You owe me one (Tirael, open)

[Maxodis]

"Since you're her caretaker, I'll oblige, but I'll say this once--nobody here intends on 'a spot of revenge.' It's my job to make sure of that... And since we're not starting anything, don't you go breaking noses based on a false notion."

At this, Redin chuckled, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he shook his head helplessly. The sound came out more like a low rumble from deep within the weasel's chest, but amusement was unmistakable. He laughed at things only amusing to him and one other, the latter in no condition to express anything but oblivious bliss.

"Aw'ight otter, aw'ight," He said, his widespread grin revealing a row of tainted teeth. "I c'n play nice fer a bit longer." He chuckled again, starting after the smaller figure. Placing a footpaw on the second stair(The weasel never took stairs one by one. Always twos or greater.), he quieted down somewhat as he glanced up at the younger creature, getting a glimpse of his face as he climbed by a candle set in a bracket on the wall. The thought struck him again that the otter looked disquietly familiar, the images of snow and blood melding with the stern tone in which he had just spoken. The lumbering weasel snickered. If that could be called stern.

[Tirael]

"Aw'ight otter, aw'ight...I c'n play nice fer a bit longer."

Tirael resisted the urge to snort. "Good," he muttered, not bothering to glance back at Redin. His desire not to look partially stemmed from a desire not to look at Sleet more than necessary; he imagined that, if she had the ability to protest, she wouldn't want him looking at her in her condition. But when he heard snickering, he glanced back. "Is something amusing?" he asked, still doing his level best not to sound like a pushover. As he asked, they reached the top of the stairs, and he turned left toward a guest room.

In reality, there had been a room that fit Redin's description perfectly on the second floor, not too far from the infirmary. But this one was closer to his room and, more importantly, to the Skipper's. If anything was going to happen, he preferred it happen close to where trustworthy creatures could do something about it.

[Maxodis]

"Is something amusing?"

Redin's characteristic inane grin plastered over his features never faltered for a moment as the otter glanced back at him. Gaining the top of the stairs he hesitated for a moment, glancing down the other hallway to the right before following Tirael again.

"Wots amusin' is tha' yew seem t'really believe tha' there ain't gonna be no greif-stricken, otherwise reason'ble creatures that'll want t'come an' visit." He strolled along behind Tirael, feeling that the otter's pace was unbearably slow. Redin was not only taller and was gifted with significantly longer legs, but he had spent almost all of his life on his feet, trekking through miles of landscape a day. His stride felt comically short in order to keep up with this younger creature.

A thought struck him. "Yew really dunno who Sleet is, d'yew?" He asked, all traces of his grin faded as he peered at Tirael inquisitively. It occurred to him that the chances that Tirael knew who Redin really was were just as slim, and to his benefit.

[Tirael]

"Wots amusin' is tha' yew seem t'really believe tha' there ain't gonna be no greif-stricken, otherwise reason'ble creatures that'll want t'come an' visit."

Tirael just smiled knowingly. Nobeast had gone after Sleet the last time, and he hadn't even been around to throw himself stupidly in front of her. Now that he was here, and had been saved by Sleet to boot, the chances of a 'grief-stricken' creature trying to attack her were rather remote. But of course, if Redin enjoyed being vague, why shouldn't he get the same pleasure, especially when it was so rarely possible for him?

"Yew really dunno who Sleet is, d'yew?"

"I know that if she was any other creature, I'd want her dead for what she does," he answered. "I may not know everything she does, but...she's done enough for me. It's all I can do to try and repay her." Truthfully, he tended to bury his thoughts about what Sleet did for a living, but he really did believe what he was saying to Redin. As the ferret had mentioned before passing out, she and the otter were locked in an endless cycle of saving each others' lives. That was all he needed to know.

Stopping, he pushed a door open. "In here," he said. "You can pick who gets which bed." As if that matters to you. "I'm just down the hall if you need me for...something. When she wakes up, try not to let her move too much?"

[Maxodis]

"I know that if she was any other creature, I'd want her dead for what she does... I may not know everything she does, but...she's done enough for me. It's all I can do to try and repay her."

Coming to an abrupt stop behind Tirael, Redin's features quickly shifted from curious to cautious. The weasel hadn't failed to miss the distinction that Tirael had stated. The answer he had anticipated was I'd want her dead for what she is. This otter seemed to disregard the fact that the limp figure in Redin's arms was a ferret. Vermin by nature, to be despised. Particularly considering the fact that not even a year ago this entire area had been well under the oppressive boot of that N'Tashi fellow and his band of incompetents. By all means, this was not a natural viewpoint. Redin had traveled with Sleet for a long time, and during the course of their partnership she had become friendly with goodbeasts, much like this young otter. His brow drew down. In his experience, every one of those 'friendships' had turned out to be dangerous, often for all parties involved. Better to keep to what was familiar, what was safe.

"In here, you can pick who gets which bed... I'm just down the hall if you need me for...something. When she wakes up, try not to let her move too much?"

This brought Redin out of his dark contemplation, and he chuckled in spite of himself. "Nah, I think I'll let Sleet 'ere decide wot bed she wants." He said, the significant twinge of sarcasm neatly covering his previous discomfort. He passed the otter as he entered the room, turning sideways to accommodate for his bulk and unconscious charge. It was dark within, the only light from a fat candle set on a holder in the wall directly outside the door. Redin slowly set Sleet down on the nearest bed with unexpected care, silently disturbed by how the otter's shadow, cast by the candle behind him, loomed over her sleeping form.

