Chain Breaker

by **Matthew** on April 29th, 2014, 3:55 pm

He was in the middle of one of the Doctor's Delights when the little street urchin came bursting in the door. He was immediately frozen in his step, eyes going wide as he took in the scene before him. There was the Doctor in his plague mask, and then there was Matthew. The Harlot was pristine as ever, hair styled and doctor's coat fitting him rather flatteringly. It was only the fresh splotch of blood that was dripping down the front of his face that made him look any more different than he normally did. One of his hands was on a thin wooden stick. The two Doctors had a patient, and this patient was coated in red blood and black ink. Various areas on his body had been marked with various notes and it appeared that the blood had came from random little cuts opened up all over him. They were such small cuts that one of them would merely be irritating. There were so many that one would question if they were now deadly. The wooden stick was the most disgusting of all, growing more narrow as one glanced down the length. The tip of it had vanished, delicately placed deep between the substance of the patient's eye and the inside of the socket. It was wedged there, and by the thrashes of the patient it certainly seemed to hurt. He was strapped down and gagged though, helpless to his tormentors. The Doctor had a small torch held up, about to light the end of the stick. The act had paused though, all for the boy.

The Doctor turned to Matthew, his tone a mixture of pent-up arousal and utter irritation. "Did you invite this boy? Is there some sort of test that I am unaware of? I specifically shut the place down so I could enjoy this one moment. Why was it ruined?"

The Harlot knelt to put himself at eye level with the boy. For a brief moment, the flickering of the torch caught his eyes in a way that caused a two staring rings of blue to sparkle just for a moment. Then it was gone, the Harlot tilting his head to halfway submerge it in shadow. "Did you come with a parent, boy? We usually won't work on children unless given the permission of a guardian first." Considering the interesting scene behind him, Matthew seemed awful soft spoken. The boy huffed and puffed for a moment as he tried to catch his breath and get over his fear, soon spitting out few words. "Web. Needs you. Hurt badly. Pig's Foot. Hurry!" That was all he got out before he bolted off again, apparently still having some mission to complete. Matthew glanced at the Doctor and then to the patient, eventually giving a shrug of his shoulders. "I apologize, Doctor. An associate is in need. Will you be alright on your own?"

The Doctor grinned under his mask, lowering the torch to light the wooden stick. The flame burned, consuming the stick and heading for the eye, spilling sizzling ash on it as it went. The patient soon began to thrash some more, desperation truly setting in. "I'll be fine, Matthew. Go have some fun."

*****

His face hadn't been cleaned when he stepped in. For a moment he was certainly a sight to see. His coat had been undone and now hung loosely, revealing the slimming black shirt underneath. His handsome features were bloodstained with crusty red and the nearby flame kept casting odd shadows all over him. Merv had been more than happy to show them to where they were, though he had demanded quite a bit of information from the Harlot. In the end though, here he was.

Surveying the scene, he was struck for a moment by the fact that they were allowing him here. Was he trusted now? No, he really was the only option they had. He had helped Fallon out with her bruises once before, though this was a lot worse at a quick glance. He moved forward, immediately all business. One thing was quite interesting to him though. Web was certainly gazing at Fallon with a very unique expression on her face. Apparently the relationship was different than the normal professional association. Relationships made his head hurt, though. He didn't linger. He had brought a few supplies with him, storing what the Doctor had allowed on the inside pockets of his coat. He pulled a very small knife out, moving over to Fallon and hovering over her. A short nod was given to Web, another short nod to Fallon. "Hello. You are in horrible shape. Try not to move or talk, just focus on breathing. Web, please tell me the extent of the injuries, to your best knowledge."

He removed what clothing he could without jostling her. Any armor encountered could hopefully be unbuckled. Anything that he couldn't just let fall off would be left unless it was completely and utterly required for them to remove it. Her clothes were easier, the small knife used to slice the material without cutting the flesh, the bloodied cloth then gently peeled off and discarded for the time. He made a point to harvest some clean cloth as well, though there wasn't that much to be had.

