Didn't have the strength fight the tide of hands and boots that carried him and the battered guy out. They just pushed them out, driftwood on shorecobble. Fall probably busted his ass, but pain hadn't caught up yet. Everything felt raw and numb both. Air was easier out in the street, but the lungs were ungrateful.

Hacked and coughed and...couldn't see Monroe anywhere.

And there were so many guards around. Surely someone could...

But where were they when the meatguy got killed? And where were they when their guy got twonked over the head? No – these people couldn't be trusted.

Seemed like they might stop him from going back in, but he had no restraint left. If they wanted to help, they sure as shit could carry them both in if he fucked up. First guy that tried to grab him went left when Trevor went right. Straight into a tall woman with one of those eaglenoses. Her staggered foot found anchor in the toes of the man behind her. Third could do little except raise up his hands to stop the cascading collapse. Trevor used this moment to duck under them, nearly earning an elbow to the back of his head.

Got heatslapped immediately, taking the stance of an early snowdrop.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.

Where the fuck was Monroe? Why wasn’t she out yet?

Whether by Luck or chance, the walls were yet to scrunch. The ceiling was yet to cave in. And he was yet to hug the floor.

But he had miscalculated. Wasn’t gonna get them both out. Wasn’t even sure he’d get himself out. Narrowing vision and clinking knees whispered as much.
 
Water should calm, should cool, but this fire's heart of fury was one she was ill prepared for.

Sweat collected at her brows, not from the heat, but from her own exertion. It took a lot of herself to keep destruction at bay, but she had been without weaving for nearly a year. What was once something familiar and comforting, like a favourite coat or cloak, was now a stranger with a name she could not recall.

Monroe knew she could not hold this for long. Could not withstand the intensity.

She hated to fail, hated to take the chance when she knew the odds were not in her favour.

The water became steam, no longer there to aide her in a retreat.

"Fucking fire fiends." She cursed, pushing the flames towards the ceiling. It feasted until the wood groaned above. Monroe stood there a moment, transfixed by the flames before a voice reached out to her. It was not that of Meredith's or Trevor's, nor anyone outside and existing.

It was a voice she knew well, one that became her captor as it did her encouragement.

A voice that once held determination, patience, and a need to succeed and conquer whatever she set her mind to. Her own voice, her own conscience.

Monroe moved, her boots slick beneath grease and made her fall countless times, but Cathmore pushed herself to weave. To survive. The coat she wore began to singe, embers clinging to it moments before flickering into new life. She ripped it off herself, but not before her hands retrieved the letters she had saved, tossing it aside as she continued to make her way towards the light. She called to the element of air, borrowing what she could reach from outside and used it to forge a force around herself. No more burns, but Monroe was the scent of scorches and ash.

She threw herself onto the cobblestones, gasping desperately for air. That was her cost in calling for the element, momentary suspension of her lungs going to work. Wheezing, forgetting how to function, it stung to allow her lungs to expand. She clutched at her throat, reeling on the stone ground.
 
Lost her in the smoke. Didn’t think it possible in a room that size. But he didn’t have scouts’ eyes even on better days.

Wasn’t even sure why he went back in. Just sizzled a bit, like a cat stealing from the skillet. Jumped out just as quick. Right into the arms of the same people he’d tried to avoid in the first place. Guards – always late to do their job. Funny, given how they only needed to stay in place to prevent shit like this from happening. Couldn’t even manage that.

They let him to the cobbles more gently than he’d planned to go.

That’s when he saw her. Outside.

Fucking people. Always out to get you killed.
 
Hands gripped her and pulled her across the cobblestones, but Monroe had slept on beds worse than that felt. She was writhing, letting her connection to the elements dissipate at it's leisure after weaving longer than her body could tolerate.

"Are you burned?" A voice asked her.

"Breathe! Just breathe!" Came another.

Her eyes shot open, for the ability to stare into someone until they became uncomfortable was a low effort for the Knight, even if at present her body was reeling.

And yet the breaths came back to her the moment her connection to weaving began to fade, returned to the shroud. Monroe took big, gulping breaths and turned over to lay on her stomach. Her arms held her up from the cobble, but her eyes fixed on a stone as she thought.

None of this was adding up. None of this was worth her fucking time, but Monroe had started on this path and would not settle until she knew something came about from all of this. She could feel the letters, still clutched in hand. Perhaps there was another road to an answer. The home was no longer viable for searching through, but the letters... they told a story.

Monroe lifted her head, saw the guards and other townspeople now throwing buckets of water onto the chaos, but she knew the home was far from being saved. A female stood before the home, waving her arms slowly and it took a moment for Monroe to realise she was weaving barriers to stop the fire from spreading to other nearby buildings.

Everyone had a part to play. Medics tended to the Guard with more teeth, his partner feet away and distraught that this had happened on their patrol. She knew that pain, had seen friend and ally pass before her eyes.

