Post by Deleted on Oct 17, 2022 10:04:17 GMT -5
As it turned out, the witch was there, and distracted as he’d been by talking with the others, Ber just hadn’t noticed her. When she practically materialized out of the air and rushed into the ballroom as he opened the door, he definitely noticed her. Typically, he considered himself to be among one of the harder working soldiers, but Sliva’s apparent enthusiasm and dedication was on a whole other level. He cast a bemused glance at Duncan, who only shrugged and said helpfully, “Found her.”. Ber rolled his eyes, and they stepped through the door.
“Well, Sliva,” Duncan started telling the witch as everyone spread out and began milling about. Much of his irritation at both himself and her had faded to resignation. “We thought about it long and hard, but we decided in the end we shouldn’t abandon you to dealing with Quick Wick on your own, on the off chance he might show up.“
Listening with one ear to the two of them talking, Ber had nodded a silent greeting at Sliva and cast a glance around as the door swung shut behind them. Mandated though it had been, no one, including himself, was particularly eager to forsake easy chatting for grueling exercise. They would get started eventually.
“Ber doesn’t think he will, but—”
It was only because the aforementioned soldier had turned sideways, so that he could see both the door and the rest of the ballroom in front of them, that he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. Straightening up, he elbowed Duncan sharply in the side, cutting off the rest of his sentence, just as the doors opened to reveal Warren Woodwick, ever the unwelcome harbinger of misery, and the two unfortunate souls who were his latest victims.
“Shit.”
It was spoken under his breath, though both Duncan and Sliva could have heard it. Ber could feel the weight of pointed stares drilling into the back of his head. When Johnson and White trotted over to them, Duncan offered a quick, commiserating half-smile. Ber was watching Woodwick, silently imploring the man to leave, and when the Lieutenant strode back for the doors, he even dared to hope that he would. But instead of walking through them, he merely closed them, and an undercurrent of dissatisfaction rippled through the room as those who had gravitated toward the edge of the room fell into line. They all knew what that meant.
With a neutral expression on his face and clenched fists hidden behind his back, the young soldier listened to the Lieutenant explain his philosophy regarding group exercises, and his voice joined that of his peers as they gave the only possible answer to his question: a sharp “Yes, sir!” When Woodwick turned his sharp-eyed gaze in his direction, Ber couldn’t help but stiffen slightly, only to realize a moment later that he’d been eyeing Duncan and Sliva, who both stood beside him. Duncan, too, had tensed under the scrutiny, only to relax a moment later when only Sliva’s name left Quick Wick’s mouth; it appeared as though he had passed whatever silent test the man had given them.
Both Duncan and Ber, having had the dubious pleasure of hearing Woodwick’s philosophy on puddles earlier that day, had an of what he wanted to hear, but neither was about to volunteer a response. Instead, they kept their stares directed toward the Lieutenant but aimed ultimately over his shoulder or at his basically-a-uniform in that careful balancing act between avoiding accusations of distraction but not being so attentive as to attract further attention.