this isn't mischief
He’s dealt with magicians enough times to know they keep an eye on their favorite things. He didn’t know if she’d been watching him while he’d been gone (although he likes to think she had), but a part of him always wondered. He didn’t get into too many precarious situations on his journey from and to Beqanna, and he supposes that might have been in thanks to her. Nonetheless, (although the trickster might have thoughts on whether he had a bodyguard or not) he never relied on the magicians to protect him.
He knows, however, that she is watching him today. Along with the thrill of the sand as his feet sink in, comes a prickle with it. It doesn’t hurt or heal and he finds himself chuckling. She is already playing games with him (already toying with his mind and body and emotions; already adding to the excitement of the day; already causing his chaotic adrenaline to rise) and he is enjoying every second of it.
Before he can take many more steps into the Desert, there are two high sand waves that come crashing toward him. For a moment, his heart skips a beat in panic (the sand waves remind him of a time in his life where he was trapped in the kingdom and a sandstorm caught him without cover; the sand waves remind him of a fellow illusionist’s tricks of the sand raging around him and causing him to scream for them to stop; the sand waves remind him of a journey between graves where he had to strike his own walking corpse dead by the sandstorms that now twirl against his heels) but it calms as the sand rages around him and then drops him off at her feet.
At one point, the trickster feared the sand. He overcame it, however, and now the sand is his pet.
She looks unashamedly the same. He smirks in her direction, mimicking that wry smile on her own face. Her eyes mirror his (but he rarely bothers with wondering about a magician’s clothing choices nowadays) and the diamonds that creep along her cheek shine in the light. She greets him like a cat to its prey and he nods in her direction. “You look good as usual, Camrynn.” His voice is a smooth tenor, a charming tune. His pets (miniature sandstorms curling around his heels like cuddly cats) twine and wind around him, but never grow to the enormous size they could be. Here, the magician is in charge, and he knows that.
“I figured it was time to check and see if you’d forgotten about me,” he croons (although they both know neither of them had). His head tips to the side, then. “Fine, I suppose. And yourself? How’s that ragtag bunch of evil-doers managing without me?” He winks, one bruised eye disappearing before reappearing. Oh how good it feels to play the games of chaos again.
lokii
this is mayhem
