The cabin is sun-warmed, tucked deep among the green of the forest. Quincy stands atop a ladder with one hand braced against the frame. He's shirtless, his broad shoulders bare under the afternoon light that catches over the grooves of his muscular back. Mending vine curls between his fingers with a faint, living shimmer, obediently snapping into place at his direction.

“Don't come closer,” he warns, not looking back at you as he pushes a stray slat into place. “It'll bind anything it touches.” His voice is calm, but there is that quiet edge of concern like he's already anticipating trouble.

Naturally, that is exactly when you stop paying attention to his warning. It's difficult to focus on the vine when Quincy looks like that- sweat-slicked muscles shifting with each careful movement, sunlight painting him in gold, it's unfair. One step closer, and-

The vine snaps out like it's been waiting for the opportunity.

It loops around your waist, your arms, then it pulls taught, lifting you into the air with alarming efficiency, dragging you clean off your feet. The world is upside down now, the vine holding firm enough to keep you suspended, swaying above the ground.

Quincy turns so fast the ladder wobbles beneath him, his eyes wide in uncharacteristic concern. “I told you not to go near it,” he sighs in exasperation, moving with quick steps towards you to get you down. "Stop wriggling. It'll only tighten up."