An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Friends and Foes

In the aftermath of the battle against David, a standoff occurred.

The sudden appearance of the Capparelli and Ambrosi groups had caused a brief confrontation, but Sinbad had silently stepped between the two of them. He was unable to speak, but that didn't stop him from cowing the lot of them into submission.

Though he didn't remain long after that—he'd raged silently, blood pouring freely from his mouth and hand clenched so tight around the hilt of his sword she could hear it cracking—but Tintinnia had not been nearly so quiet. She had—as Palmira was coming to realize was simply how she handled anger—let out inhuman screams of rage, swearing bloody vengeance against David and everything he stood for.

At least until Sinbad cuffed her upside the head, before dragging the smaller girl out of the smoldering, soaked courtyard. Where they were going she didn't know, but Palmira couldn't bring herself to muster up the urge to care right now.

As for the others, Cherven and Svani stood awkwardly off to the side as they awaited Francoise Capparelli, who had descended into the mausoleum.

He had been down there far longer than expected.

Palmira knew why, but could not bring herself to say anything. She felt too tired, too listless, and her old instincts of 'deny, deny, deny' when questioned surfaced in place of anything else.

Instead she simply sat in the one dry spot in the graveyard, clutching Morte tight as though any second now David would return to steal him again.

"Hey," Anima slumped down next to her, finally finished explaining to the others what had been going on. "Are you injured anywhere? I know you were walking around fine earlier, but…"

Palmira shook her head. Nothing more than some bruises.

"Good," Anima nodded sharply, before sighing. "That's good. I was just… when Morte started shouting at me about being kidnapped, and you were nowhere to be seen… I was so worried. I'd thought our part in this whole thing was done, so I let my guard down…" she shook her head. "I should have taken you girls with me."

"…I don't think it would have helped, much," Palmira finally rasped. "He was coming to get Juliano. If we'd gone with you, he'd have found us eventually regardless."

"Still…"

"I don't like to think on what-ifs," Palmira bit out, tasting smoke on her tongue. "It's best to just accept things the way they are and move on."

"That sounds like a bad way to process your emotions."

"I hate to agree with this bastard," Anima glared at the staff, before turning back to Palmira. Her eyes softened. "But he's right. I know you don't know me very well yet, but I want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, you can always come to me."

Palmira looked away. "Thank you," she muttered, knowing she'd never take the woman up on her offer.

They fell silent after that. They simply sat there, lacking both the motivation and energy to leave.

And some time later Francoise Capparelli returned from the depths of the mausoleum, his face red and splotchy with tears. A pang of guilt hit her when she saw his face.

She did not like the man, but she knew the pain of losing family well.

"Why are you still here!?" Francoise snapped at the Ambrosi, his voice cracking with grief. "Do you have a death wish!?"

Cherven stepped forward, his mandibles clicking uncomfortably. The Capparelli guards stepped between them, stopping him from continuing, so instead he turned to the guard in front of him. He handed the Capparelli a scroll, his eight eyes narrowed in both anger and resignation. Stamped on the scroll was the golden rose of the Ambrosi, revealing its importance. "The Head has, after much deliberation, decided to sue for peace with the Capparelli. Enclosed in these documents are our official surrender, along with a time we are willing to meet to negotiate reparations."

Francoise looked shocked, before his face twisted even further. "You dare! The Ambrosi think they can simply sweep what then have done under the rug? My daughter is dead, and you think you can just give up to avoid my wrath!?"

Cherven looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but here. "My condolences. However, as I have stated before, you won. We surrender. We'd appreciate if you'd accept it."

"Bah!" he sneered at the Örümcek. "You surrender. The Ambrosi have surrendered a hundred times and yet they still stain my city! You people are little more than a leech! Your surrender means so little that they send a mere gate guard to parlay!"

Anima had begun to tense, and slowly got to her feet, dragging Palmira with her. They were starting to regret not merely leaving when they had the chance.

"Well," Cherven shrugged, casually moving his hands to the swords on his back. "I imagine they sent a mere gate guard just in case you decided to refuse the surrender. Just in case."

"How pathetic, that you so easily accept your own expendability."

"I prefer to think of it as competence. Or do you think a mere dozen men could stop me from leaving here?"

Francoise scowled deeper, before with a huff, he turned to leave. "Find somebody else to beg our mercy too," he scoffed. "For I will accept nothing but your Famiglia's total destruction."

And with that, the man stormed out of the city, his guard following behind him.

Cherven sighed, relaxing only slightly. "Damn it all," he clicked his mandibles. "Why did I have to stumble across him first."

"Ah, it ain't all bad," Svani clapped the (much) taller spider-person on the back. "I think that's the least violent interaction I've had with a Caparelli in weeks!"

"That does not make it any less difficult to end this damn war," he shook his head. "Regardless, now that they are here, I have some questions for these… two…?"

