Back at the entrance, he could almost make out the surrender. A tired command and the lack of noise. Monroe was...well, none of them were alright. But close enough.

That's when the first bit of sweet reached his ear. How it was all a mistake and how Monroe was the one behind it all. Mind laced with the image of her holding fire by the scruff scratching suspicion into his thoughts. Because the coat fit. She was foreign and she was mean. But so was he. And Trevor was a killer...so was she?

A sense of calm washed over him. Like knowledge of what had to be done. And life was simple, like back then – when all his hand needed to do was DIG.

MOTHERFUCKER!

It was the same as back then. Like Aragor. When he went halfmad. Until that creepy blueeyed fucker slapped him. And the blood. Was it him bleeding or Trevor? Seemed worlds away now. Didn't have time to think whether it was the blood or the pain that woke him up before. One of Evans' knives found its way to his hand, as he sliced the palm opposite. And it hurt. More than blades were supposed to. Funny, that.

Poured as much Luck as he could into the knife. With this much pressed together, even a blind person wouldn't miss. Set the blade loose in a twitch of his outstretched hand, and watched Meredith's eyes grow wider, sweet turning to gurgle, hilt sticking from her throat.

Wanted to wipe the sweat off his forehead, but the arm...refused to listen. He grabbed the spiced fucking knife. Spent so much on the throw that he didn't even look at the coating. A lucky knife indeed. At least he and Meredith would be choking on the same shit....if she didn't bleed out first, that was.

„If you move, Jackie....you'll die.“ Might need to kill him anyway. Else Monroe could end up surrounded by these assholes.

Laughed quietly to himself as the working hand helped lower him to sitting. Didn't want to bounce like landfish when his legs gave out.

Suppose it was fitting. You spend enough time fucking with everything...eventually you fuck yourself.
 
She had been winding rope around the satyr's wrists when she heard silence down the hall beyond the curtain. "Shit." But she cold not rush the complicated knot to ensure this fucking moron wouldn't be able to get up.

The door remained closed, fixed into the frame however it did.

"Stay here, or you can... find out yourself, I don't really care." She did care about questioning him perhaps. Probably hand him into the authorities if the satyr proved a waste of time.

"A siren. She was like a siren..." The stayr muttered.

Monroe frowned, rolling him over so that she could see him wince as his hands were crushed slightly at his lower back. "What are you talking about?"

"She speaks, and you think to yourself that she's crazy. Mental, fucking mental, until you're following her to see a man."

"A man?"

"The butcher's boy. Sweet thing he was... he resisted her. Ran away from her and found somewhere to hide. She's obsessed with the lad."

"Wait one second. Don't go anywhere." Monroe gritted her teeth. She rose, stalking towards the curtain and ripping it down. The act of pushing it aside every time she wanted to get past annoyed her quite quickly. "Meredith!" She seethed. "Fucking hells..."

She ignored Trevor, didn't take into account something had happened to cause a rising tension in the air. Instead, she saw red. It dropped down from the throat, slowly soaking into the front of Meredith's clothes. Then her eyes took in the knife. Monroe stared for a long moment, brows furrowing. She stared long enough to begin going over everything they had learned so far.

"Siren?" She asked aloud.

Spare Evans Number Forty cleared his throat, refusing to speak.

"Whatever she was... I think she was a silvertongued bitch." Monroe sighed, turning to Trevor and quirking a questioning brow.
 
Heavy footsteps still smelled like smoke and worse. Didn't even have the energy to look at her.

„You made it.“ Mumbled. „Das good.“

„Watch Jared.“ His knee twitched a bit.

Went out like a light. Just slow breaths and stinky feet left.
 
She stared.

Fucking stared at the idiot that collapsed onto the floor.

"Oh for fucks sake!" She grumbled aloud, startling the man that had no interest in divulging his true name. Monroe looked at him exasperatedly. "Well? Be fucking useful once in your life and either help me get this dumb fucking numbnut off the ground, or fucking cower or something while I disarm you again and tie you up." She would do the latter anyway once he helped her.

"Would he mind if..." The man stopped speaking and simply nodded. He stooped, arms hooking under Trevor and lifting him up and carried him into the room Meredith had been in. There was a fainting sofa, and Monroe was sure it didn't get it's name because of Trevor and his dramatic fall. Monroe knew the man was asking if Trevor would mind being put to rest in the same room as someone he had just skewered her throat with a knife.

What Trevor didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Monroe already had rope in her hand and a knife in the other, a warning at the man's back. He didn't fight, probably thinking she would hit him with fire but he didn't know that Monroe had gone through her reserves.

This was a shit show of a day, but somehow Trevor had led them here. Straight through any bullshit of tracking someone and interrogating others. He would hate it, but Monroe would have questions for him once he woke up.

