The Flesh House Fellowship [Bronwen]

[Alric Lysane]

30th Winter 521 AV – Brega's House of Happy Endings Ruby had been making everyone’s lives miserable for the past few days, ever since there had been a number of items taken from the Scarlet Sanctum. Usually quite ingratiating and enticing her usually charm had been replaced with a suspicious aura and dark eyes where once they had been sparkling for whomever she set them upon. Alric had to admire her ability to switch from one to the other based upon circumstance, not to mention her artistry in seduction in general. The admiration for her flesh went without saying, otherwise you were quite quickly removed from her employment. He didn’t pretend when he eyed up her…assets…but he wisely kept the fact he preferred other figures more to himself. She does like to have the appearance of owning your very gaze, though I wish she’d stop being such a spiteful shyke for a bit he thought to himself as he went about related business. He had heard rumours of other businesses having had thefts, many of them and not always the usual fare for thieves. It hadn’t been at the Scarlet Sanctum, that was for sure. Gold going missing was one thing, you could always earn it back he had been told. Flesh sold almost as much as pleasure from it, that much was true. No, Ruby wouldn’t have been so venomous had the thing stolen not been her personal property – a hand mirror and some sort of long coat she favoured for her arts apparently. He shook his head as he made his way to the last place he thought he’d find himself given his employer – Brega’s. He had taken to wearing a lot of the magical items he had found so far that season, no one would admit to knowing what they were given they’d have to expose themselves as magic conversant at least, and he knew they had properties that were beneficial – though what all of them were he couldn’t quite define. He knew some of them, though, and he felt sure he’d discover the rest soon enough. He absently rubbed his head where the damned minty stick had hit him. There was no bruise now, but the memory of embarrassment was fresh all the same. Black boots, red gloves and belt were worn over his Isuas trousers and shirt – green this time – and the red velvet jacket atop all of that. Underneath it all was the ever present bodysuit that had already saved his life and as such was never taken off except for washing. He had brought his broadsword, though he hoped he wouldn’t need it. “Time to see what was taken from Brega’s” he muttered to himself as he approached the front door. If there was something stolen then he’d have another clue, if not then he’d assume the thievery was somehow at Brega’s behest – though what he’s do about it he hadn’t really thought upon. Largely he was just curious about the events and wanted to know what it was all about. Revealing the gathered knowledge hadn’t yet registered upon his list for consideration. There was already a large and rowdy crowd outside the door, not surprising given that Brega’s was open pretty much every bell of the day and there were always lusty folk in need of some release. The crowd seemed more agitated than usual, though, the whole city did. Times had grown difficult and people were getting fractious. His eyes already noted several thuggish types glaring at each other, others and then Alric and the woman on the door. “Don’t you dare” he breathed to himself and the world in general, he was hoping for a quiet day though those had been in short supply this season, so far.

[Bronwen]

"Go home, Jace, and take your.." Bronwen gave the two men behind Jace a scathing look, jaw ticking, "..men with you. You're all drunk, and there's no way you're going to start something under this roof."

Jace, a self-proclaimed leader of a Sun's Birth cell, was a tall man, taller than Bronwen's six foot two inches, but what advantage the man might have gained from his height was negated by his inability to remain sober. The man's long, greasy dark hair swung into his face, hiding the scowl he attempted to give Bron as he turned to the men at his back.

One of the men, Bron thought his name was Luke, was known at Brega's for his rough treatment and rather odd requests. He was shorter than Jace by a good several inches, but what Luke had that his leader didn't was muscle. Thankfully, though, he was just as drunk.

The second man, however, Bron had never seen before, and the calculating look in the man's brown eyes made her nervous. He was slightly shorter than Bron, lean but firm, with dark brown skin and a hairless head, save for a thick black goatee that nearly reached the man's chest. The man had yet to say a word, but he looked to be getting angrier by the chime.

The three men had charged Brega's entrance, demanding that a group of men currently occupying several of the brothel's rooms were responsible for stealing a weapons stash from the Sun's Birth. The men in question, five of them, happen to be known members of the Daggerhand, and Bronwen was not about to let a gang war begin under her watch. Not when she knew that Jace and his men would be killed if Jace got his wish and stormed the rooms.

