//------------------------------//
// Detachment 
// Story: Stroll 
// by re- Yamsmos 
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Goodbyes.

Octavia was relatively, moderately, genuinely, honestly, simply, easily, definitely, undeniably, seriously, very much absolutely horrible at them. She had a bit of a penchant—in fact, it might have been more of a knack than anything else—for making farewells and adieus as horribly awkward as was physically and mentally possible and dragging them out much much longer than that, with either a wrong wave of her little gray hoof or a stutter in her dialogue that spoke more volumes of stress than the blue moon screeching of her beautiful double bass.

Goodbyes were aplenty in her younger years as a filly, with her grandmother or her cousins—sometimes and—visiting almost monthly and either cooking glorious, Gods-sent cuisine in the case of the former, or stirring up trouble in a nice pot of already fuming rubbish for miles and miles in the case of, mainly, Pizzi and Cadenza, the little rascals. Their visits were generally short and quick, like a good dream nowadays—even if she was admittedly starting to get tired of having camote in her hair, Pizzi—and so Octavia would go with her immediate family to go and amiably escort their relative to the nearest train station to send them back home.

Clutching their ticket(s) in their hooves, they'd turn back toward the family that had housed them for the past few days or week and begin embracing and promising return trips.

This was where Octavia first began feeling like she honestly had some kind of social issue way deep down. Maybe in her heart somewhere. It would only make sense that the thing that helped her live brought her eternal problems. She was usually the last one to say goodbye to whoever it was that was standing in front of her—now was it Aunt Trompeta or Cousin Fiddle for the love of all the Gods please get this right—and with a younger brother, an older sister, a mother, and a father, she had more than enough time to fully figure out, decide on, and finalize what all she was going to say as a final, overall farewell from the entire household. Then again, her dogs wouldn't be with them, so it wasn't truly the entire household, but you couldn't rightly bring three dysfunctional Labradors onto the streets of Canterlot, which she thought was pretty bloody stupid, and oh yeah.

You would think that her smart, assuredly not overly-inflated-ego of a filly mind would think up something adorable, or intelligent, or even so much as proper, befitting the family of five refined Earth Ponies parting ways on the train station, two wearing bowties and collars, one wearing an old blue kepi, and one of the first two dreading each and every time they spoke because there was no conceivable possibility that they would actually say something coherent to the equine ears.

So, as the train prepared to leave the station and head back toward San Palomino, Octavia would raise a hoof, wave it, and remark,

"See you later, alligator!"

She could have very easily said literally anything else that came to her mind, with little semblances of filly words that made no discernable definition when stacked atop one another bouncing and racing and zipping around her brain prior to her monthly mistake, but her tongue gathered her frequented, go-to catchphrase no matter how many others sentences she tossed at it. A losing battle. A slope to push a boulder up for all of eternity. What a past life to have lived. Despite her own reservations, her relatives found it cute.

Which was stupid.

Still though... goodbyes, or farewells, or adieus, or chip-chip-cheerios I'll be seeing you around the bend mate off to go eat some crumpets and tea and use weird currency... they were important. Farewells were, not the... crumpets, and the tea. Farewells were peace of mind, really. A reminder that you'd known someone for long enough to exchange simple words with them, knowing they'd be back in one way or the other, this life or next. Sometimes there were tears, sometimes there were short breaths of relief, and sometimes there was genuine heartbreak and shockingly immediate longing. There was moving out, there was camote in her hair, and there was deployment. Through it all, there were still the important goodbyes, and hugs, and kisses, and everything in between. She may not have liked the idea of the Academy, and maybe Pizzi was a bit of a cock, and the idea of her little Forte going off to Gods' nowhere scared her almost more than falling, but parting words were more important than her own skin.

For Gods' sake she was horrible right now.

Maybe if she'd turned on her bright little oven light with a little flick of the little black switch, waved a hoof at each and every one of her beloved chocolate cookies, and blew them all a collective kiss for good measure, they'd still all be alive and well and still soft to nibble on. Her roommate was probably eating them right now. The bastard. Vinyl always had a way of stealing her most precious things, holding them for a high ransom, and just simply giving them back for free as the straws began bending and cracking in the form of a very much buggered Earth Pony. They would probably have to be glass straws; plastic straws weren't very well known for their breakability.

