Beepuncher

There was just something unnameably alluring about Honeypot Grotto; something that defied description, even as apt as its name was.

It was dotted with six or seven lumpy, misshapen nests, fliers who didn't live in them floating above and caterpiles rolling nearby. There were wildflowers, wild grasses, pollinations of which you'd never seen the like. Brighid would enjoy many a nature walk through it, had she the free time and the present yearning to journey all the way out there, to lollygag.

Jin and Haze avoided it, because neither of them found it worth the trouble. Lora, indeed, usually avoided it too. But today was different. Today had a purpose.

Today, she'd heard Aegaeon opining that Melosian Honey was one of the great exports of Gormott, but that Ardainian cuisine was so lacking, it never occurred to any of the capital's chefs to put in for an order. And Aegaeon, being a generally modest fellow, would never broach the topic himself.

But now, well, here they were in Gormott proper, and the town was all but extinct, it must be said, so they had come so close and yet remained so far from the decadent treat. Imagine what wondrous confections could be fashioned, with the aid of invert sugar and comb! Perfect temperature control, regardless of the aid of a candy thermometer in an industrial kitchen, was yet another boon, another tool in their arsenal.

It all, so very nearly, fell into place. But, 'twas not to be, because it would never do to have Ardainian royals traipsing into special troves of Gormott's own, to praise and plunder.

Lora, hearing this, made it her beeline (yes, yes) object to get Aegaeon that honey. After all, she was nobody in particular, and any old mercenary writ could have been the impetus for her task. It really couldn't be that difficult, could it? Skeeter nests and their occupants both were remarkably weak, having only a fraction of the stamina owned by packs of immature Gogols lurking nearby.

Maybe the Gogols were afraid, but not Lasaria's Lora, vanquisher of the borderlands' every untamed threat. She'd do it swiftly and efficiently, with her finest braid to hand.

This, too, was her advantage: she could both strike and snare with the whip, destroying the outer structure of the nest while leaving the succulent honeycomb within undamaged. Her plan seemed foolproof, really. She could be quieter and quicker without her Blades - and truly, when had she ever said that?

But as she went, surreptitious as a sneak, she didn't notice that Minoth followed her, because he'd become somewhat skilled in trailing suspicious individuals over the past two years, and he was deeply curious as to what she'd ever do without making an announcement or taking company with her.

Maybe he shouldn't have done it. Maybe it was distrustful. But he did it, and he watched her, and what did he see?

There was Lora, agile with the whip, ringing roses around the fragile nests and crushing them for her pleasure. She darted between the released skeeters and the preexisting sweet fliers, eyes on the prize contained within.

Just as she was about to claim it, stuffing it into a simple cotton sack, Minoth saw one of the skeeters descend, incensed by the attack on its life's work. Of course, that was to be expected. Poke the slumbering creatures, and see what you get.

Lora stayed silent, eyes shifting from bee to bee, crouching in place. The skeeter hovered above her head, indecisive, perhaps readying to toss down some flecks of poisonous powder.

But no, no, this was an angry critter. And what did angry critters do? They prepared their proboscis, and lunged.

Caught by the enraged prongs of a skeeter's last chance as a fencer, Lora cried out. Not only did Minoth hear it, but Brighid and Aegaeon, nearby, did too.

The jig was up, certainly, and there was no use skulking around any longer. Minoth and the others hurried to where Lora had fallen to her knees, the skeeter swatted away and being scouted by a stray skwaror.

In Minoth's experience, beestings usually struck the face or the wrist, the palm; vulnerable, fleshy places. Strangely, though, as Lora shook her fist, it was her knuckles she stared at.

"Lora, are you alright?"

So Brighid was just as confused as he was. But then, she continued, "Did you...try to punch the bee?"

Lora nodded, furious in all motions as she made to suck on the wound. "Mmmfh- argh!" Apparently that hadn't been helping. "Yes, it came up close on me and I just reacted on instinct, I guess. I think I hit it, though?"

Aegaeon frowned, cocked his head. Lora looked back at him, mirroring. Brighid tut-tutted. Minoth, amused, stayed silent.

Another few seconds of mute, studying glances.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the Water Blade spoke at last.

"You said you wanted to try the honey," Lora pointed out, rather uselessly.

"Indeed," Aegaeon answered, somewhat befuddled, "but Lady Lora, of all the things to do you in...the bee?"

Minoth, stood to one side, offered his two cents as well: "Need I remind you, Lora, that honey comes from the hives, and not the workers? It was just flying there - it wasn't even trying to hurt you." And of course it was his undivinely appointed position to be the defender of all things with six or eight or ten thousand legs, including the noble denested fliers.

"Well..." Lora huffed. "I was startled, that's all. And see what I got for my trouble," she added, waving her yet-to-be-bandaged and indeed yet-to-swell hand.

Brighid, for her part, had never seen such nonsense unfold so close before her primly lidded eyes. It was enough to make anyone scoff, and her especially. "Really, Lora. There are better ways to do these things."

"Safer, too," Aegaeon put in. And surely Lora was awfully put-upon already, just to have been stung, let alone to have to stand there and take their relentless ridicule. "I will not say that I do not appreciate your gesture. But I would rather that no one is...harmed, in the process."

Minoth shot a glance to Brighid. Was she, perhaps, also amused by this turn of events? Or maybe she was offended, that someone else was going to such great lengths and danger, relatively, to secure a favor for Aegaeon, while the Jewel herself did no such thing to honor the Crest.

"Next time, we hunt at night. Sound alright to you, Lora?"

Lora sighed, eyes drooping in disbelief at what a federal case it'd become. "Alright, alright. Meanwhile, can someone take this honey off my hands?"

all surviving wiplist materials from bygone eras are indeed virtually unintelligible. but this (concept/scenario) is from December 6, 2021 =)