Chapter Text
The Birthheart was unlike any place you had ever entered, yet alone stayed in. The whole walk to and into the massive tree felt like a fever dream. It was like something you’d conjure in your imagination during the trip to Eiselcross to picture yourself somewhere warm to look forward to. It was easy to let your attention wander in admiring the skyward reaching branches and lace-like pillars and architecture. Only by the time your group had been led to your assigned dorm room did it occur to you that yes, you were staying here . Weeks of sleeping in rotations and on rough forest floor had conditioned you to think of any form of bed as luxurious. This felt like overkill. You could’ve imagined the jealous ire of multiple past-selves who had to nurse wounds on wet grass or snow.
You obviously had the most trepidation, your comrades had flooded the room like the starved to a feast. Orym was the last to pass through the door besides yourself, trailing after Dorian with just enough distance between for you to catch the halfling staring. Bell’s Hells (and Braius—you were unsure if he qualified yet) quickly spread through the room claiming beds in a well worn routine. Braius stood back for a few moments before claiming a bed near Fearne. Feet planted in the doorway with an ambiguous sense of anxiety threatening to root you in place, you just stood. You’d quickly clocked there was only one entrance to the room, eyes trailing the furniture and making out possible hiding places. Now, you’d just need to unpack and check with F.C.G over what spells you needed to bring—
Oh.
Your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t ask him— whose fault was that? Tears welled in your eyes, lungs stuttering to a halt. You could feel your own spit coagulate at the back of your mouth, choking the little air supply. The shadows of the room seemed to darken and each second slowed to what felt like hours. The more and more your mind raced the less you could feel besides the maelstrom of emotions in your head. The two rows of six beds seemed to stretch onward, more and more and mo-
“You just gonna stand there?” Ashton—that was Ashton’s voice. You forced yourself to blink and clear your throat, eyes refocusing on the genasi lounging atop the nearest bed, dirtied shoes casually resting on the daisy-white sheets.
“Get your shoes off the bed.” The response surprised you as much as it did him, the out-of-body feeling from your racing mind still lingering in your spacey thoughts. His eyebrows twitched in obvious thought, but he said nothing. “We’re guests, be polite.” Again, the response felt more out of habit, a genuine feeling of discomfort wrapping your chest at this casual disregard of a holy space. He snorted out a heavy exhale, eyebrows raising in genuine amusement at your exaggerated reaction.
The loud scraping of wood against wood tore away your attention, your eyes wandered past Ashton’s shoulder to the sight of Chetney’s beanie barely visible on the other side of a moving bed. As the bunk finally hit and rested parallel against another, you heard a proud and satisfied hum sound from the gnome. His wiry form leapt onto the bed with a surprising amount of grace and rolled across the two with juvenile delight. Dropping off the other side and onto his feet, he progressively made eye contact with each member of the Hells.
“That’s mine. Okay?” a murmur of acknowledgement travelled around the room. Imogen and Laudna shared an amused look from where they sat cross-legged next to each other. With Ashton’s attention turned away from you, you took the moment to slip across the room. You swung your pack from your shoulder onto one of the furthest beds, beginning to unpack and settle while your hands still felt unsettlingly on autopilot.
Another sound of bedsprings led you to tilt your head and notice that Chetney had re-assumed his position atop his makeshift queen bed. Digging out his newly acquired materials, he immediately set to work chiselling. The sight of wood-shavings gently floating down onto the clean sheets made your eye twitch.
“Chetney,” Ashton’s voice was clear and silenced all other conversation in the room, and he waited a moment for the gnome to make eye-contact before continuing, “While you’re asleep, I’m going to steal your sticks.” The barbarian had an uncanny ability to be both deadly serious yet hold an impish grin across his face. A similarly challenging grin stretched across Chetney’s face in return.
Barely a heartbeat of silence passed before Ashton’s voice continued, “All your sticks. Those sticks are mine .”
That comment broke the faux-tense silence, laughter filling the spacious room and echoing in a joyous symphony. Chetney spared another moment to stare at Ashton before returning to his new project with fervour. Your own unpacking resumed, along with full feeling in your extremities.
