An Actual Conversation

"So, that's it? 'You did well' and nothing el- ow, FUCK!" John shouted as fresh, electric pain shot through him. He craned his neck back to see Moira holding aloft the dagger she had just pulled from his back. "A little warning, next time!?"

"That would only make it hurt more," Moira said, putting the dagger down and leaning in to examine John's wound. They were a few yards away from the scene of the fight, sitting on the mostly flat stump of a toppled stalagmite. "You don't bleed much, even for a mage," she observed.

"It's one of my things," John said. "It keeps me going more or less at peak efficiency until my body can't take it anymore. Except- ah, shitfuck!" He winced as Moira tugged free the broken shaft of the arrow in his thigh. "Except when stuff is stuck in me, apparently," he added with a grumble. "What's that about other mages? They don't really bleed either?"

"We don't bleed as much as regular humans," Moira clarified. "Think of it like our mana acting like a plastic wrap, keeping our vitals in. It's more complicated than that, but it gets the point across. Now, hold still." Moira planted a hand over both wounds on John's back and he felt an immediate, soothing warmth spread from where she made contact. He couldn't see exactly what was happening, but John saw a faint golden light emanating from behind him. The warmth suffused his body with a pleasant sensation, focused more strongly on his injuries both internal and external. It was like a cup of hot cocoa after hours of shoveling snow, calming and soothing, but there was something else. There was a gentle tingle to it, blanketing him in a sensation that was vaguely… arousing?

Wait, what?

It wasn't as if John was close to popping a boner from it, but the warmth carried with it a barely detectable vibrancy. He couldn't compare it to anything he'd ever experienced, and it was gone almost as soon as he'd noticed it, but for those fleeting moments he felt the featherlight touch of longing and anticipation in his lower half. In its place was a refreshing looseness and absence of fatigue, as if fresh from a morning shower and ready for the day.

"That was… nice," John said, still a little nonplussed from the experience. He rolled his shoulder experimentally and found that he couldn't even feel the ghost of any pain from his stab wound. "Did you just... heal me?

"Of course I did," Moira replied. It was more of a retort, really. "Did you expect me to leave you injured?"

"No, I," John fumbled, feeling suddenly sheepish, "well, yes, I guess. Maybe? I don't know. You said you weren't going to help me so I kinda figured I was on my own for healing, too."

"I said I wasn't going to help you fight, but that doesn't mean I'm going to simply ignore injuries right in front of me," Moira sighed. There was a trace, just a trace, of sympathy in her eyes when she caught John's, after which she immediately looked further down the caverns behind him. "I'd be practically feeding you to the Gnolls if I left you in that state. I'd hardly call that a fair trial. Besides, you won't be of much use if you can barely walk. I'm not going to carry you home, you know. You're going to get home on your own two feet or not at all, remember."

"Thanks, I guess," John muttered. He was genuinely thankful, but he still didn't appreciate that Moira was prepared to leave him to die if it came down to it. Even if she was willing to make sure he would be healthy enough to have a fighting chance, that didn't excuse her overly harsh judgement. It didn't make any sense. How could she claim to be unable to ignore someone when they're hurt, but be so willing to watch him get disemboweled by hungry Gnolls? What the hell kind of morals did this crazy paladin have? John groaned. Questioning it was useless. He already knew Moira wouldn't budge, so he tried a different tack. "Do you think it'll be much harder going forward?"

"Most likely, yes." Moira nodded. "But you've learned from your mistakes and should be more prepared for it. Perhaps you'll even avoid getting ambushed next time."

"So, you saw the whole thing?" John sighed. He might have won in the end, but it wasn't an impressive display on his part. "And you really think I'll be fine?"

"I didn't say that." Moira shook her head. Of course she did, John lamented. Moira always seemed eager to undercut any way he could interpret her words as actual praise. "But you are now better prepared than you were 20 minutes ago. We shouldn't be passing by any major encampments, and Gnolls usually only hunt in packs of two to four. You stand a chance against three if you fight smarter. Four or more? I'd run, if I were you. Gnolls aren't known to be pursuit predators. If you're lucky, they might decide the chase isn't worth the trouble and let you go. I'd be there as well, after all. Seeing me might give them pause."