Critical eyes examined her, combining Zandelia's information with what he could figure out himself. There was a lot of bruising, a stab in the hand and leg. Her breathing was labored in a very unique way, a way that pointed towards some kind of internal injury. Quietly ordering Fallon to part her lips, he would check for any bubbling or sounds of liquid. It didn't look like there was any sort of internal bleeding. That, combined with the bruise pattern... ribs, likely broken or cracked? He turned to Web, voice polite but firm. "You will need to fetch medicine, herbs, or drugs. The third may be the most likely. The only absolute need is one that will dull or kill pain. Find them, and please do it quickly." It was up to her how she fetched these. His attention would soon return to the patient at hand.

Checking the stab wounds for any foreign objects, he nodded with approval as he found that they were clean. A small vial of alcohol was pulled from his coat, a small bit poured on each wound to make sure they were absolutely clean. It would certainly burn, but nothing too incredibly agonizing next to the pain that breathing around broken ribs would cause. The clean clothes were gathered next and bundled, pressure applied to each of the puncture wounds to stop the bleeding. He pondered over if a bandage should be applied, but decided to go ahead and cover the wounds in the end. The alcohol wasn't the best of cleansing agents to use, but it was all he had. It would slow the healing for a bit and the wound would likely need covered during that time.

The Harlot worked patiently and effectively, methodical in his movements. Suddenly though, the Harlot began to sing. It was a soft song, his voice soothing to listen to, though nothing incredibly amazing. He had no trained skill after all.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make her the cutest that I've ever seen
Give her two lips like roses and clover
Then tell her that her lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone
Don't have nobody to call my own
Please turn on your magic beams
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make her the cutest that I've ever seen
Give her the word that I'm not a rover
Then tell her that her lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone
Don't have nobody to call my own
Please turn on your magic beams
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

by **Fallon** on April 29th, 2014, 7:18 pm

Pain. It hurt. It was dizzying, blinding in its intensity. Eyes blinked, the heavy weight of darkness wrapping tightly around her. Lips continued their unfocused twitching, the breaths struggling to crawl their way up her throat. A blur, a fevered existence that rested beyond her world. On occasion a sound would reach her, a ripping string of words that lived upon the edge of her mind and the waking world. There was another blink, a faint patter of warmth upon her cheek, the continuous sapping of strength. The hand fell away, limb and heavy in its swinging. Broken, shattered, the body, crumbling upon the edge.

The scene gave a blur again, meld and melting in objects and colours. Her head gave a weak turn, rolling slightly to look and then sag. Warmth was sapped, the incoherent mumbling continuing. A life line into the living, the quivering moments of existence. A spurring raise of voice, an angry shout ticking her senses. A wince, a grunt, was something going on? Did she have to rise to fight once more? To protect the one that was so precious to her? A gasp, muscles straining as she tried to force life into them. A gasp, a spitting gurgle as she shifted. Pain, there was more of it. Piercing through the numbness as setting the mind on fire, clenching tightly and burning. Another blink, another blur. The tightening of the hold, the warmth once more returning to her frame. Protection, safety, it was all here. Nothing was wrong. There was nothing to fear. Zandelia was still safe.

Wood smoke, she could just about hear it crackling somewhere just beyond. Her wounds continued to bleed, her breathing struggling behind gurgles. Eyes flickered, the strength seeping down through the fabric. She could not feel the woman, and it was that factor that brushed against her mind. Delayed by weakness, her vision a series of blinding colours, a croak of a whimper as it struggled to rise up. A gasp, a hiss, her fingers tensed and looked to grasp, "Za... Za?" A delusional search of glassy eyes, looking for the woman within the growing shadow, "Wh... where?"

She was scared, the tones thick and heavy within her voice. Elsewhere there was movement, a creak of floor boards, the movement existing beyond. Wetness, a growing damp, the mind barely able to hang on to what was going on. She still could not hear Zandelia though, let alone feel. Had something happened? Was there trouble once more? Had she been left to die alone? The heart gave a strain, an attempting to rise up and force her back into a more waking state.

