the house guest. (nel + murdoch)

[Nel Sayo]

16th Day of Spring, 510 AV

Nel, despite the harsh realities of living a life at sea, was kind of a spoiled brat. Syon had done his best to make up for the first two decades of her existence, and so she'd wanted for nothing aboard the Bright-Eyed Mariner. Never went hungry, always had shoes and clothes and a story before bed. And he'd shared a cot with her so she didn't have to sleep in the hammocks every night. The cot was small but so was she, and they'd figured out a kind of tangled arrangement whereby her feet always stayed warm, and his arms always stayed about her, and eventually she couldn't sleep without that sense of security, of being held onto so she wouldn't just drift away.

She'd started out on the floor, like she said she would. After Murdoch had left, she'd locked the door like he told her to, and then she'd taken a bath. Crawled into the oversized chemise she used as a nightgown and curled up on the floor by the hearth, under her traveling blanket. She'd managed to stay there for at least an hour, before she started shivering. Reluctantly -- almost guiltily -- she'd given up and crept into his empty bed, and from there, within minutes, she was asleep.

When he came home, there was fresh water in the pale and she'd stirred the fire into a dull, homey glow. Her things were tucked neatly by his rudimentary bookshelf so that everything remained as clean and orderly as he seemed to prefer. There was food, in case he wanted it, too. Because Nel didn't know how to share space without sharing everything else; she was used to having to share with at least a dozen men, almost everything.

Out of all the black, and sprawled across the cot as she was, it wasn't a wonder that Syon had taught her to dress as she did. Long white limbs, the same climbing pattern of silvery scales wound about her legs from the tops of her toes, and the one arm slung across her face. Seashells and beads and braids a-spill across the pillow. With her head tilted to the side, one could more clearly discern the mark on the side of her throat -- like a tattoo, but with mercury instead of ink, a whirl of silver in a tiny, intricate design. Divine.

She didn't wake up when he came in, must have been exhausted. No sounds at all, just shallow breathing that seemed to sigh from more than just her nose, though what that meant was anyone's guess. She looked peaceful though, and one had to wonder just what sort of dreams carried her away. Whether they were portentous or not; if they were, could she even recognize it.

[Murdoch]

Murdoch liked festivals the best. Nights spent in revelry, a hundred pockets to choose from and half of them too drunk to notice a coin or two gone missing. It was the best time for criminals like him - when the guards were looking for cutpurses and amateurs who ran away at the sight of a Knight's tabard instead of raising a glass and wishing them a quiet night. The best time, when people's guards were down and their tongues were loose, and most of all their pursestrings never closed.

He had enough to get him through the next few days, even if he did have to cover Nel's meals or whatever else she needed to get by. Or rather, he had enough to cover whatever might be her "share" of their takes for the next few days. The good thing about being the one with the coin in hand was that the other person had no idea how many you had in your pocket.

When he finally dragged into his apartment an hour or two before dawn, he was exhausted and more than a little tipsy, having traded a few rounds here and there in order to get people's money in the open. But he'd also treated himself to a honey-cake on the way home, and was licking the last of the syrup from his thumb as he peered around the gloomy apartment. He was damn-near elated to see that order had been maintained, having half-expected her to act like any other dunderheaded girl and fling her clothes over every available surface. A soft snort as he took a moment and looked down at the perfection of her form - sweet gods, how had Syon never hit that? Honor-stuffed fool, that man. Murdoch would consider fucking his actual sister if she looked like that, much less some slave he picked up off the streets.

But then he yawned, and shook his head a little, and finally just started dragging his clothes off to hang over the back of his chair. He picked up a small roll of cloth from the fireplace and shook it out to reveal a pair of cheap linen sleeping pants, toasty and warm from the hearth, and hauled them on with a sigh of contentment. He didn't bother with a shirt, since this was his house and he'd wear what he always wore. Firelight gleamed off an expanse of compact muscle beneath hard-worn skin, turning scar tissue silver against the shadows. Lash-marks across his back, a dozen healed knife wounds dotting each arm, and a wicked scar that started at his shoulder and looped around his collarbone and down over his heart - a gift from someone who'd been more clumsy than him at slitting throats.

A few more steps brought him back over to the bed, and he let himself stare at her a few more moments before he finally just mumbled "To hell with it" and crawled into bed beside her. Rolled over on his side, just in case she woke up and decided to stab him, and was wondering what that sea-and-starlight scent was when he tumbled into sleep.

