Fable - Ask Not Much Room for Decent Hearts

[Skad]

While the threat of a partial bisection soothed Skad's soul somewhat, it was a temporary solution, a base instinct that only serviced those with poor impulse control. In every other sense, it was a foolish display.

If she were to be thrust into the midst of murderous chaos by this woman, who bandied the word employer around as if Hinir Myrku anointed her, then a modicum of trust was required. Temporary, yes, but it still needed to exist. No matter how distasteful this Vida was or how much her words wormed under her skin like loathsome kjötætur.

At least at home, when she faced the animosity of her people, Kin-Slayer knew that a healthy level of fear protected her. Who would dare stab her in the back after hearing tales of how it failed in times before? Who would risk Haraudur's wrath by betraying His chosen?

There were no such protections here.

Mercifully, instead of antagonising further, the woman sought a shaky accord in the form of new boundaries. Agreeable. Logical. It made Skad feel every inch of the primal barbarian she had no doubt been written off as.

The shame finally allowed her to relax somewhat, the tension draining away from her shoulders and fists managing to relax. The Nordwiir even allowed her eye to close and took a moment to breathe and find her footing again.

"This journey has been..." Skad began, tilting her head back and craning her neck, the appraising eye still closed to the room around her, "...much tiring."

She didn't enjoy that it felt like an excuse, but as the one who had snapped first, the onus was on her to make things more palatable. Swift fucking friends or not.

Even still, as an excuse, it was valid.

Her raid of these fertile lands was a disaster, and her entire Hæfurkappi had perished. Not to mention the insidious heat that seemed to plague the mainland, it was little wonder that her mind was seemingly slipping. Fatigue was a mind-killer; it was why she planned ambushes in the dead of night.

The sound of approaching footsteps marked a reprieve from the stagnant air, as Skad's head tilted back downwards to hopefully gain a better understanding of gendered clothing.

Or, at the very least, be less naked.

 

[Vida]

While Skad may have felt her words to be an excuse, they were also as valid as she thought they were. To Vida of all people - it was the perfect thing to say. Solidary snuck into her heart like some thief in the night.

"Yes," the mercenary across from Skad agreed, with real feeling. "I think I can understand that."

​

How often did she complain of the exact thing? How many times had she done what this Nordwiir did, in recent memory? It's not like she needed to think too hard, considering why Skad was apologizing in the first place. It was because of her, because of her weariness with this journey, because of this heat. And so she found herself agreeing with the words spoken with very little hesitation

If her emotions were a length of chain; it would be a hair's breadth from snapping.

Frayed as her chain felt, Vida continued speaking. This time with a voice a bit more laced with the enervation she sensed, deep down, in her bones. "All journeys come with their share of strain for the mind-" hardly pausing, she placed a pair of fingers on the fluttering in her neck, letting her head drop back into the uncomfortable back rail of the chair. "-and the body, and you walked what we rode on horseback."

Vida repeated her own words, then. As much for herself as it was for Skad: "I can understand that."

She found this moment of camaraderie far too embarrassing to address further, with either word or deed, so she simply... didn't. Her head remained where it was, propped up on the back of her chair as she went through the motions of massaging the muscles she found underneath her fingers; slick with a veneer of sweat. The evenings were evidently no better than the afternoons, if her amateurish guessing at the current temperature was any indication. Likely no cooler than when she was sweating it out earlier, waiting for Varnehy and Masile to show up.

And speaking of Masile, so she appeared.

Vida brought her head up from its lethargic rest at the development, head turning, she observed quietly while Masile strode over to the table - a neat, tidy bundle of clothing in her hands. Bullshit. Vida called it as she saw it; there was no way Varnehy folded his clothes that neatly, so it seemed the short alchemist took the additional effort of doing so before returning. No wonder why it took her so long.

Not that it would make any difference to the Norsewoman whether they were folded or smelling of lavender.

Either way, Masile fulfilled her mission, which meant that Skad could finally get dressed.

In regards to what she was dressing in? Vida couldn't help but perk her brow in a mild, deliciously curious way while the alchemist laid the fabrics onto the table with meticulous care. There were a great deal of options to be seen, and she was still setting down piece after piece.