Somewhere above a man hovered - she did not recognise him as Matthew - the dark hair pulling down and twisting into that of a monster, the smoother tones having been replaced with a sharp shrill. Eyes flickered to the knife, narrowing down then widening. Danger, escape, risk, a blade to hurt and cause pain. Where they still in danger? Was Zandelia in danger? She pushed her elbows down, teeth gritting as she forced her head up. Teeth snapped, the glassy gaze turning sharp as the onsets of fight or flight began to kick in. She felt the fingers, the struggles, the urgency begin to rise up. The hand rose, arms following as the weak limbs looking to block and deflect. Writhing, it became an instinctual urgency. Get out, break out, get away. Breathing laboured, the heat rushing out with cold filling the space it left. Fingers pulled at her, a struggle as she continued. A tremble, a shake, a cry out of a name - though barely, "Zandelia."

The last of her strength began to slip, the ripping falling behind that wave of consciousness. The body complained, tensing as it was stripped. Injuries were exposed, the pale flesh upon the air as she tried to struggle, slower, sluggish, she could barely comprehend what the man was saying. Fingers pulled and traced, her lips parting as he came in for his inspection. Warm upon cold, there was a second blink, the shoulders kissing the surface below. She slowed now, a hissing snarl escaping as her open wounds burned, and the chest quickly grew inflamed. A press, a touch, the head rolling back. A frightened mumble, a flickering of the light once more dying down into a pain filled whimper. Even Fallon was not immune to the feelings of pain. Eyes blinked, the blooded brow creased within a cold sweat, and the distant hum of that voice upon the air. That faint lullaby to send her on her way, "Za... Za... Za..."

by **Zandelia** on April 30th, 2014, 12:49 am

It seemed surreal, as if it wasn’t really happening and that soon she would waken from whatever nightmare her mind had sprung upon her in the dark watches of sleep. She had survived, had even survived essentially ordering Merv within hiss own tavern. She blinked, that couldn’t possibly have happened surely? That he had conceded defeat and decided to help her, however briefly? No, it had, she wasn’t dreaming. A fleeting hope, wishfully childish. She had no idea what to do, she was no healer and had never experience such carnage, not for many seasons. She was numbed and the door opened with a creak that barely registered. She blinked again, gaze shifting from Fallon to Matthew, the new arrival. How long had she been sat, helpless and just watching? She had no sense of time. For once she was glad to be so shabbily treated, she deserved it. She laughed, bitter chuckles that hurt her chest as they bubbled forth. Desperation transformed into mirth with his words.

“Yes, yes I do. Might have something to do with the fact that I’ve been a prisoner for gods know how long. Tends to lend itself to not being looked after,” she snapped back, anger then but not directed at him, at herself, “and I don’t know. She got stabbed in the hand, the leg and I saw a few other strikes. Her head’s been smashed what looks like a half-dozen times. I’m not a damned doctor!” nostrils flared and knuckles cracked.

She was useless at that moment, superfluous and she hated it. Loathed the position she found herself in. She could have smashed the room to pieces, would have done if it weren’t for the fact it would surely condemn Fallon to the grave. She bit her tongue resentfully and looked away, forcing herself into emotionless void as best as she could. It bubbled deeply, the emotion but she smothered it under a tired and weak form of self-control.

“She must’ve been at it for days. She was wheezing and rattling with breathing. I really hope she hasn’t got internal…I’m going to have to kill someone for this. Matthew, just do what it is you do. Save her. Please..” she breathed out quietly as she sought for calm.