"What would you do if I ran?" John asked, already cooking up a plan. "What if they decide to go after you?"

"I'd do exactly what I just did," she said. "I'd defend myself until they realized that fighting me is a futile endeavor. I can assure you, they pose little risk to me."

"And what if they give up on chasing me and all decide to gang up on you?" John asked further. "It's not like they'd just give up and ignore you, is it?"

"It's possible they would, if they realize I'm not a threat. I'd have **** but to dispatch them if not." Moira raised a knowing brow. "But I wouldn't count on that if I were you. I'd commend your ability to manipulate the enemy if you were to **** that scenario, but you'd be on your own afterwards. If you think surviving the encounter is worth having to find and activate the gate without my help, by all means, go ahead. Otherwise, I'd reconsider the thought."

And there goes that idea. Damn.

"Noted." John reluctantly accepted Moira's terms. He wasn't surprised she'd pre-empted his plan, but that didn't mean he wasn't disappointed. "So, now what? What time is it?" John fished out his phone; it informed him that it was a little past 5:00pm. "Is this even accurate in here?"

"It should be." Moira nodded, then rose to her feet. "We should keep moving. The blood from the bodies will attract scavengers sooner or later, possibly even other Gnolls." John grimaced. He remembered the bestial species' loose relationship with cannibalism and shook the gruesome image out of his mind before nodding his assent. "Speaking of." Moira reached into her shield after strapping it on and pulled out a plain, white, terrycloth hand towel. She handed it to him. "Clean yourself off."

"Thanks." John took it and immediately dabbed his face. He'd all but forgotten about the mask of sticky, slowly coagulating blood covering his features. Disturbingly, the towel came back with a dark red imprint of his own face, staring eyelessly back at him. He shuddered and looked away. "Should I even ask why you have this?"

"A Warden must look her best when addressing her men," she answered. Her tone was taciturn, but betrayed by the faint blush creeping into her cheeks. "Don't get any strange ideas, I can see that look on your face," she added hastily. John regarded her flatly.

"You're not even looking at me," he said. It was true, she wasn't.

"Shut up and clean yourself." Moira crossed her arms and looked even more pointedly away, turning her whole body. It was clear the conversation had ended - for her, at least. John sighed and brought the towel back up, doubtful it would be able to handle much more filth. To his surprise, it was clean. Not a single drop of blood stained the pristine white cloth. He wiped his forehead clean, but kept his eyes on the towel after he was done. To his surprise, he watched the blood slowly vanish, sinking away into the fabric as if being absorbed.

Neat.

"Any chance I could get my hands on one of these?" John asked while he continued to wipe any traces of his fight away. Moira was silent for a moment of consideration.

"Keep it," she said. "I can get another once we get home."

"Cool." John pocketed the towel into his inventory. "Thanks." Another silent pause followed.

"You're welcome," Moira said, finally. "Are you ready to go?"

"Just a sec," John said. He pulled out the bottle of water he'd inventoried while on break with Erica, uncapped it, and took a long swig. It was still icy cold, as if he had just taken it out of the cooler. It was a surprise at first, but a welcome one.

I love having an inventory.

"Okay, ready."

"That way." Moira pointed, then picked up her hammer. John fell in line behind her, but remembered her stupid insistence that he lead when she remained still. With a sigh, he took point, and trudged off on the path Moira had set for him. He wondered which would be worse, more fighting or hours of silent, monotonous walking. It wouldn't be so bad if he'd been trapped with Erica. Even Adelle would be a better option. But, no, he was stuck with the girl who had all the warmth and personality of a slab of iron.

Yaaaaaaaaaay.

Surprisingly, the second leg of their trek was livelier than the first. Moira actually deigned to talk to John, so long as he carefully picked topics that wouldn't get her riled up and kept his snarky responses to a minimum. That meant no talking about June, Moira's family, or questions about what the Order actually did in town. Instead, they talked about school. The bizarre juxtaposition of schoolyard chatter in a fantasy cavern littered with hungry hyena-men only struck John in hindsight. For the moment, the only extraordinary thing was that he was having an actual conversation with Moira at all.