Vida already guessed at Varnehy's reaction - not terribly pleased. Probably downright pissed, if the way Masile turned aside to hide her expression of amused guilt was anything to go by. She didn't return Vida's questioning stare. At least not for long, and not until after she was done settling down the rest of the garments onto the simple oak table.

They were fine clothes, from what little Vida could see. A long-sleeved linen shirt with a laced, frilled collar that could be tied closed with a simple string - dyed black, thankfully. Hopefully it would hide most of the blood from the wounds Skad decided to inflict on herself. Another article was a simple tunic that could go with or without the shirt, rough-spun in a dull white. Then the last items were some pants: a hose, breeches, a couple of belted trousers, those sorts of things.

Well, there were also a few of his signature jackets, one with laces on the front; another that could be laced down the back. All of them an embroidered affair that sported an array of colors. Not something Skad really needed to wear, but they were there for her perusing pleasure. Did Masile raid half of his travelling trunk or what? Vida could almost feel sorry. Almost. Then she remembered that he abandoned her to deal with this Nordwiir by herself.

Nonetheless, there was no stopping what was done. Masile looked on expectantly.

 

[Skad]

A sense of accord, and one not tainted by virulent tones.

How refreshing.

Perhaps it was a fleeting respite in what was destined to be a constant clash of personalities, but it was a respite that Skad would gladly take until the next barbed word of jarring culture shock. She silently nodded at Vida's response, not allowing a slip of any further dialogue to reapply any prior tension. Just because she was accustomed to hostility did not mean to say that Kin-Slayer craved it.

She took the moment to relax physically, placing her blade down on the table as if it represented the unspoken peace treaty.

The short one returned, and with her came an entire pile of clothing that seemed far too excessive for Skad's practical sense of existence. Her head had turned, that lone mossy eye flicking between the other woman's face and the pile with that vacant expression only hinting that she was curious.

It was quite a spectacle, really.

Opting not to comment, the Nordwiir observed the fastidious nature in which her options were laid out before her. Skad would have been content with a sack used for straw for the time being; in hindsight, she could have just taken that from the horses, too. However, as it was, she had asked, and this woman had blatantly over-provided. Her first conversation with Vida had not led her to believe that any of them would be this accommodating.

"I am thanking you," Skad mumbled, now staring at the alien clothing as if she were attempting to solve some great riddle.

With her unbloodied right hand, Kin-Slayer took to molesting each fabric between calloused thumb and forefinger, with her simple objective being to find the most lightweight material that might have made existing here somewhat more tolerable while also not being entirely naked.

Unfortunately, her tolerance of their culture did not extend to politely taking her time to peruse her options; instead, making a prompt evaluation from the initial feel. She opted for the fancy black...shirt? It likely had a proper name, but it was one that Skad was unaware of. It may not have been a sack, but she threw it over her head like it was (and mercifully avoided getting caught in the lace).

The trousers got the same treatment, although those that seemed deliberately tight were immediately disqualified, as were those with belts, which were considered unnecessary details in the Nordwiir's mind. She could not differentiate one pair of black breeches from the other at a certain point, still staring blankly before giving up.

At random, she snatched up one of the pairs and as she held them aloft in her non-bloodied hand, she turned to the short woman and made an inquiry:

"Did you stealing these?"

 

[Vida]

Vida couldn't quite believe what she was seeing, but neither was it an entirely unwelcome form of entertainment. Certainly not for her.

There was something gloriously charming in watching this hulking mass of woman and muscle fumble about with the intricacies of fashion with little shame, even less discrimination aside from her clumsy pawing.

Who was she to say how a Nordwiir was to dress?

​

An unassuming chortle sounded in reply to Skad's curiosity about whether the articles of clothing were stolen; quickly covered behind the pretense of a mild, muffled cough. Making an attempt to conceal the outburst with the back of her hand. That was a very good question, actually. Vida supposed they were technically stolen, but what category would of stolen would it fall under? Would Varnehy flag down passing soldiers to report the crime?

Would he be as unhappy as anyone whose property was stolen from under their nose?

