Halo
A/N: Ah, it's good to be back home and writing. Mwah. Onwards to ficcage.
Living meatballs. Yum.
And, once again, I'd like to thank again to all those that've taken the time and effort to review. It's muchly appreciated.
-
Their first night on Venedos was spent trying to find a local delicacy that didn't seem to want to eat them first. Oh, it wasn't that the meals weren't pretty, sitting on the long table that they'd been served at, but...the food itself was downright absurd. Who wanted meatballs that tried to scuttle off your plate before you could stab them?
And of course, they didn't want to offend their host. The vice-minister of Venedos herself had turned out to meet them, pomp and ceremony included and she, with words endowed with far more tact than the hologram-sender had possessed, apologized profusely for their treatment and told them in no uncertain terms that she would do everything to make their stay as comfortable as possible.
At least his diplomatic status hadn't gotten rusty, Cliff mused as he speared a squiggling piece of lasagna and thought rather morosely of the food synthesizer on the Eagle. It may not have been top of the line, but at least the food it produced was already...well, dead.
Seated across from him, Mirage set her delicate fork down and smothered a cough. Ahah! His cue! She'd always been the one to observe proper protocol, so if she was telling him it was time to go...well --wham, bam, thank-you ma'am-- he'd overstayed his welcome.
"Beg your pardon, Vice-Minister, but we've had a rather trying day." He offered the charming trademark Cliff Fittir smile and pushed himself away from the table. Everyone quickly followed suit, except Albel, who had taken some obscure pleasure in 'killing' (re-killing?) his food.
"It is no problem," the gray-haired woman assured him as she stood as well and gestured with one hand at the door. "Again, I am terribly sorry for your baroque treatment. It is...a necessity, all things considered. However, if you need anything, anything at all, please, do not hesitate to contact me. I shall help you to the best of my abilities." She smiled at all of them and Albel, walking past her, smirked.
Bad sign, that smirk. Just as the 'Glyphian was about to open his mouth, Cliff essayed a hasty bow.
"You're too kind," he stepped forwards and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick and very politically correct kiss. "But you've extended courtesy enough to us that we can forget and forgive everything else."
The woman's smile faltered. "I only wish it were the same for our people, Master Fittir."
Somehow, he just knew he was going to endure ribbing about that one all the way back to their assigned rooms. "Good night, Madam."
"And you."
He smiled again, snagged Albel by his left bicep and attempted to drag him out of the room before the poor woman was swamped by the swordsman's peculiar brand of humor. He was, however, surprised to see the other man wince. The hell?
"Touch me again and I'll kill you, fool," Albel hissed in a venomous undertone as he pushed past him, half-shoving him with his right hand.
So much for keeping appearances. Politely, the minister pretended not to notice.
Cliff cut his damages and ushered everyone else out the door.
-
Their rooms were perfectly calculated to be obliquely insulting. The classical Klausian colors were there, of course, and probably hastily applied upon their arrival in the Minister's near-palace, but the fact that they were overshadowed by the Venedosian blue didn't exactly go amiss. A nice subtle political segue. It might have bothered his father, but Cliff liked to think he was just a little more easy-going than that.
"Looks like it's us guys in one room and you chicks in the other," he said apologetically, spreading his hands. He was gonna have to bite the bullet in this one. A pity, he would have quite happily enjoyed one of Mirage's killer, stress-relieving massages. "That okay with everyone?"
Nel nodded absently and drifted towards the adjoining room. Her injury had faded, thanks in part to modern technology, and only the redness around the three long scars indicated that it was recent. Thankfully, she wasn't vain enough to complain. He knew lots of women that would have flipped their lid over becoming so marred. Cough--his mother--cough.
Mirage lingered a moment and gave him an amused smile. Sadist. She was enjoying this charade far more than she should be. "Good night...Master Fittir," she intoned finally, voice devoid of the faintest traces of humor. Even so. He liked to think he knew her just a little better than that.
He mock-glowered at her and she pretended innocence before giving him the slightest of waves and trailing after Nel.
"Well," he announced cheerfully once the two women had shut their door. "That was an ordeal."
Albel said nothing. Instead, he was pacing about the room, inspecting things. Cliff eyed this happenstance. "Uh, yo?"
"You can't tell me they mean us well," the shorter man pointed out in annoyance at Cliff's apparent lack of intelligence. "If they don't have us under survellience..."