Octavia was pretty much miles more than garbage at both saying and receiving goodbyes, which was a substantially large factor why she was generally being a tad on the quiet side about parting ways with W and the other griffons. She wasn't counting Sesame; she was sure she could stop him from actually going through with joining them. She knew a foolhardy plan inside and out whenever she so much as caught the scent of one; she'd once tried to learn the trombone out of a combination of legitimate interest and mind-numbing, skull-crushing boredom. Sesame may have been incredibly adamant about the necessaries of his going along with the Birds' Eyes on their sea-crossing voyage, but the fact remained at the end of her musing that he most likely switched out his nicotine back home with his narcotics and hadn't been in the brightest clarity of mind since leaving Tall Tale.

She wouldn't tell him now, at the very least. Despite his clear inebriation—would that be the right word?—he was making quite the impact on the many boxes, crates, and bags of things still lying on the docks next to the Scuttlebug. Humming a peculiar tune under his breath, he clenched his sizzling cigarette in smiling teeth and turned about, his horn glowing a dijon mustard that reminded Octavia that she was still a slight hungry now that she thought about it. A trio of crates—one marked with SUPPLIES, the one atop it marked with MORE SUPPLIES, and the third marked, in dark, haphazard lines that made Octavia flex her chin, PORN—along with an olive green duffel bag floated up the ramp next to Sesame, passed another griffon pushing two barrels upward, and landed in Valkyrie's arms. Not even breaking a sweat, she turned swiftly to her left, dumped her take, and turned around just in time to catch a soft, small, mushy bag that jingled and jangled as she fumbled with it. Lavi, the one who'd thrown it her way, raised a single claw to her beak, shook her head, and pointed up at the deck of the ship.

Valkyrie nodded, then began to turn around. She, as well as Octavia, looked back at Lavi to find her forming an O with one talon and pointing the same claw with the other, which she placed in and out of the O with a chuckle on her breath. Valkyrie shook her head and hoisted the bag over her shoulder, quickly disappearing into the storage area of the vessel. Laughing the encounter off heartily, Lavi turned around... to find W standing directly behind her. She would've bumped into him had she stepped a centimeter further backward. She eeped, even if Octavia couldn't rightly hear her from far away, but straightened herself up and gave W a hard salute. He returned the gesture rapidly, then deflated as quickly as that and patted his subordinate on the shoulder. She returned to her prior ready position, taking the crate that Sesame had been hovering near her for the now passed two minutes.

"She's a fiiine vessel, ain't she lass?"

Octavia jumped and, in tandem with the hair caught in her throat, pretty much almost died on the spot. She flexed her chin—surely creating quite the ugly wrinkle-fest in the process—and craned her neck around to see Andy Trout standing at her right side. He looked down at her with his eyes—scratch that... when did he start wearing an eyepatch?—and nudged her.

"Come on, she ain't a rent boy. What do ya think?"

Octavia pursed her lips, then turned away from Andy, stared at the side of the Scuttlebug, then gazed high. Way high. The four sail posts, two big ones in the front and two smaller ones in the back, were certainly... tall, which made the whole ship certainly... tall.

"Well, it's..." Octavia began, wetting her lips, blinking, then raising a hoof over her eyes to shield them from the heavens, "...it's certainly big."

"I," Andy replied, confusing Octavia. She looked over at him when he grinned at the Scuttlebug and sighed, then realized that he'd actually said, "Aye." Turning away on the promise that he was done attempting to speak to her, he thwarted her life's goals and added, "She's one helluva galleon, she is. Sixteen cannons on both 'er sides, iron-backed walls capable of deflecting anything fired at 'em, finely-weaved sails built to withstand e'en the toughest of winds, a battering ram in the shape of a majestic swordfish," he looked down at her, "and a mini-bar."

Just what was he implying?

Octavia suddenly remembered Lavi's pantomiming from earlier, and practically made herself jump by spouting, "Oh! I believe that Valkyrie was searching for you earlier, Mr. Trout."

Andy waggled his eyebrows, which didn't amount to much. His tricorn fidgeted a bit, though. "Ah, she did, did she? Fine lass. You two related?"

Octavia bugged her eyes out and craned her neck back. "Excuse me?"

