[The Welcome Home]Guidence(Stitch)

[Orin]

-58th of Winter, 509 AV
-The Welcome Home Orphanage.

Ever so slowly the man rolled over. Nuzzling the pillow, he pulled the soft blankets around him. He refused to open his eyes, as if this simple act would beckon sleep. Unfortunatly, it was not to be. He could hear the door to the small room creaking open, followed by the patter of light foot steps. A small clank, and more footsteps.

Lazily opening a single eye, took in the scene. Sunlight poured in through the room's single window. The small bed had been placed against the back wall, under the portal. A small night stand, and dresser consisted of the room's only other furniture. Resting on the nightstand was a single metal tray, with a sandwich, and something in a cup.

Not one to mess around, Orin took a breath and squinted at the tray. His hand suddenly shot forward, aiming for the sandwich. He was rewarded with an intense pain all throughout his back. He had recieved several rather grievous wounds on his way to the city. Which brought him to his current predicament. Stitch had taken the wounded warrior in, giving him a room, and bandaging his wounds further. For their part, the children had largely left the healing man alone.

How does a blind man run an orphanage?

Shaking his head, Orin sat up slowly. He had no idea how long he had been here. A few days? A week? It was hard to tell. Grasping the cup of tea, the man checked under the bed. His gear was still there, under a blanket. He was dressed in a white tunic and a ragged pair of 'sack' pants. A single bare foot touched the ground, and Orin pushed, gauging his wellness by the pain.

Yup. Still. Hurt.

Staring through gritted teeth, the warrior hobble-pushed through the doorway, intending on making it downstairs, and out into the open. Unfortunatly a small figure stood in his way.

She was small, maybe seven or eight years of age? Her brows where creased in a look of confusion, both hands resting on her hips.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Hardly bemused, Orin opened his mouth, and was promptly interrupted.

"You have to finish your meal."

Squinting his eyes, Orin studied his adversary.

"It was delicious."

The girl looked unamused, and quickly piped up.

"What kind of sandwich was it?"

Blinking, Orin could hardly believe it. He was being waylaid by a mere child. He had just survived a near-death experience, and having killed several people, was being forced to eat a sandwich by an eight year old!

Grumbling, the man made his way back into the room, and picked up the sandwich.

Glaring at the girl, he contemptuously shoved the entire thing in his mouth.

"You should take bites."

[Stitch]

A melodious chuckle wafted from the hallway, and Orin was soon to find that he had another guest that had been right on the heels of the other little girl. Stitch entered, the man dressed much like he had been when Orin had met him in the Bronze Wood. Sack-like pants like Orin, a white linen shirt, and bandages wrapping across his blind eyes. The man exuded some kind of aura, being in the room with Stitch gave one the feeling that happiness and love was in the air, and Orin would likely feel the same way. It could be an annoying feature to Stitch that Orin didn't very much appreciate, or the man may completely miss the emotion in the air. Perhaps he wouldn't care, or perhaps he would appreciate it. Who knew.

Stitch certainly wasn't thinking about it, he never really noticed it. He wasn't even aware he did it. For now, he was standing behind the feisty little girl, cocking his head and staring a hole through Orin. There was the slight feeling of a gaze on Orin, the man may or may not feel that too. A little weird, since Stitch obviously had his eyes hid. Tapping a finger on his chin, Stitch simply carried on with his inspection, not paying attention to any odd looks the swordsman may give him. The wounds were healing. His aura seemed a little bruised and battered, but that was to be expected, the man had been through a lot. Stitch was surprised they had actually made it back to town in time.

He felt blessed, too. Orin had nearly been dead.

Sighing at the thought, he forced the smile on his face to widen, and strode forward. Giving the girl a pat on the head, he finally spoke. "This is Trish, milord. She was concerned about your well-being, and Fentya warned her that you might not eat your meal. She isn't usually too snappy, but she seems to have taken a liking to you, and a concern for you. Thankfully, it wasn't Fentya. Her tongue is much sharper."

