Luther's response to Arlo's theory regarding the dead woman on the couch certainly had merit, and an uncommitted lift of the shoulders, his own, indicated as much. Except there was one thing they'd do well to keep in mind. "You may be right," he said. "But there's a lot going on here in this house that by logic, shouldn't be reasonable or possible. But it is, nonetheless." Better to keep an open mind, was the implication, rather than relying on what they thought they knew to be true.
It was confusing enough for him already, considering that he'd been moved out of one place and into another in the blink of an eye. Twice. And he was as little sure of why now, as he had been the first time. And to add to the nonsensical nature of it all, several times now, Hart had thrust his hand into the fire.
And then the man who'd been naked to the world when Arlo had shown up, was trying to charm his choice of dance partner into revealing something important. It was viable an option as any, Arlo guessed. But clearly things went south. Daia was dead? Who'd killed her? With all the lack of sense or clarity flying around, Arlo reached for at least one thing he could rely on...besides Vega. He wrapped his hand round the hilt of his sword, just in case. So, the woman on the couch was Daia?
Whether she was or whether she wasn't, suddenly they were under attack. First he was wearing a dress, oddly not the first time it had happened to him, and then he was stabbed. If not literally, it might as well have been and clenching his teeth and hissing through them as he doubled over, he knew that this must be what dying felt like. Father. That he heard through a haze of pain. Faldrun. Vega's father. And no sooner had the sensation passed, they were under attack again, and Vega began to sing. He knew what it was about. It meant that he could move faster than his attackers, and since he'd experienced the sensation before, he ought to be able to time his movements effectively.
Of course there were too many of the dancers, and before he even lifted his sword, he lifted his fist instead, the ring on his finger aimed at the closest of their attackers. If it worked as it should in this place, the ground around the figure would break and buckle up around him or her, and imprison them there in one place for a time. Almost simultaneously, since Vega was still singing, he lifted his sword, turned on his heel and swung the blade up in an arc, aimed at the throat of the next one in line to attack him or his allies.
It was confusing enough for him already, considering that he'd been moved out of one place and into another in the blink of an eye. Twice. And he was as little sure of why now, as he had been the first time. And to add to the nonsensical nature of it all, several times now, Hart had thrust his hand into the fire.
And then the man who'd been naked to the world when Arlo had shown up, was trying to charm his choice of dance partner into revealing something important. It was viable an option as any, Arlo guessed. But clearly things went south. Daia was dead? Who'd killed her? With all the lack of sense or clarity flying around, Arlo reached for at least one thing he could rely on...besides Vega. He wrapped his hand round the hilt of his sword, just in case. So, the woman on the couch was Daia?
Whether she was or whether she wasn't, suddenly they were under attack. First he was wearing a dress, oddly not the first time it had happened to him, and then he was stabbed. If not literally, it might as well have been and clenching his teeth and hissing through them as he doubled over, he knew that this must be what dying felt like. Father. That he heard through a haze of pain. Faldrun. Vega's father. And no sooner had the sensation passed, they were under attack again, and Vega began to sing. He knew what it was about. It meant that he could move faster than his attackers, and since he'd experienced the sensation before, he ought to be able to time his movements effectively.
Of course there were too many of the dancers, and before he even lifted his sword, he lifted his fist instead, the ring on his finger aimed at the closest of their attackers. If it worked as it should in this place, the ground around the figure would break and buckle up around him or her, and imprison them there in one place for a time. Almost simultaneously, since Vega was still singing, he lifted his sword, turned on his heel and swung the blade up in an arc, aimed at the throat of the next one in line to attack him or his allies.