Andy was halted from his response by a loud, chipper, very giddy, "Andy!" from above. He looked up in time with Octavia to watch Valkyrie leap from the lip of the ship, unfurl her wings, and glide down to the two's position with the gracefulness of a blind bulldog skittering across an iced-over ocean in a sandstorm. She stumbled when she landed, almost unnoticeably, and pushed the long feathers out of her eyes to hold up the jingly bag in her talons with a grin on her beak.

"Ah, what's this, lass?" Andy asked, stepping over to her and motioning for it.

Valkyrie snorted as she tossed it to Andy, astronomically screwing up, "This is how we're taking the ride on you– with you, on-onboard the... the ship." She coughed. "Money."

Andy dug into the bag after pulling it open, stuck his tongue out, and brought out a bright, shimmering jewel. Octavia widened her eyes. She remembered those! From the Smokey Mountains!

"The hell is all this?"

Valkyrie struck a pose, placing both her forelegs—Octavia still wasn't sure whether they counted as arms or legs—on her armored hips. "I stole those from a dragon over in the Smokey Mountains way west thataway," She began, pointing like a compass with a stubby claw back toward Tall Tale, "wouldn't believe how anal they get."

Andy threw his head back and laughed at the sun's capacity of being garbage and overrated, held his stomach, then suddenly placed an arm over Valkyrie's opposite shoulder and brought her in close. "Ahaha! You'll be a fine pirate in no time, Valkyrie." Seemingly not noticing the griffon's squees, he looked over to his left at a passing griffon carrying a crate with an, "In fact..." clicked two talons, waited for him to walk back over to him, and grabbed the horned helmet adorning his head. Andy, likewise ignoring his crewmember's perturbed look, placed the helmet on Valkyrie—which turned out to be a tad too big for her head and fell over her eyes—and resumed, "...you can be me new first mate!"

The helmetless griffon, helmetless, suddenly frowned with the weight of Octavia's self-esteem, adjusting his red scarf and sputtering, "B-but Captain... I'm your first mate!"

"Stow it Brighteyes, or I'll make ya share doo-tees with Simple Jeffrey."

Brighteyes, looking at the ground, gave a half-hearted salute and turned around, walking away with his crate and a low, "Aye aye... Captain." As he continued onward, he bumped into Sesame, who glanced at him with his cigarette bobbing up and down, nodded toward the cargo hold, and patted him on the back before watching him go. Octavia hummed. He was already mates with some of the crew. That was most assuredly going to provide a bit of a problem for her later.

"Is Gibbs still here?" Valkyrie asked suddenly, looking up at Andy still holding her by his side.

"Aye. She's eatin', I think. Or maybe she's playin' away up there with the crew."

The three stopped what they were doing at the sound of rustled feathers and broken wind. They turned as a single unit toward Lavi as she lowered herself to the dock with a wild grin on her face.

"I heard Gibbs somewhere in there! You telling them about how she almost broke her guh-tar that one time?" 

Octavia cringed at the horrible, botched, mispronunciation of the wondrous, crass instrument, but stopped herself before she could begin chewing on her lip and peeling her ears back. She looked over at Valkyrie, slightly curious about the apparent story herself, but frowned when the griffon shook her head.

"I wasn't even there when that happened."

Lavi smirked. "It's a good story, trust me! I gotta tell you it sometime oh– hey, T. How's the cobwebs?" She scooted to her right, cocking an eyebrow at the black griffon as he took her prior position on the boards.

"Growing," he replied, regarding the shorter griffon—if an inch or so fully counted as shorter when discussing griffons—and shrugging his armored shoulder shrug... thing. Shut up.

Octavia saw Sesame’s Unicorn head poking through the two griffons' sides before he chimed in, "We talkin' about spiders over here?" T and Lavi sidestepped, allowing him access to their schoolyard circle that gave Octavia pause.

"Oh yeah. Nether spiders," Lavi responded, obviously expecting him to get the joke.

"Never heard of 'em. I remember there was a spider back in my bathroom in my apartment," he began, an upward inflection signifying a long-winded, awkward, weird, dumb, very Octavia-like continuation, "Godsdamn thing was like a grapefruit! Had t' get a cup and fling it outside before it could eat me in my sleep!"

"God, you'd waste a perfectly good cup?" Valkyrie asked, completely casual to the arm still draped over her shoulder.

"I have a lot of cups."

"Are you the Cup God?" Lavi asked, giggling.