The recent memory of passing a lounge on your way to the room called out of you. The brief glimpse of a flicking magical fire lured you with its promise of warmth and quiet. Leaving your pack ajar and still brimming with unsorted contents, you made your way to the entrance of the room.
You barely caught the tail end of Laudna and Imogen sharing nicknames for the Birthheart on your way past. A quiet “ Motel Sticks ?” prompted a quirk of a smile to sneak its way onto your face. The women sat knee to knee, unpacking their supplies and speaking casually. Imogen’s eyes drifted up to meet your own momentarily, sparing a warm smile. You let your face mimic her own, hoping that the lack of enthusiasm didn’t show.
The hallways were mostly empty, your steps a smooth and unconscious pattern on the ornate yet natural wooden floor. Your attention drifted to the patterns on the bark of the floor, swirling and curving like the path of a feather swept by the wind. Slight deviations in the colour grew more and more noticeable the more attention you gave. Approaching the end of the hallway, you saw the veins of bark split into two even sections. It was only now you noticed the sound of additional footsteps, close—
A heavy shoulder checks your own, natural weight of the figure’s body causing your own to bend and momentum to carry you abruptly to the floor. The shock of sudden movement left you reeling, elbows barely shooting out in time to prevent your head from cracking against the ground—instead the skin of your elbows stretched uncomfortably at the bone of your elbow being pressed against the hard surface so forcefully. You forced your gasp of pain into a strained exhale, hand immediately grasping for your holy symbol. Fight back, get away, stop flailing and get up.
“Oh gods, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there, here-” the figure leaned down to offer a hand before freezing, eyes widening. Staring up at them and meeting their gaze, you saw yourself in the reflection. Burning warm light had called to your fingers, tendrils of light flickering up your arm as the guiding bolt curled and flickered in your grasp, awaiting the movement to release it.
Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears, nails tensing into the wood as you dismissed the spell. Your vision blurred.
“Sorry, I’ll… I'll just go…” The acolyte stood back up, hurring past your still prone body and moving down the hall where you came from.
Seconds passed, the sound of the enemy-young human scurrying away was barely perceptible over the rush of blood in your ears. You barely noticed the pain shooting from your fingers as you pulled them back, a section of your nail ripping. You blinked twice, eyelashes fluttering as your attention turned to your injured finger. Blood seeped from the wound, beading in the nail bed and slowly falling down the curves and wrinkles of your skin. You blinked yet again, focus returning only to be met with stinging pain.
You inhaled sharply, the verbal components to a minor healing spell coming to your lips automatically. You felt the warmth of the Everlight’s compassion flicker and sear away the stinging pain, the wound healing over slowly under your gaze. You took the second to take stock of your position, still partially on your back in the crossroads of the two hallways. You needed to get up. You needed to get up.
The motion swayed your vision more than it should have. You pushed yourself forwards, using the unbalanced momentum to move quickly towards your destination. The few other souls you passed on the way there blurred into each other, the details of their person eroding into an amalgamation of shadow.
You finally reached the common room, the ring of couches surrounding the hearth were welcomingly empty. Your pace slowed into a reluctant tread, the heel of your boot catching every odd-step and forcing you to take yet another step to keep up with your forward-moving body. Instead of one of the many comfortable looking chairs, you made your way over to the fireplace. Charred wood curled into a half-moon shape above the magical fire, a thin leafless branch encircling the base. You all but fell to the floor, curling up into a ball and staring directly into the fire. Despite its magical origin, it held all of the warmth of a real fireplace. The outer edges of the flame swayed and danced, spitting and crackling in the evening silence. Your arms held a mock embrace around your knees, holding your form tightly. You’d normally spend your time admiring the space, with the work of the Wildmother being so beautifully formed into a place of both worship and living, but you felt as if the moment your gaze shifted from the fire that all you’d see would be tears.