It was snatched from her though as the other woman began to struggle, to fight tiredly as if still tormented. Head snapped around, she had seen how feral Fallon had been. She had gone beyond her limits, she wasn’t even sure Fallon was still sane from the way she had been so willing to ruin herself. She jumped forwards to press her down, try to stop the limbs from moving. It wasn’t altogether too hard even as her own cuts opened and seeped. Her knee throbbed where it had been clubbed and she growled as it hit the floor. She shot Matthew a glance at the use of her name, firm and pointedly sharp. She soothed the forehead, fingers brushing stained hair backwards as gently as she dared, trying not to press too much weight down.

“Fallon, it’s okay. It’s Matthew, remember? He’s going to help you just…stay still. Let him. Don’t fight…it’s over” she sighed as her forehead pressed to the other’s until the struggling weakened to the point of non-existence, “not…a…word” she spoke, the words were for Matthew. She couldn’t deal with the word games today, not now.

“I will go, drugs…no drugs. You don’t know what might be unleashed. No, I know some herbalists. I’ll be back soon but first, you’ll need water. Yes…water. I can do that at least. Make myself useful” she limped to the fireplace and opened the lid of the kettle there, it was full and she shifted it to dangle over the flames.

She took one last look at Fallon, a deep and sorrowful gaze, before making her way to the door. She had to go slowly, she wasn’t at her best, but she made it down to the tavern proper after a few false-starts and much cursing in pain as she tried to sue the wall for support. The injuries were beginning to ask for their payment now and they burned mightily. She limped to the bar, standing opposite Merv as silence was found once more. She took a few moments, looked up and met his eyes. She tried for a smile though her heart wasn’t in it.

“Thank you, I am…sorry”

“Web, you’ve helped me and I help you. We’re square. But remember, I can’t protect you. Now…what do you want? Food? Drink?”

“I need herbs, for pain. Do yo-”

“No I don’t, more’s the pity. But your friend came here a while back and gave me things. One was quite a bit of coin. I’ll send a lad with some to go get them for you. you’re in no shape to walk the distance, look like you might drop. Go on, have a dash of rum on the house” she told her as he snapped his fingers and the boy was sent before pouring them both some liquid fire.

“What happened Web?”

“Got caught”

“That explains a lot. haven’t seen you for a while. And Bitzer?”

“Rescued me”

“Doesn’t look like you’re the one as needs rescuing…”

“No. And I hate it”

“Hate? Oh I don’t think she’d have done that to herself for hate lass. Who was it?”

“I spose,” she shrugged at that, invasive questioning she was too tired to lie convincingly about, Merv was a good man and he wouldn’t betray her, not whilst she was within stabbing distance, “doesn’t matter”

“Matters to me lass, don’t want ‘em coming in here now”

“They’re dead. No trouble”

“Sure?”

“Sure”

“Well I guess you can stay longer then, if you’re right of course,” he scratched his cheek a little at that, “we’ll talk properly soon you hear? Look, that lad’s back. Go on now. Tend to her with your…doctor friend”

“Thank you” she took the pouches and the note with the contents and made her way back upstairs slowly after finishing her rum - it gave her a bit of life at least.

It was longer for the climbing, slipping and staggering a bit and she actually enjoyed the pain for once, it was well earned and deserved. She brushed the wall and staggered through the door to sit down once more. Matthew had already started his work by the look of the shorn clothing and fallen pieces of rent armor. She sighed deeply as she watched the work unfold, the showing of damage and the tending to its depths. She read the note and frowned, unsure of how to proceed.

“Jile salve cleanses wounds apparently, must be this little box here,” she peered into the small pouch, “and Tolm leaves to ease the pain and ease sleep. Brew it well according to this” she sighed and placed the satchel upon the side table next to the bed.

“Is…she going to be okay Matthew? Will she live? Or recover?” she asked, the hard questions and seeking to get them out of the way, “what’s the damage?”

by **Matthew** on April 30th, 2014, 5:23 pm

The Harlot casually pushed aside hands and arms as they weakly tried to stop him, well-versed in patients that were delirious enough to struggle. He heard her cries but completely ignored them, heard anger from Web but ignored that as well. He just went about his work, methodical and precise with his touches, blue eyes sharp as they studied the work that he had to do. He briefly considered sending her a feeling of calm and peace to make the job easier on both her and himself, but quickly decided against it. Such a use of magic was much too casual, the harlot somewhat taken aback that he had even considered such a use. Zandelia was there anyways, springing forward and helping keep the woman calm. If he was at all peturbed by the use of another name, he didn't show it. He was the same expressionless stone that he always was, pristine in appearance even when stained in blood. A soft nod was given as Zandelia agreed to get both the herbs and some water, and soon him and Fallon were left alone.

