Archive of Our Own

Edith doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the monster attacks. 

She dodges a swipe from the rampaging beast’s claws as she ducks into a doorway among several terrified witches, heart pounding. The monster blows past the storefront, jaws snapping at the heels of another unlucky villager screaming (understandably) bloody murder. She peers out to follow the chaos, shakingly afraid and yet so so fascinated at the same time despite herself, as she has been by everything on the Boiling Isles for months (months, ugh, has it really been that long?)

A muffled voice sounds dim and tinny amid the whispering witches, from the folds of Edith’s cloak.

“Edith? Edith, are you there? Are you safe?! Over.”

“Look, it’s the hunters!” The little voice is drowned out by the shout of one of the witches, crowding themself up against Edith (she can’t bring herself to protest) to point over her head at the now fast-approaching wagon entering the square, horns blaring. Aboard it, a team of fortified witches with their staffs raised, ready to spring.

Beastkeepers, no doubt, here to put the destroying monstrosity in its place. 

“Edith?? HELLO?!” Edith’s gaze is wrenched away from the wagon at the sound of another transmission, and she fumbles the walkie as she pulls it out thanks to the commotion around her but she catches it in hands that shake and is finally able to answer, “H-here! I’m here in the market, over!”

“Are you safe? I saw animal control on its way to take care of whatever that thing is.” His voice crackles with static. “Over.”

From her vantage point (nevermind the witch practically climbing up her back) Edith can see the beastkeepers descending from their wagon to corner the snarling animal. It bares its razor teeth, hackles raised, not intimidated in the slightest. Into the walkie she responds, “I’m safe for now, over.” (She’s always hated having to say “over” at the end of every sentence like it isn’t intrinsically obvious)

“Copy. Stay where you are, I’m gonna see if I can make it past this blockade. Over.” 

She’s having trouble making out his reply over the hubbub. The beastkeepers make to restrain the beast with ropes that glow red and almost as angry as their target. One of them prepares to subdue it with some kind of sparking potion. Edith’s almost on her way to getting pushed out the doorway entirely by the crowd pressing up behind her but she grips the jamb tightly, eyes locked on the spectacle in the square. 

“N-no, it’s safer if you stay outside the village,” she stammers into the transceiver. “I’ll come find you as soon as they get this taken care o—”

The ropes holding the monster back SNAP like twigs in a fire. The roar that fills the square is enough to send Edith’s pulse plummeting all the way down into her stomach. Her grip on the device tightens. “Definitely don’t come over here!” Reflexively she’s trying to step back into the frightened crowd. “STAY WHERE YOU ARE just don’t come over—”

With a BOOM that rattles even the streets outside the market the furious, howling beast smashes itself into the storefront, just inches away from the doorway. Edith yelps (she’d be embarrassed if she were the only one doing it) and finds herself thrown to the ground, barely missing getting buried in the onslaught of debris and people. 

The walkie-talkie flies out of her hand to wedge itself under the rubble.

Through the mild ringing in her ears Edith makes out screams, roars, and the harsh voice of one of the beastkeepers barking orders at the others. She tries to blink away the dust in her eyes, scrubs her hands over them when that doesn’t work, and she’ll think later that it was in that temporary blindness that the creature got the jump on her, surely, because when she opens her eyes again there’s a mass of fur and teeth and claws and spikes gunning straight. For. Her.  

She gasps. 

Standing is still too shaky to achieve so at first she tries to scurry out of the way as fast as she can, before she’s finally able to brace herself on a slab of fallen concrete and book it in the opposite direction, thinking to herself that she’s never empathized with another person more than she does with that poor bloke who was getting chased in a matter very similar to this one just moments ago. 

It doesn’t last long: up ahead, another damaged storefront. The walls are cracked but standing, and though most of the doorway is barred by collapsed timbers there’s a pocket of refuge under them that spur in her an idea, one that she has no time to seriously consider because by now the monster’s practically nipping at her heels and she knows that he wouldn’t hesitate for even a second and so she takes as deep of a breath she can and—

One, two, three more running steps, an awkward stuttery jump and ouch, her hip hits the ground harder than anticipated but whoah-oh-oh : BUMP. 

She slides to safety underneath the cave of rubble, Indiana Jones-style.

(PHEW)

The pocket is small enough that she can only sit up in it but for a moment she feels relieved, adrenaline coursing through, and she’s almost starting to laugh before the swipe of a claw catches her in the arm. 

(Oh)

The beast is still trying to get her, evidently undeterred by the too-small opening, managing to fit its claws in even if the rest of it won’t fit, and Edith bites back a scream and inches herself as far back as she can, clutching her arm, kicking at the incoming attackers.