In all likelihood that answer was a resounding 'yes', though she didn't move to say as much. Not at all interested in providing the Nordwiir any potential ammunition to go tearing it off and stomping around naked. Again. She found the next course of action much more to her liking - going right back to her own world by drooping her head where she'd last left it, tilting off the edge of the chair that she still occupied.

Masile was much more suited to answering those questions of morality, or pretending to, at any rate.

Masile watched the proceedings with rapt attention, the kind of focus only found in those who put all of their efforts into whatever task was laid before them. In this specific scenario? Quietly watching the Nordwiir as she waged war against the wardrobe laid before her with calloused, reckless fingers. Her expression somewhere between hopeful and morbidly fascinated. The longer the molestation continued, the more pronounced the look became.

As things progressed to Skad actually picking out her clothing, Masile tried her best to ignore the quiet chuckle of schadenfreude emitting from the third woman in the room. Who was, without a doubt, enjoying the rather gothic decision making that went into what the Nordwiir would be wearing until her clothes dried, or until Varnehy made enough of a fuss.

"Did you stealing these?"

"Oh, definitely not. I mean, not in the way you might think, so it should be all right. You're only borrowing them."

One of Vida's shaped eyebrows went up at the declaration, along with a pair of arms that lifted to settle comfortably behind the nape of her neck; her head hanging free in the easy grip. She neglected to comment, however. Far too curious about how this would undoubtedly play out. If the woman wasn't acting like a cat with milk before - she was now, her mouth twitching at the thought.

"You see, our other partner in this endeavor has a rather large travelling trunk. He could afford to share - how are they fitting you?" Masile made a deft riposte, the sudden question as smooth as silk with that feathery, almost conversational tone she had. Her hands came down to clasp idly together behind her back as she continued to supervise the glow-up dressing of Skad. As if the Nordwiir was far smaller than the six-feet she currently came to.

Vida reversed her chair by a few inches, kicked one of her feet up onto the table.

 

[Skad]

Skad hadn't been suddenly overcome by the morality of theft but held a notion of curiosity as she observed the length of the breeches she held next to the very short woman. These were certainly somebody's trousers, but definitely not hers.

"Borrowing," Skad repeated, her tongue changing the shape of the vowels in her mouth and giving the word a strange new inflexion, "I am not of understanding."

Burdened by this accumulation of foreign customs, the Nordwiir decided it was best not to confront the indistinct noises that seemed to escape Vida occasionally, the nuances completely lost upon her, although not completely unnoticed. She could assume that they were not particularly compassionate noises, but given that they were mercenaries on the eve of a massacre, compassionate noises were hardly expected.

She stepped into the breeches and found in all her eagerness to satisfy that this strange woman had managed to forage clothing that fit. Perhaps a touch tight on the hips, suddenly clarifying the need for gendered clothing in this realm. In contrast, Nordwiir 'fashion' was decidedly not tailored to be form-fitting.

"It is fitting fine," Kin-Slayer replied, staring down at the black ensemble she had picked out for herself, not fully understanding why the top was so slack compared to the bottoms, "very soft. Your partner is smelling very..."

The common word evaded her momentarily, not holding an equivalent in Wiir.

"...pretty."

Stress-testing the quality of the breeches, Skad dropped into a squat and was pleasantly surprised by the flexibility of the garments when she didn't immediately rip the arse out of them. She remained down there and looked up to the appraising woman, her eye catching Vida quite comfortably lounging in the background as she turned her head.

"But why taking so many clothes for one? Should packing light, no? Only needing two."

 

[Vida]

Masile made an indecisive sound in acknowledgement of Skad's question about what constituted the "bare essentials", not entirely sure how to respond.

Not exactly a noise of agreement, but neither was it in total disagreement.

With hands still linked behind her back, she leaned forward ever so slightly on the balls of her feet; peering over the Nordwiir woman's crouched frame. Clearly sizing up how her figure survived in the form-fitting pants. No doubt a bit of a herculean effort bringing them to the waist, and Skad was making it apparent how they weren't a terribly comfortable fit where Varnehy lacked, baggy where he didn't. Definitely not something she appeared to have any particular preference for. But oh well, the thing is that they mostly fit, in a utilitarian sort of way.

