ᏖᏂᏋ ᏕᏂᏋ-ᎮᎥᏒᏗᏖᏋ
Milah was on the verge of dropping the phone herself, when she received confirmation that is was indeed Killian. Just from hearing that voice, which she would recognize anywhere, she knew it was the debonair captain that had walked into the tavern that fateful night. The very same leather-clad pirate, except with one less hand, although she didn't know it yet. His hand wasn't the only thing that had changed about him, in reality, but Milah was also unaware about his various changes of heart - first from pirate-to-villain, and then from villain-to-hero. Indeed, he wasn't quite the same man she'd fallen in love with, but he was close enough, and he was alive, to the brunette's great relief.
"Killian!" she breathed, suddenly feeling a rush of emotions, relief at the front and foremost of them all. Her confusion, her pain, and her regrets could all wait, because what mattered was that he was
alive. The Dark One hadn't slain him.
"I-I don't know," she admitted when he questioned how
she was still alive, and here, of all places, but her voice was still laced with joy.
"One...one minute I was...watching my heart be..." at this, her voice seemed to weaken and waiver, but she recomposed herself, cleared her throat and continued.
"...and, um, everything went dark, and then I...well, I woke up here. It honestly feels like it all happened yesterday, Killian...but...I met this woman named Belle, and...according to her, that's...not at all the case." She knew, from the way that Belle talked, that Milah had to have been dead for more than a day...much, much longer, if she truly did have a
grandson at this point.
"So I, ehm, I assume you survived your little...duel?" she absolutely refused to say '
encounter with Rumple,' because at the moment, his name disgusted her. He had killed her - and had yet to show any signs of regret or remorse at having done so - and then he'd run off and found another woman to deceive? She didn't even feel sorry for
herself, concerning the last part. No. She felt sorry for
Belle. The only reason Milah cared at all if Rumple found a wife was that any woman who got involved with him should know
exactly what she was getting. And what she was getting was not pretty.
ȶɦɛ ɖǟʀӄ օռɛ
Rumple heaved a bit of a sigh when Tink kicked him. He'd hardly felt it, but it was the gesture itself that was particularly annoying.
"Will you stop touching me, dearie?" he brushed his arm and rolled his shoulders.
"Or I'll be cleaning fairy dust out of my attire for weeks." he spat the words out with particular loathing, but there was a marked shift when he turned back to Helga, his soul suddenly alight with the prospect of striking another deal.
"Taking care of other people's problems is never beneath me, dearie," at this, he thumped a palm to his chest, notably over his heart.
"...so long as, of course," keeping his hand on his chest, he lifted his free arm and rubbed his thumb and forefinger against each other, the universal sign for money, gold, pay-up, cha-ching.
"...you're willing to pay the price!" at the latter end of his reply, he popped the "p" in "pay" - ever so slightly - and rolled the "r" in "price", ever one for flavoring his words with all manner of tone-changing, syllable-crisping spices.
"After all...why do something yourself, when you can send the Dark One to do it for you?₱ⱤɆ₮₮Ɏ ฿łⱤĐ
Diaval shook his head indignantly,
"Ravens do not have bad vision - at least not this one. And I'm not a raven. Crow, actually." he smoothed his sleeves and fixed Jareth with a scrutinizing eyebrow-raise.
"Ravens are so unbearably snobby. I get along with a few, though." He gave a shallow bow of formality, dipping his head when the stranger introduced himself as royalty.
"Your Majesty." he perked up a little, wondering if he'd misheard.
"You shift as well?" he gave Jareth a good once-over, and saw no resemblance to a bird in the slightest.
"How's that? Did a horned fairy happen to come along, snap her fingers, and melt your beautiful black feathers into this..." he looked down at his torso.
