'Stop It, Kal. I Can't Heal You Like This.'

'Stop it, Kal. I can't heal you like this.'

What's left of Kal's corporeal form grumbles loudly, but he leans into Dakkar's side and stops disintegrating quite so fast. His hand clutches the back of Dakkar's shirt for support, nails digging through the fabric. 'Ugh, my head.'

'You need to sit down.' Dakkar says, attempting to guide him over to the slope of the hillside. Kal collapses with all the grace of a rag doll, still half a shifting cloud of fog.

'Why don't you stop playing nanny and just heal me already?'

'I can't when there's only half of you there to heal!'

'Ugh, fine!' The fog pulls itself back into a relatively Kal-like shape. Features re-emerge slowly - the other half of Kal's face, bruised around the jaw; his left shoulder and arm, hanging limp at a painful looking angle. He grits his teeth, and Dakkar winces in sympathy.

'That looks like it hurts.'

'Really?' Kal rolls his eyes, all sarcasm. 'I hadn't noticed.'

'You're a terrible patient.'

'Oh, my apologies, your highness. It's hard to be polite when your arm's hanging out of its socket.'

'Here,' Dakkar moves in front of him, puts one hand on his left wrist and another firmly on his shoulder, ignoring the hiss of protest. 'Hold still. And don't disintegrate again, you'll mess it up.'

A faint, warm glow forms around Dakkar's hands, brightening as he closes his eyes. Carefully, he lets the magic shift the bones of Kal's arm back to where they ought to be. Kal is oddly quiet, for once. When Dakkar opens his eyes again, he's looking at him with a kind of awe. It's quickly hidden behind a satisfied smirk.

'Better?' Dakkar asks.

'No. My head's still killing me. When we get back, I need a drink.'

'A thank you would be nice, for once. And you probably shouldn't drink while you might be concussed.'

'Ways, you're boring, Dak.' Kal tests out his newly-healed arm, flexing his hand a few times, then falls back against the grass. 'Alright, fine. Thank you.'

'Don't mention it.' Dakkar says, sitting down beside him.

'Sorry I get into pointless fights so often. They deserved it, though. Bastards.'

'I think if you're the one who needs healing, they technically won the fight.'

'Eh, depends on your perspective.'

'What did they say?' Dakkar's pretty sure he can guess, but he feels the need to ask anyway. Kal scowls. Tendrils of fog still swirl around him, only just visible in the bright daylight. It's like Radiance, he explained once, but harder to control. Dakkar's never asked if it's draining in the same the way the Magic Ways are.

'Nothing worth talking about. They're too scared of me now to say it again.' he shuts his eyes, grimacing. 'It's too bright out here. My head hurts, did I mention that at all?'

Dakkar laughs. 'We can go inside, if you think you can walk?'

'My dear old dad used to say, 'walking is for people without hereditary curses that let them turn into fog.''

'I thought you never met your dad.'

Kal waves a hand. 'Well, he probably said something like that. How would I know?'

He sits up, and the tendrils swirling around him darken, forming a mist that coils itself around his body. When it settles, there's no one sitting on the hillside - only a shifting cloud of fog where Kal used to be.

Even after years of knowing Kal, watching him do that is still unnerving. Dakkar's not sure about the effects a possible concussion might have, either, but Kal seemed fine, and the fog looks same as it usually does.

He can't think of anything to say, and it's not as if he'd get a reply, so he coughs awkwardly. Somewhere in that cloud, he has the feeling Kal is laughing at his discomfort.

'Okay,' he says eventually. 'I take it that means we're heading home?'

In answer, the fog drifts over, settling around his shoulders like a cloak. As he heads back in the direction of the palace, it follows, dark against the bright white of his uniform.

Kal possessed aj because it’s cheaper to possess a guy than to pay for top surgery

LMAO YES

Not sure about Cyrus and Mary Katherine, but Bonaventure is a Saint from the 13th century. At least, I think that's who the name is based on. Not sure who he is in the pulp universe, but the irl guy was a philosopher and theologian, and the patron saint of bowel disorders. I don't think that last part is relevant in any way; I was just not expecting to read that on his Wikipedia page.

We had more clues at the end of episodes 2 and 3 about where the story would go next. Mentions of the Ellen Austin and the Mysterious Island. This time, we don't really get that. Or at least, I haven't been able to find much yet.

And I think Sia's apologizing because Margaret's remembering bad stuff that happened to her old friends. Or because Margaret's remembering some sketchy stuff Sia did for the sake of the "greater good", like maybe erasing her memories or letting people die for the sake of saving Margaret. Not entirely sure if it's a "I'm sorry that happened to you," or a "I'm sorry for what I did."

hey margaret what is the bonaventure. is it a ship. who are cyrus and mary katharine. why is sia apologising. margaret? hello??

why did no one tell me quantum computers looked like that

please, untitled document was my father, call me untitled document (1)

"You, Sia. You know a lot of things."

"Years ago, I had a vision containing impossible events. Of people in places they were not meant to be...but must be"

Did she know?

Edit: Lord I'm so freaking tired- i forgot to say originally that sia's outfit was inspired by the designs of @ricky-mortis who is just so cool so... go check them out what are you still doing here?