awashlogs | wake up, stop dreaming, stop prancing about the woods

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wake up, stop dreaming, stop prancing about the woods

WHO: Summer and Prompto
WHERE: INTO THE CHROMA WOODS
WHEN: Early April!
WHAT: Sometimes when two people like each other a whole lot they go on really shitty dates and find Trouble Lurking In The Woods™.
WARNINGS: Will update if anything arises! Summer will probably use Bad Language™.

[There are many things in life that Summer Moran really hates, like bugs, and nature, and unsatisfactory bathrooms. She also hates death, imminent death, and people who attempt to cause her imminent death, among other things. And sometimes she just hates the little things, like sunburn and pinchy shoes and uneven terrain beneath her feet, and today in particular she's made the executive decision to hate the woods, and how they're encroaching on the town, and how there are things whispering in it that she can never quite make out, which by the way is really annoying, and also worthy of — you guessed it — hatred.

But they'd agreed to go into the woods, because they might learn something that could help the town as a whole. Because Prompto wanted to do something, paragon of goodness that he is, and Summer isn't particularly good but she does generally approve of supporting people who are. And she's been on a trip into the woods before, back with Clark and the Viking girl several months ago, and when she'd gone in it had just shown her visions of Prompto anyway, so...

So maybe there's something to the idea that when you go into the woods, you go hand in hand with somebody you care about. Like, literally. The buddy system is amazing.

But just because they're going together doesn't mean it's a pleasant experience, and it doesn't mean that her creep-o-meter isn't going off any less, the further in they get. There's just something plain spooky about the woods, and she's certainly read enough fairy tales to know that the deeper you go into a forest like this, the more exponentially your chances increase of running into a Random Encounter of Bad Magical Mojo™.

Still, it fits, doesn't it? A boy and a girl, holding hands, walking the forest path. Almost like they ought to be leaving breadcrumbs or something.]

I swear, every time I come out here I always end up feeling like some dude in a goalie mask is about to jump out from behind a tree swinging a chainsaw.

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[Babe, why are you like this? Prompto frowns at her, then deliberately shakes his head, squeezes her hand, and brightens.]

Well, at least we'd hear him coming, right? Unless he had the chainsaw turned off, but then he'd be completely missing the point of a power tool. What would he do, bludgeon us to death with it? Super inefficient.

[Grinning crookedly, he tugs himself a little closer and lowers his voice.]

Mine's bigger, anyway. Oop, careful.

[He straightens in time to steady her if she needs, when it seems like these honkin' big roots just materialize out of nowhere on their path.]

It says something that I genuinely can't tell whether that was literal or if you were making a dick jooooooAUGH.

[ROOTS. The save is much appreciated, considering she's wearing a different pair of boots than her usual today. Which is a little suspect, considering they're walking in the woods and footwear is an important part of that, but it's rare that Summer does anything without a reasoned excuse for why, so.]

I. Hate. Nature. So. Much.

I feel like it isn't even right, calling anything here "natural."

[He waits until she seems to find her feet before trying to help brush her off.]

You okay? Maybe we should go another way...

I'm fine. Kinda thinking about just flying over a bunch of this crap, but...

[But it'd be stupid to waste the magic just for the sake of convenience, and she knows it.]

...That's not the first time that's happened. Something like that just kind of popping up out of nowhere, I mean. But it only happens some of the time, not all of the time — I wonder if that's a coincidence.

[That sets Prompto frowning again, and he crouches to tap the root with his hand.]

...It seems real enough, at least. Not an illusion. So we're not being tricked into going the wrong way. Herded, maybe...

[He looks up at her, still not wholly happy, but not actively scared. Not yet.]

Keep on keeping on?

Railroaded. ...Root-elroaded.

[An attempt was made.]

...Yeah. I think...the last time we came out here, I mean, I knew where to go because I'd been dreaming it. But then when I got to where the dream stopped, then the forest kind of started showing me where to go. Maybe this is...that.