"Down the 'all, eh?" He said, a bit of that abrasiveness slipping back into his voice. He plucked up a worn wooden chair from within the room as he exited the doorway. Unceremoniously, he took hold of the door's handle and pushed it closed, disregarding the otter holding it open completely. "I'll keep tha' in mind." The chair clattered briefly as he placed it flush against the door, the sound unnecessarily loud and booming in the empty dark hallway. "I got my doubts tha' she'll wake up anytime soon, but a 'ealer I ain't." A wry grin pulled at the edges of his maw. "She ain't gonna like it, but if'n she does, I'll see to it tha' she don't move much more than an inch, aye? Go on now, can't say I know wot time it is, but somethin' tells me tha' I'll need ya rested an' alert fer the morn. Off with ya."

[Tirael]

"Nah, I think I'll let Sleet 'ere decide wot bed she wants."

"Funny," Tirael muttered. Try as he might, he couldn't warm himself up to Redin the way he had to Sleet; somehow, her caustic, sarcastic attitude was oddly reassuring, whereas his just grated at the otter's nerves. It could've been that the short, peace-oriented healer just didn't like big, violent types like Redin. But his distaste couldn't be explained that simply...could it?

"Down the 'all, eh? I'll keep tha' in mind."

The otter realized he hadn't specified where he was "down the hall"; even worse, he hadn't even mentioned which direction. Of course, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of Redin knowing where he was sleeping, but the idea of him wandering into a stranger's room--where he would hardly get a friendly welcome wagon--unnerved him, particularly his picture of the aftermath. The fact that Redin was sitting outside his room, with Sleet completely alone (and unconscious) inside, did little to soothe him.

"I got my doubts tha' she'll wake up anytime soon, but a 'ealer I ain't." A wry grin pulled at the edges of his maw. "She ain't gonna like it, but if'n she does, I'll see to it tha' she don't move much more than an inch, aye? Go on now, can't say I know wot time it is, but somethin' tells me tha' I'll need ya rested an' alert fer the morn. Off with ya."

Bristling at the way Redin acted as though he were in charge, it was all Tirael could do not to glare at him. "Fine. Night." Stalking down the hall a few paces, he paused and looked back. "Oh, and Redin...when you're done guarding her against imaginary assassins, do be sure to check that she's doing fine. I'll check her myself in the morning." Plastering a sweet grin on his face, he finally turned away for good and went to his room.

Once the door was closed, he leaned against it and gave out a long sigh. Every time he encountered Sleet, she dug further into his life--from a chance encounter far out in the woods, to sleeping three doors down the hall. He was starting to feel trapped, as though Redin was sitting outside his door and not Sleet's. Knowing that the morning would be filled with several odd looks and questions in his direction, he pulled off his tunic and slumped on his bed.

"Nice to know I've got so much to look forward to," he murmured to nobody in particular.

[Maxodis]

"Fine. Night... Oh, and Redin...when you're done guarding her against imaginary assassins, do be sure to check that she's doing fine. I'll check her myself in the morning."

The weasel snorted abrasively at that, despite the sarcastic grin spread across his countenance as he watched the otter disappear into the dark hallway. Now alone in the empty corridor, he eased himself back into the chair, allowing himself a small wince at the minor aches and pains of his body made themselves briefly apparent. Cheeky bastard, that otter. He shook his head in disbelief. Imaginary assassins they may be, but the weasel, for all his indifference, hadn't missed what he saw in the eyes of some of the armed woodlanders at the gate. Those eyes hadn't missed the now broken polearm, the unusually large scythehead glimmering in the dim moonlight. He considered the fact that Sleet had made it inside, presumably with significantly less fuss. She'd always been better at that sort of thing, but regardless. He glanced over his shoulder without thinking, as if to look at her through the closed door. No, she wasn't the one in danger here. If there was anyone who would stir up vengeance, it was him. And in coming here, it was probable that his association with her had inadvertently put her in that same danger.

Redin cursed softly under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat back in the chair, the sinew of his muscles clearly defined through his fur in the stark candlelight. The Weasel prided himself on considering as many options and results of a given situation before taking action, at least when he had a solid control of himself. On occasion, he missed something vitally important, and it would appear that he had once more made that mistake. He mulled over this for a few more frustratingly long minutes before he shook his head as if to dispel those thoughts, refusing to overthink any more than he already had. Events had already been set in motion, the only thing left to do was to ride it out.

And hope that he could keep himself well under control, he mused, glancing back down the dark hallway where the otter had gone. If he slipped just slightly, if he lost his uncertain hold on his sanity... She wouldn't be there to make him stop. At once vivid images of the resulting slaughter flashed through his mind, filling him with that familiar thrill of excitement, yet at the same time, he registered that subdued feeling of disgust.

Shaking his head again, he set his head back against the door with a soft thump. Control begins with your thoughts, she had said once. So he did just that, focusing his eyes on the flickering candle flame to blank his mind. He wouldn't have to wait long, sunrise was only a matter of hours away. After a time, the same pervasive thought kept creeping to the forefront of his conscious, and he whispered it quietly hardly without awareness. "Don't know wot yew got yerself into... but yew better not die in that bed, yew bloody short-tailed midget."


((FIN))