"How do you manage being president of the student council and the Warden of the Golden Rose at the same time?" John asked. He'd been wondering ever since he learned the extent of her significance. "Just one would be too much for me."

I mean, when would I have time to play anything?

"I'm… very busy," Moira replied, with only a hint of fatigue. "Truth be told, I'm not a full Warden yet, even though I possess the Golden Rose. Much of the administrative work and decision making is left to my father, the Lord-Protector, until I am ready to adopt the mantle in earnest. In a way, presiding over the student council is preparation for my eventual responsibilities."

"Oh," John said, "that makes sense. I can't imagine being eighteen and making life and **** decisions for other people."

"Nineteen," she corrected.

"Right." John rolled his eyes while Moira couldn't see. "My point still stands."

"Mm," Moira agreed wordlessly. John could tell there was more on her mind than she was saying, but he was barely staying in her good graces as it was. He decided it was better to not press the issue. Whatever she was holding back was probably well above his pay grade anyway. It was time for another change of subject.

"Hey," John said after letting things settle for a moment. "My phone says it's almost 10:00. How much longer do you think it will be?" Soon, he hoped, despite knowing better. John had become significantly more fit than he had ever been in his life, but several hours of walking without food, and a fight on top of that, had his legs feeling heavy and movements sluggish. He wanted to put off asking for as long as possible, so as not to look weak in front of Moira, but the inevitable was inevitable. Moira stopped to consider his question.

"Longer than we can go without sleep," she answered. She seemed tense all of the sudden. When John looked back, he could see her biting her lip. "There's no helping it, I supposed," she sighed. "We'll have to set up camp."

"You have tents in your shield? That's a great idea, actually," John said. "Please tell me you have food."

"Not precisely," Moira said, unable to meet his gaze.

"You don't have food?" John shouted. He was suddenly and acutely aware of how empty his stomach was, followed by a deep, frigid dread. "Oh god, do we have to eat Gnolls to survive?"

"No, food isn't the problem," Moira said, shaking her head. "I have enough rations to last us several weeks."

"So, what is the problem, then?" John asked. Moira hesitated to answer, her shoulders slumping.

"I… only have one emergency tent," she said.

"Oh," John said with a shrug. "That's okay. I'll stay on my side and you stay on yours. I promise I won't do anything weird." Sure, it might be hard to keep lewd thoughts out of his head, but as long as they stayed there - and they would - everything would be fine.

"It's only meant for one," she added.

...

"Ah," was all John could say. Several seconds passed in heavy, awkward tension before either of them spoke again. "Well, uh… I can just sleep behind the tent, I guess…"

"Absolutely not," Moira barked. Her stance was all authority, as was her tone, stern enough to overcome the flush of her cheeks. "I'll not have someone under my protection left to the elements just so I can sleep in comfort. Utterly unthinkable."

John chose, once again, not to point out the hypocrisy of being willing to let him die.

"Soooo…" John started, hesitant to make assumptions with Moira in her current mood. "Then, uh, are… you going to sleep outside?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Moira raised a hand to her collar, a tinge of offense in her voice. "I'm not about to leave myself completely exposed and defenseless in the middle of the Abyss. I'd be a disgrace to the entire Order."

"Then we… take turns? Or-"

"Shut up, I'm thinking." Moira pivoted brusquely away from John and walked several paces away from him. She was quiet for a moment, then threw her hands out with something between an exasperated sigh and a growl, only to regain her composure and raise a hand to her chin. Everything about her seemed stiff, and John could see the hand at her side clench and unclench every few seconds. For whatever reason, Moira was taking this extremely hard. There wasn't anything left to consider. If neither of them were allowed to sleep outside, what other choice was there but to share? Was the idea of sharing a confined space with him that revolting? If he'd had any energy left, John would be insulted by her stubborn resistance.

