It would be hours before they saw each other again, but this was a hell of a (hellish) maze, so it was likelier than not.
Two turns had hit Tannusen like a freight train, earlier. He'd been glad to be alone, then.
And since, he'd caught sight of La Llorona, reminded of someone else who wore a lot of white, and had long white hair, and yes, even the dead look of those hands hadn't... really tipped him off, though the fingers being a normal length had. Why wouldn't he think this was another part of that illusion, and draw near, ready to torture himself some more with visions of his dead sluagh?
He did it all the time inside his own head, why not in the flesh, too?
So he'd taken off his suit jacket, and came near, reaching to drape it over the crying ghost's shoulders.
Only when she'd wheeled around on him and gone for his throat had Tannusen known he'd kind of fucked up, here. He wasn't on his A-game at the moment, and even an athletic former carnie could end up flat on his back in the dirt with someone's hands around his throat on accident, once in a while...
He didn't drop the wyrd, however, or force an enchantment on the ghost, or even try to pry her off. Instead, the pooka actually smiled a little, sad and more than a little off-kilter, and reached to try to lift her veil even while he felt his vision starting to spark from the almost neck-breaking pressure she was putting into choking him out.
cw suicidal moment
Two turns had hit Tannusen like a freight train, earlier. He'd been glad to be alone, then.
And since, he'd caught sight of La Llorona, reminded of someone else who wore a lot of white, and had long white hair, and yes, even the dead look of those hands hadn't... really tipped him off, though the fingers being a normal length had. Why wouldn't he think this was another part of that illusion, and draw near, ready to torture himself some more with visions of his dead sluagh?
He did it all the time inside his own head, why not in the flesh, too?
So he'd taken off his suit jacket, and came near, reaching to drape it over the crying ghost's shoulders.
Only when she'd wheeled around on him and gone for his throat had Tannusen known he'd kind of fucked up, here. He wasn't on his A-game at the moment, and even an athletic former carnie could end up flat on his back in the dirt with someone's hands around his throat on accident, once in a while...
He didn't drop the wyrd, however, or force an enchantment on the ghost, or even try to pry her off. Instead, the pooka actually smiled a little, sad and more than a little off-kilter, and reached to try to lift her veil even while he felt his vision starting to spark from the almost neck-breaking pressure she was putting into choking him out.
This was fine.
It's fine.