un: hatisse | video

[aprescoup]

( The party's second, more elusive, revived witch appears on everyone's devices — enjoying a steaming, bubbling bath, in a sign that comfort is only unattainable for the unattractive. )

...now, aren't you beautiful, my sweets? And so many more than before, and lively, your flesh teeming with... youth.

This one is only an honoured and unworthy servant, so spare a moment, won't you? There's nothing to fear, I hardly bite, unless... have we still... virgins, each way the eye sees? ( Short, knowing laughter. ) We must relish in innocence.

( If her smile were thinner, it would be the ghost of the party's coin purse. )

Of course, this isn't why I would presume to take up your time, no, not your Hatisse. I only wish, with utmost respect, if I may. A humble warning.

( Her voice briefly ices, while she picks up a diminutive sponge to slowly, sloooooowly rinse her right arm. )

Here, in this gods-forsaken quaint little pedestrian village, where husband is uncle and brother and of the same blood as goats, you do not cross paths with... true witches, no matter what they name themselves. 'Ladies' of... 'lakes.' Remember, the clumsiest, easiest sorcery is the elements, and if they rule water, in a land of waters, don't be impressed.

( Briefly disgusted, as if she prepares to spit out a soured thing: ) They're hedge witches. Primitive, barely trained, and of course, your Hatisse is the daughter of a school, and so perhaps there is the lightest... prejudice, but may I say. Time is not the work of witches who, if rumour is to be believed, can do no better than play in puddles. There must be more. Something or someone.

( And now for an interlude where Hatisse raises herself from the bath, and much of the more risque parts of her body are strategically covered in foam. )

Now... we are friends here, all friends, friends of convenience, but friends. And Hatisse has shared what little was hers to give. But this is a land of the dead, and she cannot do more for you, if she is unknowing. Tell me, my sweets: how many of you are mired in death? How did you come to it?

( ooc: threadjack away! Hatisse will be regrettably available. )

Comments

[song_of_fire]

['Not as long as I live.']

You ask such questions and seek to stir doubt. Yet you suggest an idea without merit or substance.

Your limited abilities, I fear are not enough. A pity.

[aprescoup]

Stir doubt, my lady? I fear I misunderstand you. I've only given one warning: do not be distracted by... lake witches. There is evil, but its power is stronger than that of women in swamps. To hunt them down would be foolish. And poor sport.

[song_of_fire]

I simply mean, you seek those that may be marked by death. Announcing such a request suggests the possibility that there is such a secret among us. Surely you know that may divide us.

Poor sport? How so?

[aprescoup]

Why divide you? Death is inevitable. I should know.

And it would be poor sport to chase ill trained simple women with illusions of grandeur, wouldn't it?

[song_of_fire]

Death sometimes pays for life.

[She scans the sky for her dragon, clinging to that bit of warmth he gives her.]

Illusions of grandeur have a tendency to grow to dangerous arrogance, do you not agree?