I've kept to myself a lot of late. Sometimes I go outside and deal with Chonk, sometimes I just wait. Most of the times I wait. Wyatt doesn't really like to teach, and I think he only does when he gets fed up with me hanging around.
I can do that. I excel at hanging around, hell it was practically my job before all this.
Chonk either won't or can't go inside his little shack, I don't know if its a Fey thing or a 'possibly immortal possible cowboy with a gun' thing. The guy's got iron in a land that seems to be rather anathema to it.
Curiously, if thats the case, Chonk doesn't seem to care much about my short sword. Hmmm, I wonder what all that artificer Dal Matia did that I don't know about?
Regardless of whatever fey chicanery is going on, I've thrown myself forward into whatever the hell it is I'm doing now.
Wyatt doesn't give it a name, and I refuse to call it something so stupid as 'soul burning' or whatever, because that sounds emo as FUCK, and while I may be privvy to the ole brooding behavior, I do not look good with a studded collar on, I assure you.
Or whatever the hell emos wear. I should've said eye shadow.
I've been 'burning' days when i train with him. Says that you sacrifice a tiny bit of who you are in a single moment. Usually, its been things like sprinting around the cabin.
Wyatt took things up a notch today. He pulled iron on me, and fired.
Now, I'm not going to say I looked all Matrix-y and did a bend-backwards dodge under the bullet.
But I totally bent backwards Matrix-y and fell on my ass.
Ladies.
He laughed. I yelled at him. He raises the gun towards his shack and fires again. I flinch. At least its not at me.
There's no registering of the bullet on his little wood place. I tell him I get it, that he fired a blank. He laughs some more at my expense. I let it go. The old man's got his fun, and I have a small affinity for Sam Elliott so I switch gears.
"That was some sort of instinct test. See if I can react by instinct."
"I'd say! I haven't seen anyone cower that fast in ages."
I scowl down at Chonk and ignore him, he's getting underfoot as we walk back to the cabin.
"Go eat a rat or something." I mutter, as I wait for Wyatt's response.
The old man holsters his weapon and lets out a sigh. He mutters something I missed as I taunt the faeline a little.
Patience.
We get up onto his deck, and Wyatt stops in the doorway. He steps inside, and puts his hand on the door as he does. As I move to walk in behind him, I find the door in my face. A bit flustered, I stop in my tracks and step back, the door closes before me, and I hear the subtle motion of wood drug on wood.
He locked the door on me.
I eyed Chonk, and after a moment I sat down on the stoop. My voice was low, as I consulted with the native. "I guess that was that."
"It always is." he replies with no help whatsoever.
I tell him as much and follow up.
"Whelp...I don't think I'm a lost cause, so I think this is the gentle nudging of the baby bird out of the nest."
"And we all know what cats do to birds."
I remain silent for a moment, then I set myself, and stand, "I've got to stop handing you straight lines."
Its time to go...somewhere at least. Maybe that old man taught me what I needed. Maybe not.
Maybe this old gunslinger has a fight left in him. Maybe not.
"Please, you're anything but straight."
I sigh, and pick a direction. The east had the hills I came from. That would eventually lead back to the Fears. Here in...fae land or whatever the hell it was, it was far more pleasant. Here I was learning, and not just trying not to die. I picked up a stick and threw it into the air, twisting my wrist as I did, It spins through the air in a circle and lands with the smaller end pointing what I generously deem 'south'.
I put my hand on the hilt of my short sword and look down at my cat. After a few moment's begrudging silence, I speak to him, "You're my friend too, Chonk."
South I go.