"Me and the Chip God should join forces," Sesame replied with a huge, toothy grin, staring at T. 

T smirked as well, fumbling with what looked to be the strap on his shoulder. "Can you fire a gun?"

"I watched Storm The Beach when I was a kid." Octavia flinched at that. That opening scene was visually, mentally scarring. How in the bloody hell could a kid stomach that amount of onscreen death?

Lavi shook her head as she spoke, "We have literally no idea what that–"

"You're hired," T proclaimed, holding his talon out and shaking Sesame's quickly outstretched hoof.

Octavia knew that griffons never had huge differences in height apart from centimeters and single-digit-inches, but W still towered over his subordinates all the same.

"You're not inducting him into the squad, are you T?" He asked, raising a brow with a firm, definitely feigned frown plastered on his beak.

"They're part of the God Squad," Valkyrie pitched. Octavia hated that she really liked that name.

"Ah," W exclaimed, "who's Sputnik, then?"

"Not that kind of god, old coot," Lavi shot, elbowing her leader with an... elbow. 

"Apparently yer boy here's god of chips," Andy told W, "and the little one reigns over cups."

"Well, Chipstar's already a thing. They could always use some competition, though," W chuckled deeply, waggling his brow at Sesame.

"Won't be any better than Chipstar," Sesame admitted, shaking his head.

"You guys have Chipstar?" Lavi asked.

Would someone please fill Octavia in on what the hell Chipstar was?!

"Yeah, there was one down the street in Tall Tale," Sesame replied.

Lavi, Valkyrie, and even T turned to W simultaneously. It was the first that voiced the rest's thoughts.

"W, can we please go back t' Tall Tale?"

"Maybe next year," W kind of promised, patting Lavi with the outside of his wing.

"What," Octavia spoke up, feeling it was her time to add into the mess of a conversation, "you lot actually think you're coming back?"

Valkyrie addressed her instead of the anticipated W, "We may totally think you ponies are horrible garbage monsters, and hate you at the same time, but this place ain't so bad." If Octavia hadn't seen Valkyrie say it herself, she most certainly wouldn't have believed that line to have emerged from that mouth.

"Wait, you hate me too?" Sesame asked, pointing a hoof at his green flannel'd heart.

Octavia frowned. Bringing up Valkyrie's opposition might've just reverted her back to her pre-morning state. As much as she'd felt creeped out and almost appalled by Valkyrie's sudden niceness—or at least slight, but definitely still weird friendliness—it wasn't something she found totally unwelcome. She... actually kind of liked it, to be honest, but then again, who didn't like a nice case of nice once in awhile?

Valkyrie hummed. "It's about equal. Then again, I still haven't had my morning coffee."

"It's the afternoon, it's..." Lavi began, then looked up at the sky and corrected, "almost the afternoon." She furrowed her brow. "You've had more than plenty of chances."

"Won't have too many more," W fessed up. Octavia tilted her head, but replaced it when she saw him point a stubby claw toward the cargo bay's ramp. A pair of griffons were rolling up the last few barrels remaining on the dock, the last remnants of... everything the ship needed so desperately to pack up before it headed out.

"Oh yeah!" Lavi exclaimed, looking that way. "Oh God, I hope I brought sunscreen."

"You want me t' put it on your ass again, Lavi?" Valkyrie asked—or, Octavia guessed, assed—dipping her head to sort through one of the pouches on her breastplate.

"Do you really have t' ass?" Lavi replied in kind, definitely, hopelessly, shamelessly stealing Octavia's joke from within her little head. How she managed the feat, Octavia would most likely never find out.

"You're stupid," Valkyrie snipped, taking out a small bottle and tossing it to Lavi.

Catching it, she began flicking it open and closed with a claw, like some old greaser in a dumb flic flipping a straight razor around to impress literally nopony. Octavia still had to hum at it though. It was... kind of melodic. Like a metronome.

"Please don't have any of that for the whole two weeks," W groaned, sighing and shaking his head. "I won't be able to bear it."

"Two weeks?" Octavia asked.

"That's how long the trip takes, usually. Give or take, at least," T answered her.

"It's a long two weeks with these two," W added, sweeping a talon over Valkyrie and Lavi. "You wouldn't believe the bickering. It's like they're married."

"She doesn't like the color of the drapes I put up," Lavi said, elbowing Valkyrie.

