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Jezebel lets out a long, theatrical sigh. The kind that suggests she’s already tired of the universe’s nonsense, then says, “I don’t know. It’s a new world for me, and I’m just trying to survive.” Her voice dips into somber territory for a moment before she lifts her gaze. “I don’t suppose you’d want to team up with me. I could use a companion.” It’s the kind of request that could be heartfelt… or the setup to a tragic comedy. With Jezebel, it’s usually both.

Magdalen smiles, drifting into deep thought like he’s about to deliver ancient wisdom or forget what he was thinking mid‑sentence. “I was with a group once,” he says, tone suddenly grand and nostalgic. “We traveled everywhere. I was sort of a companion, but also just… me.” He gestures vaguely, as if that explains everything.

He lifts the pendant. It's a triangular shard of metal etched with glyphs that look like they were designed by someone who wanted to confuse archaeologists. “I got a nice gift out of it. I was asked to guard this. It’s ancient. Possibly magical. But I’m not sure what it’s for.” He squints at it. “Which is odd. I usually just know when I see magic. This one’s being dramatic,” he pauses, brow furrowing as old memories bubble up. “Whatever happened to Gor, Carol, Drake, and the gang, I wonder?” His voice trails off into melancholy… then he snaps out of it like someone slapped the sadness out of him.

“Listen,” he says, waving the thought away, “I don’t know if I have any more adventuring left in me.” He leans back, casual, like he’s discussing weekend plans instead of life‑altering quests. “But there’s a town about a day’s flight from here. Or a week of walking. Whichever you prefer." He perks up, almost excited. “Do you want to go there? Sometimes I go to Smith Falls to get candy. Fort Hammer... everyone knows everyone, so they notice when a new kid shows up.” He tilts his head, giving her a hopeful grin. “Interested?”

Jezabel stunned for a moment then a realization occurs and she asks if he can really fly and hear though u was just a big lizard how would I stay on and is my kind accepted. Hazel then says Shes game let's get candy but I'm broke.

Jezebel freezes mid‑thought, blinking, “Wait... you can fly? And how would I even fit? You’re tiny! Do they even accept people like me? I mean, I like candy, but I’m broke.”

Magdalen tilts his head, considering the logistics of physics and prejudice all at once. “Ooo, good point. I don’t know how they’d react. Heard they ran off a few kids for having psychic abilities. You don’t exactly look like the average human either. But hey, rumor mill, right? As for flying, if you use that rope and I shift back to my true form, we can make a harness. I’m terrible at knots, though. If you can tie one that doesn’t immediately betray us mid‑air, then we’re golden. Once we’re near town, I’ll switch back and we’ll walk in like normal, inconspicuous candy enthusiasts.”

He grins suddenly, eyes lighting up like a kid who just found the dessert table. “Candy’s my favorite thing. We’ll find a way to afford it. I always do.” Then, with the dramatic flair of a magician who forgot his cue, he vanishes behind the curve in the cavern wall and reappears holding a canvas sack big enough to smuggle a small horse. “Once we fill this up, I’ll have enough till tomorrow… or maybe the day after!”

Jezebel sighs the kind of sigh that carries equal parts nostalgia and exasperation. She remembers her friends dressing her up with the red wig, contacts, and makeup to hide her real features. All gone now. Getting replacements would mean going into town first… which, given the current plan, might involve flying in on a magical lizard with questionable knot‑tying skills.

Jezabell smiles a little and grabs the rope to make a harness whith a twinkle in my eye." Let's get some candy and if im lucky i can get some better gear. " o0 she wonders what kind of trouble she will get into chaos seems to follow me and if this place is what I remember it to be o0 jezabel looks at magdalen" let's get ready and go " with a sheepish grin

Jezebel gives the rope a confident little smirk. The kind of smirk that suggests she absolutely knows what she’s doing, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. She starts looping and twisting the rope like she’s auditioning for advanced ropework she definitely does not possess. “Let’s get some candy,” she declares, tugging the rope with heroic optimism, “and if I’m lucky, maybe some better gear.”

Her inner voice mutters like a tired stage director, oO(Chaos follows me everywhere, and if this place is anything like I remember… great. Perfect. Outstanding)Oo She glances at Magdalen while measuring the rope with devout professional seriousness, then announces, “Let’s get ready and go!”