But everyone else was distracted. Monroe pushed herself up against the protests and aches she felt in her body, slowly made her way over to Trevor and extended a hand to him. "Let's get a drink and figure out what the fuck happened this morning." The sun had not quite crest at the highest of it's trajectory, but Monroe knew someone would be willing to serve them at mid-morning. "I'm buying." She added, as if he needed convincing.
 
Looked over to where Tooths was watching over the other guy. Seemed concerned. Wanted to say something clever – but he coughed instead. May very well saved more than a glance cast his way. The battered guy would most likely live. Might not be a good life, but he’d keep breathing.

Looked to the weaver containing the flame. Smart, that. There were some villages that believed everything that burned with you got carried into death. Sounded like a great deal for Vin. Less so for Gregg.

Monroe came closer and blocked his view of the most expensive pyre in Tollbrook’s memory.

Took the offered hand and elbowed himself upright. Monroe was…strong. Didn’t know why he was surprised. Knights were supposed to be strong.

“Of course you’re buying!” She did make him leave all that money to the fucking fire.

Just hoped it wasn’t Sam’s.
 
The morning had been a drain, and by the time they sat in the busy tavern where she had lodgings upstairs, it was nearing midday. She had sat Trevor down at a table, enough coin to buy a couple of rounds of ale, before she excused herself to go up to her rooms and change out of the bloodied gear.

When she sat back down, Monroe now wore something that looked more along the lines of a mercenary or knight. Her armour was left in her room in Astenvale, not needing it when she intended to go on leave, but the leathers she wore fore training and travel did nicely for her. It meant there were more pockets for her collection of knives, not wanting to solely rely on her Pursuit to weave.

She rather enjoyed giving threats with her knives than holding a palm of fire. Steel had a nastier burn if one knew where to slice.

"Good, you didn't help yourself to any of my drinks." She fell into her seat, hearing the wood groan but not break underneath her. Two tankards waited for her, untouched. "I usually don't care if I drink on an empty stomach, but since I have not eaten since dinner, I need something to eat." Monroe sighed, the weariness giving away the drain this morning caused her.

Monroe lifted a hand and waved down the taverness, who smiled and promptly glided to stand beside their table. "I thought you had plans to leave today?" The woman's smile showed all the lines it carved into her face.

Without mentioning what happened this morning, Monroe's brows furrowed in question. "Change of plans. Are you serving lunch? Do you want something too?" This question was now directed at Trevor.

"We got roast chicken and vegetables, but that is all I am afraid."

"Hmm... that'll do." She needed to eat in order to begin thinking on where to go on from here. Where did Meredith disappear to? She also needed a drink if she were to read aloud the love letters stuffed in her pocket. Such declarations were lost on her, to have such vulnerabilities immortalised onto parchment.
 
It had not been a good day.

But this – the plop of ass on wood and the smell of ale – this he knew well. An almosthug formed around the mug, tight enough to know it was his, loose enough not to warm it too quick.

He worked his drink slowly. Long as something was leftover in his mug, he wouldn’t be tempted to eye hers. And while he wasn’t a polite creature, there were ways to remove temptation.

Heard her return before glancing up. Her own weight shook the wood hard enough to jostle the liquid right up to his eye. Always thought he had an eye for drink – never hoped to actually prove it. Wiped the alesnot from his face and took a proper look. Monroe looked different now.

Shook his head. For the drink untouched, for the offer of food, the whole fucking thing.

“What are we doing, Monroe? Why stick around and fight hooffucker? Why not give letters to the guard and let them mess it up?” Why not simply kill the thing and be done with it?

Head full of questions. But no answers. Plenty to drink, though. Small mercy, that.
 
Monroe did not hide her frown at Trevor's barrage of questions. In fact, she stared at him over the rim of her drink as she took a hearty swig. She set it down, still not yet answering him, and shrugged one shoulder.

"I miss it." Came the simple answer. There was still time before her meal was to arrive, moments they could take to ease up after the morning they had. The drinks may not take the scent of smoke from them, but it did something to the mind, or at least it did for Monroe. It was not quite the Knoll, and surely not filled with those she called brothers and sisters in-arms, but the drink still had the same effect for Monroe. It was a moment of soothing. The wind down of a day or even the precursor to a night of celebration, drinking needed no true reason to be drunk.

"I put up with shitheads that make up what is left of my family, and ungrateful cunts that scorned me for choosing to go with the Order after my town got raided. I was orphaned, no one wanted to look after me, and I made a decision they were jealous of. I left there to go back home to Astenvale because I miss the friends and family I made as a Knight." Even if she didn't have time or patience for a great many of them, they were comfort and they were familiar. "I am proud to be a Knight, and all the duties asked of us. It is no longer in my nature to let things settle without my assistance."

She went to drain the rest of her drink. No need to pretend she didn't need it to quench her thirst.

"Up to you, Trevor. Have you drink and go about your business, or you can stay and help me find the killer. Either way, the Guard is going to fork over a high sum for anyone that assists in the rising crime going on around here." Monroe nodded behind him, to the posted reward stating exactly that. This town was seeing plenty of crime and no-good, and the Guards were spread thin. Rewards were their latest way of asking for help.

