The instant his hand touches her wings, Nill goes completely rigid, her body locking in place, her hand frozen mid-motion.
Then, something breaks.
She twists out of his grasp in a sudden, reflexive motion and runs. The stool topples behind her with a sharp clatter, but she doesn’t so much as glance back. She cuts straight across the room, wings pulled tight against her back, every movement focused on getting away.
And then she’s out the door, gone.
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Nill freezes for half a heartbeat at the overlapping shouts, then snaps into motion again.
She skitters along the tops of the cabinets before dropping down to the floor in a quick, flutter-assisted fall, rolling smoothing into the landing. She doesn’t pause. She darts across the room in sharp, erratic bursts, zigzagging, doubling back, circling Storm once before veering off towards the stairs.
Right as she does, Vesta is coming down to see what the commotion is.
“What is happen-”
She doesn’t get to finish. Nill scrambles straight up her back, rolls over her shoulder, and springs back to the floor in one fluid motion. Vesta just stands there, mouth still open mid-sentence for a beat, then slowly shakes her head.
“Nope. Not today.”
She turns and heads right back up the stairs.
Nill makes a few more darting passes before the energy burns out all at once. As if nothing happened, she climbs back onto her stool.
She goes perfectly still.
The die rolls again across the counter.
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Nill rolls the die once more, then abruptly springs from her chair. In a quick burst of motion, she darts over to the faerie, reaches out, and pokes him squarely in the forehead.
Just as quickly, she bolts.
She hops onto the counter and scrambles up the cabinets behind the bar with surprising speed. She disappears from sight, only to peek her head over the top a moment later, watching.
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Nill takes one last glance at the faerie, then hops back onto her barstool. The die is already in her hand as she resumes her quiet game, feet kicking idly.
Now and then, she glances towards Storm before returning to the steady roll.
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Nill glances up at Storm, then shifts her hand to point squarely at the faerie.
“Unchosen,” she says. “Elements did not do the choosing of him. He is having all. So he is being Unchosen. Unbound.”
She gives a single, decisive nod.
“Chaos faerie.”
Her hand shifts, turning inward as she points to herself.
“Pixie.”
Then, with the same quiet certainty, she lowers her gaze and points to her hand.
“Pixies are being butter.”
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Nill has been staring intently at her own hand, turning it slightly, studying the absence of her pinkie with quiet focus. She silently questions what she’s made of, until Storm suddenly shifts beneath her. She grips tighter to the draconian’s shoulder, glancing up to follow her attention.
The moment the faerie drops to the floor and begins doing pushups, Nill slips down from Storm’s back with a light, careful hop. She circles around until she stands just in front of him, looking down with the same unblinking stare she’d given her hand.
She watches him for several long seconds, head tilting a fraction as her thoughts piece themselves together.
When she finally speaks, she gives a small, certain nod and glances back at Storm.
“He is being Unchosen.”
Then she turns back to him, extending a finger to point off to the side.
“Around the corner is being wall,” she states, monotone. “Obvious.”
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Nill’s expression does not change, but the thoughts are clearly turning in her head.
“I am not being dog.” She says evenly. “I am being butter.”
She holds up a hand, this time towards the faerie. She’s one finger short, her pinkie cleanly missing.
“See?”
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Nill quickly shuffles to Storm’s opposite shoulder, out of reach of the faerie. She leans forward slightly, peering at the offered gem with quiet curiosity, but makes no move to take it. Her hands remain tucked close, unsure.
She listens instead, still and attentive, following his words.
After a moment, she inches out from behind the draconian, just enough for her face to be seen. Her expression remains perfectly neutral, unchanging as she speaks.
“Did you also have the falling into here?” She asks.
There’s a brief pause, her head tilting just slightly as she studies him.
“Are you being from the Sidhe?”
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Nill shakes her head, but doesn’t move from her hiding spot.
“I do not have the knowing of him.” She whispers. “Who is being Penelope?”
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A small pixie dressed in dark clothing sits on the stool beside the draconian, her legs swinging idly as she rolls a small die across the counter. As the draconian mumbles to herself, the pixie’s attention drifts upward, searching for the cause. When she spots the other fae, she startles, then quickly scurries behind the draconian. Only the curve of her small horns and the glint of dark, watchful eyes peek out over her shoulder.
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Nill gives a small shake of her head, like she’s correcting something obvious.
“I do not have the remembering of you doing the growling, either.” She says, voice even. “You do not have to be doing the apologizing.”
There’s a brief pause, and her head tilts.
“I have not had the seeing of you since the Amphitheater, Storm.”
Her attention drifts, glancing down the alley, then over her shoulder. She adjusts the edge of her sleeve, smoothing it once, then again, and finally turns back to Storm with a nod.
“We can be doing the wandering.”
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Nill studies the draconian’s hand for a long moment, then slips out of sight.
A few seconds pass, then there’s the scrape of quick steps across the roof. The pixie drops, catching a windowsill on the way down. She moves through a series of precise jumps before letting herself fall the last few feet, wings fluttering just enough to soften the impact.
She stays crouched for a moment, adjusting her hood to make sure it’s secured on her horns. Her head snaps to either end of the alley, wings flaring slightly as she scans the shadows.
When she finds nothing, her wings settle, and she stands.
Nill steps closer to Storm, but not quite within reach. She stops there, making no move to perch like she usually would.
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There’s a soft shuffle overhead before Nill’s head slowly appears over the edge of the roof. Her hood casts her face in shadow, but what can be seen is deliberately neutral.
“Storm, I think you have the confusion.” She says, tilting her head just slightly. “I do not have the remembering of you doing the snapping.”
Her wings give a small twitch behind her, but she makes no move to climb down yet.
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