You’d usually avoid letting your thoughts linger on the brief surges of anxiety. Since F.C.G’s passing, they’d come with a force. The frequent exposure to new and dangerous spaces left you with a newfound paranoia and anxiety. You’d been counting people and tracking exits to rooms unconsciously. Spacing out was uncommon, as you typically had to be alert. You’d hoped a peaceful place would allow your mind to rest. It only seemed to invite a new collection of symptoms. You wanted to ascribe this to the pressure of failing your fellow cleric in his time of need and the present struggle of healing the party yourself, but this was a long time coming. F.C.G’s death was just the most recent and devastating crack in your mental health.
Your eyes burned both from your intent staring at the fire, and at the unshed tears that threatened to fall and welled at the edges of your vision.
Minutes passed before the homely ambience was joined by footsteps—a familiar kind. If asked to identify a member of Bell’s Hells by footstep alone, you doubt many could. You, however, had spent many an early night and morning awake listening to the movements of your friends. This familiarity allowed you to recognise Imogen’s heeled boots entering the space. Still emotionally reeling from earlier, you chose to speak first.
“It’s a shame we’re only spending the night, this place is breathtaking.” You looked down at your own feet, moving your hand to swipe away the few droplets of tears pooling at the top of your cheeks.
“I imagine you’ve already given yourself a tour of the place.“ There was an affectionate warmth to her voice. Your mind was immediately brought back to the scene in the hallway and your chest tightened. Noting your lack of reply, she stepped closer, rounding the couches and pausing a few steps away.
Lowering her voice, she spoke, “Ya know I don’t make a habit of reading people’s minds, but… I was just doin’ a lil check in with how everyone was going earlier.” Her voice trailed off momentarily, as if nervous about pushing boundaries. “I thought I’d just check in with you after giving ya some time to work your thoughts out.” With a slight shift in fabric and squeak of upholstery, she slowly sat down on the nearest armchair.
You let out a quiet huff of laughter before replying, “You’re a bit early then.” You tucked your chin behind your knees.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Her tone was gentle, but with how fresh the mental wound was, it still caused you to tense. You hiked your shoulders further upwards, fingers tensing around your calves. She exhaled lightly, allowing a moment to pass before moving. The couch shifted from the movement, a slight creak joining the stretching of Imogen’s pants as she kneeled down beside you. She made no move to touch or disturb you. You sat side by side, basking in the glow of the hearth. Closer, you heard her quietly clear her throat.
“If you want, you can show me instead.” You turned to meet her soft gaze. She sat leaning on the floor, legs splayed out partially to her right as she leaned on her left arm. In the warm dancing light from the fire, the veins of purple that crept up her arms and chest appeared a scarlet red. The yellows and oranges danced in her eyes, swirling amongst the lavender like the sky on Ruidus. Your eyes began to burn again, drawing attention to the silent seconds that had passed with you just staring at the woman. You blinked rapidly, warmth creeping up your neck and burning your cheeks in embarrassment.
“Sorry…” Looking down, you considered her offer. It was conflicting, whether sharing this would help soothe your nerves or set them alight with the recognition of your impaired state. Thoughts cascaded into a storming sea of worry. Did you really want her to know? For them all to know? What would they do if they realised how much of a liability you were? You couldn’t even walk here by yourself without something happening-
A hand gently sits atop your own.
Looking up to meet Imogen’s eyes, your vision was obscured by a thick sheen of tears. Clumsily, you moved your uncovered hand to swipe them away. Imogen’s fingers laced with your own and her smile was tender with warmth. Forcing a few measured breaths, you closed your eyes.
“Okay, I… I think I’d like that.” Your voice was palpably nervous, but you steeled your face as neutral as you could manage.
You were familiar enough with the feeling of Imogen’s telepathic connection. It was necessary for many of the quieter missions and situations the Hells ended up in. The slight static crept across the corners of your conscious mind. You steadied another long breath, releasing tension and letting the static freely wash over your mind. Imogen’s grip squeezed affirmingly. When you felt the light tracing of her powers become more solid, you began to visualise your entrance into the Birthheart.