The little girl piped up, now grins and giggles. "Fentya told me what to say, Stitchie." Stitch made a face, nodding a bit. "No wonder."

Both turned to Orin, studying him as a pair. After a moment of silence, Stitch finally broke it, grinning a bit wider than normal. "I think some exercise would be good for you, milord. Your body might need a good workout to get the blood flowing, speed the healing process." Trish made a face, looking up to protest, but was quickly silenced by a tilt of the head from Stitch, who angled his head downwards toward her, his smile a little devious. She shut up, looking nervous. Stitch had gotten that look from Damien, and Damien had always been up to trouble when he used it.

[Orin]

For his part, the wounded warrior said nothing. He simply continued to chew. If he was aware of the other man's gaze, he gave no indication. In truth, the room felt ...different. It was hard to place. Something... off. Orin had a great many questions for his host, but instead focused on his newest nemesis. Trish. At the mention of another girl, he frowned. Kids where not his expertise.

However, the sandwich was pretty tasty.

As he looked up, he realized both his host and the girl where eyeing him.

Swallowing the last of the sandwich, Orin listened to the other man's proposition. Then, he sort of licked his bottom lip and fidgeted for a second. Something else was on his mind, but he seemed to let it go.

"Alright, so what do you have in mind? A light jog?"

[Stitch]

Stitch raised an eyebrow as the man fidgeted, the blind human a bit talented at sensing emotions that laid behind the initial surface. Perhaps it was his Auristic abilities, or perhaps it was the fact that he lived with two girls, one who was nearly a teenager. Whatever the case, and whatever it may be that allowed him sense the unspoken question, comment, or concern, Stitch cocked his head at Orin and merely asked. "Milord? Is there something you wish to speak of? Do not let this one intimidate you." This time, instead of referring to himself, he cocked a thumb at Trish and grinned like a little kid. Trish let out a haughty sigh, placing her fists upon her now-cocked hip, glaring up at Stitch. "And just what is that supposed to mean, Stitchie?" He now angled his head back down toward her, raising a single eyebrow above the limits of his bandages. "You have been taking tips from Fentya, it makes you a great force to be reckoned with!" Trish beamed, her frown turning upside down. "Really?"

Stitch chuckled, nodding, and the girl clapped her hands excitedly.

Returning his gaze to Orin, Stitch extended a single hand, to help the man up if he needed it. "This one was thinking more along the lines of a friendly spar. This one had a word-worker make some wooden swords for Damien to play around with, and this one knows a bit about martial arts. It has been awhile since I have been able to spar, the dojo this one went to long since has closed down. We will take it easy, though, this one knows you are probably still aching a bit."

Stitch's grin was still there, and it still looked devious. "Perhaps you could teach me a few things as well, milord. About the sword. This one has a nice backyard where we could go, allow milord to get some fresh air, as well."

[Orin]

The young warrior sort of choked, and leaned a bit closer one eye widening as his mouth hung open. A single hand rose, and sort of waved at the other man.

He couldn't possibly have heard that correctly.

In his confusion, he completely disregarded the first question.

Orin really didn't understand this 'Stitch' character at all. The nickname made sense, but the other man's refusal to dismiss such talk gave the warrior pause. Secondly, he referred to others as 'milord' or other respectable titles but himself in the third person. Also, if the man was versed in combat, why was he so disgusted by blood?

....and how had he been running in the forest?

Unfortunately logic was quickly dismissed in favor of pride.

For all of his mysteries, he was ...smarmy. Orin couldn't place it, but he would dearly enjoy cleaning the other man's clock.

In truth, his nod of acceptance had nothing to do with any sort of animosity towards the other man. Instead, he could feel a warmth, and deep rooted emotion slowly spreading throughout him.

For all of his intellect, and his well educated upbringing, Orin was a beserker, and no challenge would go unanswered.

"Lead the way."

An excited grin spread across the smaller man's face.