She just didn't expect him to be unconscious all day and night.

By then, Monroe had taken many meetings and interrogations about the events of the day, but due to Trevor being unresponsive, they ceased their questions for the day. Monroe had Trevor moved to a room in the inn she had been staying in, had kept the key. Did she sleep at all that night? No. Not when she had letters to read through before remembering to hand it in to the Guards of this town. Half of them were unsure if they had the right to interrogate her, wondering if Monroe had a higher rank than them and if it was disrespectful to question her.

When Trevor would wake up, he would see a handheld bell on the bedside table. When rung, Monroe would knock at his door before unlocking it.
 
Water was up to his waist. Not the cold, alerting kind. It wrapped about him instead, like a warm, weighted blanket. Smart water knew how to drown a man. But it had stopped getting higher. Something pulled at his hand, and...bit him?

Woke up too slow for panic. Too spent for a proper flinch. Was this the same room?

Looked down to make sure. Warm water could mean many things, but none of them were good for the dreaming. Alright, at least that went well.

Fuckup was moving edge of sight, like one who most definitely wasn't a biter of fingers. Allegedly.

„Lil' asshole...did they get us?“ Ate some of the sofa scruff as he drooled the words into the air. Coughed it out.

No, it wasn't Sitha hoisting their asses. That would've hurt less, he imagined.

Hopefully the little fucker wouldn't get poisoned for biting into his sorry ass. Tried to stand up, but sitting was his limit. Sometimes asses got heavy, lazy. Suppose he was long overdue a day like that.

Grabbed the cat by the scruff before it could work its way through a satchel that barely held together. No. He hadn't squirreled last of that meat away only to be robbed. But being knocked out was hungry work. Perhaps they could both get a nibble as they figured stuff out.

The container opened to cheers in the meow section. Tiny motherfucker was all nuzzle and purr – like they'd always been the bestest of buddies. Some people were like that too...tiny traitors.

The two of them were both nose deep in grease before he noticed the handbell. That shit was funny. Was he supposed to call someone in...like an infirm grandma?

Fuck it, he'd play along.

Ring, ring, motherfucker.
 
"About fucking time." She sighed, standing up from the floor where she was the lone ship to a sea of love letters written mainly by one author. Her legs ached, protesting at the stretch as she came to stand straight and became aware of the strains in her neck and shoulders.

The bell even held a certain sarcasm, which made Monroe smirk at the idea of Trevor ringing it.

She crossed the hall, his door not too far, and knocked. Taking her time placing the key into the keyhole and slowly turning it, giving him enough time and warning. "Had to check it wasn't the cat knocking it over." She snorted, seeing the two thick as thieves and helping themselves to the saved meats. "Cats tend to do that, apparently."


Monroe wagged the key and placed it on the table closest to the door.

"The town idiots want to question you." No need to ask if he was alright. How he was feeling. The question was going to be asked as soon as she stood inside the room, but the sight of man and cat eating was strangely all the answer she needed for how he fared after sleeping like the dead. "Something along the lines of making sure I didn't orchestrate the most dramatic cover up with a story of my own design."

She watched him, leaning against the door frame with her arms moving to cross over her chest. Her face was exhausted, eyes slightly red from not getting any sleep as of yet. In fact, the world held a blur to them, around the edges of her periphery. She had been reading for too long, analysing inked words and the promises of two lovers. Only... Monroe could see the story from the letters.

"Meredith was a silvertongue... did you know that?"
 
Looked like she hadn't slept a lick. Wasn't sure what to make of that. Monroe looked like the practical sort, so surely she had a good reason not to rest...or at least a drunk one. Sober people really should know better than to pull allnighters.

„You look...“ Well like shit, but you know...you don't harsh someone's mellow when they might've saved your ass. „Want some?“ waved the meat around. It was the last Vin would ever make, given how the rest of the fuckers refused to loot the place. All ash now.

The lil' guy was none too happy and hissed at the food growing legs. „Oi! None a that.“ Nuzzled the critter. „You know what we do to evil cats?“ twonk felt rude, so he flicked the ear instead. „That's right, we eat them.“ Wasn't sure if he ever had cat. But mystery years had mystery meats. He'd probably eat his own foot if push came to shove. Luckily, he never had to make sure.

„They won't blame you for this.“ But sure would be funny if they did. Story wrote itself – knights falling from grace, and Syr fucking Cutmore – really lined up. Felt funny, being the source of trusted information. He imagined they'd be asking Monroe if it was really him who did all that shit. She looked more trustworthy between 'em.

Meredith was...not is..that was good. Hard to imagine someone would survive getting ventilated in the throat – but Trevor was a case in point that sometimes people survive when they shouldn't.

„Something was wrong with her voice. Didn't allow enough time to make sure. Last time someone's voice took me...“ Well, that wasn't proper mealtalk.

