(This is very good logic. It's much better logic than 'local god has one weird trick... when he beckons you to follow him into the sea, you won't believe what happens next'. Yasha sighs, and her shoulders feel heavy. It has nothing to do with Molly anchoring himself to her there, but more to do with the disappointment of the Stormlord, heavy and awful at the nape of her neck. Her skin is prickling in soft goose flesh.)
Okay. (She says it quietly, then clears her throat, says it again,) okay. Okay, I'll- I can stay. I'll stay.
(Yasha won't admit it, but something tight and awful loosens once she makes that admission. Perhaps somewhere deep down she'd known this wasn't a good idea. Who is she to say no to the Stormlord, though? At least Molly knows how to do it.
She glances back over her shoulder. He is gone. She doesn't know how to feel about that.
Molly might have to coax her to start moving again. For now, she's just standing in the surf, at a loss for what to do next. She hasn't ever stopped leaving before.)
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Okay. (She says it quietly, then clears her throat, says it again,) okay. Okay, I'll- I can stay. I'll stay.
(Yasha won't admit it, but something tight and awful loosens once she makes that admission. Perhaps somewhere deep down she'd known this wasn't a good idea. Who is she to say no to the Stormlord, though? At least Molly knows how to do it.
She glances back over her shoulder. He is gone. She doesn't know how to feel about that.
Molly might have to coax her to start moving again. For now, she's just standing in the surf, at a loss for what to do next. She hasn't ever stopped leaving before.)