That would undoubtedly set off something between the two gangs that Bron wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

The clipping sound of footsteps behind her drew Bron's gaze, and she turned just as Brega swept down the stairs and closed the distance to her guard's side, going to her tiptoes to whisper in the taller woman's ear.

"I just saw Asa and Ferrin goin' from room to room agatherin' the rest of tha boys." Brega drawled, and Bron could hear the trepidation in the whore's voice. "Somehow they know they are here for um. Get these drunks gone afore there's enough trouble for the lot of us."

With a nod, Bron straightened as Brega swept back up the stairs, no doubt to do her part at keeping Asa and the rest of the Dadderhands upstairs and march the worker to safety behind closed doors. Pulling the quarterstaff from her back, Bronwen turned back to Jace, holding her staff across the front of her body as if she were about to corral spooked horses back into their stalls, not usher drunk men out the door.

Bron was the lone guard on duty at Brega's for the next two bells, and she wished for once, someone would show up for work early.

"Alright, Jace, I'm going to need you-"

Brega's loud squawk cut off Bron's words, followed quickly by the sound of several slamming doors and heavy footsteps stomping across the ceiling, heading directly for the stairs.

They were out of time. "Shyke!!" Bron cursed, not knowing which way to turn.

Did she continue to try and get the Sun's Birth out the door or forestall the rath of the Daggerhands?

The decision was made for her when the dark-skinned stranger's hands clamped around Bron's staff, yanking her forward, then yanked her around, and began shoving her out the door backside first. The man's speed caught Bron so off guard that she never saw him position himself for a hard kick to her middle. She was propelled out of Brega's entrance and sent tumbling down the rotten stairs, right into an immovable wall that, judging by the big hands that had wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling, turned out to be a man's chest.

Chest heaving, Bron had just enough time to right herself and duck as the dark man swung...

...and landed a solid punch to whoever was at her back.

Bronwen heard, more than saw, the blow land behind her as she managed to bring her staff around and sweep the black man's legs out from under him, grunting in satisfaction as the big man seemed to have momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

Turning, Bron caught sight of the man who had saved her from tumbling to her backside, her storm blue eyes flaring wide as she noted the bruise already beginning to form on a familiar stubbled jaw.

"Alric? What the petch are you doing-" she cut off with a squeal as dark fingers wrapped around her hair and yanked, shoving Bron back and away from Alric.

Suddenly, the guard found herself slung back into the thick of an all-out gang fight in the middle of Brega's.

"Gods, Alric, help!!"

[Alric Lysane]

As he got closer, and the throng of agitated drunks shifted slightly, he recognised the woman on the door – Bronwen. Upon reflection he should have realised sooner, there were few like her and their first meeting had left quite the impression. Still, so much had happened, and he had been distracted – a warning to himself that he needed to pay more attention whilst walking the streets, not to mention when around the few whom he could call friend or ally. Had he recognised her sooner he’d have likely been there quick enough to help her before one of the men had begun the assault. As it was he was just in time to absorb her fall with a grunt of effort and the sliding backwards of his feet through the mud. Just as he regained his feet properly he was involved in the brawls with a punch to the jaw that was sloppy, glancing and weak. From one of the drunks, he noted as he was caught by surprise, Bron lashing out at the man, pushing him back and taking his legs out so that he rolled back into the throng. He was about to answer Bron, helping her back up to her feet, but she was snatched from his arms hair-first and dragged back into the throng. I can’t have a normal meeting in Sunberth can I? was the absent thought that flickered across his mind as his anger flared at the situation, the men brawling and the one dragging Bron away, who was simply doing her job, in particular. “Shyke” he breathed as one of the men noticed him again in their drunken stupor and lunged towards him. Sidestepping so the lunge went past him Alric grabbed the back of the man’s jacket and threw him down the stairs, there to impact with a series of sickening thuds before crumpling at the bottom, sliding through the mud into a pile across the street. Briefly he saw the man try to push himself up, then slump back down, signalling they were still alive but probably regretted that fact. Either way one drunk was gone and that made things easier at least. He stepped forwards, ducking a few wild swings and sending a couple of jabs back, mostly just to knock the attackers away as he sought out his friend. He found her, fingers still entangled in her hair and squealing, trying to get free so she could fight properly. The man’s back was to him and Alric wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, locking in the choke he had learned that very season, which made him let go of Bron and start trying to get out of the hold. His thrashing lessened after a doze ticks or so and he let go, letting the man fall forward to his knees for Bron to finish as she liked – he had attacked her after all, it seemed fair. As she finished the attacker off he felt a pressure upon his back that sent him stumbling into her this time. He managed to brace himself so he landed on all fours and didn’t crush the air out of her, then rolled them both sideways as he had learned long ago on the streets – never leave your back exposed. Reminded once already yin this brawl he wasn’t about to forget a second time, pushing Bron off of him and to the side just in time to get his legs free and kick out and up at the would be attacker, taking the wind out of them and sending them for someone else to take advantage of. He looked at Bron as he pushed himself to his feet, eyes flicking in all directions and seeing that most were busy with others, at least for now. That would change quickly. “What the petch is going on Bron?!” There was little time to talk though, another two breaking off to charge at them – this time they had weapons and he barely got his Broadsword out in time to deflect the first attack, knocking it sideways and kicking out at the man to send him back a pace and gain some space.

