2023-04-03: One Last Opportunity
- Log: One Last Opportunity
- Cast: Talia, Seraph Liath
- Where: Catacombs beneath the Goddess' Tower, Pentagulia
- Date: April 06, 2023
- Summary: Talia, in the middle of escape, stumbles across an untouched corner of Pentagulia housing a weapon tied to the difficult history of her family... and Liath. They speak of legacies, of lost lands, and gardens, and redemption.
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
The people captured under Pentagulia have escaped. Which is sort of a problem, though word is spreading a little slow. This is surely not because of Lord Leo's covert assistance to them, but instead because of the strange noble masked hero known as Mystere.
Certainly.
They found a way to chambers underneath the Goddess's tower. Those chambers, as it happens, are ancient; a labyrinth of catacombs, nooks, crannies, and hidden pathways. They were built centuries ago, underneath Pentagulia when it was a few farming villages and monasteries.
Talia went exploring on her own, in search of a weapon -- because her sword is still broken from the battle with K.K. She has stopped though, in front of a door. It's already ajar; the sort of door that is already open.
There are engraved symbols over it. One is the heraldry of the Lost Land, Lyonesse. The other is the ancient symbol of House Yemelin, her father's house, though fine details are different -- the raven with wings outspread is slightly more ornate, with a full moon instead of a crescent moon.
Talia stares up at it, then she scratches her cheek.
(It is lost on her that some people may know it is here and may think to check if it is disturbed. Talia hasn't quite put that together.)
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
Time and memory are so precious and relative things.
Take, for example, Pentagulia: with how central the City of the Goddess has become to the lives of the people of Meribus and even Glenwood, it's easy to lose sight of how recent a construct the city itself actually is. Pentagulia, the beating heart of the Silver Star, was scarcely more than a tower and a smattering of isolated land only a precious handful of generations past.
It's hard to remember -- but there are mysteries to Pentagulia much more ancient than Pentagulia itself.
These catacombs are but one of them, but - combined with what must surely be the canny assistance of the truly mysterious masked man Mystere - their obscurity helps to delay and confuse the much of the precious few authorities currently alerted to the disappearance of Pentagulia's newest prisoners. Much of them...
But not all.
It's as Talia is peering at that door that she might hear the soft chime of metal on stone in the distance. Footfalls. Heavy, but deliberate -- and belonging to just one person.
One person who is making a gradual but inevitable approach down the corridor Talia finds herself in. She's not alone anymore -- and whoever is coming, is coming directly for her, and that invitingly ajar, distinctly marked door.
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Talia might not be an assassin anymore, but she has those instincts even still. She takes a quick look around -- and she doesn't know anyone with her that wore heavier armor. So, she acts on instinct.
Hide.
And in a hallway, there are only two ways to go. One would lead to those footsteps; one leads through the door. She slips through the ajar door, and she only just manages to not disturb it. Most wouldn't notice the light scuffing of dust on the floor.
But she slips into the room, which is quite dark. The light glints off something on a small pedestal in the center of the room -- a sword, as it would happen, slender and long, with a two-toned gold and silver and gold blade. Talia glances at it, then she looks about...
...and realizes there is no exit besides the one she entered from.
With a frown, she moves, and flattens her back against the wall, and hopes. Maybe they won't come in. Maybe...
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
*tnk*
*tnk*
*tnk*
The sound of footsteps come to a stop as a silhouette fills the sliver of dim light the crack of the door once afforded. Whoever is there lingers for one second, two, in quiet pause.
"..."
And with the creak of hinges, the door opens.
The figure shuts it behind them soon after opening it; not much can be seen but the brief glint of light on an armored shoulder before the dark dominates the room once more. They make for a tall figure, approaching six feet -- their gate is smooth and controlled, with a naturally noble bearing to it that may feel passingly familiar. The chime of their armored boots fills the room as they walk towards Talia...
... and then past her.
The silhouette's stride comes to an end at the pedestal. And it is there they linger for another precious one second, two, in silence. A shadowy hand lifts, gloved fingers layering briefly on the blade. They seem to murmur something, but the voice is too quiet to be identified, let alone the words offered.
Their fingers slip away from the blade, just as they turn...
... to face Talia once more.
One step. Two steps.
*tnk*
*tnk*
*tnk*
Do they see her? Are they approaching her?
