Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid's lips were plucked upward by Amaryllis hot-headed assertion. It was endearing what humans would do to preserve themselves - bargaining, swearing empty promises, threatening, wagering - nothing was too much. She had a seemingly-infinite toolbelt of methods, of ways to plead for that little orphan. Was it mere instinct? Or was it learned? Had she bargained before, her words her savior? Arvid was entertained greatly by her tricks and turns. Her desperate mind was ravaging. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must've misrepresented myself." Arvid responded politely. 

He brought his sword to his shirt, realizing hastily that he had no spare hand to wipe it clean. Bloodying his shirt would likely attract unwanted attention - both from men and wildlife - regardless. Instead, Arvid raised the steel to his lips. His tongue darted out, polishing a fat strip of its blade. The taste of metal punched his tongue, festering in his mouth, carried in his saliva. He lapped at it again. He had never been so parched in his life. Twice. Thrice. All the while, he listlessly gazed at Amaryllis over its edge; eventually, he allowed it to rest once more by his side. 

"Did you mean to cut your arm off first? Well, what I really mean to ask is what limb you'd like to lose first."
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Amaryllis stared at him as he lapped away the blood from his blade, a little shiver running through her. It was like watching a blood-thirsty animal! A madman, clearly. And still Rosalee was trapped in his grasp. 

"If you set down Rosalee and let her go," She replied sternly, insisting again that he put down the child before she upheld her end of the bargain. "Then I will give you what you want—arm first."
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid's light, playful demeanor seemed to buckle. His smile - at least, the implication of one upon his lips - withered to a thinly lined frown. Everything seemed a savage game to him, like a cat toying with a mouse upon its clawtips. Every cut he'd taken from Amaryllis was lighthearted. It was a mere jest. It was an illusion. It was fantasy. 

But then, right then, he grew bored. The entertainment Arvid built around himself collapsed, his delight decayed, and then everything was real. The air stunk of metal and wet earth, a girl had sunken her teeth into his arm, a shepherd was soon to die at his feet. His sword felt awkward in his grasp. He would trek miles through the forest, he would fatigue himself, he would exhaust his reserves building a camp. Everything was grey and routine all over again. Even the robbery in progress seemed worn out. 

"It's no good. Gods, fuck." He sheathed his sword, washing his now-free hand over his face. "You're not fun anymore. Pass out over there and die with your sheep." He pointed at the nearby pen. "Maybe somebody will find you." With that, he turned on his heel and began to depart, Rosalee in tow.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

*The wrong answer.* Horror seized Amaryllis as she realized that he was set to take Rosalee away from her, and it was all her fault for being too weak to stop him! It was her fault for not just doing as he asked! For demanding he set the child down before she gave him what he wanted! But what else could she have done? If she had obeyed, he would have likely just laughed as she bled out and taken Rosalee anyway! 

But this sudden shift roused both Rosalee and Amaryllis from their weakened stupors. Rosalee began to kick and thrash and bite and claw with renewed vigor, as feeble as those attempts were against Arvid, and Amaryllis began to clamber after him, screeching like a banshee. 

"No!" She screamed, her shrieks echoing and bouncing off the hills around them. "You can't take her! Put her down! Stop!" She babbled and shrieked, obscenities and pleas and everything in between, desperate to rescue Rosalee, and yet not even having the strength to stand.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid turned his head as Amaryllis shrieked. Rosalee's renewed efforts were quashed by Arvid's hand, which dwarfed her little ones and trapped them like a ten-fingered bouquet. His back remained turned to the disheveled thing behind him. Still, there was an indication that he heard Amaryllis. Perhaps his attention was feigned, another trick to trip her. Perhaps his attention spelled her doom. Either way, she earned it with her wailing. 

"I can't take her? Nobody's tried to stop me. I deserve to eat too." Arvid returned, closing his statement as he turned away from her.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Anger ripped through her when he so nonchalantly said that nobody had tried to stop him, surmounting her pain and weakness. She grasped the axe in her hand, gritting her teeth as she raised it up over her head, advancing on him as fast as she could with a bum leg and arm and such profuse bloodless. 

*Bastard! I'll bash your brains in!*

He was still a few strides ahead of her, but if only she could catch up before he realized of this second wind, she could—

Her foot caught on something and she tumbled down, her chin smacking hard enough on the earth to make her see stars and the axe flying from her hands and embedding itself in the dirt nearby.