[Bronwen]

The end of Bron's quarterstaff slammed into the face of the man Alric held, and as he slumped to the ground unmoving, she got a good look at his face. This man hadn't been at the brothel earlier, not with Jace and his crew, nor had he been with Asa.

Straightening, the guard glanced around with the dawning realization that men were coming in off the street to fight, but whether or not the new fighters had loyalties to Jace or Asa was unclear. For all Bron knew, they had seen a fight and wanted to join in. It was hard to tell.

Alric suddenly slammed into Bronwen, and the guard found herself flat on her back before the man's momentum rolled them both, and Alric unceremoniously shoved her to the side. Alric kicked out, sending a would-be attacker in the other direction, then jumped to his feet stance, ready for a fight as he asked for an explanation.

Good question she thought, scrambling to her feet.

"Daggerhand's day at the brothel" she wheezed out "Sun's Birth came looking for trouble, claiming the hands had stolen some weapons."

Bron's stormy gaze scanned the area just outside Brega's, and from what she could see, there were at least four or five men still inside Brega's, all exchanging blows, and another four were fighting outside. Definitely, more bodies had shown up, then. At a glance, if she were a betting woman, Bron would wager the newcomers were of Jace's lot and had remained in the shadows until Jace had managed to initiate whatever attack he had planned. It looked to Bronwen as if the five Daggerhands had no clue what was about to take place.

"Somehow," Bron continued, warily eyeing two men as they bore down on her and Alric's position "I need to clear out Brega's, get everyone outside."

Alric stepped away to face off with one of the oncoming men, and Bron stood ready to confront the other, stance widening with one foot slightly in front of the other. The man was tall, taller than Bronwen herself, and the fact that the attacker hid his hands behind his back shot a chill down her spine.

What was he...

Bron's mouth fell open as the man's arms swung out and into view, both hands wrapped tightly around the wooden handles of two long tonfas. To Bron, tonfas had always looked like someone had snapped a quarterstaff in half, attached a handle to each piece, and called it a weapon. But, the way this man swished, jabbed and spun his weapons in a show of force, never mind the size of the man's muscular arms, had the staff fighter swallowing hard.

Once the man was in spitting distance, he charged, one arm raised, the other held out by his side.


