Zone B -- Forest

[Gildarts]

It felt like nothing but the brush of a brief nap, but he had slept with her underneath the warmth of the covers.
 
Yes, she was carefully mounted under his hand, and Gildarts wasn’t quite sure how to turn her on, but when the time was right, he’d make it work. Her name was written in big azure letters along the side of her in a curvy but unmistakable tattoo. “Husqvarna,” foreign, exotic, just how he liked them. Her body was made of steel and could cut through solid objects. They had so much in common.
 
Her laugh was a tickle in her engine and she reeked like gasoline but she’d be a useful protector, maybe if Gil was desperate enough, he’d use her to help make breakfast. Though, a bowl of Abandoned Lumberyard Bark Mulch-O’s didn’t seem very appetizing. What if the tree’s were poisonous, emitting a toxic gas?
 
That thought caused Gildarts to spring up and then recoil at the pain he’d taken from his last fight. He cringed and felt the bitterness of pain bore down on him. He looked to his left and saw Illidan in another cot, though he couldn’t determine if he was sleeping, though his breaths appeared to be regular enough.
 
With hope, maybe the chainsaw’s presence (or roar) would even silence the Malefactor’s words which were as loud as sirens in his head. If Gildarts got desperate, he could shove wood-shavings in his ears, but that would only make things very… grossly… itchy.
 
Dawn’s twinkling, still dim light shone through the cracks in the worn, aged woodwork. Gil, if he knew what termites were, would likely had feared little tickling nibbles on his toes from them or any other insect that would call this den of wood their home.
 
Husqvarna fit in his hand perfectly when he went to grab for her. He felt better with her in his arms, not that she was a claimed possession, but a real thing that wanted to be validated and seen by the world. In Gildarts’ hand and with his resources, he could make that happen for her. She’d be a star, and model, sponsors for advertisements from the best lumberjacks would beg on their knees for Gildarts to take the job, endorsing her and their business of destroying forests for fund.
 
Gildarts wasn’t all about deforestation, he’d done enough of that in his time. The Prime stood up quietly and limped out of the mostly dry room with a slight creeak! from the door. Outside by the fire was a very beautiful woman he’d caught a glimpse at last night, she’d been in a maid’s costume… Or… was she a maid?
 
The Prime was still weary and perched himself on a log while he kept the thoughts of this beautiful woman at bay, and then realized that the thoughts were real. She was now no longer wearing the maid outfit but instead oversized denim overalls over her bra and humming. Nothing showed Tamsin was a respectable woman, but now Gildarts saw where her actual clothes had been strung. Above his head was a black dress hanging dry that he hadn’t noticed previously since it had blended in with the dark.
 
Oh. Gildarts sat Husqvarna down beside his foot and heard Tamsin humming silently to herself. This moment, after the battle was simply bliss, he closed his eyes and listened to her voice. Sure, she was looking great in the denim but Gildarts wasn’t so elated by her beauty he couldn’t enjoy her soul too. It was, after all, the soul that man fell in love with.
 
Then her head turned to the side and her eyes bulged and she jumped mid-mix of the mysterious batter she was cooking.
 
“Oh my, you look dreadful? What happened to you sir?” She said. The humming stopped and Gildarts opened his eyes and the woman had procured a slightly used towel to soak on his back. The wizard still couldn’t tell if this woman was a maid, or just… Out of place. Then he realized she must have worked here before the villagers disappeared.
 
“Uh, actually miss, will you tell me what happened to the villagers here? My wounds are…” Gildarts trailed off as he felt a wince, somehow Tamsin had procured a feasible disinfectant (likely leftover booze diluted with water from the lumberjacks) at the speed of light had abandoned her yet-cooked breakfast and began to tend to his wounds, ripping shards of an old plaid shirt and wondering if she was able to find a needle and sterilize it, if she’d be able to stitch him back together.
 
“The… Villagers? Oh, uh, sorry to disappoint but I’m in this competition too. I couldn’t guess what would make them leave mid-meal,” She said, and that furthered the mystery.
 
“How do you know they left mid-meal?” Gildarts asked, intrigued. This woman was here for Dante’s Abyss too, not left on the island like some long-last clue.
 
“Hold still,” She instructed after holding a needle the the fire and then letting it cool before threading it through his skin as she would a quilt. “Because there was still cups of half-full coffee laying around. I cleaned them! Don’t worry! Now, just let me tie it off and….”
 
Snip!
 
She vanished with the sound of whatever she’d used to slice his thread and the dress that hung overhead had been snatched too. Now Gildarts would be the cute feminine maid cooking breakfast, though he lacked the cute apron to enhance the food’s flavor.

Hopefully everyone liked burnt pancakes.