Mister Sandman.

His motions stopped, and for a moment he just watched the creature laying in front of him. He continued to sing though, soft and quiet. His head slowly tilted as he just stared at her, mind wandering. He could remember their journey here. He remembered first meeting Fallon what seemed like a long while ago, and then meeting Wrenmae just a season later. Then there was this Scars business. Was that what had put her in this state? He leaned closer, face passive, blue eyes flickering in the torchlight. A ring of dark blue briefly shined around the iris, then was gone.

Bring me a dream...

She wasn't mortally wounded. She was hurt, but the pain wasn't anything lethal. Infection would be the biggest worry, but other than that she would be fine. She probably didn't feel fine though. She probably felt like death. How else would one feel when pain attacked their body everytime they tried to breath? He leaned closer, face inches from hers. A single drop of blood freed itself from where it had almost completely dried, slipping down his jaw to drip onto her cheek.

Make her the cutest that I've ever seen.

He studied a bit longer, then gave a slow shrug of his shoulders. He didn't understand it. He didn't understand the way that Zandelia had looked at her. He couldn't imitate the expression like he could imitate so many others. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny object and slipped it into his lips. Leaning down, the Harlot kissed her. It was a simple kiss, a firm and warm one, filled with all the scents and tastes that Fallon might distantly recollect as being from Matthew. If Zandelia's words hadn't helped Fallon realize who Matthew was, this would. A small black key was passed between the two of them, transferred to her mouth and skillfully placed if she could not do it herself. Her current condition shouldn't be so bad that she would accidentally choke to death on a foreign object.

Give her two lips like roses and clover.

And then he was back to work.

***

When Zandelia returned, he was just putting on the finishing touches. He answered her readily enough, voice soft but firm. "Stabbed in the left hand. Wound to the leg. Various bruises, cracked or broken ribs. A variety of cuts and scrapes. She mostly seems tired. Everything has been bandaged and cleaned. Right now, you need to make sure that her pain is soothed. The ribs will have to mend themselves, but they will hurt and give her trouble sleeping. If you like, you could go to Ruby and ask if you could use her healers. That is up to you. Let her know Matthew sent you. Bitzer has the key to my room." He unknowingly left plenty to Zandelia's imagination, though she likely knew of their professional relationship.

He wiped the back of his hand across his face, just now noticing that he was sweating. It was so very hot when the torch heat was combined with the heat of the season. The Harlot slowly stood from where he was sitting, coat swishing around his waist as he stuck red-stained hands in the pockets. "Either way, make sure you give her medication for the pain. Change her bandages every three days and make sure she is clean. Baths and soap are required. Any questions?"

Blue eyes blinked at her, all business. His head tilted, very slowly, awaiting any answers from her. The Harlot had no questions of his own, even if there were certainly many to be asked.

by **Zandelia** on May 11th, 2014, 5:42 pm

There was a deep sigh, not quite one of relief but one possessed of a thin slice of released desperation. She knew little of the medical arts and in many ways suspected it was a weakness she should correct but at that precise moment she trusted the assessment. Matthew and Fallon had helped each other before, he had offered his services to herself also and she had no reason to believe that he would mislead her over the extent of the injuries. They had looked so terrible but now, with the bandages in place and although not entirely restful, Fallon’s body seemed less torn apart. Perhaps it was because things were hidden, or it was the holding onto hope. Either way she had little choice but to accept the assessment for what it was and do her best to abide by the instructions.

