Friend of my Frienemy [Max, Open]

[Tarlish]

The otter had remained quiet throughout the exchange of unfriendly words between the marten and the weasel and was now leading Tarlish off towards the abbey, his weapons held in paw. He offered that he could stay in the infirmary due to the lateness of the hour, an offer which Tarlish warmly accepted.

“Much thanks, I’d be glad to take your offer provided I do not disturb the rest of any others in there.” Tarlish naturally noticed the weasel didn’t follow. This gave the assassin an uneasy feeling, the kind of feeling one gets when a very potential enemy is behind ones back. Tarlish tried to convince himself that the vermin was abiding by the Abbey’s laws of hospitality and surely wouldn’t risk its sanctuary by an sudden acts of violence towards hi, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Whatever. If the vermin felt fool-hardy enough to attack it would be his own mistake.

Tarlish was adept at changing attitudes with the ease one changed clothes, and he put on a thankful and cheery appearance, and it was quite sincere. “Thank you again for this refuge, I would have had quite the trouble finding another shelter out there.”

[Tirael]

“Much thanks, I’d be glad to take your offer provided I do not disturb the rest of any others in there.”

"Disturb? Not at all," Tirael lied. Other Abbeydwellers were becoming quite weary of his tendency to offer shelter to all the wayward creatures of Mossflower; it wasn't his fault they all seemed to meet him first. Nonetheless, with Sleet, Redin, and Streamlily already around to 'disturb' people, a marten that openly referred to itself as an assassin was just what he needed.

“Thank you again for this refuge, I would have had quite the trouble finding another shelter out there.”

Stumbling a little under the weight of all Tarlish's weaponry, the healer grunted before replying, "Don't worry, it's part of the job." Shifting his burden so he could use one paw to open the door to Great Hall, he realized something: where was he supposed to put all this stuff? Leaving it in the infirmary would defeat the purpose of confiscating it, and he had no interest in going back out to take it to the gatehouse. It's going to end up in my room, he thought resignedly. He could relocate it in the morning.

Moving as quietly as he could, Tirael led the way through Great Hall, up the stairs, and down the hall to the infirmary. "It's through here," he whispered. "You can take whichever bed you like, I'll fix you an actual room in the morning. Do you need anything else?"

[Tarlish]

Tarlish daintily followed the otter, who was exerting a bit under his weapons weight, to the infirmary. His eyes took in the splendor of what must have been the Great Hall, judging from the tales he'd heard about this place. Even in the dark, it spoke of grandeur, warmth and fellowship.

They arrived at what Tarlish assumed to be the infirmary, the otter, Tirael, inviting him to take whichever bed suited him. Tarlish flashed him a grateful smile.

"Thank you again for your hospitality, you shan't know I'm here. Now I bid you a very good night, see you in the morning." With that he entered the infirmary and shed his white winter robes and his underlying tunic, laying them nicely on the floor for him in the morning. Then he promptly slid into the only to jump out with a slight yelp.

Soft! The marten hadn't felt such softness since, well, he couldn't remember! So used he was to sleeping on branches, ground or the crook of a tree, he had become terribly unaccustomed to such levels of comfort. He frowned, deciding it was not his place to wake the others in search of a less comfortable bed, so he was merely content to lay on on the floor, blanket on top, and fall quickly to sleep.

((OK Tir, can you finish off with a post and maybe introduce morning soon?))

[Maxodis]

((Morning doesn't come until I get to finish the reason I made Tir start this thread with me >:x))

[Tarlish]

((OOC: Of course, my apologies for forgetting about Max))

[Tirael]

"Thank you again for your hospitality, you shan't know I'm here. Now I bid you a very good night, see you in the morning."

"Good night," Tirael replied wearily, shutting the infirmary door. After taking a brief moment to enjoy the silence, he turned slowly to face Redin. "What was that about?" he asked in utter confusion. For such a violent creature to have gone off on an assassin made no sense to him, even if Redin had implied that he didn't ever truly want to become a career killer. In any case, he'd directly contradicted his own adamant statement that he wouldn't say anything.

Becoming more acutely aware of how tired his arms were supporting all of Tarlish's weaponry, the healer began to move toward the sanctuary of his own room. It was only one floor up, and at the speed he was moving, the weasel would have plenty of time to monologue about his latest motivations. At least he was just making speeches instead of trying to act on his suspicions; if he did, there was little Tirael could do.

[Maxodis]

"What was that about?"

The weasel, having silently shadowed Tirael back inside, broke his renewed vow of silence. "That's wot I was talkin' 'bout, 'ealer." Folding his arms across his bare chest, he leaned against the sandstone wall, partially obscured in shadow. "D'ye 'member wot I said? 'Bout N'Tashi's influence creatin' a widely-accepted belief that all vermin're scum? 'Bout how that belief had its way of becomin' a reality, even if it ain't true? 'Bout 'ow I personally 'ad t'do some terrible things t'survive?" He tilted his head slightly, the tiny bells on his face-chains glowing softly in the moonlight from a nearby window. "An' 'bout 'ow I 'ad t'learn t'love it in order t'function? Well... as y'can see, maybe I ain't th' only one."

He jerked his head at the closed door that the Marten had disappeared into, his bells jingling harshly. "That 'un? Polite as they bloody come, 'e was. Di'n't take much t'set 'im off like that. All it took was t'call 'im a vermin. Y'see wot I'm gettin' at 'ere?" He pushed himself off the wall and followed as Tirael began to move away.

"Th' point I've been workin' so 'ard t'make, otter, is tha' everythin' I said and more tha' I di'n't was th' reality of 'ow life was fer me fer all o' my life. I ain't ever known anythin' else. Wot's more... I think livin' life th' way I did gave birth t'somethin'... some sort o' sickness. Somethin' tha's been guidin' me fer as long as I can remember. Cain't say much more'n tha' wit'out goin' on fer a while longer, an' y'don't seem like y'can take any more o' our lovely liddle conversation."

[Tirael]

"That's wot I was talkin' 'bout, 'ealer."

Tirael listened unhappily, slowly wilting under the combination of physical and emotional exertion. He understood what Redin was saying, but the fact that he did changed nothing: those who were in power were not the ones listening, and he wasn't likely to win them over with this new information. Nor would the weasel probably want him to go blabbing about it, anyways; he assumed that's why he was the only one hearing this, late at night, alone. Redin was just making him feel more helpless.

He didn't respond to the comment on his clearly being tired, but as he opened the door to his room, the healer felt inclined to at least say one more thing. "It's my job to treat sickness." Giving Redin a dispirited, sympathetic look, he added, "The infirmary's always open. ...good night." Closing the door behind himself, Tirael moved as quickly as he could to a small chest at the foot of his bed. He groaned in relief as his burden fell into the sturdy wooden box, and briefly relished the sight of it all being hidden by the chest's lid. Undoing his belt and the buttons of his tunic, he cast both aside and collapsed gratefully into his bed. The cool sheets were a welcome counter to the slight ache forming in his head.

And if what he'd heard was true, it was only going to be worse by morning.