You focused first on the feelings, the images being barely an amalgamation of approximate colour and shape. Arriving at the entrance into the dorm made you pause temporarily, but you focused on the feeling of her hand on your own. You let the memory play on, letting the imprint of anxiety fully manifest. The warping of the room’s dimensions still felt nerve wracking, but more uncanny than anxiety-inducing when you weren’t actively panicking.
You felt a flicker of amusement when you remembered your conversation with Ashton. Thinking back, you realised—whether he intended it to or not—that him interrupting you did help. You’re unsure how long you would have stood in the doorway. You could feel the anxiety over what may have happened growing like mould, dotting the edges of the vision and replaying the scene in the doorway again and again. No , nothing happened. No amount of worrying could change the fact that nothing happened . Your memory skips forward to you leaving your bed, passing Imogen and heading towards the door.
The first part was most certainly the easiest. You could feel your apprehension growing as the memory progressed into the hallway.
Imogen’s feather-light tracing of your mind swirls around, voice apparating again in your mind, “ I never noticed the floors looked like that, it’s beautiful .” Embers of your own appreciation were embedded in the memory, it took little effort to share how you had felt similarly in that moment. You could feel the memory slowing the closer you got to the moment .
Step.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Step-
“- listen to my voice, alright? You’re okay, I’m right here.” It took you a moment to register Imogen’s voice—real voice—over your own panicked breathing. You don’t remember leaving your mind, when-
“Hey, breathe with me, okay?” You were staring blankly at her. You didn’t have time to ascertain the meaning of her words before they curdled in your mind. You felt helpless, she was asking you to do something . Her freckles mapped across her face like stars in the sky. Her bare shoulders rose in exaggerated movements, her lips moving and forming words you were deaf to. Your throat constricted, breath rushing in and out and in and out. Imogen’s mind pushed at your own and all you could do in that moment was give in.
Suddenly, a field stretched before you, wind whipping your lavender hair across your face. A hand absent-mindedly tucked a strand back. Wait, lavender hair?
“Just feel for a second, okay? ” Sending feelings in someone else’s brain was unusual, like wringing water out of a towel and into a bottle. It took a few moments of wavering concentration to focus on the affirmation, but you felt the beads of emotion run across the tether.
The long grass was honey-yellow, paling at the tips. Your—no, Imogen’s sandalled feet stepped through a parted track. Her hands swayed loosely at her sides. The yellow stalks tickled the bare patches of skin along her forearms. The brown and white shapes of distant horses dotted the crest of the nearest hill, idly grazing. Their forms solid against the grass that swayed in broad waves. The shadows of clouds passed overhead. The wind held just enough of a bite to it to offset the sun’s heat. It was almost out of a dream, any thought of panic seeped from your mind as you lost yourself to the swaying grass.
“Better? ” Imogen’s voice sounded closer. You blinked, realising you had slowly drifted from her mind back to your own. Your mouth was dry, but you felt noticeably calmer than moments before.
“Yes, thank you for that .” You mentally replied, feeling as if words were still too much. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, relaxing her focused expression. “I… I don’t think I want to share what happened next .” A flicker of nerves was doused by a wave of understanding from Imogen. The feeling was pure, untainted by itching curiosity or frustration.
“That’s alright. ” Imogen’s voice drifted into thoughtful silence for a few moments before continuing, “I’m sorry you’ve been havin’ a rough time after F.C.G, I think we’ve all been so caught up in our own problems, and you always seemed so put together .” Guilt dripped from her words. You focused on projecting a sense of sympathy, giving her a small smile.
“But, those are excuses. I’m sorry, we’ll work together to sort something out. You don’t have to carry this alone .” She moved to palace her hand on your shoulder, gently giving you a squeeze. You slowly raised your hand to rest on her own. Warmth blossomed in your chest, emotional catharsis causing a languid relaxation to creep through your limbs. For the first time in a week, you could say you felt okay and actually mean it.
“Oh, am I interrupting something?” Laudna’s voice broke the silence of the world outside your mind. Both you and Imogen jumped in surprise, wide eyes swirling around to meet Laudna’s innocently curious ones.
