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+--- Thread: PRP We'll find moonlit nights strangely empty (/showthread.php?tid=10974)
We'll find moonlit nights strangely empty - Will-o'-Wisp - 3/31/2026
Vaguely backdated to "Sarge is dead" time
Another night.
Another escape into the cold night.
Another single sad, quiet call that echoed off into the woods until it puttered into nothing.
It would be another disappointing night, Wisp thought, wearing her track into the snow yet again. The blizzard raged on around her, and frankly, she wasn't sure it was night anymore other than trusting her own internal clock. Did it matter? Her world felt as gloomy as Mythris felt these days, the light of her life snatched away.
No, pushed. She'd done this, she reminded herself. She'd been stupid. She fought those depressing thoughts, the grief threatening to swallow her whole; if she let them win, then she really was a liar. If she didn't continue to believe he would be back, she'd lied to the kids, she'd lied to him, to herself, to Taloka -- dread clogged her throat, and Wisp heaved desperately for air between gentle sniffles of long-dry sobs, face contorting into panic as she considered the implications of being wrong.
What was she supposed to tell the kids?
RE: We'll find moonlit nights strangely empty - Lyra - 4/4/2026
Lyra had, over time, accepted that Sarge was trapped in some horrific accidental fae bargain which... presumably included unnaturally captivating sex, or some other mind-numbing joy. And maybe the children, too. Even though she couldn't quite decide whether he seemed happy to be a father.
Regardless, favours both fulfilling and less-so clearly came at the cost of a rather hectic cycle of death and reincarnation — all at the whims of supernatural forces. While terrifying, his bouts of falling through the sky and then the occasional discarded husk to bury had become at least familiar. Some nights, she could even joke about it.
When it was clear he'd be succumbing to his wounds after the shitshow of bloody near-murder, Lyra had expected to be woken at by his ass crashing through the roof. Or his ungainly German ranting at the door.
And then... hadn't been. Only thing more unnatural than unnatural reincarnation was.... unnatural non-reincarnation. Something else at work.
Scared the Wisp, too.
As days went on, Lyra found it in her to hope that maybe the grizzled old curse-wridden gobshite had just... managed to move on. Finagled his way out of the bargain. Found peace of spirit after dying, which, was generally the best you could hope for after making deals with fae.
Kids were upset. Missed him. She didn't worry overmuch — they were kids. They'd grow out of it.
But the fuckin' Wisp. Hell. Wandered around like a cat lost its kittens, bawling into the night. Lyra didn't really know what to do with that. Fae weren't supposed to be loyal to mortal men.
Since Mal was laid up in bed on account of the mauling business, it fell to Lyra to be the... wrangler. In this particular situation. For the sake of everyone trying to get some sleep tonight. The Wisp probably needed to sleep, too, though achieving that felt ambitious even to the Calico Cur.
So she followed lonely cries into snowladen dark like the world's stupidest mortal, and called out,
Ye keep cryin' out 'ere an yer snot's like t'freeze all te way int'yer brain.
RE: We'll find moonlit nights strangely empty - Will-o'-Wisp - 4/4/2026
Fae weren't supposed to be loyal to mortals. Wisp battled with that most viciously when the dreams of disaster loomed above her, but now that Sarge wasn't here… she found she cared little about, well, much else past her kids. She'd give up her job just to have him back, pay whatever cost short of, again, the children.
Not even the Queen of the fair folk was so cruel to dangle such a non-choice before her, surely?
Wisp had tried to be polite in limiting herself to one howl a night, but it didn't occur to her that snow-muted sobs still echoed back to the cabin she never left her sight of.
She expected even less for Lyra of all people to come lingering in her wake. The sea wench continued to surprise her; never had she rolled out any semblance of welcome and yet they lived in relative civility, litters mingling, growing to be what Wisp hoped was friends. She'd thought the woman would capitalize on Mals general bedriddenness and seize further control of the situation once the dust had cleared, expected perhaps the whispers or outright jabs at the troublesome fae…
But the Howff just continued on, quiet if not peaceful. A little tense and awkward, perhaps, but it wasn't as if she'd guarded her husband day and night worrying someone would finish the job. Not even Mals intent seemed ill or resentful.
And here was the captain of the ship, calling after her like everything was normal: ‘Ye keep cryin' out 'ere an yer snot's like t'freeze all te way int'yer brain.’ Wisp halted jerkily, head swinging to the side to peer miserably back. Some part of the gentle bullying of Lyra's normal sassiness eased her heart enough to quip the smallest, briefest of smiles in return.
It didn't last.
Not even the Queen of the fair folk was so cruel to dangle such a non-choice before her, surely?
Wisp had tried to be polite in limiting herself to one howl a night, but it didn't occur to her that snow-muted sobs still echoed back to the cabin she never left her sight of.
She expected even less for Lyra of all people to come lingering in her wake. The sea wench continued to surprise her; never had she rolled out any semblance of welcome and yet they lived in relative civility, litters mingling, growing to be what Wisp hoped was friends. She'd thought the woman would capitalize on Mals general bedriddenness and seize further control of the situation once the dust had cleared, expected perhaps the whispers or outright jabs at the troublesome fae…
But the Howff just continued on, quiet if not peaceful. A little tense and awkward, perhaps, but it wasn't as if she'd guarded her husband day and night worrying someone would finish the job. Not even Mals intent seemed ill or resentful.
And here was the captain of the ship, calling after her like everything was normal: ‘Ye keep cryin' out 'ere an yer snot's like t'freeze all te way int'yer brain.’ Wisp halted jerkily, head swinging to the side to peer miserably back. Some part of the gentle bullying of Lyra's normal sassiness eased her heart enough to quip the smallest, briefest of smiles in return.
It didn't last.
Sorry tae wake ya,she muttered, swallowing past a lump in her tear-thick throat,
Hope ah dinnae stir th' wee ones.
RE: We'll find moonlit nights strangely empty - Lyra - 4/13/2026
What doesn't stir te wee ones?Lyra lamented rolling her eyes.
But look, yer man's liable t'get lost wanderin' out in weather like tis.
Despite an impressive fae resume, the Wisp was more... mortal-like, here. Couldn't do all the things she ought to, Lyra was coming to realize. Which meant mortal advice might actually do her some good, right about now:
If 'e's out tere, best 'e stays 'unkered down 'till it passes. Big strong survivalist fella, he is, so that's prob'ly what 'e's doin'. An' best you be tucked up safe in a predictable place fer 'im t'find when 'e comes back around, aye?
Lyra wasn't convinced Sarge was really coming back, but nothing in her tone particularly betrayed it. The advice was sound, exactly what she'd say if she felt there was hope. And the encouragement practiced. How many vulnerable destitute and desperate had she coaxed into the ruin of a slaving ship, or a pleasure house, or some rich man's private rooms?
Strange to be doing it for someone's own genuine good, this time around. For a fae.
Lyra shook her head,
No point in both of ye bein' lost in opposite directions. If 'e could 'ear ye wailin', he'd be close enough t'know te way 'ome. Trust 'im t'do so.