“Are you sure? Not to question your knowledge but…it just seemed so bad. No, peace. I believe you though I wish I held the comfort of your abilities as a doctor to reassure myself Matthew,” she spoke slowly, tone duller than ones he had heard from her before, “you weren’t there, didn’t see. Never mind...” she sighed as she looked up at him from her seated position.

“Soap and cleaning should be easy enough. The tea and the salve should take care of the rest so I was told. One day I will ask you to teach me what you know of medicine so that next time I won’t have to drag carry someone across the city and have them get worse before I can help” she frowned at that, wondering if she had done more harm than good in moving the body.

He had said the ribs had been damaged, cracked perhaps or broken. She had not thought, not wondered whether her attempt to help would instead have hindered. She had stumbled, gripped tightly at times. Had she merely increased the breaks? What if she had fallen over and snapped a rib in the process? She could have….she shuddered slightly at that thought. She didn’t regret her actions, the carrying to safety and trying to help. But she had been foolish, to wrapped up in the emotions of the moment. She needed to learn more, to direct her knowledge and become more useful. So far all she had been was a hindrance. A distraction. She grit her teeth slightly at that thought, wondering if she would actually succeed at anything she tried to do – that she promised to do.

“Wait…why does she have the key to your room?” she asked softly, slowly as the subsumed words finally trickled some interest into her mind, “she hates brothels. Unless you mean she goes to you for…that. But even then…why give the key when you can be there yourself?” she asked the world in general.

“You have a copy? Or you won’t be needing it again? Two options, you spoke of one before. I think. Is your learning at an end then?” she queried as her gaze shifted to meet his steadily now.

She knew a little of their working relationship, or rather she had puzzled out some of it and assumed much more. She doubted that Fallon went to him for carnal indulgence, very much doubted that. He knew things though, sat in a position of continual data exchange within Sunberth. He was usefully placed and was possessed of a keen mind. There were many things they could have discussed, pondered and planned. Yet she had never seen a key, or even heard of one being mentioned. It must have been a recent occurrence. She hadn’t seen a key though, not amongst their possessions and not upon the table.

“Would they lend me their aid, these healers? Even if I said I was sent by you? Is this a client package? Know the seductive Matthew, access all resources?” she snorted, attempting to bring back some semblance of humour to cover the deepening hole in the pit of her stomach that was forming due to present circumstances, “if not then how long? How long until she is full recovered do you think?"

She shifted her gaze back to Fallon then, easing the chair closer until she could easily lean directly over the other woman. She seemed calmer at least, if not battered. There was no thrashing and all was silent besides the occasional twitch or garbled sound deep in the throat. She wished that she could offer more comfort, help but there was…there was…a damned key poking out of the side of her mouth! Fingers gripped its edge, extracting it and she placed it upon the table beside the bed with a raised eyebrow for Matthew. A precise click of metal upon wood but she didn’t mention it – what they got up to with strange objects was their business.

“I have another question for you though. What do you want for doing this? Or helping her…and me? And, would you like some tea or something to wash yourself with? Can’t have you returning to your bedding covered in blood. It would send the wrong message, though perhaps it would help some of your…clients”

There was little else to ask in truth. He had come to their aid, provided a service as he was wont to do. He had instructed, given no price and merely suggested a healer or two and the existence of a key. He was a strange man indeed and she was beginning to see that he really was as simple as he appeared – as simple and yet complex also. Only a simple perspective could truly seem so convoluted to others – a strange irony. She awaited his response, wondering if he would actually care to stay of whether – his job done – he merely wished to be on his way. She would hold herself together for long enough to talk but she suspected that, eventually, she would cave. She was only human after all.

by **Matthew** on May 12th, 2014, 10:30 pm

Matthew nodded at her question, not offended by it at all. Even if he was one who did not often worry, he could understand deep worry when he saw it. She was merely spoking out of emotion. "If she was bleeding internally, there would likely be blood coming from one of the holes in her body. This is not happening, so we can assume that nothing was punctured on the inside. If any sort of fluid was trapped on the inside, hopefully we would see the abnormal swelling. If you do see any abnormal uneven swelling, that is cause for alarm and you should seek the Doctor. Otherwise, everything else is superficial. She was not beat by anyone incredibly intimate with the art of killing." He peered at the woman again, watching Fallon quietly rest as he listened to Zandelia speak. Dragging the body could have killed Fallon, yes. Leaving her there could have killed her as well. It had been a coin flip, and luckily the woman had landed it on the correct side.