(Well this is it for me it was good while it lasted)

Or maybe not.

Because in that moment, something SLAMS into the creature from the other side, sends it tumbling away from the doorway in howling protest. Edith only blinks at the sudden sunlight at first, mouth agape, trying to process what she’s seeing outside her would-be refuge. 

One of the beastkeepers, the leader: he’s stepping off the staff he just used to ram an out-of-control ragebeast ten times his size. In his hands he’s holding a spelled rope. And he’s staring down his target like it’s nothing more than an angry cat, expressionless. 

Wordless, too: the beast roars and charges once more, but the witch simply holds his ground, and with one arm he throws that rope in a clean arc towards the beast like a lasso, aiming it so it ties itself around the monster’s middle, though what he’s hoping to achieve here is a mystery, seeing as the beast is still very much able to keep running at him regardless, and, whoah, hey—if he doesn’t move out of the way it’s going to—

He does step out of the way, just in time for the beast to plow right past the spot where he would’ve been standing, and now he grabs on to the rope with both hands until it goes taut and the creature gags on its own momentum, sends itself careening towards the ground backwards, howling. 

He doesn’t give it the chance to hit the ground yet: no—with barely a grunt he jerks— jerks! —the rope to the side, and against all known laws of physics he sends the downed animal hurling across the ground to smash spectacularly into a blessedly vacant stall, wood and goods flying everywhere, raining down on the creature and the shocked onlookers.

(Oh??)

The beast moans from its landing spot, thoroughly discombobulated. 

It’s in the ensuing stunned silence that the beastkeeper finally speaks.

“Stay back.” He aims it at the gathering crowd. Stoic. Blunt. 

Stolidly he steps towards the beast, still weakly writhing on the ground. 

He kneels down.

A golden spell circle gleams around his wrist as he holds up his hand to place it on the monster’s brow, not even hesitating. The monster growls, screeches, howls for a final time before the spell finally takes hold, a golden wave of magic rippling through its fur….

The beast falls silent. Still. 

The thrumming sound of its breathing fills the square.

Edith still crouches in the doorway, still wide-eyed, still silent. Months on the Boiling Isles and she hasn’t seen anything quite like this, even for all the magic and monsters in this world. Her breath is stopgapped in her chest.

Other beastkeepers run into the scene now, up to their leader, exchanging indiscernible directions. And though the chaos has died down Edith still feels her heart begin racing in her ears when she realizes the lead beastkeeper is now turning towards her, walking closer, closer, close. Instinctively she scuttles back—

Hands lifting a slab of wood, more light spilling into the cave. She blinks hard.

“Are you alright?”

He’s not that much older than her, she notices. Sober disposition. Dark grey eyes like stormclouds. The red cloak around his shoulders flutters slightly behind him. 

And there’s a dragon perched on his shoulder. Because of course there is.

“Are you alright?” he repeats.

Oh—she’s staring. She works her jaw awkwardly. “Uh, I, uh. I—y- yes, I, I think, ah…” Nevermind: she clamps her mouth shut, flustered.

He doesn’t seem to mind. No—he only holds out a hand, and she hangs back for only a moment

(ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum)

before she accepts it, and oh, he’s strong, he has her back on her feet before she can think to stand. 

She stumbles. He sets a hand on her shoulder to study her. 

(oh no oh no—am I blushing???)

“The Healing coven should be here soon.” He’s looking her over. “They’ll take care of that for you.” 

That’s right, her arm: she’d forgotten about it until now, and now that he mentions it it is starting to sting a little. Well, okay, it’s starting to sting a lot. She winces, cups a hand over the gashes. 

He’s walking away by the time she remembers her manners. “Th-thank you,” she calls out softly, aims it at his back. 

And by some miracle, he stops. He turns. 

(stop blushing stop blushing stop blushing)

She smiles.

He doesn’t smile back. 

Instead he only nods, once, terse. The dragon on his back chitters softly in turn and then they’re both walking away again, disappearing off into the sunset and the waiting team of beastkeepers, the prone animal now being loaded onto the wagon.

In their excitement to see the fallen creature the crowd leaves Edith behind, leaves her alone. In her sudden isolation she finds herself without the faintest idea of what to do now. Her arm aches. In the distance things are finally starting to quiet down.

She reaches for the holster on her belt.

Wait—where did it….?

The spike of adrenaline at finding her transceiver missing gives her an answer. 

Gasp. "Toilette!"

She tears off out of the market.