Why was it, when Rois opened his eyes, the sunlight was not comprised of brilliant whites and yellows and was now a deep, rustic orange?

Why was said sun so low in the sky?

Oh no.

The butcher sits up suddenly in a startle, round eyes pinned upon the window, the crowd noise from below was far quieter now, whispers compared to the jubilation of the masses when he’d fallen asleep. The first floor of the building gave the view of market stalls being packed away but sadly failed to spare him a glance at the towns clock, it rested upon a wall somewhere a few buildings down, and without the luxury of such a device within the inn room… Rois does not know what time it is. Late-ish. So much for smoking time. The memories of a pleasant dream about the sun and the rich taste of chocolate against his tongue are quickly swept aside to make way for barely restrained panic because the story of how he came to be in an inn was slowly coming together, seizure, anger, cigarette, Lucero, Lucero--

Because of course shes halfly sprawled upon the beds edge, halfly in a heap on the ground, fast, fast asleep with an arm outstretched towards him. A pause to think, had the good knight been doing some secret sleep hexing with those sparsely explained magickal emotion powers?! Maybe a charm of some kind-- wait, even worse-- the red-head begins to frantically pat the purse in his pocket and deduces that it feels similar to what it had last felt like… so no robbing. No bed-sharing, either. Her intentions are as vague as ever, she is a spirit of chaos that would never do as expected and did not deem it fit to act in any kind of predictable manner, the worst kind of person, the hardest kind to trick. A short, sharp breath through his nose.

He’d have to try harder to be obscure.

If it were before the actions of the alley, back when they were relatively new to one another, Rois would have smacked the poor woman upside the head roughly in order to jolt her awake. The motion instead shares the same intensity, but it is unconsciously and notably… kinder. Fingers barely even curled against the warmth of the contact, not a grab, just… a touch at the slumbering knights thin shoulders; and then rapid, repetitive shake,

“Hey, hey,” That low, smouldering voice is still thick with the fleeing of sleep, contrasted against eyes that are cartoonishly round. “Idiot, why did you fall asleep too? Couldn’t you have done anything else? It’s late, goddamnit-- the time--”

And Him.

Rois was no longer ‘Him’, that title had been stolen by another, a dutiful and overbearing protective figure that neither wanted to see in the moment; and yet, fate was not that kind. The red-head could not distinguish the voice of Syr Silas who was very much below the window at the resting places front (and nor was the butcher paying attention to anyone talking outside), instead seeking his previously discarded tunic to throw it on like a teen fearful of being caught in his high school lovers bedroom. Was acting like it, too. Panic was smeared across that shadowed form in the coldest shade of blue, rationale was arguing with sentiment, why was the man stressing about it…? Who cared if they were caught again? Did it matter if… the male knight, he which the violent hand and twisted brows… came to punish Lucero again for the breaking of clearly barked orders?

Did it matter…?

... Why did it matter…?

“Get up.” A nudge to the womans thigh with a foot (yet again, the motion was soft), crouching low to retrieve worn leather boots; it was best not to think about it. Maybe later, when danger was not so close at hand. It was undeniable the wonders of rest had done for that poor rattled brain-- Rois felt clear, felt confident, like things could be planned out instead of acted upon instinctively-- and maybe in another life-time he’d have rested upon the bed and turned heavy, unreadable eyes upon Lucero’s pretty form to watch her shoulders rise and fall gently with breath… but not in this timeline.

“You’re going to get in trouble.”
 
Only one shake of her shoulders was needed to have Lucero spring back into action, dazed, sleep still clinging to the corner of her consciousness, a big fat red imprint on her cheek from a skinny wrist. Her bangs were a mess, half of them sticking up like sprouts, going in every direction, the other half sticking to her brow where sweat had formed between her forehead and arm.

"We're under attack?" Was the first thing she said, poorly trying to hide the befuddlement sleep often brought to her brain. She had been in the middle of a dream but whatever she had been dreaming over it was too late to try and remember it, but it had been pleasant. She rubbed at her eyes with ungloved fists, doing her best to try and wake herself up.

Leveraging her arm against the bed, she rose, wincing upon realizing that her right foot had fallen asleep. Sometimes the prickly feeling was enjoyable, like the bubbly wine that could be found at certain Altalusian cities in the fancier taverns. Right now it was a nuisance. She went to go and pull out dagger from it's sheath but paused, her ear turned towards Rois.

"What do you mean I'm going to get in trouble?" She asked, awareness slowly filling her voice. She was less asleep now, but just as naive as ever, tilting her head to the side like a curious bird. Oh, how she wanted to go back to sleep in this moment. Lucero covered her yawn with a hand but the yawn was so great that the dainty motion did little in being polite.
 

