Wheeling Gull Isle my fondest memory is getting stabbed with a variety of knives. (mtr.)

Though he understood the nature of which Firefly was going through — denial, some disgust — in that moment, what Vonn truly wanted to say was If you are a wastrel in this island then it is tended by none — but he kept that to himself, thinking it better for Firefly to figure that and himself out. Still, a meager part of the specter felt a little stricken by the dismissal, and for the apparent disregard to his past revelation.

Usually, he’d caw about something along the lines of How wounded I am! May I rest my head upon your bottom? (Usually, it worked.)

Vonnaruil instead swept in a flourish of a bow, peered at the turned back with hooded eyes and merely crooned, “As you wish, mi amor. Farewell.” And then he rose, turned northeast, and began to mosey unhurriedly away with a noticeably unhindered gate. It was as silky and refined and roguish as ever; taking his time before he eventually reached the spires; and slow enough in case Firefly wished to respond or stop him.