Morning, though, would find them in a completely different arrangement. He'd grown up on the streets, used to huddling for warmth, and though his body lacked for none it was still ruled by habit. So one of those scarred arms had found its way around Nel's waist, his head pillowed on her shoulder and his nose buried against her neck where he lay sprawled on his stomach across the majority of the bed. Snoring softly, of course, because he was a manly man.

[Nel Sayo]

At some point in the night, she'd tucked her feet under his legs to keep them warm, and snuggled closer under his arm because that just felt safer. Should've felt safer, anyway. And where he was a furnace of heat all on his own, Nel lacked a certain natural warmth, herself. Something just shy of cool about her skin, especially when one brushed the almost metallic, smooth rise of a strip of scales.

Consciousness came crashing in at one point, and those pale blue eyes popped open with a rapid blink of long, platinum eyelashes. Though she stared at the ceiling for a minute, as if seeing something else entirely, before reality sort of tilted, and settled, and she remembered where she was -- a hitch in her breath, as she shifted just a fraction and realized how tangled they were.

Like it wasn't uncomfortable enough before.

"Doc," she said quietly, tentatively withdrawing her feet from their cozy cave of warmth beneath his legs. She didn't want to get accidentally punched in the face, or throttled, and she knew plenty of men who came awake violently even if they didn't mean to. Not that she was entirely sure Murdoch wouldn't mean to. She went on a bit plaintively, "I can't feel my arm."

[Murdoch]

A grumbly growl was her only answer as his arm tightened around her waist. Some part of him registered the complaint, though, because he scooted a bit further down on the bed and just burrowed his face against her ribs, hauling the blanket more securely over both of them.

"G'back t'sleep," he sighed, his eyes never bothering to open.

[Nel Sayo]

She inhaled a little sharply when he pressed his face into her side; but she didn't jerk away or kick at him or anything, which was probably for the best. Nel was a genuinely comfortable person, all appearances aside, she just wasn't used to...this kind of...snuggling, from someone she so frequently expected would gut her insides if he found out they were gold-plaited. Not that they were. Just...hypothetically. She didn't know, or anything, obviously, because she'd never tried to cut her own guts out to see for herself. Anyway.

She was trying to think of something to say that might convince him that it was better to be awake, except...her tummy growled. Just a low purr, almost catlike, but more insistent. The monster.

"I'm hungry," she murmured.

And risked lifting a hand to pet him. Just once. Feed me.

[Murdoch]

"Mmph," he replied, frowning against her nightshirt before rubbing his cheek against it a moment.

"Fine," he grumbled, and then leveraged himself up with one arm. As soon as he was sitting up, though, he just grabbed Nel by the waist and hauled her over to the other side of the bed, the sheets still warm from where he'd lain, and fell face-first into her now-abandoned spot. "There," he mumbled into the pillow, "you're free. Go... something," he said with a flap of his hand before hauling at the covers again and dragging them up to his chin. "I'ma sleep another hour. 's a fruit vendor across the street."

A very grumpy manly man.

[Nel Sayo]

She let out a quiet yelp when he just swept her over to the other side of the bed, promptly tumbling half-off the edge with a half-muttered, "Oof."

Not another word, though, as she slithered to her feet and padded over to her pile of things. She wriggled into her leathers and then stuffed her feet into her boots, not bothering to bind up her top-half in all that black, because she didn't expect to be wandering around outside for very long.

As he plummeted back into the sleep of the late-night-slightly-tipsy, he'd probably hear her swipe his keys from wherever he'd hidden them, and slip out the door.

When he roused himself, one hour or however many hours later, several things about his apartment were slightly different. Firstly, a few more muted colors spun about the place, because Nel had draped a brightly colored bit of fabric across one of the windows, more so that the sunlight wouldn't wake him than anything. Light splattered across it like diamonds, though, because she'd put on the sleeveless shirt and so the scales on her bare arms bounced light this way and that.

The scent of fruits crept in, as well, because she was standing to one side, using his bookshelf as a counter, and cutting up a myriad of fruits, tossing them into a bowl to make a sort of salad. But everything was clean, and she'd added tiny shavings of cheese to the mix, from her own source, and a few spices, also from her own pack, and it smelled...delicious. Despite being a cold breakfast. Warm things didn't really keep on a ship, and all.