As Masile continued to size up Skad's dimensions, perhaps for future reference, her head gave a nod that was part affirmation; part reassurance that they'd do in the short-term. Well, the fabric of the breeches stretched farther than she expected them to, so it was something they could work with. After having made the necessary mental notes, she stepped to the table in order to sit down, giving the rest of the blouses strewn across the table an experimental once-over with probing fingers.

Her attention returned to Skad after the prolonged silence, no longer occupied with the dress rehearsal.

"Well, when you travel as much as we do, having..." she bit at the very tip of her lip, not quite certain how to phrase it to this Nordwiir across from her, "... spare articles of clothing can be essential were you, for example, to cover it in blood and gore. Or sweat, and I assume we'll be doing a great deal of that. Even having one spare cannot always be enough." As for just how many sets she set before Skad? Maybe a little on the excessive side.

Masile tugged self-consciously at the skirts of her own dress while she was still finding a comfortable way to sit on the ridiculously uncomfortable stools. All the critiques made her feel gauche in the moment, seeing how evident the divide truly was between their two cultures. The differences were many, and glaring. No matter how undoubtedly dashing the Nordwiir looked in an all-black ensemble, even one she couldn't fit her bum into with all that much satisfaction.

Masile was aware that Varnehy still had some loose-fitting trousers meant to be buckled and sized on the fly - probably a better fit, certainly less flamboyant. But she decided against it, opting to avoid making a bigger deal out of what was presumably harmless commentary.

"I know it may seem odd, but there are few true occasions where people have a chance to launder their clothing. Having more is simple convenience." Her brows raised in the middle of the explanation as a thought occurred to her: "Think of it as being prepared for any eventuality, you must've seen by now how our battles on the mainland aren't solely restrained to combat."

Her eyes flickered in Vida's direction in a sardonic sort of way, then back to Skad before there was even a chance to blink. Thankful that the other sellsword was still far away in her own world. And by far the least involved in the conversation, as she was focused primarily upon the balancing act currently being performed; the chair poised on its rickety hind legs as one booted foot pushed and relented to the tune of whatever cadence playing in the woman's head.

Masile finally found an ideal placement, feet crossed at the ankles, angled in the side of her seat to face Skad.

All the explanations probably seemed very silly to the Nordwiir woman, but she didn't know how else to really describe it. Aside from the harsh reality of living with as much pretensions as those like Varnehy and Vida were wont to do, but it'd hardly do to insult her employer in front of her face. Especially not to someone like Skad who was... already at an equal wits end with the other woman.

Also, she never bothered expanding on the 'borrowing' comment. At least not yet.

 

[Skad]

Skad was more than acutely aware that this woman, who she knew very little about beyond her need to be helpful, was observing her. Usually, this would be a cause for concern, the sign of an enemy sizing her up and seeking a physical weakness. However, in the Nordwiir's case, said weakness was writ large across her face in a missing eye and not, in fact, found in her arse.

As she remained crouched, Kin-Slayer considered the brief lesson clothing practices of the southern lands. Staring blankly at the shorter woman with an expression suggesting nothing was breaking through.

This was not, of course, true but merely a return to her purposeful empty countenance.

It seemed as if appearances held some importance, at least in terms of 'more civilised' social structures. Skad, quite frankly, found it pointless. There was a simplicity in a brutal existence almost entirely focused on survival and devotion. It did not matter if your garb was stained or reeked like death and sweat; no, it mattered if it protected your flesh from the elements. The Nordwiir could appreciate it as a notion of preparedness for social combat but much preferred the simplicity of home, where there was no need in the first place.

"I am understanding," she finally groaned with a stretch, arcing her back to such a degree that it gave second-hand satisfaction, "you are all living with too much comfort, so you are making living harder. It is madness, but it is your madness to have."

Betraying her vacant expression, it seemed that Skad had put far too much thought into having three pairs of breeches instead of two.

"You are good at helping," Kin-Slayer commented, approaching the seated woman like a barbarian hooked on philosophy and lack of personal space. After closing the gap, her right hand reached out to clamp down upon her shoulder. Skad's void of a face and peculiar accent made it difficult to parse if she was attempting to be personable or intimidating.

"You will telling me your name. You do not look like you are fighting. What is it you do for these ones?"

