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He’d heard what he was like from Zolf but it was something else to actually witness it, the single minded dedication to completing a task, the lack of concern for his own physical wellbeing while he was doing it. With Zolf there at least Wilde would actually eat, and allow himself to be led to bed with minimal coaxing, but Zolf was away on a mission and the new codes had come through from Curie a day after he’d gone, and Wilde was suddenly, utterly unresponsive.
He didn’t know what to do.
If Azu was here maybe she could give him advice, but Wilde just waved him away every time he brought him food and he didn’t have Zolf’s way of just… getting Wilde to do things. Something about Zolf’s personality butted against Wilde’s and actually forced the man to take stock of himself, whereas the only thing Grizzop seemed to be able to do is make Wilde work harder.
He took out his frustration on the makeshift archery range they’d set up outside the inn, the twang, thunk of his arrows as they hit the target not doing enough to take away the knots of tension across his shoulders.
It shouldn’t matter. That’s what was getting to him in the end. It shouldn’t matter that Wilde didn’t do what Grizzop knew he needed to do, Wilde was a fully grown adult and Zolf would be back and would beat him into shape about being an idiot when he made it.
There was another thunk as his arrow hit the target, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, suddenly aware of how focused he’d been on his thoughts and on his anger, and the arrow he let fly at the figure in the shadow went wild.
Which was lucky. Because that meant it missed Wilde’s head.
Wilde had gone completely still, standing in the shadow of the doorway back into the inn, looking at the arrow half buried in the wood of its frame.
“I know you’ve been impatient with me, these last few days Grizzop, but I do think that shooting me in the head would be counterproductive to the mission at this point.”
His eyes did not leave the arrow, but Grizzop could hear his breath was coming faster than it was wont.
He’d frightened him.
There was a small thrill in his gut at that thought.
“Don’t have to shoot you in the head when you’re determined to run yourself into the ground,” he said, and Wilde did look at him then, and there was something fae in his eyes.
“I’m working,” he said.
Grizzop nocked another arrow. “You need to rest,” he said, drawing the string but not aiming.
“I don’t have time for this,” Wilde muttered and turned to go back the way he’d come.
Grizzop shot the other frame of the door, so close to Wilde’s face that he saw the wind of its passage move his hair.
“Grizzop,” Wilde said, his voice low. “Are you going to shoot me?”
“Maybe,” Grizzop said. Wilde made as if to move again and Grizzop shot a third arrow at his feet.
Wilde licked his lips. “This is also counterproductive,” he said.
“I disagree,” Grizzop said. “If the only way to stop you from working is to chase you away from your office, then I guess that’s how we’re going to do this.”
“You can’t be serio…”
A fourth arrow thunked into the doorframe above Wilde’s head. “Run, Wilde,” Grizzop said.
He ran.