"Moira-"

"Fine!" she snapped, whirling back to face him. Her face was almost completely pink, and John picked up the tiniest of trembles in her lower lip. "We're going to share, but you're going to be on your absolute best, most gentlemanly behavior the entire time, do you understand? If I catch so much as an indiscrete peep, if I feel even one finger anywhere on my body, I'll tie you to a post and leave you for the Gnolls myself!"

"Yes ma'am!" John snapped to attention and swallowed all of the nothingness in his suddenly bone dry mouth.

"Good," Moira said, still frowning deeply. "Now keep watch while I set up."

At that, she stormed off towards a small hollow in the cavern wall nearby, set her shield on the ground, and knelt to begin tugging things out of it. John abruptly and determinedly kept his eyes in the exact opposite direction. He dared not turn around, it was as if his muscles were locked in place. He didn't turn when he heard something heavy hit the ground, nor did he when a sudden clatter rang out and Moira released a string of expletives he never would have expected to hear come from her mouth. No, nothing short of her express permission would budge him an inch. Thankfully, things were quiet for the long minutes that followed and, eventually, that permission came.

"Alright, come in," she said.

Upon turning, John could see Moira crouched inside the illuminated interior of what was obviously a small tent, but instead of a flap, it looked like she was holding up a section of the cave wall. He squinted. On closer inspection, he could make out the shape of the tent's exterior, but only because he knew what he was looking for. Had he not known, and Moira not been holding it open, he'd have had no idea there was anything there. More importantly, however, was how she was dressed. Moira Brighton, holy Paladin, paragon of society, and the most uptight person he'd ever met in his life, was wearing a set of baby pink flannel pajamas with her hair in a messy bun. John nearly gagged while suppressing the fit of laughter that tried to escape from his chest.

"What?" she demanded, but the renewed rosey flush of her cheeks told John that she already knew exactly what.

"N-nothing!" he choked out, tight lipped and on the verge of tears. Moira violently pulled the flap back closed with a huff and disappeared inside. John couldn't contain himself after that and fell into a fit of snickering. He had enough courtesy, at least, to let his laughter settle down and wipe the tears from his eyes before entering.

Inside, Moira was sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing away from him. A small lantern lit the cramped space, revealing a sleeping bag spread open on the ground. The interior was so tight that John had to waddle in a full crouch to get inside, but there was at least enough room for both of them to sit. A small, unappetizing bar of trail food sat on a napkin next to a water bottle just off to the right.

"Eat," Moira said, terse and cold. John could see she was halfway through her own bar of generic nutrition. "Then we'll sleep. I face this way, you face that way."

"Yeah, sure," John said. Unlike the princess behind him, he didn't have a fresh set of clothes to sleep in, so boxers would have to do. He sat and devoured his bland and generally unpleasant meal while unequipping his gear.

It's better than a Gamer Treat, at least...

"Wh- what are you doing!?" Moira's sudden shriek startled John so much that he fell over partway through removing his pants. He propped himself up on a sore elbow and glared at Moira, incredulous.

"Getting comfortable?" he spat out.

"No! Absolutely not!" Moira's face was beet red. She was holding both hands out in front of her to obscure her vision of John, while simultaneously peering over to stare daggers at him. "Pants! Back on! Immediately!"

"Are you serious!?" John recoiled, completely taken aback. She couldn't even offer him this one concession? Apparently not, as Moira's hammer was firmly in hand before he'd even realized she moved.

"NOW!"

"Okay okay okay! Fine!" John fumbled in a **** rush to pull his pants back up. He moved with a level of adrenaline fueled panic he'd not felt since fighting the Kobold Chieftess, spurred on by the **** glare of Moira's eyes locked on him the entire time. Once finished, he held out his hands to show off his work. "There. Happy now?"

"Of all the…" Moira trailed off, returned her hammer to her side, and rolled over to lay down. She clicked the lantern off. "Just go to sleep."

John rolled his eyes, collected his nerves, and turned away to face his designated side. He offered her a goodnight, but only got a mumbled grunt in response. It didn't matter; he was too exhausted to care anymore. He was asleep within seconds.