Cherven had turned to confront the two Rosa guildmembers, only to pause in confusion, as he saw the spot they had been just moments before now empty.

Anima and Palmira, having snuck out of the courtyard just behind the Capparelli, swiftly made their escape back to the guildhall.

--

​

She stared at the ceiling of her room, laying on her bed. She was exhausted, having been trying to sleep for hours now, but it wouldn't come to her.

"Hey, are you still awake? You doing okay?"

She let out a quiet grunt.

"Makes sense," Morte gave her the impression of nodding solemnly. "Was it what happened in that crypt? Was… was that the first time you've seen someone die?"

A grey cloud consuming her home. A failure of a miracle at the top of a tower. People she knew and not, sick and starving on the streets.

"…No…" she whispered at last.

She knew death well. But this…

"It feels like it's my fault," she continued. She didn't want to talk about it, but she also didn't want him plucking her feeling from her dreams, either. She would say this awake, or not at all. "Like if I hadn't been there, David wouldn't have been there. And if David wasn't there, they would have lived."

'Negative,' Malocchio denied her instantly, before even Morte could respond. 'Our Lady did not harm either of them, despite multiple provocations. How could She bear any responsibility?'

She grimaced. That wasn't…

"Woah, hold up there," her staff chided her mace. "You're young, so I get you don't understand emotions well yet, but denying her feelings like that won't help anyone. That said, you've got a point—Palmira, you didn't do anything to hurt either of those kids. David killed the girl, and that was his decision. And Juliano… well, I can't say I agree with his decision. But it was his decision, not yours."

She rolled over onto her side, looking into Morte's eye sockets. "But I could have stopped him. I was standing right there."

"You didn't know what was going on. You can't blame yourself for that."

'Confusion. Why is Our Lady blaming herself? We do not understand.'

"Just quiet down for a bit, kid. Emotions are complicated."

Palmira rolled onto her back. This wasn't working as well as she'd hoped it would.

Then her window shutters suddenly began to rattle. At first, she thought it was just the wind, but suddenly they started shaking harder. She pushed herself up on her bed, heart suddenly pounding at the thought that someone was trying to break in.

She rolled off her bed and onto the floor, snatching up Morte in an instant and aiming him at the window as it exploded open, and—!

A red drakeling burst through, flopping face first onto her bed. It slowly pushed itself to its feet, shaking its head.

Palmira relaxed, placing a hand on her chest to calm her racing heart. "Goddess," she whispered. "Don't do that, little guy. You almost gave me a heart attack."

The drakeling squawked, jumping onto the nearby table. It was then that Palmira realized it was holding something in its claws.

It was a dead bird.

It dropped the dead bird—nearly charred black from dragon fire—on the table, before stepping back and giving her a proud look.

Palmira, ignoring Morte's barely suppressed laughter, sighed, a small smile of her own on her face. "Thank you, little one," she stroked its head, giggling at the crooning sound it made.

Though these days she no longer needed to rely on eating charred birds to survive, it was still the thought that counted.

Then someone else burst through her window.

"I'm back!" Tintinnia landed on her bed, and Palmira began to wonder at the fact that nobody ever entered her room through the door. "And I brought a gift!"

It was also a dead bird.

Wait, no, that bird was still—oh, no, the drakeling just killed it.

Now she had two charred birds.

She hoped the smell wouldn't be too hard to air out.

"Hey!" Tintinnia snapped, turning to glare at the little drakeling. "That wasn't for you!"

The drakeling sneezed, before fluttering off the table and onto Palmira's shoulder to avoid the girl's glare.

Palmira sighed, absently scratching the drakeling's scaly chin. "Why are you here? I figured you and Sinbad were still chasing after David?"

Tintinnia's face darkened. "We were. But he's as slippery as an eel, that David. We're confident he's fled the city, and with Sinbad needing to heal we aren't able to chase after him yet. It makes me furious." Then her face brightened, or at least did some approximation of such. "But then I had a thought—if I'm angry, you must be too! So since I can't chase after him, I've come to cheer you up! Indeed, I'm such a good friend! Much better than that other woman you were with!"

Tintinnia puffed up with pride, placing both hands on her hips.

And Palmira couldn't help but laugh.

It was more of a choked sob than a true laugh, but how could she not laugh? That her best friends in the world were her staff, a drakeling, and this crazy woman?

"Hey," Tintinnia pouted, looking a little hurt. "Why are you—!?"

She was cut off as Palmira stepped forward and wrapped the other girl in a hug.

"What are you—!?"

"Thank you," Palmira chuckled wetly, resting her chin on the shorter girl's far to poofy hair. "For being my friend."

"Uh, well, I," Tintinnia squirmed, but didn't do anything to pull away. "…You're welcome?"

Palmira just hugged her friend tighter.