There is that sword at the pedestal, waiting, a lone weapon to defend herself...
Does she risk it?
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
They're coming in.
Talia can't change that. Telling them not to would just cause them to leave. She leans back against the wall, back pressed tight against. The figure looks familiar -- but she can't quite place it. Not with the dim lighting; not with the way that sliver of light plays tricks on her eyes.
She sees the gloved hand on the blade, which prompts Talia to frown for a moment. An incantation, or... a fond remembrance?
Something else?
It all goes out of her head, as she realizes. They're approaching her; they're armored and they're almost certainly armed. Talia isn't armed. She even ran out of the bombs from Queen Anastasia.
She hesitates a moment -- and then she bolts. Darting forward, kicking off the ground, and doing a midair backflip to land next to the weapon at the pedastal.
Her fingers grab the hilt, then she draws it in one smooth motion. She looks down the length of the blade, towards whoever it is -- and readies what defenses she can muster.
<Big Scene> Dream Daddy: Zhang Xiumei says, "Naw, stats don't get frozen in Chapter 3, Fei!"
<Big Scene> Dream Daddy: Zhang Xiumei says, "mis"
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
Hesitation.
Action.
In one moment, Talia lingers; in the next, she springs, like a piece of shadow coming unmoored from the dark cast of the chambers. Like a shadow play, two silhouettes move in this ancient room, their actions framed by its preciously dim lighting. One flips through the air, the briefest glimpses of her acrobatic figure seen in the darkness.
The other pivots with graceful flourish to meet her the second she lands, hints of their existence beyond an outline in the dark caught with every stray light that catches off of bits of polished armor.
A hand falls towards a shadow-shrouded pommel at the figure's hip. Light glitters along armored knuckles.
And then as if the light were fire introduced to an accelerant, it catches and blooms into a radiant spectacle as Talia's unknown aggressor pulls free their a sword. Light flares outward, catching the edge of that blade and blossoming in a brilliant prism of colors along its edge as it smears across the blade like liquid and spreads the gift of light to a room that has not seen its touch in years.
The creeping shadows of the dark are cast out the second that the edge of the sword Joyeuse clashes against Talia's newfound blade, providing truth--
"-- Talia?!"
In the form of the wide, gold-eyed stare of Liath, looking at Talia in a mixture of wonder and surprise.
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Talia extends the sword outward. It may be unfamiliar in her grip -- and given where it is, it is certainly old -- but it feels right, with a fine balance that she adapts to quickly. She looks down the length of it, as light blooms from the other person here.
And it reveals who stands before her, even as Joyeuse clashes with the sword with a few sparks that leap past Liath' light and into the gloom.
Talia's blade is moved to the side, and she starts to bring it around again. Then, her breath catches.
She knows that person.
"Liath!" she exclaims. She lowers the sword, the tip of it touching the floor, and she she stares at her for a moment.
Their previous conversation comes to mind. Several emotions compete within her, and what wins out is an old habit.
"Ah--you see--they said I can walk free if I catalog some of the old catacombs under Pentagulia!" Talia stammers out. Then, she winks.
The old habit that won out is lying.
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
Certain things are telling.
It's telling, for example, that despite the surprise painting Liath's expression at the sight of a familiar face so deep in the bowels of Pentagulia, her stance has not altered an inch -- she offers very few openings, even in the face of the unexpected, even in the face of someone dear to her.
And it is also telling...
--they said I can walk free if I catalog some of the old catacombs under Pentagulia!
When someone falls back on old habits with a wink.
That stance remains impervious and ready to fight for several seconds longer as Liath peers at Talia, molten gold eyes searching the human woman's expression as gold brows gradually lift. Is that an incredulous lift? That must be an incredulous lift, mustn't it?
"... And so they sent you... here," Liath ventures slowly, as if exploring the words on the tip of her tongue.
It's absolutely incredulous, it has to be, there's no way anyone would believe that--
"Ah!"
--no way anyone would--
"That's marvelous news, Talia!"
--anyone COULD--
"You see? It is as I said; the Goddess' mercy has found you out."
--dear god, she's smiling so wide her eyes are squinting shut--
And so it is a smooth and surprisingly swift movement that sees Liath's posture straightening as she guides Joyeuse back into the home of its sheathe. Her unarmored hand lifting, she tucks a few gold-spun, white-tipped locks of hair behind her ear as she looks around her.
