Fable - Ask Not Much Room for Decent Hearts

[Vida]

Not in any ideal state to understand the implications of the brooding way Skad had mentioned losing her quarry, Masile could only assume it had something to do with the rather crude follow-up regarding tongues and explicit activities that could be done with them. How Skad thought it related at all to what she had said earlier, Masile hadn't the faintest clue; she simply gave a chiding look in reply to that.

"I'm certain that would have went about as well as you think."

Which was to say that it wouldn't have went well. Like, at all. Of course this potential offer was all delivered with that same, utterly implacable northern accent. An accent that lent well to Skad's eccentric and more than a little filthy vocabulary, continually putting the alchemist on the defensive about whether Skad had ever actually meant anything she said.

The fact remained that there was some fucking to be had with tongues, just not in the way that the Nordwiir would have seemingly preferred. And Masile had to wonder considering the ease in which the woman spoke of these things, if the act was seen much, much differently than the way southerners saw it. Skad made it out to be the most natural thing in the world, even going so far as suggesting - scornfully or not - of laying with someone she hated.

And who'd ever do that?

Nonetheless, she was getting off-track. And had hardly noticed that there were more words after this little segue; the fog in her mind clearing momentarily at being asked to do the "cooking" after distinctly remembering how she didn't want to do that. Her words of refusal that she meant to speak were still resting upon her tongue when she looked up, noticing that Skad was now looming above her with a bundle of furs slung across the woman's arm, with Masile now inching aside so that the blade could be taken without any accidental throat slitting.

Then came the one thing she could answer without any threat to her own life.

She took a minute to interrogate her muddied, brackish memories as if she were sifting through a swamp, and in the same moment her body made the monumental effort of standing along with Skad. She was thankful that at least her legs were still obedient, despite the growing ache of her head and the hesitation of her feet finding solid footing.

Masile mulled over the question for longer than she should've, having enough time to massage the base of her neck while those owlish eyes blinked around the room as if seeing it for the first time; her eyes finally resting upon Skad's own. She blinked.

"I do believe it's the first room on the left of the hallway, it should be the only one there. It's not a big establishment."

At least she hoped that was the case, having explored very little and remembered even less in the state she was in. As for whatever she was thinking in the moment - especially after the designation of being the sole cook - she wisely kept to herself for the time being. "I think some rest would do me good as well, you're right."

Masile spoke with a sudden invigoration; the room around her temporarily spinning in such an intense dive of vertigo that her mind nearly went blank, the blackness eating away at her peripheral. She was never much of a drinker.

When her gaze dropped to the table, she found a hand pressed flat against its surface - a lovely little island out in the very wide sea of the wine they were both drowning in. That meant she could stay standing, for now, and so looked again to Skad as if she wasn't seriously struggling with the task of keeping herself at least vaguely upright. Her smile was a modest one. "Please do sleep well, Skad. I hope you know that I've enjoyed your company, despite the ton... way you word some things, but I know that you struggle with our tongue."

All that was missing was a proper bow of farewell, but she had no interest in attempting that and so nodded, instead.

 

[Skad]

The Nordwiir hummed, the noise reverberating from the back of her throat caught between acknowledgement and appraisal.

It was rather amusing watching the alchemist battle her struggling equilibrium. The table now provided support for legs well-lubricated by wine, and it didn't go unnoticed. It was akin to watching a fish flop helplessly on dry land, and in the same manner that one would respect the order of nature, Skad did not intervene.

Even if the idea of tripping the woman seemed extremely funny in an intrusive, juvenile way.

Kin-Slayer wasn't entirely certain that she was capable of hindering or helping. She seemed to handle the physical effects of alcohol better than the small, curious creature before her. Still, a collaborative effort to guide Basil through the inn would have undoubtedly resulted in a terrible racket and perhaps a concussion. Or two.

The fact that she was even thinking about it was sign enough that her judgment was about as stable as the other woman's legs.

"You are strange," Skad commented, which, by her standards, was probably considered a compliment. "Trying not to fall, yes? Do not wanting to waking the jarðpúki."

With her parting words made, the Nordwiir staggered away to the first room on the left of the hallway as directed, only gently leaning into the wall on her brief journey before disappearing into the mainland decadence of having your own private room.

Despite not being in possession of every instinct that made Skad the perceptive opportunist loathed throughout Eyjarnar, she was still paranoid enough to exercise some form of caution. She was not entirely content with the idea of sleeping completely undefended in a house of mercenaries and gremlins that asked far too many questions. So, to ease her mind, the Nordwiir made a half-hearted barricade at her door, dragging a wooden chair across the room to prop up against the door. At least that way, intruders attempting to make silent entry would be foiled.

However, not much effort was made beyond that and content with her basic protection, Skad proceeded to remove her borrowed clothes haphazardly. Drow's shirt was simple to untangle from her body, but his breeches were problematic. It was less like undressing and more like peeling. Was he really so slight? Or...

Perhaps she would have to skip breakfast.

After a protracted struggle, Skad eventually succumbed to the call of sleep and found herself collapsed onto the bed atop the blanket with the man's trousers only half removed, still clinging to her upper thighs.