quietly, deciding again that he was being silly. Had watched too many movies. Of course, she wasn't going to eat him. And besides — just in case — it was always best to play these things cool. The moment she knew he hadn't bought the comforts would be the moment she leaped to action. Then bam, toad-time. He would just play it cool.

As she continued — answering why she was gathering herbs and then explaining what they were, what they did, and how she used them — thoughts of toads and Gavyn-stock stews were immediately forgotten.

He could tell when someone loved something. When they spoke of their hobbies, their interests, their craft, or whatever else it was that they held dear, he couldn't help the feeling of warmth that budded in his chest. There was truly nothing better than listening to someone share something they enjoyed. Appreciating how they made it almost come alive as they spoke, eyes sparking and voice full of care. And knowing they probably loved it so much more than they could really express.

He could listen to her talk about it all day.

Not because he was particularly interested in herbs or had any true desire to learn more of their intricacies and uses — all of that was far beyond his capacity to keep up with — but because she liked it. And he liked that she liked it. Wanted to encourage, witness, and perhaps share in the small comfort it brought her. Even if he was unable to retain a single bit of it. Which one was for cooking and which one was for sweets? How the hell did she remember which one was which or tell them apart from one another? How could she spot them among the wood's normal foliage or remember where to look? His brain throbbed just thinking about it.

After a while — in which Gavyn's head absolutely spun with all the information she provided but the appreciative warmth in his chest persisted — Evening opened her mouth to continue... then stopped herself. Her lips pressed back together and she angled toward him with an apologetic smile, then inquired about him instead.

If Gavyn had been a dog, his ears might have perked to attention. He was well-acquainted with that — with reeling oneself in. Forcing oneself to be quiet and swallowing down what more they had to say when they realized the person they were speaking to might be bored and disinterested.

A part of him wanted to immediately implore her to continue. Wanted to make it clear that, while he had only the faintest idea what she was talking about, her just talking about it was still nice. Nothing was sadder than a person wanting to share something they cared about and the people they wanted to share it with wanting little to do with it in turn. Even if he didn't share the interest, he didn't want to be thought of as an unwilling listener. Someone who — if she weren't in his arms — might be picking at his nails or nodding along with clear, marked disinterest.

"I've never heard of Moondweller's Cauldron," he started, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "But I do walk around downtown quite a bit, so I will most certainly look for it and drop by to check it out." He wondered if she believed him. A lot of people probably said that, if only to placate and put an end to the conversation. It'd happened to him plenty of times. People would promise to come to his next show or performance, visit him at the bar during his shift, or meet up at some festival, and he'd hopefully scan crowds of faces and never find them. He liked to think people just got busy or forgot but... sometimes wondered if they promised things knowing full well they had no intention of ever seeing them through.

Not him, though.

The start of a sly, knowing smile tugged at one corner of Gavyn's mouth. He wouldn't forget. He'd show up, pore over whatever wares the store offered, and ask her a million questions. Just to have her share with him the things she knew and cared about. Even if she was pleased to see him at first, and was happy to indulge him for a while, she'd probably have to chase him out with a broom when she decided she'd had enough. "Oooh, and buy some jams. Do you sell the jams, too? Or just the herbs themselves and tea blends? I'm not a huge tea drinker, so you won't catch me lying and saying I'll buy you out of those. But cakes and treats?" He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, tipping his head back as if he were imagining the delicacies; smile curling wider across his face. "I could keep you busy for a very long while. You'd have to triple your visits to the forest to keep up with the stock! And eventually," he paused to sigh sadly, lifting his brow forlornly as he dragged his gaze to Evening's face. "You'll have to ban me as a customer because you broke too many heels."

A teasing smile snuck back across his lips — wiping the previous, laughably-miserable expression clean from his face — and he winked. Just as he started to laugh, though, something caught his foot and forced him to an awkward, jarring stop. "Woop, hold on, sorry," he murmured quietly, apologizing for swinging Evening around as he glanced down at where a sharp stick had bitten deep into the sole of his shoe. "There we go, all good," he smiled triumphantly when he yanked free and stepped on, unaware of the blood left behind.

"Yes, me and the boys are out here quite a bit. I would say I'd keep an eye out for herbs for you, but I don't know if I'd be any good at it. I'd probably pick half the forest and come back to you with huge, overflowing bags stuffed full of common weeds and plants that you can find no use for." He snorted, then launched on. "And you bet I play the guitar by the campfire. Sing, too! You'll probably make a cameo in whatever tune I compose tonight." He was already thinking of how best to describe her. By the time he made it to their campsite and they got everything set up, he was sure he'd have a whole ballad ready to go. His fingers itched to find the proper chords now. Something light and prancy. "The witch in the wood, no witch could be as nice as she! Ah, yes... it'll be beautiful. They'll probably weep." They wouldn't. It was more likely they'd be tossing hot, sticky marshmallows at him as he tried for hours to find that perfect something to rhyme with chicory or burdock.