[She pauses, chewing her lip, and offers him her hand.]

If we walk far enough, something will happen. Like when we found the castle and the Moondrop Heart, remember?

[Nodding, he takes her hand and rises.]

Yeah, I remember. ...That was pretty fun.

[He swings their hands lightly.]

Think we'll find another castle? And treasure? I like treasure.

[So help him Shiva, he will brighten this journey if it kills him.]

I mean, maybe. Treasure's finnicky in fairy tales, though. Usually you get it provided you do something awesome and noble first, but get-rich-quick schemes always go bad for the greedy dude.

[She casts a sideways look at him, though, and as she does some of the tension in her expression eases to make room for a soft smile.]

Not that you're at any risk of that.

[He's already starting to laugh when he catches the look she gives him, and then his cheeks warm with it.]

What? Haha, I'm the one who just said he liked treasure!

[Ever so slightly flustered, he continues along, rubbing under his nose and hiding his own smile.]

The feel of it, the smell of it, the way it weighs in my hands... Mmmm, love me that money! Can't get enough!

Yeah, but you work hard for your money. ♫ Sooo hard for it, honey — ♪

[Thank you, Donna Summer. Summer Summer. Moving on.]

...Hey. Do you hear water running?

[No, he was busy being enchanted. His melting, goofy smile disappears quickly as he listens.]

...Yeah, I do. Further ahead, sounds like. [He peers down the road, then glances back.] ...I think we're heading downhill, so that makes sense, right?

[...]

I hope there'a a bridge. Or a boat.

Yeah. Rivers run at the lowest part of the thing, 'cause the water cuts a trench when it runs. Erosion.

[SCIENCE. Thanks, Bill Nye.]

I'll get us over, even if there's not. But we should go see what's up, I have a feeling this is the "and after a while, they came to a" part of the story. Figuratively speaking.

[It's nice, having a hand to hold while they head down. It's nice, having her with him. Prompto keeps his head up and his eyes open, even as his mouth runs on.]

Like, "and after a while, they came to a... nice place, with no dangers at all, ever."

[Hmmm.]

After a while, they came to aaaaaa... puppy palace! A chocobo post. [Gasp.] An arcade with a restaurant in it! Oh, man, fingers crossed!

[He doesn't cross his fingers, though. If he did, he couldn't draw his gun as quickly as he might need.]

...I think I see a house down there.

That's no moon, that's a battlestation.

[She says, under her breath, with no context whatsoever. But that's fine, because she tugs on his hand a little instead, intent on stopping him for a moment.]

Okay. Basic ground rules for fairy tale bullshit: don't insult anybody, don't eat or drink anything you're offered unless you know for sure there isn't a catch, offer help to people in need, and never assume that the person you're talking to is who they appear to be. Fairy tales are teaching tools, they're supposed to show little kids that good behavior gets rewards and bad behavior gets punishments. So we gotta be careful.

[Prompto looks at her and returns her caution with a solemn nod and a gentle squeeze.]

Want me in front? I'm quick on the draw.

[And if it comes down to it, he can take more of a wallop than she can, while she's got way more stopping power at her fingertips if he ends up going down first.]

[No. No, she doesn't want him in front, because in front is where people get hit. That's where the meat shields go, to be the front line of defense and buy the people behind them a few extra seconds to get their shot off. In front is inherently more vulnerable than behind. It's where the big dumb heroes and swordboys always go. It's the least safe place to be — why would she ever want him there?]

...Yeah. That's...probably better, honestly.

[Except that she doesn't want herself in front, either, and — well.]

Just remember, no aggression from the get-go. Defense only, until we know what we're dealing with.

[He offers the most earnest of nods.]

You know me, no aggression, ever. We got this.

[So, steeling himself with a deep breath, he leads the way down the path to knock on the door. Knock knock knock.]

Hello?