"And that they would send you here," she murmurs, half-to-herself, eyes lidding. "This indeed must be providence."
Her gaze tilts back toward Talia. It falls towards that sword. Her head cants owlishly.
"Were you to catalog this next, then?"
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Did she... did she actually buy it?
Talia isn't sure whether she should feel guilty or relieved. Both?
At once?
She only relaxes, though, once Joyeuse is sheathed. She isn't that trusting, despite trying to work on it. Afterward, she keeps the sword on the ground -- though she adjusts it to make sure she isn't about to chip the blade.
She stares at Liath, for a moment longer, until she is sure there isn't some sarcasm there. But, of course, it's Liath. Talia isn't sure she can lie.
"Mm, something like that, no?" Talia says. "Though... ah. Maybe you're right. It might be providence. I recognized those symbols."
She frowns, though it is with thought. "Lyonesse," she says. "I've... read a little about it. And then my father's family's--" Her family, as much as she wants to deny it. "--crest. Though, an older version, I think."
She hesitates. "I wonder if that means this--" She hefts the sword. "--has some connection to them, no?"
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
Liath's armored hand rests its palm upon the pommel of her sword. Somehow, the gesture is hard to read as threatening. How many times has she adopted a similar stance even in casual conversation?
With the Church's Prime Lord, it often feels shockingly easy to read her body language. As if everything she does is painfully direct. When she intends for violence...
... it's difficult -not- to notice it.
It bears out in how she seemingly relaxes into that stance, as if - whether she truly believes Talia or not - she is content to treat it as truth. Her gaze lingers on the blade that Talia holds - the blade she had only moments ago seemingly come to see - before the former assassin's words draw a soft "hum" from her lips.
"Mortal regalia is oft changed by the tides of time... much like mortals themselves. That their crest has changed perhaps, intentionally or not, reflects how much House Yemelin itself has changed."
Liath speaks with a certain weight of experience behind her words. Her gaze tilts to look upon that sword as Talia presents it, pensive lines etching at her expression for a precious handful of seconds before that bright stare shuts.
"Mm," exhales the Light Seraph as she half-turns from Talia, in the direction of that door.
"Mayhap it does," she concedes, after that lingering moment of silence. "What do you know of them?"
And here, she looks over her shoulder, towards Talia.
"Of Lyonesse? Of your family?"
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Talia notices where Liath rests her hand. It's something she does often, Talia has noticed. It also never seems to be violent. The same as Talia putting a hand on the back of her neck when she thinks.
"How it's... changed?" she asks. She hesitates a moment, though, then she looks down. There is a hard, angry look in her eyes. "I shouldn't be surprised, no?"
Her voice gets quieter. "He had a way of making things worse. It stands to reason that includes his family."
Then, she looks back up at Liath She considers, for a moment, her question. How much she knows is a difficult question. It isn't for the lack of knowing the answers -- but for the uncertainty in what she does know and wondering, for a moment, if she should trust Liath. After all, she made clear where she stands.
Except...
Liath still made sure they weren't killed. SHe still made sure they escaped. And she hasn't attacked her, here. She can trust her, Talia decides. Some bonds don't break that easily.
"Lyonesse is the lost land," she says. She sounds a little like she is reciting from a book. "A... place that was once supposed to be glorious. Wonderful. And then it fell, after a plague and war, and... it's lost to us, now."
Then, Talia exhales. "And House Yemelin had some connection to it. I never heard what. I know it's an old family," she says. "But... my father made sure that I knew it's not my family. Nor my legacy."
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
Inquisitive eyes linger on Talia as anger suffuses the young woman's expression, as it casts down the pitch of her voice. It is a, perhaps, sympathetic thoughtfulness that remains in some small way in the nuance of Liath's expression as Talia continues on.
Is Liath trustworthy? There is certainly much to suggest to an optimistic heart she should be.
There's certainly much to suggest to a cynical heart that she is not.
For her part, the Seraph does not press -- there's not even an ounce of expectation in her stare. As if Talia could leave now and Liath would not for a moment hold it against her.
But the bond remains. And for a moment, Liath's expression gentles as she listens. Gentles, and...
A... place that was supposed to be glorious. Wonderful.
... becomes touched by something else, something infinitely more complex.
Liath's armored fingers quietly, briefly clench around the pommel of her sword.
"Talia."