Evening Cadieux

[Evening Cadieux]

(OOC: ayo why are my girlies so difficult to write smh, anyway here ya go)



Evening bit her lip to suppress a grin – both at his thoughts of being turned into a toad and his thoughts of urging her to continue despite not really knowing what she was talking about. It was very sweet of him. Very endearing. And she smiled wide, unable to suppress it any longer when he told her he’d look for Moondweller’s Cauldron; not an automatic claim to be polite, a courtesy given without thought, but a statement he truly considered and wanted to follow through on. She wondered if he was a water sign.

Gavyn’s enthusiasm for sweet treats elicited another giggle and she smothered it to send him a (playful) withering look at the mention of breaking more heels to provide them for him. The glare eased away with a soft snort when his own teasingly forlorn expression made way for a smile and a wink.

Before she could respond to his question, however, they came to an abrupt halt. Her arms reflexively tightened around him as she was jostled, half a yelp caught in her throat while her heart skipped a beat. He apologised, and she guessed he’d caught his foot on a bramble or a fallen branch. “Careful,” she murmured, but not chidingly; her gaze had flit to his face, rounded with concern for his well-being rather than for fear of being dropped.

Once he’d tugged free from the obstacle they continued on and she relaxed again, answering his question. “The jam and cakes tend to be more for friends than the store,” she confessed. She’d have to pick a lot more berries to keep her store stocked with a good amount of jam, and it would be a shame to bake cakes every morning only to throw them in the trash if they weren’t picked up after a few days. She shook her head. “Even so, I couldn’t allow you to buy anything after helping me. You’ll have to take them for free – or I guess, not for ‘free’, rather payment for all of this.” She paused. Nodded sagely. “Consider it friend tax.”

Gayvn confirmed that camping and playing his guitar by the fire was a regular occurrence in his life, positively glowing as he announced that he could sing and even compose his own songs. He freestyled a line and, indeed, it did sound like he sang a lot. Her eyes widened a little. “That was good!” she beamed. “I know it was only a line but – you’re clearly dedicated to your craft. Singing isn’t just something people can do. It’s a skill. It takes practice and – oh.” She stopped herself, smile pulling a tad awry. “Perhaps I’m… preaching to the choir.”

She giggled at his comment that it was more likely his friends would throw marshmallows at him than join in. “You could rhyme burdock with frock?” she suggested, unaware that he had thought rather than spoken. “Or stock? Like, taking stock of the burdock? Or… hollyhock? That’s another flower whose leaves and roots can be made into tea – which can help reduce pain and inflammation.”

As she spoke, something over his shoulder caught her eye. She squinted at the ground behind them. Something had glinted – or rather, gleamed, in that subtle, subdued way that a puddle of ink might. Her instincts told her not to ignore it. She continued to stare, noting a couple of other shiny droplets directly behind them just like the first. On a particularly pale leaf was a splash of colour that made the liquid more recognisable.

Blood.

She looked away quickly, breath catching. Her heart plummeted. Had her initial wariness been warranted? Had he somehow deceived her? Simply not thought about the horrid things he planned to do? No. That couldn’t be it. She ducked her head guiltily, then her heart plummeted all over again as she realised there was a far more likely explanation.

“Gavyn? Are you –” She twisted slightly to look at the ground ahead of them and, spotting nothing amiss, decided they weren’t following a bloody trail.

They were making it.

She felt fine. Logically knew she would feel it if she were bleeding from any cuts or scrapes. It had to be coming from her rescuer.

“Gavyn!” she squeaked. She struggled in his grip and froze again just as quickly, realising her movement could make his injury worse. She returned her wide-eyed gaze to his face, forehead crinkled in alarm. Why hadn't he said anything? Why had it not even crossed his mind? Was he in a state of shock? Unable to process what had happened? “Stop! Put me – you’re bleeding!”



Gavyn Colburn

[Gavyn Colburn]

Friend tax.

Gavyn couldn't help the wide, delighted beam that pulled achingly across his face at her words. Feeling warm and pleased, he nodded along as she began saying that singing was no simple feat; brow giving an amused waggle when she stopped herself shortly after and acknowledged that he was probably well aware.

