Work Text:
She can’t stop. If she stops, it will catch up to her and she doesn't know what it will do. So she runs, tripping over a gnarled root and falls – hard – her face slamming into the twisted roots that populate the ground. Her glasses crack, but she pays it no mind. She has to keep going, away from… that thing. Her magic is gone, her power gone. She’s mundane and all alone (except for it). She can hear the patter-slap of its hands as it climbs through the twists of trees, seeking her out, and she stumbles to her feet. Must keep going. Must not stop. She’s so tired, so weak, but her fear propels her and so she manages to put one foot in front of the other.
She knows that she has to go on forever, knows that it’s possible; after all, they did that to her own daughter at Colethriel Tower. She doesn’t need to trance (what’s the point? Her magic is gone), but she does need food. She staggers around more trees and digs through her pack, pulling out some lembas bread and shoves a large bite into her mouth. This should sustain her. She only has so much, but she’ll worry about it later. But as she tucks away the remaining bread, she slows to a stop; she’s managed to run into a dead end in the forest. She spins around, hoping she has time to backtrack, but as she rushes forward, the patter-slap of hands echoes through the trees and the thing leers around a large, twisted oak.
The van with hands.
It revs its engine and the bumper splits open, revealing rows upon rows of large, flat teeth. It grins at her and honks its horn, an ear-splitting sound that causes her to flinch and cover her long, pointed ears. As she recovers from the sonic attack, she watches through her fractured vision as it lunges towards her, far too agile for something of its nature. She does her best to dodge, dashing to the right, but a hand shoots out and grabs her ankle, sending her crashing painfully to her knees. She claws at the ground in desperation, leaving furrows in the hard dirt as her nails crack as they tear at the roots. She’s not ready to go. Not like this. She has plans, has ambitions, has daughters that need to be punished for doing this to their own mother! But the van is stronger and it drags her closer and closer to its slavering jaws, glistening with black, viscous oil.
She grabs at anything she can, and she grabs a stick off the ground. A pathetic weapon for sure, but a weapon nonetheless. She leans forward and stabs at the hand, successfully puncturing the skin and the van squeals, a high-pitched engine whine, and releases her ankle. She’s free, and she takes the opportunity to get to her feet and run around the monstrosity. Perhaps… perhaps… she prays to herself as she gets behind it. Yes, there’s a small ladder at the rear, and while the van tends to its wounded hand, she swiftly climbs up the rear and atop the roof to safety.
Realizing that its prey is now on top of it, the van snarls and swipes at its roof, but its stubby hands prevent it from reaching her. Arianwen lays down, sprawling out in her safe space, and plots what to do next. First, she must learn to control the van, and then she shall use it to get her revenge. Yes, revenge against those ungrateful girls…