"Ah, so what? Not gonna harm anybody."
"Except them. Because when I catch them, I'm going to skin them alive."
"...Well. Only if you're going to insist on causing trouble. Anyways. Take a load off. Get some sleep. And why the hell you wearin' a cloak in here, anyways? It's only a hundred thousand degrees." Klausians were by nature warm-blooded, whereas the Venedosians were decidedly reptilian in their heating tastes. In annoyance, Cliff brushed a hand against his neck. Why was his pulse so fast...?
"I think..." he paused, blinked and swayed. The room was spinning. What the --
"I've been drugged," he diagnosed immediately, fighting the drug-induced haze that was making it difficult to concentrate. "Get Mir--" but he wasn't given the opportunity to finish his sentence. Albel had glanced up sharply at his words and just before the idiotic oaf toppled over, he'd caught him. Cliff wasn't an ally, but in this place, he wasn't the only enemy.
Still.
He dragged the big (and heavy) man over to one of the beds and dropped him on it. And then he stepped back and checked his own pulse. Nothing out of the ordinary. Something specifically designed to target the buffoon's race, was it?
Just as he was debating whether or not he should go find their host and gut her, the door to theirs and Nel and Mirage's room burst open, Nel was supporting Mirage, who was faring little better than Cliff, save the fact that she wasn't quite unconscious. "Help me!" Nel demanded of him and, prompted more by instinct than desire to comply, he crossed the room and aided the redhead in getting Mirage to the other bed.
He glared at her as he did so and tugged the wool cloak closer about his maimed arm.
"It's not poison," Mirage said dreamily from the bed. "It's..." And then she, too, lost consciousness.
Nel glanced about the room and did a quick sweep. "Here, help me. We have to get these--" she tapped a finger down against one of the dressers. "In front of the doors. There's only one reason they would have been drugged instead of outright killed."
"Now you decides to use your head," he remarked in haphazard irritation. She didn't take the bait, and so he deigned to help her. Together, they managed to maneuver the heavy desk in front of the door to the other room. A larger dresser was utilized in blocking off the entrance to the hallway. In the silence that followed, he began poking around for weapons, but it proved fruitless. He supposed he could always break one of the canopy-legs off the four-poster beds, but...that wouldn't be of much use against a high-powered gun. Even their barricade wouldn't last more than a few seconds if someone decided that they really wanted to get into the room.
Nel sat gingerly on the edge of the bed on which they'd deposited Mirage. "Why would they have done this?" she demanded abruptly, as if he had all the answers. "There's no reason aside any political motivations, and even those would be petty. We haven't alienated them in any way and we've complied with everything they've asked of us. So what, then?"
Albel leered at her. Foolish woman, did she learn nothing?
"Someone will always have something to gain from our...'misfortune,'" he pointed out.
She frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, but..."
His arm was hurting. He hadn't been parted from the gauntlet for so long that being without it for any period of time was like losing the limb all over again. He wanted to snidely indicate out all the faulty flaws in her theory, but when it boiled right down to it--what was the point? She wouldn't listen to him no matter what he said.
"Is your runology functional here, fool?" His words seemed to divert her train of thought and she looked up at him. A moment later, she'd traced the necessary symbols in the air and conjured a small ball of fire.
"Apparently."
"Then it's presently our only weapon." Something that did not sit at all well with him. He'd never seen runology as being useful, and so had never bothered to learn it. Albel Nox preferred to win things via physicality rather than through any unreliable 'magic'.
Nel, quite contrary to what he knew of her, stood up and came over to him. "Here," she offered. "Let me teach you. It's not that difficult, and you can practice until you get the knack of it."
He eyed her skeptically, snorted and turned away. Even so, he caught her frown within the edges of his periphral vision.
"If it's all we can do..." she trailed off meaningfully and stepped around in front of him. He glared at her and she merely returned it coolly. "Are you right or left-handed?"
"Left," he answered without thinking.
She gave a short nod. "All right, hold out your left hand."
He didn't move. For obvious reasons. Even though he'd been ten years without the usage of his dominant hand, it still came to mind before all else. He'd trained himself to be ambidextrous, but...
"Never mind," he growled. But he wasn't about to be defenseless here, of all places. He held out his right hand, at which she gave him a quizzical look.
