Work Text:
“Hey guys,” Jester says, a question in her voice, eyes roaming over the exhausted and battleworn bodies of her friends, counting and recounting, “Where’s Molly?”
They tense, as soon as the words leave her mouth, and it’s funny, it would be funny, how they do it like dominoes- first it’s Beau, and then Caleb just barely a fraction behind her, and last is Nott. And she knows, she knows, she knows people, just like her Mama- not as good as her Mama, doesn’t use it the same way, but good- but she has to hear it,
“Guys?”
Oh, she doesn’t like that at all, that isn’t her voice at all, is too small and scared to be her voice, she isn’t- Jester is fun and laughs and loud and happy and she can’t-
It’s Beau who speaks. “Jester- he. He didn’t, Lorenzo, on the road- Molly’s dead.”
It crashes over her like a tidal wave, and she can’t breathe, because Molly- Molly can’t be dead, he’s- they’re- they’re Team Tiefs, he is her friend, if Molly’s gone she can’t gossip with him in Infernal, can’t gossip with anyone in Infernal, they can’t link tails, she doesn’t have someone to joke with about knocking your horns on doorways, he can’t be-
She only realizes she’s slumped back against the wall when she feels Beau rest her arm on her shoulder. She pretty sure she’s having a panic attack, and she tries to take deep breaths, like Mama taught her, but Molly’s gone- and-
They’re in battle. She feels the sharp sting of claws in her shoulder, feels the magic well up in her, and lets it out. She doesn’t joke, or make a silly insult. Why bother? It’s not like anyone will understand her.
Jester screams, and ice pierces flesh.