He nearly asked what the process had been to get Fallon here, but he held his tongue. A quick glance at Zandelia showed that she was already having some sort of regret about the whole occurance, or perhaps she was worried about something that had happened. Whatever the case, Fallon was recovering now, so that was that. There was no real need to look any deeper into it. He tilted his head back and yawned, body shivering a bit as he tucked his hands deeper into his coat pocket. This felt like it had taken a really long time, though it had been a fairly quick examination. How odd.

The Harlot blinked as Zandelia suddenly spoke. His head tilted to the side this time, a brief moment of confusion lighting his eyes. His next words would sound almost sarcastic, though Zandelia had probably had enough experience with Matthew to know that this wasn't the case. "Because I gave it to her." Oh, wait, the woman didn't mean it in the literal sense. He hated those sorts of questions, though he knew it wasn't intended to confuse him. He slowly shook his head, clearing the confusion as she assaulted him with different ideals. "No, she does not come to me for sex. We have met under the guise of prostitute and client a few times, though."

More questions came and he responded with more answers, not hesitating in the slightest bit. For every inquiry she spoke, a bland reply would follow. "I do not have a copy. I will not be needing it again. I met Tanroa and she gave me a task. Unfortunately, it is a task that I am entitled to complete. I will be leaving for a time. There is also the matter of my mind." He did not offer further clarification on this, stating it like it would easily answer all the questions she might have. The bold claim of meeting the Goddess of Time was delivered without a blink, as if informing Web that he had enjoyed a delightful breakfast this morning. It was a simple statement to him.

"As for the healers, I do not know. It is worth a shot, though. You are not capable of offering medical assistance on your own." Perhaps a bit harsh, but he once again did not intend it to be. "As for how long, it is hard to say. If she doesn't stress the cracked or broken bones, then a few weeks. If they do not heal correctly or are further damaged, perhaps well into the next season." He watched as Zandelia inspected Fallon and then discovered the key, his face a complete statue. She did not ask for clarification, so he did not offer it. He readily would, though. He had a mild curiosity in how the woman would respond to the fact that he had kissed Fallon. He was not so sure why. Perhaps he had picked up on some social nuance and was unaware of it. That would be clever. Sort of.

Payment. The idea broke into his thoughts and caused him to blink. He was entitled payment, wasn't he? Did they have coin? He glanced over Zandelia somewhat critically, paused, and then slowly nodded. "I would like gold mizas. You may determine the total, as I do not know the standard prices for this particular profession. I will not be insulted by whatever it is you choose. As for my clothes, I will be returning to the Doctor's Clinic. I had a patient who is likely suffering from some sight troubles. I will need to tend to them."

He would await his payment and then turn to go, but then pause and glance back over his shoulder. "When she wakes up, tell her she was stupid. You both were stupid. You were also very lucky. Leaders do not need to be stupid and lucky. Your actions extend far, now. You are responsible for many. I appreciate Fallon's existence in this world." That was probably the first time he had let her actual name slip around Zandelia. "I hope she does not make it a short-lived one."

As long as he wasn't stopped, the Harlot would then simply be gone, his lingering voice the only thing left.