That armored hand falls from Joyeuse's pommel as Liath turns to face the young woman fully.
"You have experienced much in your young life. More than so young a life ought to. But it is more than enough enough to know that the truth of things is rarely so simple." She offers a small smile; it is apologetic, even as she remains unblinkingly resolute in her tone.
"House Yemelin was begun by more than one man. For good or for ill, it is what it is now because of the actions of the many... the many who rose it up, and the many that brought it low. It was no one man who brought it what it is this day... and no one man may decide who is a part of its legacy, no matter what it may be."
She gestures, with a gloved hand, to the sword that Talia carries.
"How does it feel in your hand, Talia?"
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Talia catches that expression, as Liath goes from gentle to... something else. Not lacking in gentleness, perhaps, but there is a response to the mention of Lyonesse. Whatever became of it, wherever it is now, it means much to her.
She wonders about that. Once, she might have let it go, but now...
"You... know of it?" she asks. "Had you been there, before?"
She quiets again, though, as Liath continues. Her eyes drift down -- seeing that Liath must be right. She swallows, but she nods her head at the end of it. "Mm... you're right," she says. "It started before Lubov. Maybe... it will go on after him."
Her eyes look down at the sword in her hand. She lifts it now -- not brandished against Liath, but held in front of her. Her hand rotates the blade's hilt, as she looks down at it. The silver and gold portions turn, reflecting her crimson eyes back at her in turn.
"It's well balanced. It seems to suit me, no?"
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
It's well balanced. It seems to suit me, no?
Liath's head cants to the right. A genuine look of something like nostalgic approval graces Liath's fair features.
"Indeed," she agrees, readily and with simple honesty. "As if it were meant for you."
But Talia had asked her another question. About Lyonesse. Despite not immediately answering, Liath still seems to fall into consideration -- as if thinking of how best to answer those questions the young woman poses her. Armored and gloved hands slip behind her, clasping behind her back as she turns her gaze towards the rest of that room -- sweeping, until that bright, gold gaze falls upon the symbols etched upon its door.
"... Yes," she finally says, after a time. "I know of it. And the stories told of the tragedy that befell it. Very few legends speak of the humble beginnings it started upon. But I suppose those hardly make for gripping tales."
She allows herself a small, sad smile, thinking of this -- before that golden stare turns back towards Talia.
"There is a story that often makes me think of what befell Lyonesse. Would you care to hear it?"
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
"Mm..." Talia hesitates, verbally and visually. But then she nods. "It's hard to argue, no?"
It feels right. Even if it came from her father's family. But, she supposes, that is her family too; it's not as if he can keep her blood from her. She turns the weapon over a couple of times, and then she looks back to Liath.
She watches -- and listens -- as Liath speaks of it. She is a little surprised at the direct answer; sometimes, she found, Liath kept facts like that close to her.
Talia looks at the sigil, then back to Liath.
She hesitates for only a moment, before she nods. "Ah--yes, I'd like to, no?" she says. "I've heard... a little, but... I'd like to hear."
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
"Very well. Though I know not how satisfying a story this may be for you if it is answers you seek."
Those, she can't really provide. Not any that would be directly helpful to someone who so clearly wants them, in any case.
So, Liath shuts her eyes; she takes a slow breath she does not need. And she begins, slowly,
"Once, there was a gardener. The gardener wanted nothing more than to make a garden where all the flowers could bloom and thrive, free of the threats that lingered in the outside world. But the gardener knew not where to begin, because the gardener loved all flowers of this star, and wanted all of them to thrive -- even if it were not possible to save every single one.
"The gardener knew: if nothing else, one, perfect place would suffice. And eventually, the gardener found that place in an unremarkable plot of land. It was barren, parched of nutrients, of attention, of love. It was hardly the place to cultivate a truly thriving garden. ... But for some reason, this land called to the gardener; there could be no other place to plant than here. Perhaps, it was simply because the land itself seemed to yearn so desperately for someone, anyone to notice it -- to see the potential in it for greatness, if but someone was willing to truly work it. Perhaps it was something more. Regardless...
"It took time. A garden, after all, does not bloom overnight, let alone thrive. Days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. Months to years. But the gardener was patient, and driven: years became generations... and within them, the buds of promise that first formed so long ago in the cracked land had bloomed into a thriving, verdant eden. The land was not hopeless; it was fallow, and simply waiting for someone who could see the truth within its uncultivated depths.
