[sylvanSpider]

Percival decided to pay Dead Waltz's impish grin no mind. He'd learned that by this point that that look could mean anything, good or bad, and whatever it was there was no fighting it. Had Dead Waltz been an ordinary person that got embarrassed by things people would normally be embarrassed about he would have plenty of stories to tell about herself as well. As it stood, however, embarrassment wasn't something that Percy was sure that Dead Waltz could feel so he would take her blows with a grain of salt and remind himself that he couldn't possibly care less about what the rest of the party thought about him. He at least had Waltz's approval and he was confident that no matter what he did, he wouldn't lose that.

She was utterly immune to any sour attitude that came her way.

Her next statement caught him by surprise and he found himself freezing, coughing up a puff of smoke, and turning slowly to face her. He'd had the pleasure of meeting her father a handful of times and, as expected, he was just an older, slightly more masculine version of his spawn. “I couldn't deal with how you live, eh?” he finally asked, the tiniest amount of humor in his voice, “I find that interesting as I find myself traveling with you more often than not, though I believe it for the best that I remain single. I'm too old for fatherhood and in no position to settle. Though with someone like yourself, I'm not sure that there is such a thing as...'settling.'” His words were true enough. Any moment, including the most mundane moments, were an adventure if Waltz was present. Add alcohol and her drinking buddy into the mix and anything was possible. Their dynamic, to say the very least, was one of polar opposites. For every misadventure that Dead Waltz got them into, Percival was there to get them out. He wondered what she did when they weren't assigned to the same party.

The scholar puffed on his pipe, listening to the dark mage, the humor in his face disappearing. “So she is dead, then,” he said after a moment, “I'd thought as much but never cared to bring it up – a fact I am sure she appreciated. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little curious as to what happened but I am certainly not going to be the one to ask. As far as referring to you as Sister Wisperioux goes, that is a story I would like to hear one day as well. I don't believe I've ever heard tell of your story, Wisp.”

Arabella sighed, not bothering to look at the dark mage who had come up behind her. “No. She's been taught. She has been taught many, many times. Whether she chooses to listen or not is her own ordeal when she must pay for it,” she said ruefully. The halfling turned her gaze from Kastivi to the hound that was circling Christoval and was pleased to see Percival already doing his job and Waltz hers. There was no need for her to interfere with the knight – she'd only get in the way. With that situation under firm control, she looked back at Kastivi and folded her arms and obvious look of displeasure and disapproval on her face.

Kastivi winced. She knew what that meant.

Percival laughed, “Yes, I see that, Waltz. Keep it up so I can get the lad's ankle completely mended and we can move on.” Little did he know that Wisp had other ideas.

The dark mage's threat hit home and Kastivi squeaked, looking at Arabella with pleading eyes. She didn't want to beg. She thought she'd moved past that. Arabella was no help, however, as she shook her head, “Ye best do what she says, lass. You've earned this.”

Kastivi whimpered and turned her pleading eyes to the black mage, “Wisp...please... I'll be no use to the party if I'm hurt.”

“We have a healer for that,” Arabella said, frankly. She was not pleased. She knew that the dark mage wouldn't let Kastivi get killed, but a little pain might provide a valuable lesson in following orders and not abandoning her comrades in battle.