OOCIncomplete post...Alric has permission to Mod Shiress as needed

[Alric Lysane]

Things went slightly hectic after their exchange, even by Sunberth brawl standards, weapons not usually being used but were clashing in abundance this time. Their clothing marked them out as Daggerhand and Sun’s Birth – though he noted there were a handful of non-affiliated ones and frowned, wondering if they were Night Eyes agents, sent to create some death and weaken their enemies. Either way it didn’t matter too much beyond curiosity and that went out the window as one darted towards him, lashing out with a dagger that he batted away to his right, using momentum to get the man to over reach so he could get a good punch to the jaw and a hook of their ankle. They went down and were all but half-trampled by the melee. There was not time to drag them out, though, as another one jumped at him, a woman with a club that smacked away at him as he frantically tried to turn the weapon away with batted parries. She kept pressing him though and he soon ran out of room, shoulders bumping into the wall and forcing him to lash out himself, a quick thrust that clipped her shoulder before she smacked it away with a scream of rage and charged at him. He twisted, pivoting and getting a clumsy dodge in so that she went face first into the wall. He smacked the guard of his sword into the back of her head and she slumped down, burbling and hopefully soon to be unconscious. Turning he saw the brawl had lessened inside, somewhat, with the removal of his opponents and a couple more, Bron’s work he guessed, as she whirled and jabbed her staff smoothly. He nodded approvingly, she was well trained wherever she had learned, though the tight quarters were difficult to use her full skill in. They would have to change that, he knew, as he looked at the throng that was still engaged in trying to kill each other and ignoring the two guards for now. He stepped in to help Bron, blade turning sideways as the brought the flat end around into the back of the knees of her current opponent, offering her the opportunity to take him down and still keep him alive – a bonus for Brega and Bron given their current predicament. “We’ll never clear all of these out quick enough before they kill each other. Are we wanting them alive? Dead customers don’t make good repeaters” he said with a frown at the melee, watching to see if any would break away to attack them. His eyes darted and saw something that gave him and idea – furniture. Eyes scanning he saw a large, long and, most importantly strong, looking bench on the other side of the melee. If they could fight their way there then they could quite literally run it over the melee and mop up the still conscious, maybe, or at least the ones inside. Not that they wouldn’t have to get there first. As he was thinking another two started to break off and he muttered a dark curse, picking up a flimsy chair with his left hand and, as they closed, throwing it at legs of one to cause them to stumble. He stepped in to meet them as the other closed upon Bron.

[Bronwen]

Bron looked on approvingly as her companion took down the tonfa-wielding giant at the knees, taking advantage of the opportunity Alric afforded her by slamming the end of her staff into the man's temple, laying him out flat on his back. Alric's following words froze Bronwen in place, looming dumbly above the prone body.

"Are we wanting them alive?"

Bron slid a horrified, wide-eyed glance up to Alric, swallowing hard, face going pale.

"I've never killed anyone." she admitted in a near whisper more to herself than her comrade.

Alric's gaze slid away from hers even before the Syliran could finish shaking her head. Whether or not the man heard the admission went unknown as he lunged forward and out of Bron's sight, but Bron just stood there, staring at the spot the man had just been, reeling at the thought of taking another's life. Could she do it? Could Bron kill? Could she end a life on the behest of Brega, or anyone else for that matter? Bron didn't know, but if someone was to--

Something slammed hard into Bronwen's back, sending her several stumbling steps, before sprawling facefirst into the dirt, empty lungs convulsing to take back the air that had been forcibly vacated. She had just managed to make it to her hands and knees, gasping, chest heaving uselessly, when a fist grabbed hold of the hair at the back of Bron's head. Another twisted around the back of her shirt, holding her steady. A booted foot sunk hard into Bron's stomach, knocking her over and onto her back, black spots dancing across her vision.

Bron blinked dazedly at the sky, mouth agape in a futile effort to breathe, arms and legs folding in of their own accord, angling for her abused middle as she rolled to her side. She may have lost a tick or even a chime because the world suddenly swam back into focus, and she coughed, managing to drag in a sharp, much needed breath. Then another and another, before she felt right enough to roll to her back again, scowling up at Syna's too bright rays.

A figure loomed over Bron then stepped into the sunlight, causing the bright light to bend around his tall frame creating a dark, faceless silhouette that raised a very familiar quarterstaff.

Bronwen's quarterstaff.

"Garrett says hi." he grinned, showing white teeth contrasting against his dark form just as the end of Bron's very own staff came down, aiming for her head.

Bron rolled to the side in time for the staff to take a chunk out of the ground. She continued to move around to her hands and knees, throwing herself backward enough to use the momentum to stand, fingernails clawing along the grass in front of her as she pulled herself up.