What follows is a tragic comedy of knots. She fashions something that might be a harness… or a net… or a warning from the gods. It slips, sags and finally rebels. After several minutes, she’s left holding a rope creature that looks like it crawled out of pure entropy.

Magdalen watches, deeply entertained, lips curled in barely contained laughter. Finally, he offers, very gently, very diplomatically, “…What if I just hold you in my hand?” Which is the kindest possible way to say: 'Your rope has declared independence and seceded from your demands of cooperation.'

Which is the kindest possible way to say: 'Your rope has declared independence and seceded from your demands of cooperation.'

OOC:

Jazabel reluctantly drops the rope and agrees to be carried still eager to go. Jezabel heads outside takes in the air looking around she activates her senses scaning awaiting her ride to pick her up and start a new adventure.

Jezebel drops the rope with all the enthusiasm of someone agreeing to be carried by a dragon because, frankly, walking sounds worse. Maggie vanishes behind the cavern wall again, clearly his favorite backstage area, followed by frantic unzipping, unbuttoning, gravel scraping, and the unmistakable thud‑thud‑thud of someone transforming back into his true form.

She steps outside into the cold, pine‑scented air. The approaching snowstorm smells like it’s debating whether to arrive politely or kick down the door. The waning, frigid wind hits her face, feeling sharp, invigorating, almost motivational. As her vision stretches farther than a few hundred feet, the rocky plains reveal themselves in a half‑mile sweep of winter‑bitten wilderness.

Eventually Maggie pads up behind her. “Okay, I’m ready.” His book is gone, but he’s clutching his pendant and his clothes in one hand like a kid who forgot his backpack. With the other, he scoops her up very carefully, like she’s a fragile teacup he’s terrified of breaking.

Once she settles, he leaps. Wings slam against the cold air, each flap sounding like a tarp being snapped in a hurricane. They climb higher and higher until the thin air causes Jezebel’s lungs start filing complaints.

Then, without warning, Magdalen tilts his nose downward and dives. A breakneck, “this is how I die” kind of dive. He levels out just before the ground becomes a problem, gliding smoothly as the world below blurs into streaks of white and earthy color.

Hours, or at least hours according to Jezebel’s adrenaline, pass before the lights of a town flicker ahead. Maggie curves his wings, slows, and lands near a frozen lake with surprising gentleness for someone who could flatten a barn.
He sets her down and gestures proudly. “Sandy Lake. This is where I fish. Good perch! When I can catch them.”
He points southeast. “Fort Hammer is that way.”

Then he stomps behind a boulder, shrinks, and disappears again. The familiar soundtrack of zipping and buttoning plays, and out steps the young boy version of Maggie, sweater slightly crooked, hair still rebelling. “Ready for a hike?” he asks, grinning like this is all perfectly normal.

Jezabel looks over the frozen lake restableize herself after such a thrilling ride the tells him she's ready. She injuries on y the military is after him and if there's anything she needs to know before entering town.

Jezebel steadies herself on the frozen lake’s edge, legs still arguing with gravity after that high‑speed flight. She squints at the ice, then at Maggie, then at the sky, just in case the military is parachuting down with a strongly worded letter. “Hey,” she says, breath puffing out like a disgruntled ghost, “do you have any idea why the military is looking for me?”

Maggie gives her the world’s most unhelpful shrug.“Umm, I just met you. So… if I had to guess? You’re a psi‑stalker not in uniform. That makes you look like a rogue or a deserter. Otherwise? No clue.” He studies her like she’s a suspiciously shiny rock, then kicks the shore ice. It doesn’t budge. "Damn… too much effort to fish now…” He looks betrayed by the lake.

Jezebel sighs, “What should I know about this town before we walk in?”

Maggie inhales dramatically, like he’s about to deliver a tragic monologue. “Well, we’re going to be considered outsiders. I’m a kid walking in, during the coldest months of the year, with no shoes or socks. And you’re a psi‑stalker, which is rare around here, with tribal tattoos that scream ‘mysterious backstory.’” He circles her once, inspecting her like a picky fruit vendor deciding whether she’s ripe enough for society, “If you had a wig or a hat, some makeup, and something to hide those iris‑starved eyes, then we might keep people from wondering too much.”

He kicks the ice again. It still refuses to cooperate. He groans. “I just wanted one fish…”