“Just, sharin’ some concerns.” Imogen’s smile is genuine, eyes momentarily flicking to meet your own, sharing an unspoken acknowledgement. Looking back, you noticed Laudna had a similarly tender smile. The two stared at each other for a passing moment—no doubt having their own mental conversation. Casually making her way over, Laudna sprawled out on the central couch, revealing a bottle of wine that had been hanging loosely in her grasp.
“Mind some company?” She tilted her head to the side, smile and eyes just a tad too wide. Again, Imogen looked to you for permission, the slight static of her mind tracing your own crept into the periphery of your own.
“Yes, that’s alright .” You focused on the thought, bringing it to the forefront of your mind. Her mouth twitched a smile as she turned back to Laudna and motioned for her to join the two of you. She leaned forwards, holding out the bottle towards the both of you. You considered it for a second, but promptly declined with a small shake of your head. Imogen’s hand raised as the bottle was pulled from Laudna’s hand by an unseen force, hovering over and landing firmly in her grasp. Popping the cork in a similar manner, she looked around the room before taking a long swig.
Laudna tucked her head onto her palm before whispering conspiratorially, “Did you both see Orym?”. Her eyes darted between both you and Imogen with a childish curiosity.
A beat of silence passed before Imogen spoke, “Like a lost puppy.” Her smile widened into a shit-eating grin.
“It’s adorable,” Laudna gushed, head tilting down slightly.
You’d noticed of course, it’d be hard not to. The two orbited around each other like planets—never close enough to touch but never far from sight.
“Wish they’d just talk about it, I don’t know how much more of them makin’ eyes at each other I can take,” Imogen huffed. Her reaction was obviously exaggerated, but you could sympathise with her.
“Fearne says they’ve been like this for ages .” Laudna dragged out the last word with a low inflection, gesturing wildly with her free hand. Your attention piqued at the mention of the fawn.
“Fearne’s talked to you about it?” You tilted your head, looking from one woman to the other. The two shared a look. You furrowed your brows, confusion bubbling in your chest at the odd interaction. Did you miss something?
“She’s mentioned a few things. You know how she gets bored when she’s on watch.” Laudna opened a hand while looking at you, twitching two fingers in Imogen’s direction and motioning for her to pass her the bottle.
“It’s either gossip with her or leave her to her own devices, and that always ends with her stealin’ from someone.” Imogen nodded sagely as she floated the bottle back over, moving to sit cross-legged facing the undead woman. Similarly you nodded, eyebrows twitching upwards as you remembered the many times you’d caught her hands wandering when she was supposed to be on watch. You turned fully, sitting with your knees held to your chest. Imogen continued, “She means well, she’s probably just not used to someone dancin’ around their feelings for that long.”
“We can’t really talk, can we?” A lavender blush coloured Laudna’s cheeks at her own comment, Imogen giving a short chuckle and tucking a lock of lavender hair behind a pink-tinted ear. Their reaction drew a smile onto your face.
“That’s adorable.” Your own muttered comment escaped your lips before you had a chance to tamp it down, leaving your mind scrambling. Both women turned, surprise further colouring their faces red.
“Now hush you,” Imogen sputtered. Laudna took a heavy swig of the bottle in lieu of a comment. Nerves prickling your hands and the back of your neck, you cleared your throat as you all but stumbled to your feet.
“I’ll be going now.” The words came out flat and hurried. Slipping past the couches, you avoided eye contact with either of the women.
“Wait-” The rest of Imogen’s words were lost to your mental monologue of fuck, fuck, oh shit, fuck, fuck …
Stumbling up the stairs, you nearly missed colliding with Ashton who seemed to be heading the party. Muttering an unfocused apology you side-stepped the genasi and scurried towards the room. You barely caught several exclamations of surprise in your attempt to flee conversation.
What was moments ago a trap for your anxieties now acted as a last bastion against the world. Slamming the door shut—promptly followed by an apology to the Wildmother—you all but lept onto your bed. Pulling the covers over your head, you strained your lungs for a few long breaths. Quickly snatching the pillow from beneath your head you covered your mouth just before letting out a wholehearted scream of embarrassment. Holy fuck were you a special kind of stupid.
