Chapter Text
That fight had been tough, and honestly, all Fearne wanted to do was pass the fuck out. But Dorian wanted a drink, and Orym was insistent on not leaving the ladies alone with Ashton, so the faun agreed. If nothing else, at least she could have a few drinks and try to relax, as much as she could anyway. Ashton was right. This town had a serious inanimate object problem and it made her wary of spaces that appeared too safe. Orym's desire to keep the whole group together made sense.
Fearne smiled into her whiskey and milk, idly scratching Mister's chin between offerings of peanuts. Everyone now settled, Dorian picking at the strings of his lute, she finally felt like she could breathe. And then Ashton ordered a bottle of "whatever's cheap" and started explaining the rules of a game. Fearne perked up. She loved games. She also loved observing people.
Laudna and Imogen, in particular, were certainly something...else. There was more to them than what they tried to play off. Anyone who looked at the two women could see there was history there. More, perhaps, than Fearne had with Orym and Dorian. So it's no shock when Imogen revealed that they've been traveling together for two years. The two were borderline domestic, the way Laudna wrapped long slender arms around the smaller woman's shoulders, and how Imogen's eyes fell closed and she leaned into the touch. Definitely not as casual as it looked.
And, shit, there was nothing casual about the way Laudna dispatched the thing that knocked Imogen unconscious during that fight earlier. To say she took it out with extreme prejudice would be an understatement. And she hadn't even looked at the damn thing. Just fired off an Eldritch Blast and then slammed to her knees next to Imogen. And Fearne got it, because damn if she hadn't done the exact same thing for Orym or Dorian or Opal or Dariax more times than she cared to admit. There's just something visceral about the reaction when someone you love is hurt, and oh.
Oh.
Fearne could feel the creeping tendril of her magic as flowers bloomed out in her hair in a reflection of the thoughts that had gotten away from her. Her nose twitched at the warm smell of honey flower and lavender flooded her senses. It must have been a very sudden bloom, because Orym turned and cocked his head at her with a look of curiosity. Then his eyed followed her line of sight to where Laudna and Imogen nested together at the other end of the table.
Orym's eyebrows raised, and Fearne could see the puzzle pieces falling into place in his mind. Whether by reading the flowers in her hair, or the gentle touches and comfortable stillness between the two witches, Orym and Fearne were now aware of the same thing. He turned back to look the faun in the eye, head tilted over so slightly towards the women. Fearne just responded with an innocent shrug.
"Those are pretty, Fearne." Imogen's voice was gentle, if curious. "I didn't know you could change your blooms like that."
Fearne blushed. "Yeah, sometimes. It just kinda happens."
Orym snorted. He'd been traveling with Fearne long enough to know the flowers were more a reaction than a conscious choice.
Imogen only vaguely acknowledged the halfling's reaction. "Well, regardless. I like it." And a pink blush dusted the sorceress's cheeks.
Fearne tilted her head and then ran fingers through tangled green hair, dislodging a cluster of flowers from between her horn and ear. "Here. You can keep 'em." She focuses a moment, and the clusters of flowers spiral into two stems with a variety of complementary blooms.
"Oh, look, Imogen! They kind of match!" Laudna's long fingers curl delicately around the stem of the deep burgundy carnation and raise it to her nose. The small collection of violet heliotrope blossoms flutter as she inhales, the arch of wintergreen leaves settling over the skin between forefinger and thumb.
"They do," the sorceress responded with a warm smile. Imogen carefully inspected the pale lilac carnation, twirling it between gloved fingers so the branching stems of white buck bean and bright green stonecrop waved as if in wind. "Thank you, Fearne."
"You're very welcome, dears."
