#bergen_county

Her eyes widen.

Symon tries to resist, but the soot drifts to his nose, and he sneezes!

The little bird hops back from the puff of air, and shakes out it's wings - more soot. As it leaves, there is a faint iridescence on them, a warm tone, not just dull gray.

"It's kinda cute."

She brushes a finger near its keel, as one would to encourage a songbird to step up.

It hops onto her finger like it belongs there.

She sits back on her haunches, holding the bird so Symon can get a good look.

He leans in, and gently strokes a finger over it's head. The light in it's chest - the heart - pulses at his touch.

Symon whispers, "I think... this is a piece of my heart."

Dagmar recognizes the shape of the skull, that's the same as the one that was in her keyfob.

"We'll have to protect it." Firmly, solid as granite.

He reaches over, and gently closes his hands around the bird, cupping it into his grasp. And then... he offers it to her. "It belongs to you. I think... it always has."

A shy look - something that is both happy, but anxious. But she extends her hand to take it.

He rests his hands in hers, so that both pairs of hands cup around the little bird.

Looking up at her, Symon whispers. "What we spoke about? I'm ready." His sunken eyes shine.

"I... " She doesn't have to ask, she can hear the truth of it.

She swallows and nods.

He whispers to her... "Nothing really seemed to exactly fit how I feel. So, I'll use my own words. If the dreaming doesn't like it, then.... to hell with it." When's the last time he cracked one of his irreverant jokes? Symon is back.

"If that's okay?"

"That... yeah. Yeah, it is."

Symon takes a deep breath, as deep as his faulty lungs will allow, and whispers to her.

"I give a gift of myself to thee. " As he closes his fingers around hers and the heartbird.
Take it freely; freely it is offered, and forever thou hast me in thy keeping.
Blood for blood, bone for bone, life for life, until only we stride the earth.
My heart is in your hands; Hold it well and I will lend you my guile; break your bond and may we both perish." A smile plays over his cracked lips as he adjusts the traditional words, finishing with...

"My soul I swear to you; an oath of clasped hands, eternal devotion, and shared heart."

With each word, the glamour rises, warming their clasped hands.

She takes a sharp breath, face flushed, heart racing. A squeeze of his hand before she responds.

"I take your gift gladly, and offer mine in return.
May we keep each other, and see and be seen.
Blood for blood, bone for bone, life for life, until only we stride the earth.
My heart is in your hands; Hold it well and I will lend you my strength; break your bond and may we both perish.
My soul I swear to you; an oath of clasped hands, eternal devotion, and shared heart."

The little bird within their hands suddenly pecks both of them with a razor-sharp beak. Blood flows from the small wounds, mingling in their grasp.

A small gasp of surprise at the sting, and glamour wells, reaching out towards Symon...

Glamour rises around the two, encompassing them both, flaring and sinking in!

Both Troll and Sluagh feel a change, subtle, within them, a bolstering of their will, and strengthening of their bond.

She is still for a long moment, just... feeling it, the solid comfort of the Oath, the rightness of it.

And suddenly, a laugh escapes. First one, then a burst of them. Her amber eyes are bright.

Symon looks taken aback, and runs a hand through his hair, seeking composure. "So... is that the way an Oath always feels?" Clearly impressed.

"The ones I have, yeah. I don't know if it's all of them - like, if one were forced?"

"But this feels right."

"Like a comfortable shirt that fits just right. Not pinching or awkward, but, it just goes on and makes you feel... at home."

"Uh-huh."

"It's real, you know? The most real kind of magic I've found. Like... when you crack your back just right & suddenly everything clicks in place?"

"That's a terrible metaphor, but... yeah. Shirts."

Symon snickers. "You're the one that had me thinking about shirts. Think I can burn those button up collared ones?"

She snorts. "Could. Could just goodwill'm, though. Somebody might like them."

"if anyone is that long and skinny." Oh, that's a smirk.

He gives her a poke with one of those long, skinny fingers, right in the ribs.

The heartbird, for lack of a better term as of yet, has fluttered to Dagmar's shoulder and perches there as though it has always belonged in that spot.

The smirk blossoms into a grin.

"So - dunno about you, but i would like to get out of this place."

He looks around, and scuffs a foot at the spot where the cantrip went awry and scorched the ground. "Ah. Hm." A glance around, and he scoots a box of napkins over the spot. "There. Not a trace."

"I brought my bike, so you can ride with me. Sylvi and Kerri are both out there - either dealing with her or security, since nobody's bothered us in here." A pause. "Is Lovecraft okay?" She looks for the cat.

Lovecraft takes a few moments to find - she's not on the floor, but UP on a stack of boxes, crouched, tail swishing, as she locks eyes on the little bird.

"That's his, Lovecraft. I'm sorry I upset you, before. I was trying to help him."

She sits up, having been spotted, and washes a paw. After a moment, she purrs, "Forgive."

"Thank you." With appropriate gravity. Symon was Lovecraft's long before he ever met Dagmar.