Still grinning like a crazed man, the man began to spin the staff, stepping toward her. She could tell he was skilled in staff fighting. Maybe even more so than Bron. For every step closer the man took, Bron to an equal, matching step back, hands lifting...for what exactly Bron had no idea. She wasn't beyond begging, though, because, without her staff, the Syliran daughter of a Knight commander was defenseless.

Her attacker's hands slid down the staff, and she knew he was going to aim to take her legs out. She was ready for this familiar move and was able to jump over the shaft. As soon as her feet thumped to the ground, Bron turned and ran. Not fast enough. The quarterstaff caught her across her lower back.

"Ow...shykepetchervagiksonofawhore! Bron shrieked, back arching, as she stumbled forward, barely managing to keep her legs under her.

Eyes scanning the area for something -anything- that she could use as a weapon, Bron had missed the fact that she was running straight toward the outside wall of Brega's, and completely boxing herself in.

"Shyke!!" she cursed, spinning around in an effort to run the opposite way only to find herself trapped. She opened her mouth to scream...something, but the rounded wooden tip of the staff caught her head. She felt the flesh part just above her brow and a warm trickle of blood ran down over her eye.

"Alr--" she attempted to scream out, but another blow to her midsection double her over.

Bron gradually fell to her knees, working hard not to lose what little breakfast she had left in her stomach. Pure anger and determination had her drawing in a deep, albeit pained, breath for one last call for help.

"Alric!!!!!"

[Alric Lysane]

He had hated fighting what seemed like an age ago, but now with his blood pumping and adrenaline flowing he almost felt as if he were excited. He knew, deep down, that he would just be happy if he survived, he disliked pointless violence and this brawl seemed to have no reason beyond violence. He had come here to see Bron, not scuffle, but seeing as he had no choice he threw himself into it, if for no other reason than seer survival – though he had to admit he ended up fighting more people these days for some reason. As the pair split off and came at him one went down to the chair hitting their knee with a crack. Silently he hoped it had broken something, at least then they wouldn’t get back up. He deflected the blade of the other’s daggers away, he wasn’t trying to harm them as he hadn’t been given an answer by his friend as to whether they were going with the brutal method of indiscriminately killing. So instead of following up with an attempt at a backhanded slash he stepped into their guard, causing them to back up with a hop. They lunged at him again and this time he caught the blade, letting it slide down the edge as Itzel had shown, stepping into the attack. There was no real way of binding and then going through a riposte with a small blade, but it did afford him the ability to grab their wrist with his free hand. The guard of his broadsword did the rest, smacking into their face several times until they slumped down to the floor. As he turned, getting a hard shove from a brawler who was lashing out in all directions, he saw Bron being bodily forced through the door, and out into the streets of Sunberth. He had little time to try to go and help her, as was his instinct, as his shoulders slammed into the wall and another combatant lunged at him with something sharp. It barely registered as he twisted his body, pushing himself away from the wall, his blade hacking across to gouge into the attacker even as a hot ribbon of pain blossomed across his left side. Feeling his clothing with his free hand as he pulled his sword free, he could feel the dampness, though thankfully it didn’t seem to be gushing. Looking down he saw the curved sword, still grasped by dead fingers, and muttered to himself darkly. He heard his name, screamed this time, and decided to abandon the last handful of brawlers to their fates – likely murdering each other – and made his way out of the door. All but barging another over as he forced his way out, sending them flying to the ground with a wince of pain for himself, hand pressed to his side, he cast his gaze about and couldn’t immediately see her. Had she run off for some reason, he wondered, scanning the largely broken down brawl and not seeing her. What had been a pitched battle of sides had now devolved into scattered melees, smaller and more vicious in their personal natures. He turned, seeking her out, eventually finding her back towards the building, a man looming over her, holding her own weapon. He ran towards them, seeing her upon the floor lending him an extra slice of adrenaline that masked the pain in his side, if only temporarily. He was sweating all over, and his muscles were aching from both use and damage no doubt, but he managed to get there in time, though the man heard him coming and so he lost the element of surprise. He barely managed to get the edge of his blade under the spinning quarterstaff and force it away before it cracked his skull, though he had to jump over the leg sweep follow up before jumping backwards to avoid an overhead, vertical strike. “Quick little bastard aren’t you? Leave us be lad, this is between the drug whore and Garret, she owes him some fun after she lost us a couple of lads. Season of begging for end to withdrawal should make her nice and complaint. Though…wait…you’re the one as was with her before!” “And you’re next” he breathed deeply, the pain beginning to return to his side, stinging as sweat ran into the wound. “Hah! We’ll see. Stay there lass, better you’ve got a mouth to use later” the thug snapped at Bron before turning to begin to attack Alric once more.

