Will

"Hey, stranger."

"Hey."

Sam was having trouble making eye contact as he closed the distance between them, and it wasn't hard to guess why. The corpses had already been removed, but she was clearly making an effort not to look in the direction of the bloodstained patch of the yard they had occupied.

"They were bad guys, Sam," he said, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"I get that, but… you're not supposed to have to do this kind of thing anymore."

"I didn't actually kill them myself."

"Really?" She sounded strangely hopeful at that. "Then who did?"

"Griff did."

"Oh, good. That's a relief."

Will didn't see much of a distinction in terms of who'd done the actual murdering—really, in his mind it was more reprehensible to be giving the order instead of carrying out the deed himself—but clearly, it was important to her somehow. He managed a wry smile for her, and she nodded firmly to herself, satisfied in putting the matter to rest.

"I heard you agreed to join in on the whole emancipation thing," Will mentioned as they made their way toward the bonfire hand-in-hand.

"I did. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is. It's not like you need my permission to do stuff. I did decline personally, though."

"Good. I was going to forbid you from coming."

"Because I'm a weak old man?"

"More or less. You really need a—"

"A vacation, I know."

"Glad you agree."

They made it to the main congregation of guests clumped around the bonfire just as a big commotion was starting up. Francine, clearly more than a little drunk judging by her slurred speech and irregular breathing pattern, was unsuccessfully coming onto Buck. Upon being politely rebuffed, she insisted on a competition, with the winner getting to ask the lord for a favor. If Buck understood the obvious implication, he made no show of it as he immediately agreed what a terrific idea it was. It was decided that the competition would involve a dance battle, and a small group of interested prospects gathered around to register their participation.

Sam didn't need to say anything—Will knew what she was thinking as soon as she whipped her head around to fix him with those big puppy eyes of hers.

"Fine," he sighed, and patted the small of her back. "Go on, then."

She grinned like a child and ran off to join the others.

In the end, a bit over half a dozen people joined in. In a suitably ostentatious and particularly ill-advised display, Buck cast his semblance, Life of the Party, with the [Dance Mode] > [Battle Royale] conditionals to serve as the backdrop. This, in turn, essentially hijacked every single guest and forced them to tune into the competition; the ability automatically snatched them up and deposited them in their assigned seats inside the large circus tent that made up the semblance field.

Since he wasn't participating himself, Buck remained suspended above the main stage on strings, and his idle plucking at a beat-up guitar seemed to amplify and blend seamlessly into the garish music blasting from everywhere at once.

Gug showed by far the most enthusiasm in his participation, but his disastrous sense of rhythm instantly put him behind. Desperate, he called for his brother to take over and save the situation, but Nug evidently thought dancing was beneath him, and just stood there like a scarecrow until the semblance disqualified him.

Sam actually did quite well for herself. Despite her somewhat ponderous appearance, she'd always had excellent hand-eye coordination, and a natural inclination toward dancing in general. Her new Measured passive was likely also helping her move to the beat, and she kept up even as the speed increased and most of the other contestants were eliminated.

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In the end, the part giving her the most trouble was trying to keep her dress from riding up and her breasts from popping out. Since she was neither a habitual dress-wearer or boob-haver, these were novel problems for her, and in the end became too distracted constantly tugging at one bit of fabric or another so that she ended up second after Francine.

The ranger came out of the semblance exuding a supremely smug air, and eagerly approached Buck while people congratulated her and made toasts in her name.

"Okay Frankie, what can I do for you?" Buck asked, a thumb hooked through the waistline of his trousers.

"Just a kiss," she said, grasping his waist and pulling herself close. Her face was upturned toward his, lips slightly parted. "Kiss me like you used to."

The look of unrestrained disgust that inspired was enough to even make Will wince a little. Buck pushed the woman away and said firmly: "No. How many times do I need to say it before you understand? It's not cool for you to keep pushing like this, and honestly you're starting to embarrass yourself."