You let a few moments of silence wash over you, light filtered through the thin sheets. Finally alone, you were able to sink into the bed and enjoy the peace. They’d have questions, yes, but for now all that mattered was that there was no one around for you to fumble a conversation with.
---⋅∘☽☀︎☾∘---
Time passed quicker alone in the dorm room. After giving yourself a long moment to settle, you chose to spend your remaining arcane strength touching base with the many allies the Hells had working alongside them. Some contacts were much more polite and pleasant to talk to than others. You made a mental note to seek Pike out more often. You’d been too nervous to speak with her earlier. Meeting another Cleric of the Everlight had been a very welcome surprise—especially one who could help guide your group in Laudna’s resurrection. Since then there had been multiple times you thought about seeking her guidance. Many of the Hells were good at offering advice, but they lacked the connection to your goddess.
A final sending spell to Deanna left you with a message to pass along to both Fearne and Chetney. Your cheeks flushed at the more risque content. You could already imagine the reaction between the two—Fearne rarely hid her romantic affairs and escapades from the group, whether that was a good or bad thing was up to personal taste, you supposed.
Standing up from your bed, you left the sheets askew in your wake. Making the short journey to the common room was easier this time, the later hour meant you were the only one walking the halls. Trailing the same path in the patterned bark floor, you eventually arrived at the precipice of the common room. Inside, jovial chatter had settled into occasional laughter.
From the entrance to the room you saw everyone sitting in various manners around the small coffee table, atop of which was the wine bottle Laudna had brought down, now empty and on its side. Your attention was more drawn to the short kiss between—Orym and Laudna? Laughter ensued from the group as the both of them embraced in an awkward hug, separating quickly. Orym all but fled to an opposite armchair as Laudna moved to sit partially on Imogen’s lap.
Ah, Spin the Bottle? The juvenile nature of the game was the appeal, you supposed. Surrounded by the enormity of the fate of the world hinging on your group, simply focusing on the present—the people inside of this room—felt safe. Additionally, if one was to take Braius’s interest in the interaction at face value, it seemed like a very unorthodox way to become more familiar with your new companion. He’d already flirted with most of you. This didn’t seem to push his boundaries.
The game was in its dying moments as it seemed most of the Hells had had their full share. Fearne sat on an armchair with Chetney contently resting against her chest, her clawed hand lazily curled around his form. You moved towards the entwined bodies, having to shuffle past the similarly close Imogen and Laudna. The rest of the Hells acknowledged your approach with attention, quietening conversation.
“There’s our glorified messenger pigeon, you here to get a taste of the ol’ Pock O’Pea peckers?” Chetney scrunched his face into an exaggerated pout.
“Got a message for you two,” leaning in closer, you continued, “Deanna says you need to give her a visit before we head back up to Ruidus.” Fearne’s reaction was immediate, an impish grin quickly pulling the edges of her lips upwards. Chetney similarly had no thought to hide his smug delight at the poorly disguised booty call.
“She and F.R.I.D.A made any progress with Prism?” Imogen’s drawl sounded behind you, prompting you to turn to face the gathered group.
“A little, too much to share over sending though. F.R.I.D.A’s still having trouble dealing with F.C.G’s passing.” Your voice trailed off slightly. You couldn’t help but meet eyes with Ashton who met your pitying gaze with a steeled facial expression. You drew in a faint sharp breath as the tense atmosphere fell hard upon you. Uncertainty settled into the base of your stomach as you tried desperately to navigate through the impenetrable wall of his demeanour. It was no use, however—your timing had been too abrupt. You caved, ducking your head down to nervously fidget and pick at your fingers.
“Might be worth a trip then, for more than just a reunion.” Laudna lifted her head from Imogen’s shoulder, looking to each person for approval.
