Sworded Affair

She spent a good, long while just standing there, her armoured head following the movement of the Sun as it disappeared beyond the horizon. The real Sun, bright and alive and well, still untouched by the conspiracy that haunted its future. Yellow fading into Orange, not the burning red that had come once it was far too late to avert certain doom. Only when it was entirely gone from sight, did Emma turn finally around to head inside. A flick of her wrist snapped the door handle clean off, whilst her attempt to head inside was stymied, on account of having walked face first into a barrier of wood.

[That\'s not right. Hold on, ah, I see. Saint activated the emergency bloodward at some point.]

"God damn it, Saint."

[Null Zone (Toggle: ON)]

Emma could have swapped over to the homunculus, and donated blood to deactivate the ward that way, but after everything she\'d been through lately, she was entirely out of patience. The barrier fizzled out in the face of her absolute protection, and brute force did the rest, pushing the door open and off its hinges.

"Guard the door, we\'re not to be disturbed," Emma ordered, summoning Sir Bearington to replace her on the front lawn.

The summon had grown in strength alongside his master; where once he was the size of an ordinary bear, he was now half again as tall, and could cover the entire entrance with room to spare when standing up on his hindlegs. That still wouldn\'t be enough to deter the truly powerful locals, if they were determined to intrude, but Emma was happy enough just keeping nosy busybodies out for the time being. Heading inside, her first stop was the bedroom, though not to sleep, but rather to try a variation of what he\'d done in the final battle, albeit under more peaceful circumstances.

Laying down in bed in her armoured form, Emma summoned the homunculus once more. Then, instead of using Oversoul like she normally would, she called on her Duplicate instead, and had it do the honours.

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"Not bad," Emma spoke, in her body of flesh and blood. "As long as I\'m not trying to move both bodies at the same time, I think this will work."

More importantly, it kept Sir Bearington active while simultaneously enabling access to the Chandler class. It was a workaround, one that probably wouldn\'t be necessary once the Menagerie was up and running, but was pretty handy in the meantime. Satisfied, Emma headed back downstairs, closing the bedroom door behind her. She went to the living room, aiming to find a spot big enough to bring out her portable crafting bench, as she\'d had quite a few ideas from watching Eternal Wind being made, ones she was eager to test out, now that the end of the world was no longer breathing down her neck. At least, Emma did, until she found that Saint had beaten her there.

The mischievous cat was sleeping on the couch, twin tails flapping to an invisible wind. More importantly, the Hydra was entangled around her, his three heads wrapped protectively around Saint, hiding most of her torso beneath a cocoon of brilliant green. Emma was determined, in that moment, to preserve this scene for posterity, the lack of a camera be damned, and she had an idea how to do so. Her crafting Class was Chandler, not Artist or Painter, but there were areas of overlap to be found when she squinted real hard. Her first Trait had given her a modern education in mundane candles, and to Emma\'s glee, this included a large amount of dexterity where the medium of wax was concerned.

Deploying her crafting bench in a corner, Emma was happy to find that it resized itself to fit the environment. That meant a much smaller table than before, but that was fine, as all she really needed were her sculpting tools and some wax. Emptying the entire bag into a tall plastic tray, Emma kneaded the mixture until it was firm without being hard, and then she grabbed a carving knife and went to work. She\'d never made a waxwork sculpture before, but she had the required knowledge, and had seen plenty of them at Madame Tussauds before: how hard could it be?

—

Saint yawned, cracking open her eyes to see a faceful of leaf on her nose. Saint sniffed once, sniffed twice, then sneezed mightily, propelling herself to sit upright. One of the Hydra\'s heads turned back at her, groaning in reproach, before it too settled back onto the soft sofa cushion, too tired to protest further.

"I can relate, buddy, I feel like a pancake too," Saint groaned, feeling deep soreness along every inch of her body: whilst she\'d managed to harden herself enough to survive the Time Eater\'s crushing gravity, that didn\'t make the experience any more enjoyable.

Still, they\'d both given as good as they\'d gotten, before being sent back home and collapsing on the spot. Vaguely, she wondered how the battle for Oxford was going, before falling over again.

"The house is still here, so it can\'t be going that badly," Saint reasoned. "I\'ll deal with it tomorrow."

Really, she longed for nothing more than to sleep, and nothing was going to stop her, not even the soft slicing sounds in the background that probably signified someone preparing a meal.

"Mmm, salmon…"

With that whispered plea, Saint returned to the realm of sleep. In hindsight, a day of rest might have been a tad optimistic, as she wouldn\'t wake up again for the better part of a week, just in time to receive a handcrafted present or two.