 

[Vida]

It is your madness to have. How curious of an expression from the Nordwiir, if a bit pithy. Nevertheless, if she was being fair to Skad, the Nordwiir wasn't altogether wrong in describing their clothing etiquette.

This world was full of madness in the strangest of places, both big and small.

​

Masile hadn't even noticed the barbarian-philosopher approaching, too busy turning what was said over in her head. Overanalyzing things to the littlest degrees was a matter of policy, at least to her. Not that it did much good; the madness of how the Northerners lived was as unfathomable to Masile as the notion of fitted clothing was to Skad.

The planks underneath their feet creaked with the effort of the Nordwiir's strides, bringing the sitting woman back into the present with a jolt.

Before she knew it, the Nordwiir reached to clamp down on her shoulder.

Honestly though she tried, it wasn't enough to conceal the visible flinch at Skad's embrace. Neither could she police the instinctive discomfort towards the building pressure at the junction between neck and shoulder, with Skad's fingers digging into sore muscle tissue with what was apparently her understanding of tenderness.

Clearly the Nordwiir's zeal for warm embraces was nearly as impressive as her complete disregard for personal space. At least Masile hoped it was, and this was indeed the Nordwiir trying to be friendly - and not her preparing to twist the alchemist's head off.

Masile's eyes wandered for a short, panicky moment before finally coming around to focus upon the one-eyed barbarian looming overhead. She could feel the creeping warmth travelling across her face to flush the apples of her cheeks in what was... either appreciation of the effusive compliment, or the embarrassment of being caught in this far too familiar of a social interaction. Both of these options, coming out of nowhere, would do the trick.

"You're most welcome, it's nice to help," was the pathetic, off-balance reply.

Her face reflected the turmoil she was feeling inside, but then again it always did, with those big, owlish eyes.

"You will telling me your name. You do not look like you are fighting. What is it you do for these ones?"

Vida found this exchange between Masile and Skad too opportune to miss, given she was doing nothing else beyond eavesdropping. Her head came around from its perch to watch, with an ironic brow, as her poor alchemist was groped by a giant well over a foot taller than she. Did this Nordwiir not understand personal space at all? Masile didn't seem to think so.

Vida found it far more amusing when it was happening to the mousy-haired woman; less so when it was done to her. Though her hackles did rise, however briefly, at Skad's questioning. Finding it far too intimate for the task they were engaged in. Names were meant to stay between friends.

To Masile's credit, she didn't answer immediately, obviously biding her time to figure out what it was she would say. As forgetful as she was about Vida's little rule - when it came to Vida - the current circumstances brought it back to the forefront of her mind.

She was thankful her mind still worked, since the rest of her body was as stiff as a plank of wood. "I'm afraid I was never made for fighting." Masile's eyes temporarily dropped to her hands in a polite, if distracted way; finding them resting upon her knees while she thought of what she'd say next, and how much, for that matter. "I help out in my own fashion, in a lot of... different ways. I know what herbs harm, what herbs help, what lines of the body to cut to save a life. I know how to make a fire that isn't easily quenched,"

"Yes, you do. You're rather good at that." Vida's interruption could have been about any number of those things, though with how and when she said it, the subtle emphasis of her statement wasn't all that subtle. She brought the four legs of her chair back to earth with a dull thud.

"You can call me Basil, if you'd like. I don't mind going by that."

Masile at long last answered the other question of Skad's, treating it as a question mark rather than a full stop.

Not that her own full stop was particularly impressive, considering how huddled she'd become from the time the Nordwiir pawed at her to where they were now. Hardly an inspiring sight. Not at all helped by the softness of her voice belying any real resistance.

And yet, instead of breaking down right away, she had the wherewithal to await Skad's response. Not even bothering to look in Vida's direction for any hope of rescue.

 

[Skad]

Skad wasn't oblivious to the panic her physical contact had caused, finding it the perfect way of learning more about this woman without needing words. Not one for the fray, but instead a curious and accommodating creature that made up for her physical shortfalls through other means.

Before revealing those means, Kin-Slayer assumed some cunning was behind her, wrapped in a short, unassuming package. Meeting Vida for five minutes practically screamed that she did not tolerate people who were not useful. Perhaps it was all a front, and they were the best of friends, and perhaps the Nordwiir were warm, genial people who adored peaceful resolutions.