"The gardener was overcome with joy at the sight. Simply to see it thrive was enough for the gardener; simply to see how far the garden had spread, how much life had bloomed from once cracked and dry grounds. The gardener's love had given the land a blessing -- and the gardener was intent to make sure that blessing endured. The gardener protected the garden from every threat possible. The gardener warded the land from weeds and pests -- from anything that could wither away the garden.
"The gardener wanted nothing more than the garden to be safe, forever. ... It was... a simple wish, but a foolish one. The gardener did not intercede, even when the garden began to grow wild and overrun, because at least it was thriving, and to the gardener, that was good. But the gardener could not see every threat. The gardener's love had blinded them, to the rot that had worked its way into the garden beneath the soil of another land. The rot gnawed through the very roots of the garden; unprepared, and unexpected, the flowers that the gardener had so loved stood little chance. The land withered. Weeds and pests swarmed. The rot flourished. And the gardener could do little more than watch as what they once thought was an eden became a withering blight."
Liath falls silent, there. Her gold eyes crack open after ten seconds; the smile she offers Talia is a simple, bittersweet one.
"If that gardener was you, Talia -- what would you have done?"
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Talia's brow furrows, for a moment. "Maybe, but... I'm not sure what questions I'm asking yet, no?"
So she stays quiet and listens.
A perfect place, where a garden could thrive, even if it didn't seem that way. She can see the allegory -- that Lyonesse is the garden. A place meant to be perfect.
She can guess who the flowers are, too. She frowns, as she listens, though -- because the question is a hard one. A threat that hadn't easily been seen; a threat that came from below, perhaps even within.
Until it was too late.
Talia remains quiet, after Liath is quiet. Her red eyes turn down to the floor, as she considers.
"...I'm not sure, no?" she says. "Maybe try to prune the bad from the good. But... that seems easier said than done. I think I'd have to... find the fertilizer and medicines that the plants need, no? To... make them stronger, to withstand the rot."
She looks up, tilting her head. "And maybe make it so they could stand a chance against the blight that crept in."
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
...I'm not sure, no?
Liath's expression gentles, the bittersweet of her smile turning towards something softer and more understanding.
"That is good, Talia," she says. "It simply means you are human. Those who could express immediate and unflagging confidence in the face of such a question reveal naught but their own foolhardy."
But Talia continues. And as she does, Liath considers her answer without interruption or judgment. As if, perhaps, what was not needed was the right answer in this moment, but an answer alone. She listens...
... and her smile grows, just a little.
"Mm," exhales the Prime Lord, gently. "It is a fine answer, Talia. But a tall order, indeed. To prune the bad from the good would doubtless lead to the selfsame situation once more -- perhaps worse still. And to make the plants truly strong... As you say, it is easier said than done."
Liath considers, for a few, quiet moments.
"... Alas, the fate of that garden was sealed long ago. The gardener's dilemma, in my eyes, came down to a simple flaw: they saw the weeds and the pests, and even the rot itself, as nothing more than contaminants. The gardener did not understand -- even the ugliness of the world was part of the garden too. And in trying to deny it, the gardener doomed the very garden they loved." The Seraph shakes her head.
"Mayhap it is understandable. But in the end, it was a tragedy of the gardener's own making."
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Talia smiles, for a moment, at the compliment. She hesitates, though, as Liath explains more.
The damage from pruning would also kill the garden. She could see that, though; she only knows a little of gardening, but few things could survive that aort of thing. Talia's eyes glance downward for a moment as she hears what caused the garden to fail.
The ugliness couldn't be ignored. It wasn't going to go away.
"Mm," Talia murmurs. "I think I see what you mean. The gardener couldn't remove something like the world's ugliness."
She hesitates a moment. "And... that's what happened in Lyonesse. A protector didn't understand that rot was part of the city. And that led to its fall, since it couldn't be removed, and only grew worse, no?"
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
And... that's what happened in Lyonesse.
Liath does not offer a verbal confirmation; but the Seraph does tip her head just so in the wake of Talia's question, goldspun hair spilling briefly across one bright eye.
"... In the end, we may control our actions while we live, but we do not control what comes after. Our legacies live on, long after us. It is as true for we Seraphim as it is for you and your fellow mortals. Lyonesse's protector acted out of love, but the legacy they left behind is that of an ugly, phantasmal scar, lingering but as a cautionary tale and a monstrosity to underscore it." The Saint, perhaps.
