[quest: Wail of the Banshee]
| YOMI (OUTSKIRTS), DEC 29 20XX.
The tinkling of coins ceased, the grieving widow having stopped the motion that shifted the meager drops of gold about its pouch. Hundreds and hundreds of repeats later and it never once realized that its disguise had been picked apart years ago, filed away methodically in Hermes' public record. All that was left to do was smile as the game of deception turned on its head. It appeared to be no hard task for Arabelle, until the final notes of the woman's plea lingered in the air, unanswered, and a gauntleted hand brushed against the back of hers as the silence lapsed another second too long.
It was said that a banshee's weeping heralded the death of a loved one.
That myth had long died in her eyes, along with a couple hundred others.
But that well of bitterness had once again found its home in the hollow of her chest. She thought she heard her confrere whisper something next to her ear, their faint murmur bearing the tone of familiar comfort; yet since when did a drowning person ever fully hear the sounds of the surface? She'd pour it all outward, until the woman's rendered skin had burnt so terribly that the horror she had created was enough to tear Arabelle's gaze from its ghastly expression—
The small purple-haired girl felt the air thrum at her fingertips.
She reached for the unforgiving steel of her scythe.
♗ -- ♝
Arabelle let her fingers glide beneath the surface of a small stream. A sickly blue glow emanated from the stone forming its bed and the gentle flow of the water reflected in her ashen eyes as her gaze followed the current downstream to where it ended in a small pool against the side of the cave. Cool to the touch, perfect for drinking — if one was at a point where they didn't have ready access to the safezone's supplies, anyway. She figured those were refilled water bottles lined up along the bank.
Her moment of quiet ended when she heard movement from the makeshift camp at the far end of the cave. Rising, Arabelle shook out the droplets from her hand and scuffed her foot against the ground: the first real sound she made ever since she ventured into the hollow alone. "You sleep so quietly. Most people could never do that even if they wanted to," she purred, snapping her glove back over her wrist. Her scythe was nowhere to be seen. "Ah, but that won't really help you if you're this horrendous at hiding your tracks..."
Arabelle tilted her head at Pinball, then pointedly let her gaze rest on a moderately-sized pouch just beside his sleeping bag. It was opened just wide enough for him to make out the signature shine of her performer crystals, and Arabelle didn't hide her amusement as she observed.
"A wonderful Christmas to you, sugar. You left before I could offer you any presents."
Arabelle (LEVEL 36: 124 SP)
| HP: 740 | EN: 72 | DMG: 10
| MIT: 12 | ACC: 1