The woman's eyes shifted, only finding purchase upon Skad's face for a short time before dropping, but the Wiir never even blinked, studying her as if it was her chosen duty. She didn't even shift her gaze when Vida interrupted with what seemed to be a rare compliment.

"Basil," Skad repeated, once more taking their common sounds and warping them through her primal maw.

"Not everybody having to fight," she continued, Nordwiir society at least having evolved to the point where there were other roles besides murder, "and those are skills of good use."

A flame built to last sounded tremendously useful, especially given the conditions of home.

"In Eyjarnar, you would be a prestsfrú. What you are calling a..." Kin-Slayer had to pause once more to find the correct word in the common tongue, "...a shaman. Very respected. Sometimes even leading."

She relinquished her grip, but not before giving Basil a hearty pat on the aggrieved shoulder, her expression still the same cavern of nothing. "You will showing me that fire if there is time."

With that, Skad finally allowed the woman a measure of space and safety and moved away, returning to her arrangement of clothes and turning them so they could dry quickly. She imagined that nobody was particularly happy about the crackling fire that mocked them in this stifling heat.

"Vida," the Nordwiir announced with her back to the pair of them, satisfied that she was now clothed and had more information than before, "do you knowing when there will be food?"

 

[Vida]

When Skad thought to actually compliment Masile, she found it to be... unexpectedly pleasant. To bask in the glow of praise not casually diluted by insults, or spite or dismissiveness; something she didn't realize how much she craved until she had it in her lap, or shoulder, as it were.

​

Not that she needed the validation in any meaningful way, she did as she was told because she was paid to do so. She was a professional and most emphatically not a prestsfrú, no matter how she might've entertained the thought in the moment. Still, it was a nice thing to hear without all the pretense that typically came with the flattering remarks. A genuine appreciation of what others took for granted.

Her smile, as thin and oblique as it was, graced her lips with a short-lived appearance. Perhaps a token of gratitude better served had her eyes not flitted over the Nordwiir woman's shoulders so that they could meet with Vida's - a brief gesture of apology, almost a silent plea that promised no potential for betrayal. At least from her end. After her eyes returned to Skad's, specifically when the Nordwiir's hand left her shoulders, that same smile brightened once again.

When Skad asked of her recipe, she made a vague sound of affirmation. Maybe?

Then, when Skad decided to turn towards Vida so she could ask about dinner, all that previous elation vanished. All the water in the well dried up. Her mouth was suddenly feeling uncomfortably dry, and the second it closed, she made yet another silent appeal - this time of mercy. Far too late for something like that in this scenario.

Masile more or less realized her mistake before the sellsword's name had even fully left the Nordwiir woman's lips. Her jaw released a tiny bit of its tension so she could add some teeth to the display.

You couldn't call what she did next a smile, it was a grimace, a face of mortified realization.

​

As Vida drew her lower lip over her teeth and made an abysmal, fleeting caricature of a grin, Masile knew she wasn't very happy. When she finally brought her mouth together in a puckered line, it became abundantly clear that she was actually more than not very happy. Then came a breathy laugh; alchemized of equal parts disbelief and sheer, absolute irritation. Now that was an even worse sign.

In the moment Masile wished for nothing more than to be buried alive, to sink deep enough within herself to weather whatever was coming next. But she knew better. And there was no alchemist's recipe for that, so she decided upon the next best thing, a desperate fawning response.

After there wasn't an immediate reply to Skad's question, Masile took her chance - releasing one of the hands curled in anxious tandem atop her thighs so she could move to move to... she didn't know, placatingly pat at the other woman's hand now stretched onto the tabletop while mouthing quiet little apologies. It was a clumsy attempt that was destined to go nowhere. Not even close.

Vida's movements were nearly serpentine, smoothly disengaging to brush at a loose strand of hair caught in her brow.

Masile tilted her head, withdrew her offer with as much grace she could muster. When she spoke, it was in low, soothing tones, lips half-parted in panic. "Vida..." She fussed with the cuff of her blouse with now idle fingers. "I don't think..."