[It's only as they get closer to the house that something starts to prickle at the back of Summer's neck — a bad feeling she can't quite place, as they cross the river and pass through a fence and beneath a few reaching trees, past a contented-looking dog and a sated cat and she doesn't know why that's nagging at her until they're close enough to the house to see it properly, too close to retreat, and —]

Oh, fuck.

[She says, under her breath, so quiet it's nearly inaudible because the last thing she wants is to be overheard in a moment like this.]

Babe, under the house, are those chick— chocobo feet?

[BUT IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE; he's knocking and there are footsteps inside and out comes...a kindly old lady with a scarf over her head, who eases the door open and seems to take stock of both of them, as her snaggle-toothed smile splits into a wide grin.]

[Babe, babe, it's okay, he knows what chickens are. Still, it's very much too late, because the time Prompto could've used to glance under the house--who looks under a house?--gets spent looking at Summer with baffled alarm, and then wham, suddenly! Sweet old grandma at the door. He blinks at the woman, starts automatically to look downward, but then forces his eyes back up with a too-big smile.]

Hi! Uh... hello there! We're... just passing through.

...

Hi!

[This is where Summer has chosen to lay her affections.]

Well! Who's this at my door? Hmm, hmm, a pair of adventurers traipsing through my woods? Well, well!

[The little old woman has a voice like a screen door desperately in need of some oil and a face as wrinkled as a pug's. But she seems cheerful as she steps aside and holds the door open, motioning Prompto in with the bossy efficiency that only an elderly woman can possibly hope to get away with.]

A strapping young lad and a pretty girl — my, what a find, what a catch!

[Uh-oh. Prompto's hand tightens on Summer's as he shifts his weight towards her and back, unconsciously crowding her back. Meat shield.]

Uhhh, yeah, you mean, like... catch as innn, catch and release?

[He chews his lip, watching the woman, nervous she'll take offense, before he dips in as quick and deep a bow as he offered on the steps of the Citadel.]

I mean, your house seems super lovely, ma'am! But like you said, we're adventurers. Got lots of traipsing to do all over the place, you know? We're just visiting.

Oh, my, yes, you certainly are! Visitors to my pretty home, yes indeed.

[She says, and behind them, of its own volition, the iron gate swings shut with a clatter. She surveys the both of them, even as her form begins to change — nose elongating, wrinkles deepening, eyes taking on a gleam like black embers — and though she spends a while looking at Prompto, it isn't until her gaze falls on Summer that her smile starts to widen.]

Goodness, dearie, what a look on your face. Could it be you know this old woman's name, hmm?

[Summer's hand tightens on Prompto's, and she doesn't take her eyes off the woman's, even as she answers softly: ]

You're Baba Yaga.

[Prompto's mouth goes dry as dust as the gate clangs shut, and that cute-harmless, earnestly sweet thing he was going for evaporates off his face.

He hears that sound in his nightmares, still. It resounds in the darker part of his heart, where he keeps it under lock and key.

His hand shakes in Summer's. Ultimately, Prompto can't help but look back, even though what he sees is just grim confirmation of what he already knows: They're locked in. He tries to swallow past a desert-dry throat and smile again, lopsided.]

Oh. Do you two know each other?

[He's unfamiliar with the name himself. Baba Yaga only turns up in Final Fantasy Dimensions.]

Only a fool wanders into a wood without knowing it's Baba Yaga's. Isn't that right, grandmother?

[There's an odd note in her voice, a sort of forced calm that almost but doesn't quite blanket over the tension simmering beneath her tone. She remembers this voice; it's almost gone rusty from disuse, since she'd come here, but one quick breath and it all comes back to her again. Pleasant, but guarded; feigning innocence, hiding behind a wall with a cascade of flowers draped over it.

For her part, Baba Yaga seems to find this utterly amusing, and cackles as she looks between them, one after the other.]

Such good manners, my pretty girl. So is it a fool, then, that you've brought to my door? Now, now. Let's have your name, boy — give it to me, quick.

[All but inaudible, Summer sucks in a quick, sharp breath.]