"... It is no different with the legacy of Yemelin. Lubov masquerades as the sole purveyor of Yemelin's legacy, but he knows not the truth: he is, at best, a small part of it. And mayhap his legacy shall be one of House Yemelin's sorry disgrace,"
And here, Liath offers Talia a warm look.
"... before its line was saved by those more worthy of its history."
Her gloved hand lifts behind her, gesturing simply at the blade in Talia's hands.
"At the least... even the smallest piece of Yemelin's legacy seems to fit you much the better."
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
Talia catches the tip of her head. She understands, then: that's confirmation after a sort. It is one that she may need to learn more about, but it is still a starting point.
"I can only imagine what that protector must think... but it remains to be seen what we can do for Lyonesse, no?" she says. "Besides... learn from it."
She quiets, though, at the mention of House Yemelin's legacy. Lubov would have her think he is that legacy; he made sure that she knew it, that Ivan knew, and that all of Rolance did. But, looking at the sword...
There is more to that legacy than him.
"Maybe... maybe so," she says. She turns the sword over, admiring the runes on it. "I don't know if I'm the best person for redeeming it, no? But... it does fit. And it means I should learn more about who they were, before him."
She looks at her own reflection -- two-toned, silver and gold, both looking back at her. "And Ivan and I are better people for changing that legacy than him."
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
It remains to be seen, what they can do for Lyonesse.
No?
All Liath can do is offer a quiet, "Mm," the fingers of her armored hand briefly tensing behind her back.
"Perhaps you are not, Talia. But perhaps there is something within you, that you have yet to see." What that is, the Seraph doesn't say; instead, she turns, half-facing the door as she speaks. "For now, you are not wrong; one must know the legacy they are saving, if they mean to save it. It would seem that you have perhaps the first step to that within your hands." Liath glances down at that sword, then back at Talia as the young woman admires the polish, the runes. Her brows lift fractionally.
"A pity, then, that you are only here to sort the inventory in this chamber than, yes?"
She lets that recall of Talia's excuse for being her hang like a Damocles Sword in the air, ready to snap its last thread, for exactly four seconds before she very smoothly clears her throat and looks up towards the ceiling.
"--Ah! Unfortunately, I must cut this conversation short. I've a few matters to tend to for the sake of my Goddess. Since the Guard saw fit to leave you unattended, I imagine it would do no harm to follow their lead; just pray be certain to do a thorough inventory, and leave everything in place where it ought to be."
Does she -really- believe it? Is it just a thin excuse that she's humoring? It's so hard to tell--
But it doesn't sully the genuine smile Liath offers Talia, in the slightest.
"... I am... glad, Talia. That we had one more opportunity to speak like this."
<Pose Tracker> Talia has posed.
"Something I don't see..." Talia repeats, trailing off. She thinks about it, before she looks back at the sword in her hands. She keeps her eyes on it for a moment, thoughtfully, and then her eyes widen after a moment.
"Ah--"
Ah, she feels caught. She stammers, but she can't quite get her words out. Maybe Liath didn't quite buy it. Or...
Or maybe she did.
"I-I certainly will!" she says. "Y-Yes, of course. And I will... get back to... what I should be doing." She doesn't move to put the sword back up. She keeps a firm grip on it, though.
Then, though, she smiles.
"I am too," she says. "Take care, no? Once this is all done, we should all get together again! A nice dinner."
<Pose Tracker> Seraph Liath has posed.
"Superb!" declares Liath, beaming with great satisfaction.
"See that you do just that."
'What she should be doing.'
Talia smiles. She makes a suggestion, for another get together. Another dinner.
Liath smiles, but lingers in silence for several, long seconds before she dips her head.
"... I would very much like that one day."
And with that, Liath turns. The gesture is mostly formality; even as she turns, the green and gray fabric of her clothes, the polished silver-white of her armor -- even the hues of her skin begin to glow and unravel into so many unspooling threads of prismatic light. They spread and float past Talia, past the walls and ceilings, in a warm rush.
"Take care, Talia; give Ivan my warm regards," Liath's voice echoes as she disappears into so much light.
"I hope what you see and experience here in Pentagulia brings you strength, not doubt."
No matter what it might be.