"Lavi is actually gay," Valkyrie droned matter-of-factly.

"No I'm not! Sputnik, people are gonna actually start thinking that you asshole!" Lavi replied open-mouthed, crossing her arms.

"I've honestly been questioning it," T admitted.

"I've accepted it," W claimed.

"You're old. Aren't you supposed t' be, like, home-uh-phobic?" Lavi asked.

"I know that's just a shot at me," W began, "but what."

"'But what?' Dude, that rhymed," Sesame noted, chuckling.

"W the rapper," Lavi beamed, eyeing her leader.

"Are you performing at Glastonmary?" Octavia asked hopefully, prompting the six others around her to burst into laughter. She joined in without a second thought, something in her gut holding her at gunpoint with the promise of... something. She realized this gut feeling much too late, and practically began quaking when W spoke up yet again.

"So... this is it, then."

This was supposed to be the moment that Octavia was essentially free. Free to return to Ponyville. Free to step out of the train and forget literally everything to sprint to her front door. Free to kick the damn thing down and turn off her oven. Free to practice her double bass. Free to sleep in her own bed. Free to return home.

So why did that simple sentence cause such an overwhelming oblivion of dread?

She looked around at the party forming the tight circle with her, and found them all giving small nods to acknowledge the floor and most certainly not the next few exchanges about to occur.

T was the first to turn Octavia's way. His actions were quick as he walked over and grabbed her in a hug. Such an infeasibly swift, and very unexpected course of mind caused her to simply blank out on what was occurring. Only when he spoke did she come back to Earth.

"It was The Art Of War. Good book," he said simply, stepping back.

"That's very cliché of you," Octavia responded, tilting her head at him.

He only nodded.

"Thank you for beating up Desert Fruit," she added, not wanting to be insulting in her last words to him. Thank you's were always good for goodbyes, right? Oh Zacherle she was screwing up again wasn't she?

"It was fun. He liked t' slap. Safe travels, Octavia."

He unfurled his wings, gave her a stubby-claw-up, and flew up to the deck of the ship a good ten or twenty feet up.

"Best be startin' 'er up. We're still a few hours from departure but, well, there ain't nothin' left t' do," Andy coughed, striking a pose and patting his blue robes. Adjusting the front of his tricorn—and apparently shaking loose a small sardine that had been lodged inside of it—he turned to Octavia and tipped the accessory. "Be seein' you, lass."

"I should probably go, too," came Valkyrie's expected, but definitely cautiously ambitious piping up from next to him. She looked over at Octavia and seemingly hesitated in walking away without another word, but stayed her ground, fully swiveled about, and simply nudged her with an armored elbow that was like the corner of a wooden table. "Despite, you're a badass. If you can handle me, well... you're not bad for a pony."

"Goodb–" Octavia started.

"You still suck though." She raised a talon and waved it. "See ya."

She and Andy flew up to the deck in tandem with one another.

That had gone... slightly better than Octavia had expected. No real insult she hadn't heard before, either from herself or somepony else, and not a bad term whatsoever.

Three remained, and the first of those three's face began Octavia's small, why-the-hell-is-this-happening tear roll.

Lavi quickly rushed her like she was holding the game-winning Hoofball in a tight, tight hug that pretty much cut out each and every bit of oxygen that had dared travel through her system.

"Goddammit I'm gonna miss your ass."

Octavia sucked in a breath—an almost hopeless battle oh Gods why someone please—and found the sweet, sweet air to reply, "I'll miss you too."

She relinquished her deathgrip on Octavia for a brief second to hold her out in front of her and stare at her like a child in her mother's arms, then quickly brought the mare's head over to her other shoulder and squeezed again. "Aahhh! You were like a big sister to me. Never had one of those, but you were a good one!"

That was... actually, legitimately sweet of her to say, after all her years of being relatively moderate to Forte in her own just opinion. A bout of tears slid down her cheeks, a probable result of Lavi possibly pressing them from way deep down in there. Way deep.

Once again, Lavi held Octavia in front of her, then let go with one talon to move the feathers out of her eyes. Finally, thankfully, she placed her back down on the ground, dabbed at her right eyelid, and sniffled. Oh Gods she was crying too.

Lavi sucked in her gut like a proud dog, breathed out, and lifted her chin with a grin. She... saluted her.

"Kick some ass, Octavia. Have fun getting home."