"All...right. Try moving your hand like--this." As she spoke, she wove a sort of pattern through the air with utmost delicacy. How she'd manage to master those moves in the midst of battle, he wasn't quite sure. It looked like it required too much concentration. Give him a sword over this pathetic mysticism any day.
Nevertheless, he tried. A spark flared at the tips of his fingers and, unlike the flames of his past, didn't try to burn him. Hm. Interesting.
"Well...it's something? Even we runologists can't master the spells on our first try. Here, do it again."
It was horribly embarrassing to stand and suffer this foolish woman's teachings. He felt his temper rising and he botched the next set of movements, which elicited from him a frustrated growl.
And then, without his noticing, she stepped around behind him, put one hand on his left shoulder and reached with her other hand to his right wrist. "More like this." Her breath was warm against his neck as she carried through with the gesture. Her touch was all at once feather light and weightier than any eternity.
He ducked his shoulder and tried to push her away. The end result wasn't what he'd planned; instead, the cloak slipped from his shoulder and fluttered to the floor. He moved immediately, both to conceal the disfigurement and to retrieve the cloak. He would not--would not have her pity.
"Oh," she said evenly, taking in the sight. He knew how it must appear to her--of the severed limb, a repulsive stump was all that remained. From that point up to his shoulder the veins and nerves stood out against his skin in an agitated patchwork of crimson. He glared at her, rallying his thoughts against her--if she so much as--
But she didn't. She merely tilted her head and studied him. "So that's why you wear the gauntlet."
He snarled. "What of it, fool?"
She gave him an odd, 'are you really that much of a moron?' look and then shrugged. "Did you feel the runological power, the last time you tried?"
He nodded tersely, strangely and absurdly relieved that she hadn't pursued the subject. He knew it wouldn't take much to put two and two together. Most everyone knew that he'd failed the Ascension of the Flame ceremony, and that his father had died there. But she wasn't going to pry.
Idiot woman.
"I believe you've got the basics." She shrugged and stepped away from him. He'd forgotten how close she'd been standing. "There's a half-dozen other spells I can teach you, but only after you've mastered that." She smiled thinly. Anything she might have said next, however, was overshadowed by the sudden and inexplicable noise of an enemy at their doors.
Albel tensed and moved for a sword that he was no longer carrying. Nel put a finger to her lips and with the light steps of a practiced assassin, crept towards the door. Beyond it was shuffling, a few muted curses, and the scrape of their handiwork being pushed across the floor as the door was inexorably shoved inwards. Nel sprang forwards, disregarding any need to be quiet and pushed it back. When he took a step towards her, she hissed through her teeth and shook her head, mouthing the words 'other door' to him.
He understood and within moments, he'd braced his good shoulder against the desk blocking off the other door. And now it fell to waiting. Whoever it was wasn't about to draw attention to themself immediately by blasting the doors, but they'd obviously planned on an easy entry. He considered that whoever it was must have decided that they were all Klausian. Imbeciles--'know thy enemy' was surely a universal apothegm.
They waited a while, they two, neither wanting to move away from their defensive fortifications while the passage of time was ticked away by an archaic clock upon the room's mantle. Nel was having trouble staying awake, or so it looked to him. Every few minutes her eyes would close and her breathing would slow, and a split-second later, she'd jerk back to wakefulness and glance warily around the room as though expecting to find it in shambles. That would not do.
"Get some sleep, fool." If she was going to insist on being stupidly stubborn, well--
She smiled wanly at this show of concern (even though it was no such thing. Practicality and concern were two very different things, after all) and shook her head. "If they come back--"
"Then I'll wake you up. Idiot."
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. She looked by far more alert than she had just minutes ago, sat straighter and looked pointedly determined to stay awake as long as possible.
He glared.
She glared back.
And on the bed, Cliff started snoring.
It was going to be a very, very long night.
-
And so it was. By the clock's reckoning, it was five in the morning, and it was upon that time that Nel finally succumbed to the inevitability of sleep. She was dozing lightly, her head tipped back against her barricade, arms folded across her chest. It didn't look comfortable. Albel, who wasn't about to having admitted dropping off around three only to wake up with the chiming of the clock, studied her from afar. The scars had faded further and now were only white. Unlike some, she didn't look younger while she slept. Her deep red hair was disheveled and unwashed--little surprise, they'd hardly had time for the pleasantry of modern toiletries.There were fine lines around her mouth that looked as if she were frowning in her sleep. All in all, she looked...