On top of all of that, she was humming. Some distant, wordless song that she could not have claimed to know the name of, but her voice was a ghost that hung in the air, pale and ephemeral, as she was.

[Murdoch]

For the most part, he hadn't made a sound all night, curled up with little Nel and soothed by her heartbeat. Sleeping alone, however, was a different story. He didn't thrash or cry out, but the longer he lay there, the more tense he grew, until his shoulders up to his ears and he'd curled himself into a tight ball, a scowl pulling at his features.

He finally jerked just a tiny bit and his eyes snapped open, some invisible bowstring let loose to hurl him back to the real world. His eyes darted around the room a moment, unfamiliar things in a familiar place, something just a little off about the light pouring in and the sounds softly echoing across the small room.

It took only a moment for him to identify that there was someone in his room, and that that someone was not here to kill him. The humming helped, truth be told. And so he groaned and began unkinking his muscles, slowly stretching until he spread out across the entirety of the bed, taut muscles pulled to their furthest point, and then he let out a fierce growl and relaxed all at once.

He didn't bother saying anything, just tumbled off the bed in a strangely ungraceful heap and straightened up to stretch again. Dark hair was plastered flat in the back and straight up on top, giving him the odd look of a confused cockateel, though one whose feathers were the rich, dark brown of good earth. A knife was now tucked into the hem of his trousers, and without a word he shuffled across the room and grabbed up the water bucket.

A few steps brought him over to where Nel stood, but he didn't even acknowledge her as he groped through the bottom shelf for a dented mug. An unintelligeable grunt, that was all she got as he shuffled barefoot out the door.

He was only gone a few minutes, but when he returned he looked much more human. Both he and his pants were soaked, as if he'd just stood at the well and dumped a few buckets' worth of water of his head, and he hauled in a new one of clean water. His mug was balanced in the other hand, full of steaming black tea sweetened to within an inch of its life.

"Good morning," he called out, his usual smile back on his lips as he settled the mug on the windowsill next to Nel. "That's for you, since you were kind enough to take care of breakfast - I already had mine. Which is why I've my sunny disposition back," he said with a wink.

Then he went about setting the room back to rights, tucking the bucket of fresh water away, folding up his clothes from the day before and settling them on the hearth, shaking out the blankets and making the bed. Normal, everyday things that were part of his morning routine, though he made the effort to throw a smile over his shoulder every now and then. "What'd you manage to scrounge up?"

[Nel Sayo]

She'd been shooting him sidelong glances every so often while he slept, gauging whether or not he would spring up awake and hurl a blade at her before realizing who she was -- or, alternately, at the precise moment he realized who she was, but she didn't try to wake him. Or soothe him. And when he did finally growl consciously and stumble up from the bed, she didn't look at him, or acknowledge him, just as he didn't acknowledge her. The humming was continuous, however.

When he came back in, she spared him a glance.

Her eyes were still sleepy, but they glinted a hello back at him even though she still didn't say anything. After a moment, she did pick up the mug for a sip, however.

Hefting up the bowl, she'd starting stirring its contents to mix them all up.

"I couldn't find any bananas," she murmured disappointedly, as though he'd told her those were his favorites and she'd actually listened and tried to find some. Or maybe they were her favorites. But then she said, "I did find some cantaloupe though. Here."

And she padded over to him and held up a fork speared with a combination of fruits, canteloupe among them.

[Murdoch]

"Bananas?" he asked, a tinge of surprise in his voice. "Yeah, they haul those up from Falyndar, they're not easy to find. Or cheap," he said, leaning forward to sniff at the forkful of fruits she held under his nose. One big bite, and then he chewed happily, giving her a smile and nod. "It's really good with the cheese," he mumbled around the mouthful of food.

He realized how ill-equipped he was for company - he'd only one plate, one knife, one chair around the table. But she seemed to be working it all out just fine by herself, so he didn't worry about it. Not his problem to worry about, he reminded himself.

He was somewhat more human first thing in the morning, nicer, less likely to stab someone once he'd had his tea. This might actually be the kindest he ever was. And because of that, he padded over to the table and pulled it closer to the windowsill, then sat himself on it and left her the chair. She did make breakfast after all.