She is slow to rise, the weight of the situation has not yet come to chase away the aftermath of sleep, that would be addressed but not before shoes were adorned. Rois perches quickly upon the opposite side of the bed and hurriedly laces them up, pulls them tight and uses the moment to try and smother the frustration building within at the sleepy woman’s ever-present stupidity--

“It’s late… we overslept.” There is an accusation there, it is her fault that the future was rapidly looking to have pain as an overarching theme, “I’m not supposed to be here, you’re not supposed to be near me.”

Just in case Lucero needed a little help gathering her scattered thoughts, this time when the red-head swiftly rounds the bed to face her the man begins to shake her erratically and roughly for a few beats by the top of the knights arm-- loudly, so it was clearer now,

“You. Are. Going. To. Get. In. Trouble.”

A release and a sweeping glance to the door of what was now their inn room… at any moment, Silas could come strolling through. It had been nought but luck that none had sought to knock when the pair were both out, but luck alone could only be stretched so far before it shattered and broke under the pressure of keeping them afloat. A straggling thought. Maybe she needed the punishment of the male knights fury to learn. Maybe it would be a reprise of the mountain, physical pain to teach, a dumb puppy that needed not the toy but the rod to understand that life could not be breezed through with a fuzzy head and skipping steps. Eventually the fall would have to come, if only to mean that it never happened again.

Dark thoughts dismissed with a lowly growl, the heel of his hand is brought to a temple. Silence.

Tup. Tup. Tup.

Footsteps… growing louder.

“... Fuck.”
 
Oh…?

Oh.

“Shit,” Rois’s firmer shaking is enough to rattle Lucero’s brain inside her skull until things start making sense, everything suddenly clearer than before instead of feeling like a reflection or if she were partially submerged under water. The issue with being jostled is that her sense of where everything was in the room had been disrupted and because of it the blind Knight reaches out to Rois in an attempt to steady herself.

Back at the Monastery Lucero was often clinging and holding onto others. Even during missions, there was usually someone who took on the role of being her guide. Though she liked to think herself as independent, the truth was that the more missions Lucero went on the more she realized just how dependent she was on others. If her pride and stubbornness won out the consequence was great, like when she was a squire and had gone to the swamp fishing village Luanava that had everything built upon stilts. It was a small village, easy to map out, but everything was above the dangerous waters filled with fish and beasts that loved taking bites out of humans. Even when she had used her shroud-sight to the fullest, she still had fallen off a wooden walkway, lucky to have fallen in a catfish fisherman’s boat.

After that, she had locked her arm around Syr Hinojasa. The next mission she had gone on, Syr Silas took on the role without any complaints about it, at least to her face. She heard him grumble about it in private to the other Knights. Trying to be less of a burden only seemed to make it more frustrating for Syr Silas.

Like now, Rois was clearly annoyed at her. She could see it, but worse than that, she could hear it in his voice. Lucero did feel quite guilty about it, a deep frown settling on her lips as her brows dipped low, causing a crease between her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” she told Rois, sounding quite serious now. “I won’t let you get hurt.” Despite his insistence at her getting in trouble, Lucero still put another’s wellbeing above her own. But that was easy to do. She wasn’t afraid of Syr Silas, she didn’t think him to be abusive. Sure, he had punched her, but that was an accident. Yes, he had dragged her away and lectured and berated her, but that was being he was mad. And when Lucero thought of it like that, it was very easy to forgive Silas.

After all, he had been her eyes, her guide, a pseudo father figure for so long. Lucero needed Silas more than he would ever need her. If she were gone, his life would become easier, one less thing to worry and stress over. So of course she forgave him, even if he never apologized. She always would forgive him at the end of the day.

A heavy hand rapped at her door.

“Lucero?” It was Syr Silas, his dull voice gruff and uneven. Slowly, Lucero turned towards the door. “You’re in there, aren’t you?” If she focused, she could see the mess of emotions swirling inside Syr Silas. He sighed. “C’mon, come outta there, I….” He trailed off mumbling some words that Lucero couldn’t discern. Either he was apologizing or he was getting angry that she wasn’t moving fast enough.

“Rois,” Lucero whispered, “I’ll lead him away from this room.” Louder she said, “I’m coming!” For Syr Silas, in case he was now considering unlocking her door. The blind knight made sure to make a few loud, clobbering steps towards the door. When she turned back, just enough for Rois to see her profile parallel to her shoulder, she was smiling now as she whispered back. “I haven’t forgotten about the cigarette.” But there was no time for her to hold out her hand to Rois, she could only move towards the door and face Syr Silas.

“Ay!”

Her foot, still asleep and tingling with numbness, got caught on her knapsack, tripping her.

“Lucero?” Worry edged the Dusker’s voice like a sharp blade. Something clicked into the iron lock.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I only tripped!” But the door handle was creaking as it turned. “Don’t come in my underwear is showing!” Lucero blurted out with a shrill shout. The door handle no longer turned. Syr Silas cleared his throat. There was a long pregnant pause. Lucero stood back up and viciously kicked her bag out of the way so hard it hit the wall before slumping over. With arms reaching out before her, the blind Knight made her way to the door. It took her longer than she would have liked to find the handle, turning it and opening up the door just enough for her to slide through the gap.

