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Tybalt watched Vidya work through eyes narrowed with suspicion. A grim smile was his only response to her playful wink, falling away completely to reveal an ever-growing scowl as she turned back to the lake. Every feather stood on end as a form took shape and sharp talons gripped the earth as it reared up only to crash back down into the lake, thankfully taking the shovel--the last of the evidence--with it.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, voice tight, and turned away from her. His wings flapped once, twice, as if he could shake the tension right out of them before they resettled, the feathers still ruffled. "This way!" he called over his shoulder as he started through the woods.

Tybalt had always been uneasy around magic; it seemed a growth spurt hadn't changed that any.

Navigating a safe course through the woods had once been simple--it used to be an easy thing to tuck his wings in tight to keep them from the greedy grasp of branches. Now, however, it required a bit more concentration. Any ease he might have once possessed in traversing the forest crumbled under winter's chill and the newer, larger shape of his own body. He had expected Vidya to be right behind him, especially with as slow as he was going, and turned in surprise when her voice called out, wincing as a still-sore wing hit a nearby tree. This did little to add cheer to his souring mood.

His growing frustration was somewhat stunted as he saw the almost scared look on Vidya's face. What was her problem? He hadn't gotten that far off, and even if he had managed to, his plumage hardly blended into the landscape. A quick survey of her movements left him confused; her sight had seemed fine just a moment ago, but now it seemed she couldn't see the literal forest for the trees.

Tybalt sighed quietly, negotiating himself back towards his starting point. It left him just at Vidya's side, and he clapped a hand to her shoulder. "I'm right here," he said, aiming for comforting and attaining dubious success. "What's th' matter with ye?"

Tybalt's fingers tightened on Vidya's shoulder as she startled, his narrowed eyes intently watching her reach for her face...and miss. "Nothing," he repeated flatly, brazen disbelief in his tone. He knew lies like breathing, and that was an obvious and poorly-delivered one. "Right." He considered being mad at her for lying, for keeping things from him, before deciding it would be pointless. Getting mad at Vidya never seemed to work for either of them.

That didn't mean he wouldn't get a straight answer regardless. Tybalt's grip on Vidya's shoulder loosened. His fingers trailed down her arm until they reached her elbow before tightening once more, this time in order to gently tug her away from the trees. "We'll go this way," he said, indicating a longer, clearer path around the lake. "Ye'll tell me what's wrong." It wasn't a request.

Liability, Tybalt's mind whispered as he learned the truth behind Vidya's strange behavior. Useless, it continued as he stopped walking and gently tugged Vidya to a halt with the hand still on her arm. Her words were a knife in his gut; it hurt in ways he couldn't explain to hear how callous she thought him, but, he supposed, it was hardly surprising. If it had been anyone else, he would have laughed at their predicament and left them stranded in the woods. Maybe spun them around in circles before he walked off. Anyone else...but not her, damn it all.

Tybalt sighed, turning Vidya to face him. The hand on her arm drifted upwards, stopping under her chin to tilt her head upwards. Narrowed eyes scrutinized her features--she had grown into a very pretty young woman, he admitted--before stopping at her eyes. They were dull, vacant, but not lifeless.

"Don't be daft," he chastised gently. "'S not somethin' to apologize for. Ye didn't do it to yerself, aye? Certainly not somethin' I'd kill ye for, an' I'm not quite sure what put that idea inta yer head. Ye're...more ta me'n just a pair've eyes." Weak, his mind hissed at him.

Vidya's obvious relief at Tybalt's reassurances made him slightly uneasy; he wasn't used to being the source of someone's happiness, but he decided it was far better to deal with Vidya's smiles rather than her tears. "Aye," he said, twisting his wrist in her grasp in order to free it, but only long enough to take her hand in his own. Just less awkward this way, he told himself. "I think ye'll like this place."



Twenty minutes later found the pair off the beaten path and on a much more well-traveled one. It was still achingly cold, but the friendly lights of the shops lining the streets promised warmth if only one would step inside. The town was remarkably crowded for such a frigid day, and Tybalt found steering both himself and Vidya safely through the human traffic more challenging than he had anticipated. He only bumped into someone once, coming shoulder to shoulder with someone almost harder than he was fit for in his cold and medicated state.

"Watch where you're going, jerk!" The man said.

"Me humblest apologies, mate," Tybalt replied, almost sounding like he meant it. The man walked off muttering, and Tybalt stuck the wallet he had lifted from the man's jacket into his own.

A few minutes later, Tybalt stopped Vidya in front of one of the smaller shops on the street. It was dimly lit and appeared to be more than a little rundown, but warmth and the bittersweet smells of coffee and baked sugar radiated from it. Tybalt quickly ushered Vidya inside, eager to get out of the cold. "'S a pastry shop," he explained. "They sell coffee 'n tea 'n whatnot, too. Order what ye like."

"Course ye can," Tybalt said, repeating Vidya's order to the cashier. He added his own--a sweet fruit tart and coffee--and paying with the money he'd found in the wallet he had pick-pocketed just moments before. Tybalt joined Vidya at the table after making a detour to replace a chair with a stool; tailfeathers didn't lend well to them without a little bit of awkward discomfort. As he settled on the stool, he pondered her questions.

"Not much," he replied, snagging a bowl of sugar cubes and dumping far more than were healthy in his coffee. Just killin' people, buryin' th' evidence, y'know, th' usual. "Catchin' up on things, mostly. Th' ship's...comin' along," he said after a moment's hesitation. In truth, it would have been coming along better if he had been able to find someone willing to hear him out without bursting into laughter. A pirate ship? For a parrot? Hilarious!

He hid his frown in his first tentative sip of too-hot coffee. "An' yerself?" he asked. "Been keepin' busy? Not gotten in too much trouble without me, eh?" The last was said with a wink; in all honesty, he would have been rather proud if she had.

Vidya's gracious offer of her parents' help was met with a gently-shaking head. Help was never asked for even at the worst of times, and with a project as personal as this, a plea for aid was even less likely. "If I need help, ye'll be th' first ta know," he said indulgently, not meaning a word of it.

He worked on his tart as Vidya recounted her recent doings. His strawberry-laden fork froze halfway to his mouth as she said "comatose," nearly dropping from his hand completely as she went on to tell him that she met a past self. "Really, now?" he said, suddenly much more interested in the conversation than he had been. "An' how was that like? She th' one what took yer other eye?" Wary as he might be, given his own growth experience, he was intensely curious as to what Vidya's other self was like.

The tart and coffee sat forgotten as Tybalt contemplated Vidya's less than enthusiastic response. Vidya was becoming this person who stole her sight? This..."very angry person?" He almost couldn't credit the words, it was so hard to picture Vidya angry at anyone, anything. "What made 'er so angry? Did she say?" If he knew, it might be that much easier to prevent that piece of history from repeating itself; if he couldn't stop it, he could at least be prepared. He didn't want to lose Vidya to this thing from a life long over.

The warning Smith had given him before the fiasco that preceded his growth crept, unbidden and unwelcome, through his mind: "That wench'll be yer death, Tybalt." Tybalt shook it off both mentally and physically, his wings giving an errant flick as if it would be that easy to get rid of all that was bothering him. "No," he replied. "I fell outta bed this way." That, at least, was the truth--if not for his various aches and pains and the blood-stained evidence he had gotten rid of, he might have been able to convince himself it had all just been a bad dream.