"Oh," came the light, almost casual exclamation. An intonation that carried no small amusement - even if that amusement was a withered, sardonic thing. "Now that's precious."

Vida didn't return her hand to the table following the rejection, which only served to worsen the knots Masile felt winding around her stomach. Something which only grew with a gradual certainty, like it was a living, breathing thing. A python already well on its way to suffocating its prey. And the coils only tightened around her until random, pointless words began spilling out of her mouth.

Or they would've - had she not been given the look that told her that silence was for the best.

All she could do now was hope it wasn't as bad as it seemed, which... wasn't all that hopeful of a gamble.

Nonetheless, the sellsword kept a surprising cool - despite the whole 'don't break one of my big rules' affair that played out in front of Skad for what must've felt like hours, but in reality only lasted a few short, terribly awkward seconds. From Skad's vantage where she could watch them both, while one watched the other, it must've been a little confusing. Maybe a little enlightening. It all depended on how well the Nordwiir was versed with dissecting the ambiguity she found in the interaction.

Vida made a soft clicking sound, tongue flush against the roof of her mouth. She held it like that for a little while longer, then released, the tension from her face vanishing in the same breath. Only a gentle twitch in the corner of her eye as her gaze travelled from Masile to Skad was the sole indication she even registered the Nordwiir's presence in the room.

"I don't honestly know. I suppose it's a good question to ask, I certainly paid the man enough to answer it for me." Was the reply to the infamous supper inquiry. Then she leaned back into her chair, hands reciprocating her words with a lackadaisical wave of dismissal. Very clearly practiced. "Have you ever had the chance to try continental food?" In-between getting shipwrecked and imprisoned, that is.

As for the 'man' she referred to, she meant the innkeeper, who was in very clear dereliction of his duties.

For whatever reason.

 

[Skad]

Skad wasn't entirely sure what she was witnessing as she turned back around.

Was it impolite to ask for food in these sweaty southern lands? Another unspoken arbitrary rule to fill the space between waking and sleeping for those without a proper cause? Her eye flitted between Basil and Vida, seeking any modicum of context that might have flown from lips or limbs.

No, it wasn't about the question of food, that much she could gather.

Was it a rejection? Why?

A headache loomed large in the back of the Nordwiir's skull as she swiftly realised that she needed better context to unpack the scene that had just unfolded before her. The notion of a strictly professional relationship seemed an illusion now, and in its place stood a beast closer in nature to a lover's quarrel. It stunk of weakness, as emotional bonds tended to do.

The predatory cunt that inhabited her flesh stirred; the instinct to seek flaws to shed blood better was not something that could ever be truly silenced.

However, the exhausted and pragmatic Nordwiir, who only desired to return to Eyjarnar, overruled that vicious nature. Whatever was happening between these two women, with their strained smiles and avoidant eyes, could strictly stay between them. Kin-Slayer was here to do a job, get paid and then fuck off. It was meaningless as long as whatever this was didn't hinder what she was here to do.

Namely death and chaos.

"Continental?" Skad inquired as she reapproached the table to retrieve her blade; she could have gone without clothes, but being parted from her weapon was another story, "I having done some hunting. Land here is good. There is plenty."

Swiftly returning to Vida's first comment, the Nordwiir hovered, pausing before seating herself as she offered her best, blank expression to the mercenary.

"Do you wanting me to kill this man?"

 

[Vida]

Vida gave Skad a pitying, searching look after the hunting comment. Doubtless looking for some sign of satire in the Nordwiir woman's tone. When there was none to be found, she gave a shrug of indifference, turning her head to the window.

She didn't exactly care about whether the Nordwiir ever tried cuisine or fine dining. No, she was rather more preoccupied with the fact that this woman now knew her name. Not a terribly big deal, she had hoped. It wasn't like there was any recognition in her eyes - either for 'Basil's' pseudonym nor the subsequent interaction the two women had in her presence.

As frustrated as Vida might've been with this sudden dynamic, she was also aware there was a time and a place to remedy these wrongs. And it wasn't right before dinner, and most definitely not in public. She'd deal with the issue when she was good and ready, and preferably after a full stomach.

Having taken the liberty of seating herself, Skad broke the lingering silence with a query that bordered on absurd.

