A disappointing palmreader, huh?

“ When is it ever. I thought the whole point was to tell people things they already know? “ He countered, inspecting her face with something like challenge.

“ Or something roundabout. Whatever could apply to anyone. “

That’s how he’d felt when Mirka had insisted on reading the moons for him, for practice in the darker winter nights the way Old Verna had taught her. That she could read the unnerved disbelief on his face had only managed to make her smile wider, unoffended.

“ What do you charge? Maybe I’ll ask you to read mine, sometime. Though I've only the one. “ Adjusted where his hand rested on her back, the warm skin beside the spine.

" But isn't one's left the more important? The side where the heart is. "
 
„Sometimes a reading is just our hopes going with them. Palm, leaves, bones...“ Wondered at all the things one could read. „Hardly makes a difference.“

Already had her hope cut into him.

„When next we meet, I'll find something to read.“ Could be as simple a speck of meal between his teeth. Because only the story mattered to the reader, not the page.

„Staying with us tonight?“
 
It was all promise enough, for one that hardly ever saw chance acquaintance twice. A fine little lie to make it all less awkward, when they would eventually part forever. He could touch her just the little more fondly for it, bobbing his head. From the motion it stilled into a light keel, expression mellowing out as he considered her sudden inquiry.

“ I don’t know. “ Honest, if torn. “ If you’ll have me — And got the room for it. Would hate to be a bother here, as much as I do enjoy being one in my professional life. “ And those officers dawn well deserve it. He only had to hope Lilah was used to his wanderings, at this point. His grip slipped downward, lending more air betwixt them. A better look at her, while there still was some to be had.

“ You want to get dressed? “
 
And maybe it was time for such things. More slid than hopped off the lap. Legs struggling to get legging again. Had she really been still for so long?

„Suppose we could.“ Clawed toes picking up her own underwear. „Would you like me to help?“ Gods knew she may have helped a bit too much when they were coming off.

It was hard to imagine him being a bother. Seemed nice. Too nice, perhaps.

They could always find more place somewhere. Huge as he was, he was still near peoplesized. They'd had stranger guests before. No one would much notice or care. Wagonfriends came in all shapes and sizes.
 
She slipped away, just so, like the friendliest little watersnake. Or a cat, perhaps? And he got to feel the wrath of too much sitting still on the hard floor, mainly about his numb arse and stiff legs. He stretched both limbs straight in a grimace, knees clicking, slow about the movement lest he kick Vyn over in the cramped space.

That’d be the charm, wouldn’t it. Brought arms over chest and rotated at the spine next, straightening where he’d been hunched in their mutual cradling. Stole glances at Vyn as she struggled and picked up her own clothes. All filed to take with, whenever the time was to leave.

“ I can manage most of this, I think. “ He started with gentle conviction, leaning over to reach for his shirt. Pulled it over to his lap and figured which fucking way was right, that he might gather it up and put it on.

“ That though— “ Bounced a glance and a nod at his headwrap where she’d dropped it. “ Is a little fiddly onehanded and without a mirror. So if you’ve an eye and a hand to lend— “ Paused to slip his head through the wide collar of his shirt, look rowing down to the sleeves as he begun working his arms into them.

“ I’ll take both. “
 
Underwear was cooperative on the way up. So was the robe. Always wondered why she undressed in such a fashion. Almost like she was a fugitive and no second was to spare either way. The boots were... somewhere. But it wasn't that cold, she could figure those out come light.

Squeezed by him, careful not to get knocked or hooked. Top of the tail pushing into the armpit, movement tickling like a most mischievous candle.

She'd never really asked for forgiveness when she broke him. Supposed this was it. Her picking the damn wrap up, him pretending it wasn't a big deal. Luckily for him, they'd performed as pirates before. And every good pirate story had a oneeye.

„Easy now.“ Wasn't sure why she talked to him like he was scared.

Pulled up behind him, each step untying the wrap fully. One, two, three – and she hesitated at the fourth fold – because he did have a big head. Pulled around his forehead and made a loose knot at the back. It was difficult to guess hairline on the bald, but she eyeballed it. Pulled it down, over the onceeye. Wondered why he kept it wrapped up. Did the wind get into the hole too much? Or was it perhaps for other people?

Wasn't sure if it was her best work as she tightened the back.

Come to think of it...

„Jens, are you a pirate?“ he had the look for it.
 
He stilled up as she slipped behind him, letting her work through the slightest fidget as he fixed his collar and other fit of his shirt in the meanwhile. Left buttons open so frills and wrists could breathe, just straightening the folds, gathers and other taut spots. Where the sleeve had spun about its axis or where the other ended oversoon, sewn up to fit snug.

His first response was a laugh, low from deep in the chest and relatively well-mannered for how absurdly funny he’d found the question itself.

“ No. “ Tried at the wrap she’d finished in a tug at the forehead, picking at the fold over what he was missing. Approved how tight she’d made it in a nod.

“ Just a regular run of the mill renegade. And doing time for it. “ Five years. It had been four, thus far, but good behaviour earned the occasional leave. A week or two, in a year.

“ Why? Figure I’ve swagger enough for a pirate? Fugitive looks? Storybook, maybe. “

Inclined his chin and flashed a grin, sharp as a razorblade.

