Coming back from a dig in the deep of a dungeon like the cove was not only horringly inconvenient, but also very uncomfortable and quickly very disturbing. Given her intense dislike for the undead, the sight of bloated corpses, with wet, pale skin slipping off of their shambly moving bodies had left Plucknet with quite the lot of memories she’d rather forget. The picture had been permanently burned into her eyeballs it felt like, and once the party had returned to Hamlet, luckily more or less in one piece, all four still alive but stinking of wet stone and kind of like fish, the arbalest had been left standing the midst of the road for a few minutes by now, telling her comrades that they could gladly go to the tavern without her.
Plucknet needed something entirely different to take her mind off of the kinds of horrors she had - once again - been exposed to. This was the kind of shit that made her reconsider her profession, but then again, she loved the thrill of the adventure. She’d miss it severely, and because of this very reason, she decided to rather bite into the sour apple and swallow the discomfort that still clung to her spine and stomach.
The scarred, dark woman leaned her crossbow over her shoulder, climbing the staircases up to the abbey. Once she arrived there, after exchanging just some words, she wandered the hallfways, straight for flagellation. The cold stone here was different than that of the cove, something she was used to and more comfortable with. When she was led into one of the chambers, one of the sisters followed her inside, and Plucknet stripped herself of her upper clothing, resting herself onto her knees, heads bowed.
A first yelp could be heared throughout the abbey, followed by a bunch of more of them, as the flagellation session started to begin rather apruptly, but Plucknet didn’t mind that.
Somewhere, in the darkest corners of her allotted room, Vesci contemplates the differences between starvation and withdrawal. So far, she hasn’t noticed any, that is. The weakness, the pain in her movements, the eventual dull of her hunger despite the knowledge she should eat. She has been eating. Well, even! But nonetheless, she feels starved. Exhausted and apathetic, and eventually simply waiting for death to catch up to her.
She hides behind her scarves in front of Sister Toustain and in front of the children, putting on her brightest smile and keeping her movement’s free despite how weak her limbs are becoming.
This is… just how a detoxification works. If it was easy to quit your addictions, nobody would be addicted to anything, she reasons. She just had to get the rest of the Blood out of her system, and then…
Vesci’s mind goes silent. Somewhere downstairs, someone was in pain. And pain meant blood. Her feet are moving before she can really think about it, mouth contorted with some kind of primal intent under her scarf. She, essentially, drifts down towards the flagellation chamber, the blood-scent growing steadily more powerful and harder to ignore as she goes. Something down here had exactly what she was looking for, even against the part of her mind that wished to continue trying to deny herself the right to soothe that thirst.
She’d starved herself long enough. Now… now all there was is to wait outside, out of sight, and wait for Sister Josephine to leave. The faithful inside would never know what hit them-her. It’s a woman, certainly.