Francine flinched like she'd been slapped. She took a slow step back, eventually letting go of Buck's sculpted obliques. "I…"

"I'm sorry, Frankie—really, I am." He was speaking more softly now, maybe to spare her some of the public humiliation, and the other rangers were already at work dispersing the crowd. Looking deep into her eyes with an earnest frown, the lord continued, saying: "You're a great girl, and we've had some wild times together. You deserve someone who'll make you happy. But that person can never be me. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry if it felt like I was leading you on—I thought you knew it was always just dumb fun between us."

It was clear that Francine was having to swallow down some choice words, likely directed at a certain former lady consort. In the end, she just said: "Okay. I'm sorry, Buck."

Buck shook his head and gave her chin a little rub with his thumb. "Don't be. You're all right."

"I love you." There was desperation in her voice.

"I know that now." His was tinged with sadness, and maybe a touch of guilt.

"She doesn't. She fucking stood you up. What's so special about her, anyway? I know I'd make you—"

"Shh," Buck said. "Let's not go down this road, okay? You have my answer. Please accept it."

Francine grimaced in pain, then her face went slack, and she let her head hang low. "Okay. I understand."

Unfortunately, Sam picked that exact moment to be her usual friendly self. She went over to Francine, put an arm around her, and offered a beer mug. "Hey, those were some sick moves back there! You really killed it. You wanna—"

"Get the fuck away from me," Francine hissed, and slapped the mug aside so its foamy contents spilled into the bonfire with a great hiss. She jabbed a finger in Sam's face. "Do you think I don't know what you're doing here? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Uh, what?" Sam asked, frowning in deep confusion, though she at least had enough of a clue to take her arm back. "I'm not doing anything—I'm just trying to take your mind off things, that's all. I was hoping maybe we could bury the hatchet and find a way to get along."

"Oh, suuure. There's no way in hell I'm buying that, you two-faced bitch. You just want to rub this shit in my face—I bet it feels great for you, too."

"Uh… no, that's…" Sam directed a pleading look in Will's direction. He was already making his way through the crowd, but with his bum leg he was moving at a painfully slow crawl.

"Frankie, c'mon," Buck said as he moved to get between the two women. "I think maybe you've had one too many. Let's get you someplace quiet and sober you up a bit, yeah?"

"This is all your fault!" Francine cried, craning her neck to glare over Buck's shoulder at Sam, who had put her hands up in a sheepish pacifying gesture and seemed generally lost.

"Now, hold on—" Sam began.

"You and that disgusting traitorous piece of shit boyfriend! I can see what he's doing, you know. He's got his fingers in everything, doesn't he? Still looking out for Brimstone from beyond the grave, is that it? Looking out for his ex-wife? How nice of him."

Sam's face went from apologetic to completely blank in an instant, and she let her arms drop. "Okay, now that was too far."

"She doesn't know what she's saying," Buck argued weakly through grunts as he struggled to hold his ranger back. "Just… guys, help me get her someplace private."

But before anyone could assist him, Francine managed to duck out of his grip and was in Sam's face, snarling. "Let's fight, yeah? I can't stand to see that smug fucking look on your face a second longer."

"Don't—" Buck began.

"You know what?" Sam cut in, and shoved Buck roughly aside when he tried to get between them again. "That sounds fan-fucking-tastic. I've got some objections with the state of your face, too—for example, that nose of yours is looking awfully unbroken, and I think that needs fixing urgently."

Buck was still trying to intervene, but Will finally got there and put a hand on the lord's bare chest to keep him away. "At this point, it's best to just let it play out," he said softly. "This storm's been brewing for a minute. Let them get it out of their system."

"Yeah, but…"

"Don't worry—Sam won't hurt your friend too bad."

"What about the other way around?"

Will had to hold back a laugh. Instead, he extrapolated a more diplomatic response. "Look, you know what Laborers are like. They're tough, and Sam is scrappier than most of them. Just leave them be."

Buck hesitated for a second, running both hands through his splendidly mussed hair, then sighed deeply and said: "All right… all right."

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