The Stray

2-23: Lord of the Black Lake

The Blackloch had never considered Timothy worth his time, let alone his direct attention. Even fighting and killing his fingerlings had never earned a conversation or even a threatening message. It had been years since the Black Lake jellies had stopped looking for trouble on his turf, and he'd only been too happy to stay away from 'em in kind.

So t'put it mildly, "Frass...!"

"INDEED." A tone so dry it could soak up a river. It was unnerving to see it come from that pest's mouth. "WE FINALLY MEET, HOODED WEAVER." Like a puppet, the limuutri rose to his feet. It was like strings were pulling from his back, his hands, in a strange parody of slime and solid both. V's mess of stunning spells slid off like it was nothing.

Panic threatened to burst forth from the nooks and crannies he always stuffed it in. He swallowed hard, and after a few failed attempts, managed to answer, "H-hail, lord of the Black Lake." Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of nerves cross V's face for the first time since the Voltcage. Well, good! This wasn't a game!

"Wait, you're the Blackloch?" V gaped. "W-what is this, slimepathy?"

Pride's head turned slowly to eye Valencia. "INDEED. VALENCIA, WAS IT? AN EYE OF MINE SAW YOU, AND YOUR SISTER DURING YOUR FLIGHT."

Call it guts or call it foolishness, but V rallied far faster than Timothy did. She recrossed her arms and met the Blackloch's gaze head on. "Oh yeah?"

The Blackloch actually chuckled, a deep, bassy rumble that shook Timothy's guts to water. "YOU FLY WELL. PLEASE TELL YOUR SISTER TO BE MORE CAREFUL WHERE SHE WANDERS."

"Sounds to me like you should be telling that to Pride, here." Timothy wanted to scream at her not to be flip with an elder being that could eat them both, but his throat didn't want to move. "The guy who's body you're riding, who's actually about to get hauled in for a whole rap sheet."

The Blackloch's brow furrowed. "YES. MY... MINION." He said in a voice rich with annoyance and... disappointment, maybe? Then, a second mouth opened on the side of the otterbeast's neck! "Oh, come on, I'm at least a henchman!" Pride! Timothy stepped back in surprise, and V nearly lost her cool arm fold. They can do that!?

A touch of annoyance colored the Blackloch's voice. "PLEASE FORGIVE HIM. HE IS A MORON." A startled snort of laughter escaped Timothy before he could stop it. A distinctly Pride-sounding "hey!" slipped out the side of his mouth. V, for her part, gave a surprised chuckle of her own. "DID YOU THINK ME UNAWARE OF HIS SHORTCOMINGS, HOODED WEAVER?"

Oh, frass, and now he had to answer with a straight face. "N-No, Lord." Timothy managed, barely. "Just, err, with the way he described his titles and all..."

"HIS SELF-GIVEN TITLES." Holy frass, the Blackloch was trashing Pride. It was enough to make his withered heart sing! The look of annoyance that flicked briefly across Pride's face just made it even better. He wished he had a camera. If I die right now, at least I got to watch Pride get dressed down by the one person he can't sass.

V was more focused on the task at hand, though. "It ain't really about forgivin' him. Your little friend here's been harassing farmers and their livestock for the last few nights." She jabbed him in the belly with a finger. Timothy winced, some of that joy fizzling out as the panic regained strength. "T'say nothing of arson, assault n' battery, and kiting."

"KITING?" V reached out, grabbed Pride, and actually bodily turned his head to look at the pile of battered, singed, stunned and caged Shadow Jellies. Not to mention all the damage they'd all done. "...OH. I SEE."

"Yyyyep." V let go of Pride. "Now I dunno how much of what Pride sees you see, but you'll note they're all fine." She shot Timothy a glance, to which he only rolled his eyes. "Normally, I'd be happy to turn'em loose and just say I ran'em off. But these guys are part of a plot, y'know? And Pride may be a moron, but he's smart enough to premeditate." She loomed over Pride's body, and Timothy found awe starting to overwhelm his fear (and annoyance) some: she was treating the Blackloch with no deference, no fear, no nothin'!