„Anyway, you wanna lay down for a bit? Can confirm the sofa won't kill you.“ But it might fuck your spine. Even after five good minutes of stretching, still felt tight.

Yep, definitely the same room where he knifed Meredith. That was alright, he would've slept right in her grave if he had to. Dead was dead. And the living needed things beyond decorum.
 
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Monroe lifted a brow as she stared at him, realising for the first time since meeting him that perhaps Trevor could hold out on his own after all.

"No, I will be right. Mind is too awake for sleep." She looked back, to where her room was a little ways down the hall, where the letters had been left all over the floor and a small space of where she had been sat amongst it all. "Read the letters. All night, in fact. Needed a distraction." Something more than ale or tussling in the sheets with someone.

Monroe dragged her gaze back to him, seeing the meat and shaking her head. Save it for the runt he had picked up. In fact, they had dumped the feline onto Monroe before sending her off. She had been grimacing the entire time carrying the little beast all the way to the inn she had been staying in, and a medic tending to Trevor. Monroe was glad he hadn't been awake to see her dump the satchel bag into the room after the medic left and locked his room with the key.

"Turns out it was a love turned sour. Gregg moved on when she did not... she threatened him and his family... but her earlier letters, she revealed her magic in the subtlest way that I don't think poor sweet Gregg understood. She could convince the wind to blow another way if she wanted, perhaps even manipulate fire when there had not been much there to begin with." It would explain why the flame tasted of anger and rage, flavours Monroe tasted on her tongue once and could recognise. "Pretty lucky for us that you... you know, handled her."

Again, suspicion. Something left unsaid, for Monroe was not sure what sort of trickery Trevor dealt in.

"Turns out she could have been worse than she ended up being."
 
Surprise crept up his face at the rejection of the meat. Sleep sure, whatever. But this really was a good meal, even if it did have some whiskers stuck to it. Come to think of it, she was a noble...right, right... would need plates and stabby bits to make it look proper. Well, sucks to be her – more for him and Fuckup.

The story, as she told it, made sense. People handled rejection poorly. Luckily, it was usually self destruction, self loathing. When it spilled over, became everyone's problem. Couldn't they have just knifed or poisoned each other like one of those cheesy tragedies they put in Ceax? Would save everyone a whole lot of grief. Much easier to mourn a child when there was someone left to do it.

Aaah, and there it was! The suspicion. Guess it was only a matter of time. That was alright, he was a shady fucker.

„Yeah, lucky.“ Laughed at that, mouth full.

Of course she could've been worse, sinking rarely had a bottom. The expression itself was flawed. There was no rock there, only water replaced by quicksand. Always another way to go lower, only the pressure changed. And swimming back up once you were there? It was hard to see the way up for what it was, some days.

„Knew a guy back at the siege of Garth. Didn't sleep four days straight, only kept up by booze, snort and worse things. So when he finally keeled over with a job to do, it got a bunch of people killed.“ Survivors wanted to kill him when they found him. But it wasn't a thing you could do. Cause you couldn't break useful tools, not even when they had it coming.

„'Sides, you're already tough enough, got both Hoof and...Jason, was it?“ Well, whatever their names – it was done. „Could just be my turn for watch duty.“ Shrugged. „But, ya know, your ass – your business.“
 
Monroe snorted, but a small smile made it's presence known. "So, you'd put your money on me if I were to go up against Meredith?"

The idea was comical, but closer to the truth that Monroe liked her odds too. Would have gone into such a wager if she knew she would come out on top. They would never know now if Monroe could resist a silvertongue. She figured she would throw a knife or shoot an arrow faster than honeyed words spoken her way.

Her gaze fell on him again, staring a moment.

"You are well, yes? If I were to leave soon to return back to Astenvale... you're not going to be..." Her face gradually fell into a series of scrunched expressions, unsure how to ask if one would be alright once they parted ways. She had made an effort to forget names, to not think back on people that wouldn't matter in the future to her. Trevor, for some fucking reason, earned a place. He had a name she wouldn't dismiss, and she had to reason that is what because he was a kindred person in not trusting vegetarians. "If you need coin, to... feed that guy," her head tipped towards the cat, "I have a letter from Meredith detailing where she hides her hard earned coins... and it would be a shame for the squirrels to try and figure out how to spend it."

Meaning, there was money worth taking. No lives were at risk now, and Monroe certainly did not need to line her pockets deeper with more coin.
 
His brow went up enough to pause the next bite. Was that what she heard? Strange. Sure, she could probably take Meredith. Many people could. But he figured Monroe would get her ass charmed mid second sentence about justice or somesuch. But just like he knew to shut it with Tooths, he didn't make a peep this time around either.

