Bird Furious

There are things I have to add and stuff but Don’t. Stop it. Her hands were tangled in her hair again. Go away go away go away.

Oh dang… I apologize……… Beosta knew if she stopped walking, she’d probably start crying. She didn’t want to, so she didn’t stop walking. Idiot stoat, why couldn’t she just get it over with?

Woah wait fr? Scud… “I give up,” Beosta declared. “I give up.” She hauled herself to her feet, wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, and stalked away. Livetha chirped anxiously and followed her.

I gotta edit it again, but this is what you get for now I should prolly spoiler it but I don’t really feel like it. So yuh …Imma go sleep now. there I spoilered it. You’re welcome, all you TLT people.

scud uuuuuu sleep well, Glass I'll adapt it for this but I do warn you there are elements I need to add and some editing to do but I'll post the final version of all the scenes in my writing thread later

She nodded hard. She knew she must look a mess, but she didn't really care. "Yes," she sobbed. "Please." He doesn't have all the context, Livetha maintained. There's more. "No. Just skip to the end." The context-- "%$)&# you, you stupid stoat!" She growled. "Skip to the end!" No. Ready, Shoe?"

"Please. I need you to see!" Beosta, calm down. We'll finish another time. "No. No! I need him to see!" She started crying again, hands tangled in her hair so tightly it felt like it would all come out.

"I am. I promise I am." Ready? Livetha asked.

"I..." She choked. "I'm not a good person. You should know that. I need you to know."

"You don't understand! I do. I need to show you."

“That’s not it,” she mumbled, muffled. “That’s not what you needed to see. I’m not like that anymore. That was forever ago. That’s not what you needed to see.”

She closed her eyes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I need you to know. Livetha… show him. Just show him. Shoe’s vision faded away, replaced by mental images in soft colors. They painted an open place, open and green and bright, with a bark and a little blue- and- white farmhouse. The image shifted, swirled, and stabilized to show a woman in a simple wooden chair with hair long and loose as Beosta’s and eyes as green as his own. Livetha, this isn’t the right one. Beosta sounded confused, but somewhat relieved at the same time. This isn’t important at all. Yes, it is, the stoat replied. This is part of the story. A very important part. Now shut up and watch. Alva leaned back, fingers tapping on the table, and smiled through the window. Her children, three boys and a little eleven-year-old girl ran after each other, shrieking. “They’re full of energy today.” “Like always,” Hidel agreed, bending down to cup his wife’s face in his hand and kiss her tenderly. “Shall we go? I promised Beosta I’d be right out to let her try my axe.” “Oh, all right.” Alva stood from her chair, dark hair rippling all the way down her back. “I still don’t think she should be near axes at her age.” “She begged me for hours.” Hidel picked up the axe from where it was propped in the corner, slinging it over his shoulder. “She’ll be okay— I’ll watch her.” “I know you will.” She smiled, then stepped out onto the porch. The girl immediately noticed, then threw the stick she’d been using as a sword aside and dashed over to the porch. “Mom! Mom, I killed the werewolf!” She pointed to where her fifteen year old brother, Nethek, had stretched dramatically over the grass. “Now the only person who can kill our animals is me!” “Beosta,” Alva laughed, taking her daughter’s hand. “Good job killing the werewolf.” “Can I help Dad kill the pig tonight?” “Not yet.” “You say that every time,” Beosta whined. “I’m old enough now. I’m eleven, not eight like Gihard.” She pointed at one of her other two brothers, who were currently enacting some sort of ceremony to revive the werewolf. “Not yet,” her mother repeated. “When you’re older.” Beosta scowled. “Fine.” Alva bent to brush one of Beosta’s long curls out of her face. “You don’t have to hurt people to be strong, Beosta.” “I know, Mom.” Beosta wriggled under her mother’s gaze. “Can I go? I hafta go with Daddy now.” Alva laughed. “Of course. Go ahead, sweetheart.” She grinned at how her little daughter brightened and dashed after her father. The memory faded. I added some things, Livetha told them. Guessed a little. Embellished. But I confident it’s all true. Or, you know. Close enough. Beosta said nothing, curling up. That memory wasn’t important. That memory somehow hurt even more. That easy enough for ya? it was my plan anyways because Livetha wants him to keep all of this stuff in mind because she wants him to like Beosta so it works perfectly and I get to show off the scenes I’ve written (and still need to write…)

“Thanks,” she whispered. Livetha curled up on Shoe’s shoulders and mentally suggested he sit down.

GLASS OH MY GOSH YOURE HERE OH MY SCUDDING FOSH HELLO “My… my…” her eyes prickled with tears again. “Can I just show you?”

The wall continued to crack little by little, but then Bacon’s fists hit a thick metal plate (with just enough Nullite)

IM SORRY “I…” It hurt to look in his eyes. But at the same time, she couldn’t look away. “I want to show you.” Livetha perked up. The wall barely cracked. Gail’s author hadn’t been following the plot, but she followed TP anyway.

She leaned into the hug. She couldn’t stop crying. What was wrong with her? She didn’t have time to blubber. She had to… she had to… She couldn’t let this continue. She couldn’t keep leeching off Shoe like this. He wasn’t her mother or her brother or… or anything. She couldn’t let him stay close to her. Not when he didn’t know “Shoe,” she whispered, “I need to show you something.” Back in three hours!

His knuckles got bloody. I mean— that’s not what I mean. I… I want to make a difference now. I just wish… I wish I hadn’t… I wish I hadn’t mattered back then. More tears escaped. Shoe, I’m not… I’m not……. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want him to step away. She didn’t want to see that concern morph into anything else. I’m an idiot, she whispered mentally.

I don’t scudding know

His bardic inspiration is, thankfully, fine. He merely can’t sing. Good storyteller. Too bad he thinks that’s a useless thing to do.

Me too….. so far the other character in the campaign has been ok though.

I know. She closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks. I know I matter. That’s the problem, Shoe. That’s the whole problem.