[Bronwen]

Bron shuddered at the thug's indecorous remark, knowing just how genuine and inevitable the promise was, but remained silent, and the man turned his bullying attention on Alric.

Chest heaving, Bron lowered her head a moment, allowing her abused lungs to fill with the crucial air they struggled to attain. Alric's attacker had his back to her, his mistake, and once the blackness deserted her vision, her eyes started looking about for a weapon.

A long, slender branch lay about an arm's length away, but with one glance, Bron could tell it wouldn't hold up to what she needed to use it for. Not seeing anything else she could use, she wobbled to her feet as quietly as she could and stepped in behind the thug, waiting for an opportunity to snatch back her staff.

It didn't take long before the man reared the quarterstaff back, no doubt aiming to plow its end into Alric's belly. Bron grabbed the shaft with both hands and jerked backward, using the sideways momentum to turn in a complete circle, accelerating her upper body enough to swing the staff out, laying the bruit out with a blow across the side of his head. She glared down at the prone figure, a tick, before lifting her gaze to Alric, a victorious grin beginning to form on her lips. However, it died quickly when Bron got a good look at her friend.

Alric was pale and sweating, his body leaning precariously to the side, and blood seeped through the left side of his tunic and ran in a small rivulet down across his cheek from an apparent head blow. Bron's eyes widened.

"Alric! Petch!" she cursed, rushing forward to take some of the man's weight before he keeled over.

The guard heard Brega barking orders and an assortment of familiar voices calling out their understanding. from a distance

"Finally," Bron breathed, wrapping an arm around Alric's waist, "the other guards are here. Brega must have sent for them."

Glancing down at Alric's face, Bron tried to gauge how badly he was hurt. She couldn't look much better, with blood pouring down her own face and her fair share of bruises forming.

"I think we are out of this fight." she admitted, prompting Alric to walk, keeping the pace slow in case the man was hurt worse than he looked. Although, he looked pretty bad, on the outside, at least. "Let's go around to the back door. We'll get you in a room and see how bad you're hurt."

By the time the pair had made it to the first unoccupied room, Bron wasn't entirely sure who was supporting whose weight more, her or Alric. Planting her friend in a chair, Bron gave him a breathless order to remove his shirt while she went in search of supplies, and breezed -limped- out of the room. Supplies, yes, but what Alric didn't need to know, is that Bron would make a stop by her own room, intent on the small bag of dust she knew was hidden under her pillow. SHe hurt and she needed it.

Right?

When Bron returned, Alric was bare-chested and she had to remind herself that now wasn't the time to be ogling the man's musculature, but agreed with herself that she would, in fact, appreciate the man's defined chest and tight abdomen another time. Alone.

Many times probably.

Bron placed a washbasin, cloth, and pitcher down on the bedside table, then sloshed some water into it. Dipping the cloth into the basin, she wrung it out and began to clean the blood from Alric's skin, nose wrinkling the more wounded flesh her ministrations exposed.

"I think you're gonna need to be sown up on your side and on your head, Alric." she grimaced, were her words coming out slurred, or was it just her ears? "They both look pretty deep to me, but I ain't no healer." she paused, biting her lower lip in thought, then abruptly had to shift her weight in what she hoped was a subtle move, as her body began to sway backward. "Brega can, though. She'll send for a healer, too, I'm sure."

Bron looked back over her shoulder at the door, as if the mere mention of the whore's name would have her walking through it, then back at Alric, frowning.