"When I find this killer, and I sure fucking will, I'm going to refuse the coin. I have no need for it."
 
She talked…a lot. But he didn't interrupt. She'd earned that much, at least. And if he had to scratch at the rim and shift his weight from one cheek to another to stay quiet for all of it – so be it.

Sure spoke like a knight. Find the killer. Ha! This only ended when the fucker couldn't hurt anyone else. That's the only catch.

„I don't kill people for coin anymore.“ Picked up the drink. Good a place to hide as any. „Too much talking. More drinking.“

Never understood why people opened to him. Seemed wasted, somehow. And if they knew who he was and what he'd done, they'd agree.
 
Monroe snorted. "What made you think I am here to kill?"

Not as if she had not done such a thing before. She had protected those that could not protect themselves, put an end to beasts and foe when her own life was on the line. Had defended a fellow Knight or squire.

But never for coin. She was not that desperate to fill her coffers.

She called for another round, just as her meal arrived. It was small of serving, and Monroe made a face. More quail than chicken...

"If you're not the type that likes finding out how the story ends, then you are free to leave." She left it there, posed in the space between them. Her stare met his across the table, and Monroe leaned back in her chair. "But I am going to find out why so much trouble had been caused to cover up a murdered family."
 
Because I am.

You do not butcher a family with a hook and paint the room in their blood. You don’t sit with your victims and ransack the place. Not unless you’re rabid. And rabid dogs, well…

Sometimes they even asked for it. Some of them even thanked you.

A fucking hook. They’d used blunt implements in the past – but he could hardly imagine the effort it took to get ‘em all with that sorry piece of metal.

One drink ended and another on the way. It was good that he wasn’t a bigger man. Would’ve made the whole getting drunk thing prohibitively expensive. Not like he was paying. But you know, logistics.

Trevor’d met people who thought like Monroe before. Like the world was a thing of clear lines and perfect rights and wrongs – but…shook his thought away. No. He wasn’t here to convince her. He was here to end this fucker. That’s why he still stuck around. Wasn’t sure why he humored her way of doing it. Or why he walked back into the fire. Wasn’t sure of many things.

„Would’ve been long gone.“ He knew how it ended. Just not when. Everything else was details, and those....hmm.

„That stick up your ass is going to get you killed some day.“ Glad that his words tasted of more ale than truth.
 
Monroe gave him a wry smile. Her hands went to pick up the cutlery set on the plate and cut into the chicken. "Oh, fuck, it will?" But her tone dripped in sarcasm as her chicken did with gravy. It dropped onto the roast vegetables, which Monroe pierced her fork into a potato and ate it too.

Once her mouthful had been swallowed, she washed it down with a sip of a new drink. "If I went through this life afraid that death will come for me, I would not have stayed in that room of fire." She had been ready to escape, to let the building succumb to the fate of inferno, but it had been Trevor that pulled her back to being selfless. It's what she would have done had she not spent too many months amongst ungrateful roots.
 
Expected a slap or something. This was worse.

Living without the fear of death. He didn’t believe it. Because he’d seen it – and it wasn’t a good thing. Fear stayed your hand. Sometimes, that mattered. Knowing when not to. What not to.

“It’s not always about being brave.” Almost reached for the drink. “Sometimes it’s just about staying alive.”

But he wasn’t a strong man, and it called to him. So he took another swig.

“The fire…that wasn’t bravery. Just – people aren’t chickens. You don’t…” let them roast.
 
Monroe studied him a moment, but did not prolong it. He didn't seem the type to like being stared at. She ate her meal in quiet for some time, glad to have a hot, cooked meal instead of the game she hunted and prepared herself. It was a luxury, one she was grateful for.

"Did you... see Meredith?" In that room, ablaze with fire and fury, Monroe had no real time to look around. She had been tasked to control the fire, to do something with it to buy time. There was rage, rage she felt and could relate to, but it was so foreign and full of ache that Monroe had been unable to reason with it. She only hoped that the wardweaver had an easier time keeping it at bay.
 
Glad they’d gotten a few more moments without firetalk. Wasn’t sure silence was better – but at least the only thing roasted was the fucking chicken. That too had run its course.

“Meredith…” Thought about how many times the guard’s head had been bashed. How he was still alive. “…I think she twonked the guard with better teeth.” Why would she, though? She’d acted skittish, but that may have just been nonmeater nonsense. Or how normal people reacted to blood and violence. He couldn’t tell anymore.

Those were the only two names that repeated. Meredith and Gregg. And finding them wouldn’t really be a problem. He could probably do so before Monroe sobered up. But while he wanted to kill hooffucker, wasn’t sure what to do with Meredith.

Kept the last gulp or two of drink near the bottom of his mug. Practiced maneuver of someone who wouldn’t be able to afford another. If he took em later, warmer – they’d hit twice as hard.

“Need to get some rest before we find them?”
 
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