Private Tales I robbed Tinkerbell?!

[Fraeya]

“Sign me up for some magic cards,” she joked. She wondered if they were strong enough to affect the fae. The boguts. The wraiths. With a wince, she began climbing up the ladder after him. Her arm was throbbing. And it trembled as she made one final tug to join him in the half-crumbling down mill. If the ladder has been taller, she doubted she would’ve made it.

It was dark and dusty and she could see the peak of stars beyond some open slats in the roof above. She didn’t care about the blood dripping down her arm. The throbbing. She stepped to Jace. Uncomfortably close in front of him.

“Well let’s see. Did you get it?” Bloodied arm extended, palm opening.

 

[Jace]

"Has anyone told you you're fuckin' scary?" Jace muttered, eyeing up the bloody palm being held before him. It was easy to imagine it was someone else's blood running down her arm after she had yanked some vital organ out of their chest for not giving her the stupid book back. Eager to have it out of his possession he fished it out of the inside of his jacket and handed it over. Perhaps it was a little more battered than it had been and so what if it looked like a few pages were torn? It was there in one - sort of - piece.

That's what mattered.

He eyed up the glass still sticking out of her skin and then moved to where the first aid kit was stashed wordlessly.

 

[Fraeya]

Her hardened and taught face didnt relax even as he handed it to her. “If only the fae thought that,” she mused quietly to his scary comment. Seriously. Did he hang out with fluffy rabbits all day? He must if he really thought SHE was the scary one. He would’ve shit his pants if he’d met Midir.

She snatched the book and opened it. Frowning at the bits of damage. But it would do. A quick assessment told her nothing vital was lost. Closing it carefully, she clutched it against her chest. Even with her blood dripping gently against the cover.

“We did it,” she breathed and finally found herself sinking to the dusty floor. She didn’t care about the old bits of grain pushing against her dress and skin. She was trembling with relief. She wasn’t going to die because of this.

 

[Jace]

"Drinks all around!" Jace grinned, sashaying back with a dusty bottle of rum in one hand and a sewing kit in the other. He dropped to the floor in front of her without a second thought - most of the furniture was knackered and rat infested - jokes aside. He used his teeth to pull the stopper out and gave the alcohol inside a good sniff. He was never sure why people did that but if William and Varo did it then it must mean something. With a shrug he took a swig and then passed it to her.

"This is gonna hurt so drink," and then he grabbed a hold of her arm and pulled it over his lap. Carefully he pulled out the remaining bits of glass stuck in her arm and then threaded the needle with the gossamer thin bit of thread. Eyeballing the cut again he began to stitch her up.

 

[Fraeya]

She smelled it too. But she didn't have to worry. It wasn't fae wine. She'd be okay. Still clutching the book in her other arm and shielding it with her body, she didn't squirm as he began tugging out that glass. She took a swig.

"Wait," she croaked and dipped the contents of the bottle over the needle and her arm, hissing as it burned and aggravated the wounds. But the last thing she wanted was an infection. Teeth clenched and her gaze shifted to some old, rusted piece of equipment in the corner as the needle was threaded to her skin.

But to her credit she didn't cry out in pain. Kept her arm and her body still as stone as he worked. Just a small hiss of breath through clenched teeth.

"What if Kressa comes after you? Can you handle yourself?"

 

[Jace]

"Oh yeah... that's what they do with the alcohol..."

Still a sorry waste of rum in his opinion. He dabbed at the wet skin before he pressed the needle through her skin. Now, Jace would have gutted anyone who commented, but his skill with a needle went far beyond simply stitching one too many war wounds. One one or two knew about how he had helped Petyr embroider his costumes for the big heists. At first he had been god-awful but now he was good enough to have his work pass for that of a seamstresses.

That nearly went out the window when she asked about Kressa.

"Sorry," he muttered after stabbing her and then tied off the end of the thread. One he was finished he gave her a dashing smile and a blasé shrug. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Might go stay with a friend up in Oban for a few months till the hea' dies down an' stuff. What about you? Will the book stop you getting eaten by the Erlking?"

 

[Fraeya]

She looked at his handiwork. She’d expected a rough patch job. But it was actually pretty good. Perhaps more than a foolish boy of a thief. Fingers flexed on her arm and she lowered it.

She offered him back the bottle.

He could’ve left her out to dry. Refused to help. Tried to kill her. Betrayed her. Sold her out. Instead he’d kept to his word. She didn't know if there was such a thing as an honorable thief but perhaps he was.

“I hope so,” a half, tired smirk in his direction. “I’ll be fine.” That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. But whatever it was, she’d face it. She reached out and rested her hand on the outside upper part of his arm. “Careful what you steal next time.” A light squeeze. As close to a thanks as he’d get.

 

[Jace]

Careful what he stole next time?! The whole affair had scared him near to the point he had considered giving up thieving altogether. The Erlking wasn't the only bad thing out there - especially if more bloody myths were going to turn out to be real things.

He took a loooong swig of the rum to help himself forget.

"Maybe you should take your own advice," he huffed then blenched and took another slurp. At least he remembered to offer it back to her after that taste. "Can't be safe hangin' out wif fae," he squinted at her suspiciously before forgetting it in favour for the rum. Blood and ashes had that been terrifying. With a sigh he looked around the cottage and the dark sky outside.

"We should get some sleep, I'll need to head off early to catch a boat."

 

[Fraeya]

She took the rum when offered and swallowed back another burning gulp. The burn felt good. Made her feel alive. A raise of golden brows at his belch. She tried to imagine any fae doing that and it almost made her laugh.

They were always much too proper for that. At least in public.

"If it was so easy perhaps I would," she said quietly, taking another swig and handing it back as she leaned back against an old flour bag. Small bugs moved along the fabric, their home jostled. And Fraeya didn't seem too bothered by them. Finally, she closed her eyes, still clutching that book tightly to her chest.

She was bound to the fae. By more ways than one. And she didn't think she'd be able to leave. No, leaving wasn't an option.