...Well, whatever. It wasn't important.
So. He stood, and he stretched, and he stalked over to her, tilting his head at her a moment. Would she wake up, if he tried to move her? What did it matter? If she did, he could always drop her. Which would of course lead to another bout of protectiveness from the oaf and another lecture from Mirage...
He smirked, picked her up (a handy trick with only one functional arm) and deposited her on the same bed that they'd left Cliff. And then he arranged the covers haphazardly about the both of them and went to have a shower. He was quite sure they'd let him know when they'd woken up.
-
True to his predictions, they did. Somehow, the silence had gotten rather heavy, and Albel almost found himself humming as he stepped out of the shower. Just as he was tousling his hair dry, there was an indignant yelp and sounds of a scramble.
He pushed open the door, fully dressed once again, and interpreted the scene with disdain. Mirage was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking amused, Cliff was bewildered and nursing a burn on one hand, and Nel looked...murderous.
"You!" She spun upon Albel's entry and glared at him. Mimicking Mirage's performance of last night, he feigned innocence. It was surprisingly difficult for him to accomplish.
Cliff eyed him as well, but Mirage merely smiled. "Good-morning, Albel. It seems these two woke up together. One wonders how it would have happened, hm?"
"Hey, waitasec! I didn't do anything!" Cliff protested, looking back and forth between Nel and Mirage as if unsure which would pounce next. "I swear!"
Nel sighed in exasperation. "I know that, Cliff. It wasn't you."
"But..." he held out his hand and indicated the burn. If anything a six-foot-two behemoth could do would remotely resemble a pout, he managed it. At least until the second half of her statement sunk in. "Wasn't--so it was him?"
Albel neatly adjusted his cloak.
"What did he do?" The Klausian powerhouse seemed thoroughly lost and confused. Mirage merely shook her head.
"Probably better you don't ask, Cliff."
"But Mira--"
"Fools." Albel almost rolled his eyes, checked himself and glared instead. "We had visitors last night. They didn't get in."
"Well I figured that much out," Cliff announced, pointing at the barricades. "I'm not a total waste of brainpower, yanno."
"Anyways," Nel said firmly, still eyeing Albel with suspicion. "They likely assumed that we were Klausian as well. Who knows what might have happened if we were."
Cliff looked momentarily thoughtful. "I'll go talk to the Vice-Minister. If she orchestrated this, I might have some trouble getting back, so you all stay here. If not, I imagine she'll be as outraged as we are."
His partner made a soft 'Hmm' noise and shook her head. "Cliff, that might not be wise. Let her come to us. When we don't appear for breakfast this morning, I'm sure she'll work something out. If she comes, we can take it as a gesture of good-will. If she doesn't, we'll know that she had a hand in it, and then we can act accordingly."
"...Okay, point. But still. You expect me to just hang around here twiddling my thumbs and otherwise doing nothing?"
"Yes," Mirage said evenly. Cliff sighed and threw up his hands in defeat.
"Okay, okay. You win. So...what now?"
Smiling sweetly, Mirage pointed at the door behind Albel. "I'll arm-wrestle both of you for shower rights?"
Cliff smacked one fist against his opposing palm. "You're on."
"Mmhmm." Nel agreed. Few would have known that spark of competitiveness that glinted behind her eyes. The only reason Albel even noticed it was because he knew that look--it was remarkably similar to his own.
-
"I looked everywhere for you. I...I thought you were dead. Are you hurt?"
He offered the other boy a half-hearted smile. "No. Just...thinking."
"About...?"
"Death." He glanced back out over the plains. A few scant hours ago, when the fingers of a sinister dawn had stretched from horizon to horizon and trumpeted their fate as loudly as any angel, their opposing forces had met in a grim melee of death and destruction. He'd survived, of course. A coward's survival, but nevertheless, he would live to see another day. The other boy, though taller than him and probably older, had seen less of this war than he had.
"I was worried," the other boy insisted gently, sitting down beside him and pulling one leg up to drape his arm about it. Together they stared off into the distance.
"Sorry," he said offhandedly. He wasn't, not really, but it seemed the only thing he could say.
"Catham--!"