Surprisingly, Lucero could see that Syr Silas hadn’t been suspicious of it. The Dawnling kept her hands behind her back, gripping onto the doorhandle. She smiled up at the much older knight that was struggling with the cat that got his tongue.

“Look,” he said finally, voice firm as if he were angry again, “I’m not doing this because of Yinka, but you know how it is when it comes to me having to apologize.” Another long sigh followed after another long pause. “But how I acted earlier wasn’t okay. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I should have… er, well, you know it wasn’t supposed to be that way. I wanted all of us to…” The knight was silenced by Lucero reaching out to give him a hug, standing on the tips of her toes to comfortably rest her chin over his shoulder, her ear touching Silas’s bare cheek, exactly how she planned it.

“I know. I forgive you.” She said softly as she patted his back, palm thudding dully against his plate armor. “And lucky for you,” the playful lilt of cheerful mischievousness was back in her voice. “All you have to do to make it up to me is get me some food and wine! How easy is that when there’s a mess hall and this inn has a kitchen?” Lucero pulled back. Syr Silas hadn’t wrapped his arms back around her.

But the anxiety he had been feeling was gone, the mounting pressure of giving an apology having dissipated like steam.

“Alright,” Syr Silas said, “But don’t think I’m letting you have more than two plates of food. You eat more than I do.” He gave Lucero his arm and she took it.

“Shroudweaving takes up a lot of energy. Especially if I’m healing multiple times a day.”

“That’s because you haven’t been working at only using what is necessary. Sure, you can weave but you’re overfilling the pot with power. It’s messy, like putting too much water in a pot of rice and the heat’s too high so before you know it you have water and rice dripping all over the stove.” with every step, the sounds of the two Knights talking began to blend in with the usual din of an inn.
 

There we go, now she was beginning to get a clue, he was fast learning the swirls of her fingertips in their ability to often be upon him… no flinching, no murmuring of anger, Rois does not buck her off and allows the knight to cling to the curve of a warm bicep in an effort to ground herself.

‘I won’t let you get hurt.’​

The irony was thick. In the momentary panic the notion that her wide eyes could glimpse emotions had flown entirely out the window (like he soon would be), the butchers response to her is a wry ‘ha ha’, but… he is worried. Worried about being struck about the skull, fearful of the idea that a fist fight could spiral into the dangerous, all it would take was the pulling of bandages-- a single blow to the head-- would a calvary of knights come to syr Silas’s rescue? Would she get her stupid ass in the way again and be battered twice for the anger of men-- Rois produced a low murmuring sound, like the knickering of a horse before battle. Uncertainty. There was no part of his violent heart that liked being submissive to other men, but this is what being near females got you, ire and trouble and--

Knock knock.

He could not suppress the flinch at the sound no matter how hard he wished to, immediately startling away from Lucero and her reassuring words to catch himself quickly at the windows edge-- it is opened quietly, the squeak of its hinges are soft and thankfully lost to the wind,

‘I’ll lead him away from this room.’​

“Lead him away from my life, please.” Came the heated mumble from across the way, barely audible yet still so full of annoyance… ruby eyes glitter with contradictory emotion that she’d never see, “And I hope you never get that cigarette."

I hope I never see you again.

Rois is a butcher. He is a large man who happens to be half demon. When you have all your points in strength you had little for anything else, no agility, no durability, no speed, the breeze causes his red locks to dance about him as he peers to the ground below… it was just a single floor up! Surely he could handle that much…! No, it is somewhat nerve-wracking, the frame creeks as hands take up the old wood and carefully… carefully… the man first makes an attempt to hang there. This goes well enough, leaves him dangling from the ledge with eyes that say ‘what am I doing’, and mouth twisted in a sneer, Gods, he could somewhat hear the words of that pitiful bastard. Not all of them, but enough to know he was grovelling like a dog in order to save his skin from anger that Lucero did not possess towards him. Oh well, he prepares to try and do that cool thing that rogue-like figures did when leaping from great heights, hitting the ground in an elegant roll and springing to feet as if it meant nothing at all--

Oh, he rolls alright, and barely manages to avoid breaking an ankle and leg. Doesn’t get up at the end either. Rois stifles a groan of pain by taking his tongue between sharp teeth and takes a moment to just sit there with eyes screwed shut, ow, back, ow, legs, fuck, some passerby stares between him and window having seen the idiot drop like a rock from it. Now was not the time to feel old and sore. Now was the time to get to unsteady feet and take off in the direction of the towns exist, waiting till he was out of ear-shot to yell out at no-one without a care in the world who turned their heads to look,

“Fucking women, fucking knights, those stupid cunts-- I am never coming this far north again. Never. Why, all I wanted was nice things, and now the damned stalls are closed and I have to walk three miles and the worst thing is, the worst thing is, I didn’t even get to try the sausages on a stick--”

[ FIN. ]​
 
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