Mister Sandman...

by **Zandelia** on May 14th, 2014, 11:58 am

There came the explanation of his perspective, the reasoning behind why he felt Fallon’s wounds were not overly severe if still potentially crippling in terms of needing much rest to recover. Several weeks at least he informed her, she suspected Fallon would go crazy before the end of such a lengthy period of time without being able to truly move. She valued her freedom of boy, enjoyed walking, talking and generally experiencing the world. She would not be able to do that for some time and already Zandelia could feel the nagging words of guilt rippling through her at being the source of that. Not directly, perhaps, but enough of a lacing influence through the whole debacle of affairs that she knew she had to shoulder some of the blame.

At the very least I can try to ay it back by looking after her, protecting her the way that I didn’t protect myself she told herself mentally as her gaze shifted to the bed and the woman once more.

“Thank you for the lesson, I will remember it Matthew. And for the reassurance also” she stated simply, there was little more to say other than that. The man seemed tired almost, the yawn was spotted even as she was looking at the bed.

Strange, she had never seen him tired before – but then it had been a trying day and work often tired. Even for one as physically active as he it must all catch up with him in the end. She dismissed it as a minor tell at best and instead focused her attention upon that which mattered to her. He was right, of course, shock and adrenaline perhaps had made her think the worst. The wounds were superficial if still damaging and would heal. She could make sure Fallon rested, try to make things easier and as comfortable as possible. New clothing for a start she noted as the bloodied rags of the first set were remembered and brushed aside with her boot for now – fire fuel for later perhaps. His words filtered through the thinking and she snorted at the idea of her going to him under the guise of a prostitute’s client. Given her traits in some regards she was surprised she had entertained that charade but then she was nothing if not pragmatic when it came too her goals.

“So you are leaving,” she sighed in response to his underwhelmed revelation, “well you did say you intended to eventually. And we can’t ignore the wishes of Tanroa can we? Well I will let her know, pass on the key. We can keep things for you as they are perhaps, until you decide to return. If you do. As to your mind? I’ll assume you mean learning so good luck” she continued – another simple response though how far she believed his story about Tanroa was irrelevant. He would maintain it nevertheless and she had nothing with which to prove him a lair – if he were a liar.

“I have no gold here, I only just got the room because of Merv’s decision to be kind. I will, however, send you the gold by the end of the day. You have my word and hers too,” she gestured to Fallon then as she turned to face him fully, “I don’t know the rates either but for this I think a good round fifty would be in order at least. Not sure I can afford more but, if you like, let’s say that I owe you a favour too. To be recalled whenever you wish – should our paths cross again” she offered him, she had nothing to give him then and there she was barely able to keep herself together let alone go hunting for their things.

I have others for such simple tasks she told herself as she knew she could soon expect Jarral and the others for their next series of directives. Hopefully they would also managed to get all of their possession together into the room too. She would talk to Merv about extending their stay.

The last words, spoke as his back began to turn and he walked towards the door cut deeper than the rest and perhaps more than any ever could. Weighted to teach they seemed but still blunted not a whit whether he meant it or not. She could never tell truly with him, his speech was always so when he wasn’t seducing she thought. She flinched visibly and turned away to stare at the bed once more as they burrowed deeply into her mind for future merciless mental jabbing. She breathed in deeply and outwards quickly – shuddered breath.

“I will tell her,” she responded, though she felt the words were more meaningful for herself than the other, “I will make sure that it isn’t brief. It was nice knowing you Matthew” and with that he was gone.

There was nothing for her to do for once except stare at her rescuer and begin to try to determine what had happened, how much she had suffered and how such things could be prevented in the future. She had time enough in the day to get the gold together – even if dishonestly – and end it to the Harlot. He wasn’t leaving for today at least, he had said so himself. She sighed and decided that the first thing to do would be to brew some tea and ease the pain of both of them. She took the pouch of tea leaves from the side table and walked slowly towards the hearth.

It was going to be a long road towards the end of the season indeed.

ooc-50gm to Zand's ledger

+50gm to Matthew's ledger

by **Ablation** on May 24th, 2014, 5:10 pm

Fallon :

Zandelia :

Matthew :

Please don't be afraid to PM me with any questions ^-^ and please don't forget to remove your grading request from the list to keep My office spick and span.

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