"Can't you be quiet for a while, Darius?" That's not my name, he had wanted to say. His words instead spoke nothing of that. But... he needed to reaffirm his identity, he knew, or else he'd lose himself forever. But he couldn't bring himself to care.
"I almost wish you had died back then," Darius said in mild annoyance, the first show of spirit from the boy since he'd met him. "At least then I could mourn you. Now you walk around like you're still alive but there's nothing behind your eyes."
Everyone called him Catham, but he knew that wasn't right. It was a piece of the puzzle that didn't fit. Something was askew, like a picture on the wall, and no matter how badly he wanted to reach out and set it right, something held him back. The cruel hand of fate at work, he thought bitterly.
"I'm sorry," he said again. It meant nothing more than it had the last time. "I'm just tired, Darius. So tired."
Sighing, the blonde boy shook his head. "It's all right. But this isn't like you. Cath'. I know it's this...war, but still..." he trailed off, and for a moment, time itself froze. The-boy-who-was-not-Catham recoiled from it, as he sensed danger lurking near, just around the proverbial corner, come to claim him.
Identify program...
Identification process halted. Unable to comply.
...Scanning...
Foreign virus detected. Introducing system antibodies.
In a second, he was on his feet and running. And then there was a shift, as though the tectonic plates beneath his feet were animals released from long years of captivity, and the ground buckled and threw him forwards. He knew he was about to die, but--
"Cath'?"
He gasped for air and clutched at his chest. His head spun and his adrenaline had set his heart to beating far faster than it should have. He hadn't moved from where he'd been, and yet everything had changed.
"I thought you said you weren't hurt!"
I will be, he thought desperately. Soon.
-
Unsurprisingly, Cliff had been the last to shower. Nel and Mirage had tied, one win to each, but Mirage had won the tie-breaker and with remarkably little notable bragging, had gone to shower. Cliff maintained staunchly that he'd done the only thing a gentlemen could do in his situation--lose gracefully to two beautiful women. He'd received frighteningly similar expressions of exasperation from both of them.
So. It was shortly after he'd enjoyed the local amenities and rejoined the crowd considerably better groomed that the Vice-Minister had shown up. There was an aura of non-repentance about her, and a dignity that refused to be rattled. Perhaps there was something of anger, but Cliff didn't think it was directed at them.
"I--" she began, but Cliff held up a hand.
"Start at the beginning. We aren't angry, just...somewhat annoyed."
She tilted her head up and considered him as though for the first time. "Very well," she said,pursing her lips."I was not informed of it until this morning. Those that made this...attack upon you are loyalists, nothing more. They have been detained and interrogated and sent to our capital city for reevaluation. They truly believe you are here to rekindle the war, and they acted how they thought best."
"You're trying to defend them, huh?" Cliff folded his arms. It must have looked imposing, because the woman took a step back.
"Perhaps, Master Fittir. They are my countrymen, and even though I cannot condone their actions, I can still understand them. We lost much during our war with your people."
Nel frowned and decided to try another vein of conversation. "So give us back our weapons. We should at least be allowed to defend ourselves, if this sort of thing happens again. You've told us nothing to assure us it won't happen again."
Vice-Minister Naidina looked at her. "You...you are not Klausian, are you?"
"No."
"If you would have informed us of this--"
"We told you what was necessary," Cliff said rather sternly. As though chastised, the woman nodded to them both.
"Very well. I see no reason that you should not be permitted to carry a few objects, if I have your word that you will use them only to defend yourselves."
"You would trust our word?" Mirage asked quizzically, tilting her head to one side. Naidina turned to look at her.
"Trust is the foundation of all great things," she intoned seriously. "I believe we have made a mistake in failing to trust you. I am trying now to rectify things. If you are allowed your weapons and then you choose to attack us, then I will have proven myself wrong, but at least it will be an honest wrongness."
In that moment, this short, grey-haired woman reminded Nel very strongly of her majesty the Queen. It was a peculiar deja-vu, and she found herself smiling. Albel, from his corner of the room, snorted. Obviously he didn't agree with these morales, but at least he was keeping his silent countenance. The last thing any of them needed was some of his condescending cruelty.
"I will have you outfitted with whatever you desire," Naidina said at last. "But your access to certain areas will be restricted. It is my only condition in this matter."
"Fair enough." Once again, Cliff made a triumphant gesture with his hands. "And after that--can we have something to eat? That isn't going to lay us out for twelve hours?"