“ How are you with a sword? Because I’m pretty close to abysmal. And that’s on basic, non-pirate sailor terms. “
 
It was hard to imagine Jens as an outlaw of any kind. So she was glad the gloom hid the embarrassing twitch of her ears.

Patted his shoulder. „You'd manage. I'm sure.“ And he would. His spirit was something to be appreciated. Vyn'd seen partless lose themselves to self-pity as early as a finger or two. Then there was this guy – twice fucked and still mostly himself. There was something to admire in that. Even if she could see him slipping

Wondered what he was serving time for. But it was none of her business.

„I'm a shit fighter.“ Never really needed to fight. „Got more sense knocked into me the few times I've tried.“

You learned eventually. Learned and stopped trying to be things you weren't.

„Come on, renegade. Let's find you a bed.“
 
“ Sense, huh? “ He hummed, wondering what her definition of that was. Or what sort of fights one got into, on those roads she walked. The things she did. Could’ve sworn he’d smelled more spirit in her, the fight and the fire, felt it in the touches or some such.

He’d been wrong before.

“ Nothing wrong with that, going with the flow. The sea teaches you that, as much as a wagon running fast downhill, I reckon. Or a well-placed swordpoint. “ Picked his coat from where he’d tossed it, leaving it folded over one arm and made to follow where ever she led.

“ But you’ve fight in you, I think. Otherwise. “

In ways not measured in blades. When it matters.
 
Fight in her? Suppose she did. Never could figure out what the right thing to fight was, though. Probably better that way.

The latch gave way easy – the old thing locked more in spirit than in practice. But if you were going to get caught anyway, better if your pants weren't all the way down.

He was pretty big – so getting him placed would require some logistics. Could've always left him in the storage Wagon. But that felt wrong somehow. He was people, not stuff.

„Come, Jem will know who has room.“ Probably him. He rarely slept. Even less so in his own Wagon.
 
The wagon rocked on exit, just as it had on entry, and he closed the door behind the two of them. Did it softly, no fanfare and relatively noiseless, like there was a way to be subtle about where they’d gone and the implications of it all. And he kept his smile, nonchalant. Enjoyed the cool air filtering in through the weave of his shirt, unbothering to put on his coat.

“ I’ll take your word for it. “ When it came to Jem. As he had, thus far. Here’s hoping he doesn’t hold my questionable fifeism against me.

“ Maybe he'll fit me in one of those pockets, alongside the other cursed objects. "

Only half of it a joke. It'd been a rather— overcast parting.
 
Shook her head, serious.

„You don't want to be in Jem's pocket.“ Caught herself there. „Not that he's terrible or anything. Just has a bunch of cursed stuff.“

For all the beauty of Elumspeak, its most magnificent trait was how they didn't really need to speak at all. Not to each other, anyway. Her right went up as if testing for wind. Thumb over the first knuckle before folding back down with a pinky held out.

Bran shrugged in the distance before pointing North, beyond Jem's Wagon. Probably meant he was touching up the runes. Had she and Jens spent that long in storage? Funny. Didn't feel like that much time had passed. Come to think of it, he had struggled to stand. So, maybe there was something to that.

„Jem's... uh... working.“ And she knew exactly where they'd find him.
 
He watched the gestures and communications with bouncing attention, curiousity bright and patient on his face. First search a bust, but no matter that. It was easy enough to fall into Vyn’s brisk and confident wake. He buoyed his head.

“ Working— Rather late, isn’t it? ” Muttered as a guildsman, baffled by another’s professional practices.

“ What on? “ Full aware things usually were revealed in time, if one paid attention. Still had to ask, too fast on the draw.
 
Time had little meaning to them, beyond the obvious. There was Road time and idle time. No one had quite enough on the move, but when they came to a rest – no one really cared about propriety. Day, night – whatever. They did best they could with what time they had. There were worse things than working late into the night.

And Jem worked on... what did Jem do? Whenever she tried to recall, it felt fuzzy. Guess they all did a bit of everything. Few of them could claim to only ever have one job among the Wagons.

Not like it mattered. It was Jem.

„He'll be touching up the runes. Does so every couple of evenings.“ And sure enough, she could him now, hunched beside a smaller fire.

What she couldn't see, but Jens could – was the tall, pale figure standing next to him.

The short deva looked to the tall creature as it pointed at the approaching pair. Handed it something bundled. Then the creature was gone.

And Jem waved them over, his eyes never leaving Jens.
 
“ Runes. “ Repeated, neutral enough for how vague it was, restraint rife in the following silence. Chose not to ask further for his ignorance. It was Jem, so it made sense enough. Shroudworks.

“ Well, if that isn’t properly— “

He didn’t finish the sentence, the tail of it falling off into mere stare. Saw himself being pointed out and glanced past his shoulder, as if to check if there was another of them things in there. More tall pale fuckers.

“ Proper. “ Muttered more to himself than Vyn, remaining at her heel with well-mannered pace. Tried to assume a smile, for how his immediate company remained unaffected. And he’d let himself be led away by her before, with so much trust.

“ I see you had help. “ He tried, pointing at thin air by the man with the cursed coat. Or— fucking something. Looked directly at Jem, innocently, as if unaware of being stared at.

“ Or company. I hope it wasn’t us that vanished it? “

Was it shy?
 
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