"Goodbye, Lavi."

Lavi about-faced and flew upward, blessed to have not witnessed Octavia stopping herself from attempting a salute. Her father may have been in the Guard, but she tended to not involve herself in the dumb army conversations he'd had with Forte. Maybe that's... never her mind.

Octavia sucked in a breath. Now was the time. She looked over at Sesame to find that he was already trying to leave. Maybe he wasn't good at goodbyes, either.

"Thanks, Octavia."

"Sesame, I–"

"Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." He chuckled, a cigarette surprisingly not teetering between his lips. "Who woulda thought burning down my apartment would be the best thing to happen to me?"

"Yes, it's just that–"

"Now, I'm my own pony. I can make my own decisions and not be... tied up to that shitty restaurant and those horrible bosses."

Octavia lowered the hoof she only now realized she was raising.

"Now, I can... go on an adventure. Like a road trip high schoolers always wanted. Would love t' see the look on Plum's face. Probably still purple."

Sesame turned around, then turned back around in the likeness of a tired dog in its bed. Walking over to Octavia, he stopped, hummed, narrowed his eyes, widened them, and brought up a hoof. Octavia knew what that meant now, and quickly, promptly, hoof bumped him. He grinned wildly at her remembrance and nodded rapidly, positively beaming.

Taking a step back, he called, "Hell of a mare, Octavia. Now, go home."

He walked toward the cargo bay ramp, probably because he had no other way of escaping the conversation, and motioned at a griffon that was poking his head out to talk to him as he ascended the slope.

Octavia stared at her forelegs, knowing full well who was left.

Each second came silence, and she opened and closed her mouth countless times to say literally anything that came to mind.

She hated to say it, but she was doing all she could to keep the bad part from prolonging.

"I... never really apologized for all of that, did I?"

Octavia looked up, an honestly confused look on her face. "For all of what, Dunnkirk?"

"For uh... pushing you into the mud when we first met and, being an overall cunt the whole time."

His out-of-the-blue word choice, though not unusual in her own vocabulary, was unexpected in his. She stared at the ground again.

He laughed, assuredly not at her. His cheerfulness prompted her to stop minding herself so much.

"I really didn't mean to push you that hard. I apologized after I did it, but I didn't think you'd heard me. I... um, was anxious then. We'd just found the box, and I really thought that, well, wanted there to be something in it for my people. I was in a rush, to put it bluntly."

"While I may have not thoroughly enjoyed the bits of leaves and dirt on my legs, I can't say that I would've trusted a complete stranger in the slightest. Mainly because I also didn't as well."

"Well, yeah, but I think that I had a gun on you then, too," he snorted, patting Candidate.

"You shouldn't worry about that. I put all my spite into Valkyrie, as long as that lasted."

W shook his head, beaming. "I'm glad you never let her get to you too much. Would've hated seeing you change."

"Change?" Octavia asked. "Unless of course you saw something besides a hermit, I think there's lots of change I could always be doing."

W snorted again. "You've got something special in you, Octavia."

"Think that might be the salad."

"It was a good salad, wasn't it?" W asked.

"Oh Gods yes."

"But no, you've... I see potential, Octavia. You're almost half my age, and I already know you'll be doing loads more in your time than I have mine."

Octavia sucked in her lips and shook her with a cheeky grin.

"You've fought in wars, W."

"And you're still alive."

Octavia turned her head and glared at him out of the corners of her eyes.

"I think that that means a lot of something."

"Something?"

"A good something, Octavia. For a good mare."

He reached up with a talon and ruffled her mane underneath her ballcap.

"Good luck."

He presented the talon her way.

She brought up a hoof and shook it.

The feeling of four digits was outweighed by how warm the gesture was. She sniffled.

As the two brought back all four appendages down onto the ground, they looked at one another in silence.

"Well," W began, breaking it.

"Well," Octavia mirrored, continuing to break it for as long as she could.

"Well. Goodbye, Octavia Philharmonica."

"Farewell, W."

The griffon looked at her one last time. Blue into purple.

And then he unfurled his wings, looked up at the top of the Scuttlebug, and flew away with a graceful hiss.

Octavia stared up until the sun began welling up her eyelids. Looking back down, and shaking her head, she rubbed at them and fled the scene as quickly as possible.

She was suddenly feeling... very thirsty.