Then Evening offered a couple of rhymes for burdock, addressing his difficulty in coming up with one himself, and he hummed as he considered them. They were smart. They'd work. It was definitely something he'd never be able to come up with alone. He tipped his head. Maybe her song would require some beforehand research, after all. A night or two of pouring over Wikipedia pages, writing down the names of interesting herbs and looking into their uses. Maybe, instead of hastily composing something around a campfire, he'd have to wait until after he visited her store. Checked out her wares, asked her a million questions, and amassed a plethora of resources he could then pull lyrical inspiration from.

"That's very good, I like that," he agreed finally, voice still thoughtful. "What's the prettiest herb you use? In your opinion, at least. Do any of them have flowers? A good song always has some imagery... some symbolism..." his brow pinched. Wait. Had he said the burdock thing out loud? It had been something he'd only mused in his head, hadn't it? His gaze flickered to her. But Evening was distracted now, peering behind them.

Could she read his thoughts? That would be very witchy, wouldn't it?

Gavyn parted his lips, ready to simply ask. But suddenly, Evening's attention snapped forward again and there was the distinct sound of a sharp intake of breath. She squeaked his name, voice pitched high, and the sound of it forced him to another jarring stop, suddenly afraid to move an inch further as she began to wriggle in his arms. What — what was it? Her eyes flew to his face, round and stricken, and Gavyn's widened to match it, gaze swimming with horrified confusion. Had he hurt her, somehow? Pulled her hair? Had she just been stung or bitten by something? Was... oh... was there something behind them?

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" Hastily, he lowered her to the ground, taking a hesitant step back and lifting his hands apologetically. When she said he was bleeding, he dropped his head to take quick account of himself. "What? No, I'm —" he glanced about the front of him, turned his arms and hands under a hasty search, then twisted to peer down his back. Nothing. But then his gaze drew to the dots of blood on the earth beneath him and he realized she was right.

And, upon realizing it, he became aware of the distinct feeling of warm wetness in his shoe. "Oh, hey," he lifted his foot, giving a small bounce to steady his weight, and took a look at the sole. Bloody dirt and brush were clumped in the treads in one spot and he quickly put it back down, wriggling his toes at the resulting squelch of a soaked sock. Yikes. He looked back at her. "You're right! I think I stepped on something." Blowing out his cheeks, he swiveled his upper half to cast a long look in the direction where they'd come from. The woods just weren't very forgiving today, were they? At the thought, he chortled a small, quiet laugh and gazed back at her. "I guess the trees aren't just after you today, huh?"

Acknowledging the still somewhat horrified look on her face, Gavyn let the tease quiet and softened his features. "I'm good, though! It'll be fine. It's..." he glanced down at the ground, shuffling his feet and letting his mouth pull into a thin, conceding line. "Not that much blood. I'll take a look tonight and get it wrapped and keep it clean and..." he tried a wide smile, brightening his face to match. "All Gucci. Swearsies."

Then, rather abruptly, he remembered the burdock thing and dropped his arms. "More importantly, anyway... the hollyhock and stock thing. I... never said burdock out loud." His lips pulled wider, curling with unaccusing suspicion, and he lidded his eyes. "Did you read my thoughts? Can witches do that?" Moving slowly, he dropped in a half-crouch, arms straight and hands braced on his thighs, just above his knees, and peered at her curiously.

Are you... in my head? What am I thinking right now?

His eyes narrowed just a fraction further, flitting between hers searchingly. Then, after a long moment, he realized he wasn't actually thinking anything at all and startled.

Oh, right. I'm gonna think of something she'd never guess. What's an unpopular opinion? Hmm. On his thighs, his fingers braced more firmly, wanting to tap. Beyonce was never the Queen, it was always Rihanna. No, wait... I don't want to risk an argument. Plus, Beyonce did come first... and, well, there is Destiny's Child to consider... okay, no, something else. He blinked hard to clear his current train of thought, giving a tiny shake of his head as his gaze pulled slightly sidelong to peer just beyond her. I think I only washed one leg in the shower this morning. Wait, why would I admit that? But ugh, it's been bothering me all day.

He gave another tiny shake of his head. His lips pursed with determination.

Hmm... think, Gavyn, think... ugh... agh... why is my only intrusive thought right now Zoo Tycoon? I haven't played that in twenty years. You know what... actually, that works, he fixed his gaze on her face again, suddenly firmly decided as he repeated over and over in his head. Zoo Tycoon, Zoo Tycoon, early 2000s Zoo Tycoon!

Evening Cadieux
Lemme know if it's too much.