[Aw hell naw. That one he knows. Instead of answering right away, Prompto ducks slightly and rubs the back of his head, playing up his very real chagrin.]

Aw, well... "Fool" just sounds so mean, you know?

[Even though he's still pale, he meets Baba Yaga's eyes squarely.]

I like "Jester" way better if you're gonna call me things, Ms. Baba Yaga.

Hmm. Not such a fool after all.

[She looks fierce and pleased, her smile like rusty knives, and after a moment of eyeing them up, she cackles.]

Hee hee! What fortune, two good and well-behaved children, come to my door. You wouldn't dream of going away without first helping your dear old Baba with some chores, would you, girlie?

[Imperceptibly, Summer squeezes Prompto's hand, but her voice is still carefully even, even as she feigns flippancy.]

Oh, but grandma, your house is so neat and tidy! What help could you possibly need?

[And that, too, gets a knowing gleam from the eye of Baba Yaga.]

Well, since you asked, girlie, I've seeds that need sorting and a flock that needs kettling, and a field that needs planting so my poor old back won't give out.

...

I don't... uh, know... what "kettling" means in this context. Nothing to do with a tea kettle?

No, no, not my fine feathered flock! Just round them up and put them away, jester boy, they'll never go into their hut unless they're made!

Oh! A flock of birds. I thought you meant sheep.

[Not that sheep have anything to do with tea, either. Still uncertain and anxious, he glances back at Summer before facing Baba Yaga's smile again.

It's a fairy tale. They're supposed to help people, especially little old ladies in quaint little cottages. But those are the women likely to be witches, too. Dave Auburnbrie's aunt turned out okay, but everything about Summer's behavior screams Danger, JRPG Will Robinson!]

...That seems like a lot to do with just the two of us. If we have to leave before we finish, can we come back some other time, Ms. Baba?

Oh, you can leave whenever you like, dearie. Just go through the gate, it'll open for you. But you won't get your boon! These chores won't wait, no no, it's today or not at all.

[She's probably right about that, Summer muses. Baba Yaga isn't the type to lie, just to be careful in dealing with. For example —]

And if we have to leave, we'll have safe passage through your forest the whole way back?

[That gets Baba Yaga to laugh, and this time when she looks back between Prompto and Summer, she seems slightly more approving, a little less intense. Like she's pleased to see that both of these visiting children know how her games are played.]

As safe as the one you made here, girl. I told you, these chores won't wait.

[Prompto looks back at Summer once more. When he addresses his next question to Baba Yaga, his eyes are rounder, interest slipping through the suspicion.]

Boon? Like a quest prize?

Edited 2019-04-21 02:42 (UTC)

Ah! Do you think me such a heartless old woman, you rascal?

[Baba Yaga wags her finger at him, still smiling, eyes gleaming.]

Even a frail old body might hold a great deal of wisdom, boy. Hmm, hmm! Yes, yes, so wisdom will be your boon. Finish these chores for me, and it'll be a scrap of wisdom for each of you in thanks.

[...

Prompto turns to Summer, swinging their hands slowly, thoughtfully.]

Uh, I could use some wisdom, generally. It's kind of what we came for, right?

[For answers. For knowing what's out here and finding out how to get home.]

...Yeah. Yeah, it is. It seems like a fair bargain, so long as we all keep up our ends of it.

[She glances at Prompto, hoping he'll catch her veiled meaning: that as far as she knows, if they keep their word, Baba Yaga will keep hers. No danger, except what they make for themselves through carelessness or provocation.]

Well, then! If it's settled, head right 'round to the yard, the turkeys are loose. Just fetch them back to their little hut, and mind their tempers!

Okay. Thanks, Miss Baba Yaga!

[Prompto beams at her with all the brightness a Good Boy can muster and a little wave before absconding with Summer back to the yard. On the way, he bends to get a look at whatever it is she saw under the house, whispering:]

What's a turkey.