Was never really about blowing smoke up either of their asses. It was just about tired. And tired needed to rest every now and then. Was something of an expert on the subject. But people shouldn't be forced to do right by themselves. Especially not by random roadfucks. They had moms for that.

„Head's a drum. Hand's seen better days.“ Shrugged. Course he was alright, he was alive. Everything else was just shades. All his bits were still attached, and teeth accounted for. When it really came down to it – the long rest felt like a forced vacation, really. „Everything works well enough.“

The mention of coin would've made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention had they not been singed by most recent fuckery. Trevor did hate waste, but this felt dangerously close to being paid for killing Meredith. And he wasn't doing that any more. They'd burn her like she burned all those people around her, and that would be something close to the justice Monroe liked. It would also allow the mourning to start. Hard to cry when there was shit left to do, fuckers left to catch.

It all wrapped around more neatly than he'd hoped. A silvertongue...hmm...shame it wasn't real silver. That shit would've sold for a fortune. Not like the dead girl would need it either way.

„I don't kill people for coin.“ Stopped eating fully to make sure it was understood. It wasn't just a oneoff thought. That part of him was in the past. And if he could leave coin behind, then surely he could also learn to leave the violence behind too...someday.

„Should go to Gregg.“ However much cats ate, he could steal or beg or earn even. Sides, maybe he could also dump the little fucker on Monroe. Wasn't sure what kind of lives people lived around the Monastery, but it was surely better than whatever was next for him.

Then again, maybe Gregg was one of the fucked up bodies on the upper floor. After flesh got worked beyond a point, it was hard to account for which bits belonged to which guy. Wasn't even sure of the number of bodies, let alone their names. „And if he's a goner, Hoof and Jackson could use it.“ They would kill them for this, he was pretty sure. „Might've been Meredith's voice, but people don't care about voices. Only hands.“ And those two had gotten theirs bloody enough for folks to remember.

Didn't know how much Monroe had already handed over. Pretty sure he could bullshit the rest, though.

Wherever the coin went, sure as shit wasn't a squirrelhoard.
 
Monroe loosed a shallow breath, "Yes, I remember. You don't do that no more... I don't need it, gods know that, but... if you don't want it just for wanting it..." She shrugged. "Then I will have it donated to the Lost At Sea orphanage."

Have it be put to use if no one was to claim it.

She looked down at her hands, a cut or two here and there from handling the papers. "I cannot stay long, so I will have to accept I will never know the end of all of this. I have to return to Astenvale..." Just as she had planned yesterday. "I paid for your room, by the way, so no need to worry about covering the costs. You got another night, since I wasn't sure if you were going to wake up, but the innkeep insisted they would throw you out if you didn't wake up after tomorrow."

A small smile, for Monroe would have liked to witness such an image.

"If you ever come by Astenvale, and need a drink, ask for me. Any knight will point you my way." This, she knew, may not be the case depending on who he asked. Not many wanted to be blamed for sending someone over to her. "A drink to say thank you?" She shrugged, unused to having to make conversation before parting ways. She was the type to pack up and go, no conversation needed, and she knew on her return back home that she was going to hear an earful of it all.
 
Watched her a good moment. Because this is where you called bullshit on people and their big mouths. Thing is...Monroe seemed the sort to believe all that flowery justice nonsense. If she wanted to help feed and house a bunch of kinless and starving little fuckers, let her. There were so many more wasteful ways to spend that money.

So he nodded. Because the only words he had were poisonous. Good or not, posturing wasn't to be trusted. People who truly believed in doing good didn't need to sell it to Trevor. Only themselves. If she needed her goodness to be witnessed, suppose it didn't make it less good...only cheaper, somehow.

„Maybe the little fuckers make something of themselves, eh?“ rose the meat up like a toast. Some moments always struggled to stay dry.

„Thank you for...“ the drinks, the room, saving my ass? „..Woulda been a fun thing to see. The old bugger making me flap out the door like a baby bird.“

Right, so that was it then. Got up, to the protest of his closest ally. Wiped his hand on both the shirt and cat as he offered it. The hand. Not the cat. Not yet anyway. „You needn't get me drunk to get a thank you.“ Nodded. „But I might just find you.“
 
Monroe crossed the distance slowly, fighting a smile. She took his hand, gave it a firm shake that spoke of all the time they spent in the last day. "At least it would be a cheap thank you. Two drinks until you're cooked, right?"

When she dropped his hand, Monroe found herself turning away until she took a few steps backwards. "Good luck on your future endeavours, Trevor. Take care of that cat."

Because she was getting out of here before he could palm it off to her. She would protest, insist the cat bonded to him for their shared loved of smoked meats.

But even then, Monroe gave him a final nod before turning to leave the room. She would be gone, packed and leaving this town she could not remember the name of, within the hour.
 
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