"Might be a while, though." she motioned to the made-up bed "maybe you should lie down while we wait?" Bron blinked slowly, shrugging, a pout puckering her lips. "I mean, I guess I could try and sew you up."

[Alric Lysane]

He wasn’t as quick as he had been before but he was quick enough to deflect a few attacks with his broadsword, batting them away after catching the staff and pushing it up, before he got a crack across his forehead – a glancing blow but one that still sent him stumbling after his failed attempt to duck out of the way of its path. Sprawled upon the floor he blinked stars from his vision, waiting for the final blow, but when it didn’t come and he shook his head to restore some of his senses, he pushed himself up enough to see the Bronwen had laid the man out, somehow, perhaps galvanised into action at the hateful words. Grabbing his broadsword once more he heaved himself to his feet, using a crate for balance, just as barked orders rang out across the street and guards seemed to flood the brawlers, battering them to the floor with ruthless efficiency.

“I’m…fine,” he assured Bron, though the weakness of his legs seemed to give the lie to his words and he had to use her for support as she trudged them back towards the Brothel, her words tumbling over him but not fully registering through the muffling in his ears, “little rest…maybe a new life…who knows, could become respectable and not get into brawls someday” he snorted, immediately regretting it as pain webbed across his side.

It was a short hobble, propping each other up as they went, she was stronger than her form suggested, which he noted down as knowledge worth knowing. Still, she seemed to have become even leaner since their last meeting by the feel of her in his arm. He frowned silently but winced as it opened the cut on his forehead and warmth started dropping down his face once more. Getting him into the chair took her no effort at all, he wasn’t about to argue, and his sense were still slightly numbed, though recovering. He started to pull his shirt off with a grunt of effort and by the time it was off she had left the room. He sighed to himself and looked down at the cut across his side. Taking a deep breath, he used his little finger to probe the wound and found it was deep, painfully so, but not deep enough that a few stitches wouldn’t solve the problem – so long as he kept them clean after.

He was in a cold sweat from his efforts, breathing deeply to recover from his hissed breaths, when Bron returned. He didn’t notice at first, still addled slightly, but after a while of her ogling his body between cleaning his wounds he thought she seemed…different from before. Her mood had lifted and her eyes seemed possessed of a brighter shine, seeming larger and more attractive for it. He had heard the Associates talk of using tinctures to give them such advantages, but he doubted Bron would have them, or that this was the time.

Still he silently let her clean him, thankful that he had at least one friend in Sunberth that would do so. It was when she almost stumbled back that he finally cottoned onto what might be happening…and he grabbed the waistband of her trousers firmly, so that he could pull her close and make a gentle grab for her chin, pulling her face down closer and into his more focused vision.

“Are you…on dust?” he asked her softly, almost a hiss so that no one else would hear, “were you on it when we were fighting, I could have died you know?!” he continued, meeting her gaze directly for a few moments, inches away from her, before releasing her to sit normally as he sighed and slumped back onto the bed with a groan.

Looking up at the ceiling, eyes scanning the rough wooden boards that were still slightly blurred at the edges, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if they might erase the headache from him so that he could more properly deal with the situation but, predictably, finding it was a vain hope. He laughed bitterly, only stopping because of the pain the bloomed. He knew Brega, she didn’t care about her own people that much, let alone strangers. He doubted a healer would come quickly, or see him first.

“I’m damned if I’m ending up in Petricious’ hands, and Brega won’t help me. I’m a guard at Ruby’s remember? She’ll more likely kill me. Burn my eyes…you’re going to have to do it, but I swear to Eyris if you end up killing me over it I’m going to come back and haunt you or something. Just…I need a rink…strong…for my thirst and for the wound. Cleans it, that much I remember from Tall Johnny’s” he sighed, not looking at her and closing his eyes, trying to block out the rising headache as best he can.

[Bronwen]

Bron could have lied, Should have lied, probably. Instead, the girl remained guiltily silent as Alric seized her belt, yanking her forward to stabilize her chin with bloody fingers as he commenced to thoroughly scrutinize her stormed colored eyes. Bron was so caught off guard by the gesture that she nearly fell into the man's lap.