Bigger than a chicken, smaller than a chocobo.

[What he sees when he looks under the house are also chicken-relevant: feet. The hut, rather than having a natural foundation, is perched on chicken feet.

Summer seems to recognize what he's looking for, as well, and gestures idly.]

That's how I knew who she was. Baba Yaga lives in a hut that stands on chicken feet. And she wasn't insulting you when she was asking if you were a fool. There are two characters who usually turn up in tales about her. One is a girl named Vasilissa, and the other is Ivan the Fool.

[Weirdest. House. Ever.]

Oh. Well, it's still not very nice.

[He might say something else, but rounding the corner brings them up close and personal with a sudden gout of flame. Prompto yelps and yanks them both back and out of the way.]

...Do turkeys always breathe fire?! Are they geese?

Neither of those things are supposed to breathe fire!

[Good grief. But okay, apparently these are. Apparently these are fire-breathing turkeys and they have to try to get them into that hut over there.

How do you herd fire-breathing turkeys into a hut? CAREFULLY.]

Uhh, well, maybe this can help...

[From the Armiger, Prompto produces... gysahl greens! Beloved by chocobos and tasty to the human palate, too, they ought to be a tempting treat for these other two-legged terrors.]

I hope this is enough, but we gotta be careful, too. Fire bad, life good.

I mean...it's worth a shot?

[And it's not like they really have a lot of ideas here, so: ]

I think I'm probably more fireproof than you, so you coax and I'll herd. I'll get 'em going in your direction and you tempt them into the hut. Sound good?

[He hesitates, but then he nods.]

Okay. Ready? ...Hut!

[IS THERE FOOTBALL ON EOS? Well anyway, there goes the A team. The Ace team. Prompto sidles around the long way towards the hut so he doesn't agitate the birds, creeping low and holding the greens out with alluring little shakes.]

Heeere, turkeys, turkeys, turkeys. Heeere, doesn't this look yummy?

[Her plans are never what you might call Good Plans™, unless your definition of "good" is "it worked and nobody's dead at the end of it", which in Summer's existence it often is. In this case, it's never a good plan to run around a witch's garden chasing fire-breathing turkeys toward a hut, no matter how fireproof you are, but she manages to at least get them moving in the right direction with a combination of clucking and of waving her cloak like a flap of big black wings, which is enough to get them into Prompto's arena to be led up and into the hut with the greens.

It's a much more tedious process than she'd expected. Between the vague frustration of trying to get a turkey to do literally anything it's supposed to and the constant stress of trying to not be set on fire, all coupled with the minor but persistent physical exertion of haring around the turkey yard, she's already feeling more than a little wrung-out by the time they finally get them all packed away where they belong.

Then comes the next task: separating a bowl of poppy seeds from grains of soil. That, for a short while, gives them both a pang of despair, but they're in it neck-deep by now and there's nowhere else to go but forward.

This is a fairy tale, after all. Sometimes tasks are about being cunning, rather than just being diligent. Which is how they wind up arriving at the solution that soil will probably dissolve in water, but seeds won't. It's an inexact science, and one they're staking a lot on, but — into the bowl goes a few cupfuls of water, and they stir it hard to ensure that every last speck of soil has dissolved, and then it's just a matter of trying to scoop out all the seeds before the sediment can settle again, which again isn't particularly hard so much as it is just tedious.

(When they think they've finished, Summer bends a twist of magic to her will and evaporates the water back out of the bowl, just in case the expectation was for dry soil. It always pays to be thorough, after all.)

But by this point, they've worked well into the night, and Baba Yaga had come back early on with a clarification about what she'd said earlier — it's today or not at all had meant quite literally, today; if they ran over into the next sunrise, it'd be an abject failure all around.

Which. They should've expected, but still.