"...this strange flesh that humans are so fond of?"[I just did some research and discovered that although he's a raven in the original cartoon, Diaval is a crow in the live-action movie...^^ My bad]
ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴥ-ᴄᴓɴ
Rocket snorted,
"Ever heard the phrase 'quality over quantity'? I don't care if you're a baker's dozen or fifty losers strong, me and my squad will always be the best in the galaxy, heck, the universe." he bumped two hands on his chest and held them in the air like, "What now?", before pausing in his revelry.
Squad? Did he really just say
"me and my squad"? He felt like there should've been something significant about that terminology, but he let it slide. Not as though he had any choice, because in the next moment, he felt a cold, metal grip on his arms, the cool feel of the tech seeping into his fur as he let out a wail of protest.
"HEY, SHE SAID WE WEREN'T ALLOWED TO GET PHYSICAL, YOU LITTLE TERD-NUGGET!" Woops, sometimes Star Lord's vocabulary managed to worm its way into the raccoon's speech -
proof that he was hanging out with that human way too often. When Stark went so far as to reason using
technicalities, Rocket almost blew a fuse...not only because it was annoying, but because it was probably
exactly what the raccoon would've done, had he been in Tony's position. Shift the blame to JARVIS.
"RIIIIGHT, so I can sic Groot on ya, but that won't count as physically attacking you because I don't have to lift a paw?" he struggled a little and cursed when he realized that the giant tree was nowhere in sight.
"Where is that big lug anyway?!" he rotated his head to glower at the billionaire.
"Steel, can you just do us all a favor and step on him?!"ζουrτh κιπg οζ τhε ζουrτh κιπg
Ahkmenrah had been wandering around for quite some time, trying to figure out where everyone had gone, especially Clint. He didn't know why, but he just felt extremely comfortable and chill around that archer. His glittering, apricot-colored cape billowing out from behind him, he strode through the grass and found himself standing under the dappled shade of a rather large tree. Perhaps he would rest here until he could find the others. He was just about to settle down and nestle himself in the grass, when a figure swung in front of his face and started ranting on about earpieces. It was a familiar figure, at that. Brown hair, bow and all. Relief flooded the pharaoh's chest, coursing through his arteries like a river, but it subsided when he realized that Barton wasn't exactly
aware of his surroundings. Ahkmenrah raised a brow,
"...Clint." but the archer's eyes were snapped shut, and he was still going on about earpieces.
"Clint." SMACK. Right across the face, it stung like the Underworld of Osiris, and Ahk rubbed his cheek, a series of emotions parading across his face. Shock, confusion, a brief flicker of amusement...and then irritation. With more than a hint of anger.
"You dare assault the Fourth King of the Fourth King, the ruler of the Jewel of Africa, Pharaoh over the Cradle of the Nile? I am favored by Ra himself, and I could easily have his wrath rain down upon you - as a volley of fire rains from the sky, the sun's brilliance will blind you more than any furious sandstorm ever could. You will stumble blindly towards mirages and illusions of happiness shimmering upon the sands, only to have them snatched out of your reach because they were never there. You will be reduced to ash by the sun's rays. And should you be alive after that, should you by some miracle retain some form resembling a body, as you lie writhing on the dunes in scorching agony at my feet, you will beg for but a single drop of water, if only to feel relief for one pitiful, shining moment. THAT is my verdict, you lowest of MORTALS, frailest of--" at this point, the young pharaoh, unable to contain himself any longer, cracked a grin and burst into uncontrollable laughter. It had been difficult to keep a straight face, but to his credit, he had done so for the entire, threatening speech, right up to the very last word, whereupon he'd been incapable of restraining the hilarity of the situation any longer.
"Much, much too dark," he remarked, clearing his throat and fixing his Deshret, before folding his hands behind his back and searching the archer's face for a reaction.
"You can breathe again. I'm not going to 'rain Ra's wrath upon you' or whatever. But, for the record," he narrowed his eyes, noting how the man had previously been hanging upside-down.
"you're starting to behave like Dexter." he smirked, deciding to let it at that, and leave Hawkeye to wonder who in the world Dexter could be. One thing was for certain: Barton certainly wasn't the first monkey Ahk had dealt with.
