Solo Log: Contingency Plan

**An Alternate Time in Isla dola Focas, 501 AOV**

*"I have kept my word; I stayed my hand when I could have easily had that gnome killed. But now we fight honourably like men, as we agreed."*

This is precisely the consequence that Gatria and Xambria have tried to drill into her: people do not change, not so abruptly, and an alliance with an enemy can and often is very short-lived. Lya Jierre had kept her promise from the Summer Court, working with them until the uprising was quelled or at the least under control. A temporary truce, until Tinker Oddcog was recovered.

In spite of the warnings, of the teaching in various ways--Gatria as they sparred, pointedly attacking Hoya should she stop presenting an offense to try and heal a wound she had caused; Xambria as she observed, repeating *time and again* that sympathy for an enemy would only result in her getting hurt, or *worse*--Hoya still somehow hopes that Lya will choose not to resort to violence after they reach their goal. Even after seeing how quickly people can turn, she still hoped that the not-technically-a-princess would change her mind. Even when the agreement from the very start had been that they would inevitably fight, come hell or high water.

Considering the state of the party, she really *should* have *known better*.

Cleone, who Hoya pitied in a way she couldn't articulate, was frozen by indecision. Unlike the others, an assault on a Jierre--any Jierre, including one who attacked them outright, who turned on them *first*--comes with unique consequences, not the least of which include political fallout and losing access to the first home she'd ever known. Yes, more than anything they could have used the ranger's skill, but even emotionally invested Hoya can't blame her for the weight of consequence stilling Cleone's hand. Their motivations had been different, certainly, but she had been no better just days before, stock-still as a Tinker-and-witch-oil-powered duplicant had cackled maniacally while igniting the fuse of a bomb.

Mona had been forced to retreat first, falling back in the mouth of the volcano to the edge where the minecart that had carried them into this mess had nearly killed them; crumbling steel and rock had pinned her beyond their reach. Rush had made quick work of separating the druid from the injured gnome she'd just stabilized, and though he'd successfully pushed Mona away from her peers, he'd met some kind of unpleasant end if the swearing was any indication. But now, Mona was unable to help, and unable to be retrieved, and hurt more than enough before the collapsing structure had pinned her out of sight that the very thought sets Hoya's skin prickling with unease.

Gatria, always brash and strong and occasionally stupidly reckless, was just on the right side of dead, thanks only to Glaucia's intervention and Marcel's reflexes engaging the Danoran warrior to catch and draw away her attention. She's...hurt, unquestionably, by the catfolk's earlier actions. That she had chosen to murder the Steel Lord's young daughter over saving the hostage (hostage? Was Tinker a hostage, considering the signs that he was at least at some point working willingly with his 'employer'? Does it *matter*?) they had been charged with retrieving. But hurt doesn't supercede her nature to not wish harm on anyone, a friend least of all, and though she wasn't enamored with the rogue she didn't have any desire or find any joy in Lya Jierre nearly *ripping Gatria apart*.

And now Marcel is going toe-to-toe with Lya. The revolving chainsaw-rapier is loud, the grating of metal-on-metal screeching unpleasantly as it grinds against internal mechanisms and Marcel's own weapon. Lya is a skilled fighter, and try as they might they are truly no match against the martial scientist's training. Lya has forced the bard back until he's just shy of being either lopped into pieces by a chainsaw or facing a 15 foot tumble to a fiery death by lava, and something about the set of her shoulders *screams* at Hoya.

Lya Jierre *is not* going to fall back. She will kill them, or be killed herself, to achieve her assignment.

Kill Tinker.

Kill Tinker, who has been left to cower behind the unconscious body of Merton, previously taken out by Marcel while Lya's attention had been elsewhere.

She can see one heel of Marcel's shoe beyond the ledge. Lya is not going to stop, and even though she herself had to be feeling the burning discomfort from the lava below she still pushed forward, and if she doesn't *do something*--

*"Stop!"* Her own voice surprises her.

Panicked, she drops her bow to the dusty ground, hands balled into fists and swallowing down tears because *she can't do this*. She can't watch her teammates--*her friends*--be viciously picked off, one-by-one. Not for an objective they so clearly can't achieve.

"L-Lya, *please*--"

They're all going to die here. Lya Jierre is going to kill each of them in turn and then turn her weapon on Tinker, and not one of them will make it out of this damned volcano, and suddenly those 'Knights of Risur' will vanish from the public spotlight as quickly as they'd appeared, and she *can't* let that happen.

Her shouting, the subsequent clattering of a weapon to the ground, two tiny hands held up in a show of defeat...it at least gives Lya pause enough that she doesn't shove Marcel to an early grave.

And that's the only opening Hoya needs. After all, she's always been fast when she really puts her mind to it.

All but catapulting herself across the relatively open space of the volcano floor, Hoya sprints to Tinker's side, throwing her arms around him abruptly as soon as she reaches him, toppling the both of them to the ground.

She’s also carried a dagger with her, one she found at the catastrophe that was the Ziggurat of Apet, months ago. Carried it with her where she can easily grab it, just in case. For *emergencies*. She never uses it, and it hasn’t seen the light of day since she’d lent it to Gatria ages and ages ago.

And now she's slipping it from where it has lived at her hip, concealed by her clothes but accessible just the same, and before she can convince herself not to, she's plunged it into Tinker's chest.

Because she knows enough about anatomy to know how to make it quick and clean, as painless as being stabbed to death can possibly be. Still a heap of limbs and metal and now blood on the ground, Hoya presses her forehead over the other gnome's heart and sobs.

"I'm sorry--I--w-we--" she chokes, trying to *speak* before time runs out, an invisible clock ticking faster and faster as the closest thing she's had to family since she'd run away at twelve years old bleeds to death on the floor of a volcano thousands and thousands of miles from home *at her hand*.

"That we c-couldn't s-save you. W-we *tried,* I k-know you know--" the anxious stutter slows her, taking precious seconds away from them, and Hoya's never hated it more than she does in this exact moment. "I l-love y-y-you. Th-th--"

One agonized inhale, beneath her. She doesn't let go of him, doesn't move the dagger, doesn't move the arm wrapped tight around him in what could be called a hug were Hoya not actively murdering him herself. She's so hysterical she doesn't feel him shift, the arm not pinned between them pressing weakly against her ash-soiled hair. It's probably a blessing, considering the blood Tinker inadvertently smears across her cheek and ear in the process. Maybe he tries to interrupt her, opening his mouth to say something, but all he can produce is a garbled exhale. Blood trickles from his lips instead of words.

*There's just not enough time.*

"Than'you for n-never acting like I was st-strange, even when every-everyone said I was."

Somewhere behind her, the roar of the chainsaw stops. Footsteps are shifting, and someone is yelling, and someone is *running*, and Hoya hears none of it. She just listens to the unsteady *slowing* of Tinker's heart, choking on apologies until she can barely breathe and he isn't breathing at all.