The truly annoying part, though, is how Baba Yaga seems to just know how much the combination of pressure and exertion is pushing her — and moreover, how everything seems to come just a little bit easier when it's Prompto doing it than when it's her. The turkeys are just slightly more disobedient when she's the one trying to corral them; the poppy seeds seem to slip out of her fingers just barely more often when she's the one picking them. It's just deliberate enough that she's able to notice, and just coincidental enough that she's got no proof that it's happening.

Baba Yaga is fucking with her, and she's probably enjoying it.

It's a few hours before dawn (and now they're both missing sleep on top of everything else) when they're handed fifty seeds each and sent out to the garden, bidden to plant them in neat and tidy rows.

It's cold out, in the middle of the forest before dawn. The ground is cold and hard, too. And dawn is coming, and fifty seeds each seems so, so far away.]

[Prompto's learned a thing or two about long nights, exhaustion, and breaking points, fairy tale beginnings or not. As the work drags on, he starts to watch Summer with increasing concern, particularly as the tasks keep taxing her magic. He knows what overwork without rest can do to a person, particularly with others--him, Baba Yaga--hanging in the balance.

He also knows what unfairness can do. He fiddles guiltily with the trowel Baba Yaga gave him when he asked. Gave him, specifically, and not Summer.]

...Well...

[He takes a deep breath and lets it out, pulling his chin up. Quicksilver knows his role in this situation.]

Nothing else for it, right? Just gotta keep on keeping on till it's over, one way or another. Uh, here, why don't I start digging a row so you can plant.

[He kneels on the earth to get started, uncomplaining; even if he's bleary-eyed and a little frustrated, too, he doesn't seem to have it as bad as Summer does. And this is what he does. When it's dark, Prompto's job is to lighten the load.

He digs the point of the trowel into the ground, uses both hands to push down and break the soil with a grunt, scoops the pittance of earth aside. Rinse and repeat. He's the one used to manual labor, he's the soldier. Summer's the squishy magic user. It's fine.

As Prompto goes along, he finds himself chattering.]

Heh, this, um, kind of reminds me of a place we stayed for a while. Gardening. Though we were planting vegetables instead of flowers. Have you ever gardened?

[This is stupid, and she's moving a little more sluggishly than she'd been before, though whether that's from actual exhaustion or just because she's kind of sulking is anyone's guess. Still, they're almost done. This is the last of the three tasks, the home stretch. They're almost done.

Even so, she's somehow still loath to get down on her knees in the soil. All this time, and she still cringes at getting dirty, even after everything. But bending over to plant each seed will be a menace on her back before long, and they've still got plenty of dozens to go.]

My mom had a garden.

[She says, softer than usual, and also more forthcoming than usual.]

She had these lilac bushes that always smelled really good. She'd cut them and give them away to people on our street, and when I was little I always got to be the one to run them to the neighbors. Me and my armful of flowers.

[Hmm.]

Where'd you stay?

[He finishes the hole he's working on before he speaks and moves on to the next.]

There was this safehouse up on Cape Caem. Big cliffs, wildflowers, seashore all around. It was really... peaceful, there.

[Most of his attention is on the work. The rest is far away, in the last piece of Lucis he touched--a craggy place in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wide sky and sunlight.]

Gladio's little sister, Iris, the garden was her idea. She moved there with Talcott. He was seven. A couple Crownsguard were there, too, to take care of them. It felt...

[The scent of freshly turned earth brings back Iris and Talcott, learning how to laugh again after tragedy.]

Happy. Like everything was all right, as long as we just stayed right there. ...I can still smell the flowers, too.

I never really liked it. Being outside, getting dirty. Bugs.

[That's one hole done, which is sort of a relief. Carefully, or at least as carefully as she can with fingers gone clumsy from a long day's efforts, she seats a seed neatly in the hole and starts to cover it over with dirt patted gently into a mound.

Repetition, she reminds herself. That was easy enough. Now all they have to do is just keep doing it until all the seeds are gone.]

Sooner or later you leave the safehouse, though, right? And then it's all back to the bullshit again.

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wake up, stop dreaming, stop prancing about the woods

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