Was Alric...angry?

If Bron didn't know better, she might have thought, for a split tick, that Alric might have cared about her.

But then he finished his sentence, and Bronwen scowled down at the man, consequently making her lips pucker like a toddler, pinched between the man's grubby fingers as they were.

"No, I wasn't high when we were fighting!" she huffed, finding it within herself to actually sound indignant and sarcastic at the same time. "I was working, remember?" she added, leaving out the 'but I am now' bit that she should have added but didn't.

Bron stumbled away from the man when he released her from his examination, feeling chastised, guilty, and a little mean, all at the same time. Still a little high, too, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

Hands perching on slender hips, Bron watched Alric, seemingly contemplating his life choices, as he threw back his head and pressed palms against his eyes. He let out an insufferable sounding sigh as if being Bronwen's friend was just too much for one man to bear. Bron let out a little "pfft' and shook her head, eyes narrowing to slits when Alric let out a discontented laugh then droned on about Brega and how he would just have to settle for Bron stitching him back together.

And who the petch is Eyris?

If looks alone could kill, Mr. Alric Lysane would be worm food.

Throwing her hands from her hips, Bron spun on her heels, stomping from the room in search of a sewing kit and a bracer for Alric. If the guard made yet another detour to her room for a bit more dust, the better for it. Steady hands, at least. Well, she hoped, because her own injuries were beginning to throb.

Halfway back to the room where Alric waited, a thought struck Bron. Her eyes scanned the bottle and cup wedged between the fingers of one hand, then shifted to the sewing supplies held in the other, one dark eyebrow lifting in injudicious contemplation.

Licking suddenly dry lips, Bron stopped at a table in the hallway long enough to fill the cup with several fingers of whiskey before plunging a hand into the pocket of her pants to pull free the small pouch she shoved in there just before leaving her room. Tipping the opening of the pouch over the rim of Alric's mug, she watched as several lines of gold dust fell into the whiskey then stirred it with a finger. Sticking the wet digit in her mouth, Bron regathered her items and continued on to Alric's room as if she hadn't just spiked her only friend's drink with Sunberth's oldest and strongest drug.

It was for the upcoming pain, of course.

Gliding through the door, Bron handed the glass of whiskey to Alric, then sat the bottle on the bedside table. She waited patiently for the man to finish off the contents of the mug, but when he seemed a bit reluctant -cause maybe she grabbed the robust, Brega made, whiskey- she obliged herself to aid him by tipping up the bottom end of the mug until it was drained, then smiled at him, all teeth, setting it aside.

Dousing a dry piece of cloth with the alcohol from the bottle, she handed it to Alric, nodding for him to take it.

"Clean the wound on your side while I thread the needle." she ordered, turning reluctantly to the sewing kit.

It took an absurdly long time for Bron to actually thread the needle, and when she finally turned back to him triumphant, sharp edge held ready, it was his head she aimed for, and not his side, which he had just cleansed.

The cut wasn't so much a cut as it was a gash, laid open and oozing crimson, and Bron had to clamp her teeth together at a wave of nausea just before the end of the needle sunk into Alric's flesh.

The door to the room banged open, and Bron jumped like she'd been shot by a bolt, letting loose a squeal as she whipped around. Alice, a brothel whore, stood in the doorway, her dark eyes jumping from Bronwen's hand to Alric, slack-eyed, and... was he drooling?

"Brega told me to come and check on you." Alice said, strolling hesitantly into the room, gaze locked on the needle squeezed between Bron's fingers. "What are you doing?"

Alice stepped up to Alric, lifting a hand to gently inspect the gash laid open across his forehead, then lowered it to prod at the slice across his side. Her gaze lingered on Alric's face a long time before she frowned and turned her attention back to Bron, glaring hard at the guard with knowing eyes.

Alice was one of the more sociable girls at the brothel, and though Bron couldn't claim the dark-haired beauty as a friend, she was definitely an ally.

Alice shook her head, plucking the needle from the guard's now slack fingers with what sounded to Bron an awful lot like an admonishing sigh.

"What have you done, Bronwen Druva?"