“Hey, you’ve dodged your turn all night. You’ve gotta at least have one, to make it fair for everyone.” Ashton leaned forwards in his chair, reaching over to shove the bottle in your direction. You had little time to react and catch the bottle before it rolled off the edge, your argument dying in your throat and being replaced by an unbecoming squeak of surprise. A chorus of agreement rose among the other Hells, only fueling your embarrassment. You placed the bottle upright onto the table, leaning back to make a hasty exit. A pale hand reached out to hook around your waist as you leaned backward—Fearne’s idle hand had reached for you.
“Hey, it’s also truth or dare. You don’t need to kiss someone.” Her emphasis on the latter option felt shallow. She obviously preferred the former—a quick dart of your eyes around the group confirmed this was a common sentiment. Warmth blossomed across your cheeks.
“Um, guys I’m really not sure…” You moved a hand to grab Fearne’s, ready to tug her grasp from your waist. Suddenly a familiar static traced your mind. You felt Imogen gently prodding your consciousness for your emotional state.
“Do you wanna go? I can get ‘em to stop if you want .” Her sourceless voice was gentle, feeling like a light patter of rain across your swirling thoughts. On the one hand it might land on someone who doesn’t actually want a kiss, or, at least not from you . Then again, it might be a fun distraction, and if someone really didn’t want to, you’d just have to trust that they’d speak up. They all looked like they enjoyed it so far. Who knows? It might be fun. You forced a long exhale. A smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, you tilted your head back slightly and gave one last thought. Am I really doing this?
Fuck it.
You didn’t reply to Imogen, you just focused on projecting a sense of embarrassed reluctance through the mental tether that temporarily connected you two. She physically leaned back in her chair, arm draped over Laudna’s shoulder.
You picked up the bottle to a round of cheers. Standing at an empty space in front of the fire, you held the wine bottle firmly in one hand, looking around the group.
“So, how does this work?” Your voice still betrayed the lingering fringe of nerves, but all it took was a reassuring look from several of the Hells for you to feel more confident. If you’re going to look stupid, at least you’re going to look stupid with your friends.
“Someone asks a question, and you can either answer or spin the bottle and kiss someone.” The inflections in Laudna’s voice were only emphasised with her glee, her body leaning forwards and hands gesturing as she explained. Imogen couldn’t keep a smile from her face, her affection for the undead witch nearly palpable.
“We don’t have the zone of truth up anymore.” Ashton leaned forwards in their armchair, elbows leaning casually on his knees. He looked from you to stare at Braius expectantly.
Braius didn’t have a chance to begin the somatic components before Fearne interrupted, “It doesn’t really matter, it didn’t change anything.”
“It's the last round of the night, lay off Ashton.” Imogen challenged, eyebrow raising in a well meaning but strong warning. Ashton’s eyebrows raised at the interaction, finally relenting and raising their hands in mock defeat.
Waiting a moment for the air to clear, you cleared your throat and spoke, “Okay, shoot.”
Quiet conversations quickly formed between different members. Surprise coloured your face as you realised how eager almost everyone was to participate. Almost everyone. Ashton had sat quietly, staring in your direction, perhaps at the bottle in your hand. Oh, your hand . A sliver of blood had dried at the edges of your newly regrown nail, traces of blood still visible in the lines of your finger. Turning your hand to obscure it from their view, you avoided his gaze.
Conversation settled, both Dorian and Chetney leaning forwards seemingly both keen to speak. Chetney was first to open his mouth.
“What made you follow-“
“Do you feel confident being the only Cleric in the group now?” Ashton had leaned back in their chair, arms crossed and sporting an inscrutable poker face. He held your gaze strongly, eyes trained on your face and slowly travelling across it with a scrutinising focus.
“Ashton-“ You interrupted Dorian’s attempt at disputing the question by forcefully placing the bottle on its side, maintaining eye contact with the Genasi as you flicked the neck of the bottle.
Fearne’s excitement was quick to spread amongst the group, leaning forwards and grinning as her eyes keenly trailed the spinning object. Several others had finished quiet side-conversations to keep a closer eye on the object. Some—namely Orym—were more subtle about their interest than others.
You sucked in a deep breath as the bottle slowed.