The small woman nodded gravely. "I will see to it myself. Now, come with me."
-
Not only had she given them weapons back, but she'd upgraded them. They weren't half bad, Mirage thought as she shadow-boxed absently with a wall. She'd then given them a map-cube and pointed out areas that they weren't allowed to go. All in all, it had been a decent transaction. And at least they'd been fed some food that hadn't squiggled uncomfortably all the way down. Mirage had always found cultural differences fascinating, but she now firmly maintained the creed that she would never again attempt native Vendosian cuisine. Once was more than enough.
And on top of that, Sophia had contacted them again. It had been socially awkward to excuse herself as her communicator buzzed, but nevertheless she'd managed to slip off quietly without much mishap. Cliff provided marvelous distractions when necessary. His latest escapade had involved the 'accidental' dismantling of a scaffold where several workers had been erecting a statue.
'Oops' apparently hadn't been a viable apology. She left him not at all envying the lecture he was about to receive from several outraged artisans.
Sophia hadn't had much to say, or rather, couldn't say much. She told Mirage that she knew where they were, at least, and would join them whenever it became safe for her to do so. She didn't mention what kind of dangers she was in, but Mirage suspected the situation was somewhat graver than the young girl let on. She was quite obviously frightened, but that couldn't be helped.
"Mirage?" Nel had snuck in to lean against the wall nearby, making Mirage pause mid-swing and look up.
"Yes?"
"I think I should go find Sophia."
Mirage, stretching, offered the redheaded woman a smile. "I was actually just thinking about what to do. Do you think you'll be able to find her?" She waited until Nel's affirming nod and then returned the gesture. "Very well. We'll have to talk it over with Cliff and Albel, but..."
"Well, there's nothing else we can do. If she's in danger and can't come to us, our only option is to go to her. We aren't Klausian--we won't have the restrictions you will."
We? "You and Albel?"
She had the good graces to look mildly uncomfortable. "We talked it over earlier. He wanted to go alone, as did I. After some arguing, we decided to just go together."
Oh, what she would have given to be a fly on that wall. "Ah. All right, so we'll wait until Cliff comes back and tell him. I don't think he'll say no, but..."
"Thanks," Nel had apparently already taken her word as permission, not that she needed it. "But we should head out as soon as possible. Sophia..." Mirage thought she sensed the editing of the words 'can't defend herself'. "Shouldn't be alone."
"Are you two ready to go?"
"Yes."
"All right." Absently, Mirage brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. "Go, then. Contact us when you've found her."
"Mm," Nel responded, giving Mirage somewhat of a salute as she turned to walk away.
Fly on the wall indeed.
-
"I am not going to let you tag along just because you don't think I can do it on my own!"
"I didn't say that, maggot." Albel was annoyed. There was no other word that could possibly convey the depths of that annoyance, and so he left it at that. Ergo, simply put, he was...annoyed. Nel's irritation looked to rival his own.
"But you just said--"
"I said," he began coldly. "That I should accompany you..." But, truth be told, he had hinted that he didn't think her competent enough to accomplish the task on her own. He was, of course, but Nel Zelpher...
"Even you can't justify your own words." Nel groaned and pressed the palm of one hand against her forehead. "Look, Albel. I don't want a quarrel with you. I'm sick of all this fighting. I'm going to go find Sophia. You can come if you want, but if you plan on doing it just so you can antagonize me, then I'm sorry, but there is no power in this universe that will keep me from killing you."
That line was remarkably Albelsian. Well, it might have been, if one were to negate the apology. "Just so long as you stay out of my way," he informed her.
She --was that a scoff? "Likewise. You're not the only one with an acid wit, you realize."
"No, but I am the only one that knows how to use it."
There was a moment of silence. She glared at him. "Ah, I see. I'm in a similar predicament, but it seems to relate more to intelligence."
Another moment. He glared at her. And nearby, crouched (but not hiding, no sir) behind a couch, Cliff smothered a grin. Mirage would love to hear this. How could he have known that in escaping the impending lecture that he'd stumble into this particular room, with these particular people? Even so.
Nel sighed. "I'm going to leave in an hour. Be ready or don't be, I don't care."
And it was thus that both parties, thoroughly disgusted with each other, turned and stalked out of the room.
-