Reunions (E 2.1, H 2.1, L 2.1)

I feel myself coil when he lumps me in as another "wild young one" here, poised to strike but holding, unsure if this target is worth the poison. The Whispers make my fangs drip in preparation.

"There will be bodies in the water before the end," I say, voice steady and certain. "I don't plan on Harpy or myself being among them, and I'm not afraid to put someone else there instead."

Merlin is an open target, willing and vulnerable even if he is challenging me. I'm not entirely certain I should want to prove anything to him in the long run, but my emotions are swept into the moment so I send the Whispers out along the invisible lines connecting us all, asking them to ferry fruitful facts back to me.

I breathe slowly as the Whispers ferry his secrets back to my ears, inhaling their words like oxygen to clear away the lingering images left by the Gray Wing's visions.

I tilt my head to the side, studying him for a few beats after the Whispers quiet. "Have you even spoken to her after her son died?" I ask. "Or does your fear of exposing your true feelings keep you from comforting the one you love even in her darkest hour?"

It is not a thrill I feel when he relents, but instead a sort of deep satisfaction, a settling in to the rightness of this situation - one in which I know what he cannot deny. It is headier than the smoke in Litch's prayer cave.

"I am the Voice of the Tempest. You cannot expect to invite a storm to live under your roof without it causing a few waves."

I replay what I know of the scene in my head, then ask, "Because Zephyr was watching?"

His admission plants a seed of hope in the darkness of my soul - not for me, but for Nuport.

"Then you won't kill her now either," I answer softly. "All those things are still true." Or they were when I left her. I wonder if Wells' machines stealing the Whispers from her might make her sane enough for Merlin to murder. Thankfully, he doesn't know about that.

I take a step back. "I'll let you finish working on your jet ski now."

Merlin grunts his understanding and gives you a respectful nod before he turns back to his work.

What do you do?

While part of me wants to linger outside where I can get some air, I'm hesitant to stay where Merlin might question me further and putting on pretenses as "the Voice," as good as it felt in the moment, drains me now that I've stepped away from the situation.

I head back inside, intending to go to my sad excuse for a room with its even sadder excuse for privacy, to take a little time alone to rest.

The way Javan starts his invitation as an edict and flips it to an inquiry instead gives me pause as I recalibrate. I'd been prepared to tell him I'd do no such thing, but with an extra moment to consider...if my options are staying trapped here like a prisoner or leaving like a...a Talon? No, that's not what I want, or what'd I'll ever be, but what then? I still don't know. Perhaps Litch would call me a prophet, though I don't know if leaving the Roost supports that claim either.

I realize my own thoughts are louder without the Whispers here to cover them, more distracting, and I still haven't answered Javan.

Whatever it may or may not make me, my options are to either remain and molder or go and breathe some air.

"I'll come along."

Plover and Zephyr both come outside with you and Javan - they all seem eager to get out on their skis. Javan and Plover both offer you a seat on their ski - who do you ride with? The Whispers are eager to have you back outside as well and share secrets about the Talons near you. Who do you want to know about most?

I find myself most curious about Javan. I feel like I have Zephyr pretty well figured out, and maybe it's naive, but I assume Plover is pretty much the same. Javan, though, is a mystery to me and his invitation to this event was a surprise.

Regardless, though, I choose to ride with Plover. I expect she'll be the more tame driver, and if my earlier escape attempt did anything, it was to remind myself just how poor a swimmer I am.

Despite Merlin's presence on the docks, the sibs seem practically giddy as they jog out to their skis. Javan weaves around the older man and leaps from the dock onto his jet ski with a flourish. The ski bobs in the water and Javan laughs while unmooring it. Javan's ski is a sleek, black one, something that would be easy to miss on the water.

Zephyr shakes her head and clucks her tongue at her brother's antics as she mounts her jet ski, which has actual feathers affixed around the handles as if the ski is another of her ravens. She works to untie her ski and zips off into the open water behind her brother with Mage and Minstrel - the ravens - flying above.

Plover's jet ski is a lime-green two-seater.


She takes her time checking it over as her brother and sister zip around, careful to make sure it's in proper working order before she mounts it. She offers you a lifejacket - do you take it?

Watching Javan's approach to his ski makes me certain I chose the right driver, though my eyes follow him as he jets off, still curious about what really drives him. Maybe he is so reckless because he's young, or maybe this death cult has prepared him to meet an early grave.

The way Plover carefully checks her machine gives me the confidence to decline the lifejacket. I'm pretty sure I could count the number of people I've seen wearing one on one hand with mittens on, and all of them were elderly or the child of an overprotective mother. I didn't have a chance to be the second, and I doubt I'll have a chance to be the first either.

"I trust you not to let me drown in the drink," I tell her as I climb on. "Your father would kill you."