"Do you wanting me to kill this man?"

"No!" Vida gave Skad a chiding glance, brows furrowing in mild amusement as she worked her hands behind her neck. "No, good lord. He still has to make us something to eat. And I don't necessarily trust anyone else here to do it in his absence."

Unless they opted for Skad's style of cooking, ala raw hunks of meat prepared (and seasoned) with hands made unhygienic by... what precisely? Only the gods knew. The blood and the horse-water being the most immediate candidates. She shuddered to think of whatever else clung to this bacterial menace sitting across from her. Although, when it came to the offer of killing the innkeeper, she was strangely pleased.

It meant at the very least a sign of the Nordwiir warming up to the idea of doing Vida's bidding, if it involved blood, anyway.

Vida stood from her chair, her mouth still twitching mischievously at the thought whenever she glanced over in Skad's direction. Now this one was clearly in need of a tight leash - the last thing they needed was a Norsewoman running rampant through town before they'd even gotten to their destination. It was obvious that the woman would love nothing more than to be released so that she could rampage around; eating all their goats and chickens and whatnot.

Which was great, in theory, but not for the specific mission at hand.

"... I'll see to it, please, make yourselves comfortable. It shouldn't take more than a minute."

Vida departed for the kitchens after having cast Masile a meaningful - but stern - nod, as if to remind her to be a bit more careful with the name-dropping, and that her penance was the responsibility of watching over the Nordwiir woman in the sellsword's absence. And by 'watching over', that was code for making sure she didn't go on that earlier mentioned rampage. Or undressed herself again, gods forbid.

Her absence was hardly felt for more than a second, but that second was enough for Masile to regain a portion of her lost composure, allowing her to sit up straight again. To then turn in Skad's direction with a smile similar to before, though having lost a little of its earlier luster. "I cannot imagine how hunting was like in the tundra, it must have been challenging for you - for anyone. I hear the winters are harsh, but not all that more harsh than the summers." Masile quirked her nose at the thought.

"In some places, even our smallest streams are alive with life. I suppose it makes life easy, in more ways than one."

Those more ways no doubt involving fitted clothing, and the discussion of.

Meanwhile, in the room past the double-doors of the common hall, stood Vida overlooking the innkeeper-turned-chef's progress over a boiling cauldron. The man hadn't noticed her - at least not yet, and she was content to keep it that way for a little while longer. Her arms crossed over her chest as she found a comfortable enough post in the doorway to plant her shoulder on. She waited like that.

How unaware these Southerners could be. 'Southerners', that is, being subjective. As Vida hailed from Dornoch.

Finally, as ignorance gave way to gradual realization, the vulture-faced man stood from his boiling pot with a startled noise of surprise; he had to restrain himself from dropping whatever he was holding into the pot below. When he looked over to find the sellsword in her padded gambeson and her leathers, with an inquisitive curl of her lips, he had to restrain himself from offering an instinctive apology. Why should he for her startling him, after all?

He apologized anyway. "Madam, I apologize--you startled me. I-I suppose you must all be hungry by now."

"Hello," was all she offered before returning to her idle repose, tilting her head in the direction of his cauldron. "You seem to be busy with all of... that."

That was all she really needed to know, so she made to take her leave - not at all bothering to respond in kind to the innkeeper's tense smile, as tense as the rest of the man was. One look was all it took for her to understand his motives for hiding back here within the apparent safety of his kitchen, concealed behind his cauldron, and holding his stirring spoon with the same animation as if it were a mighty sword.

The poor man was afraid, but it wasn't within her to soothe his fears.

He stopped her mid-departure by speaking up again in that quivery, uncertain tone of his. "You've come at a fine time, dinner won't take more than a few minutes more. What would you and your... company prefer to drink, wine? I still have a..."

She gave the man a bland smile, quite clearly finished with the conversation he insisted continue. "That's nice,"

As nice as a viper underfoot, anyway. All the energy sputtered out of the man's thin lips at that, managing the grace to not look too stricken as he went back to his pot full of bits and bobs of - well, nothing that bore thinking about so long as it was edible. She presumed it was seafood amidst the watery gruel now being stirred with renewed enthusiasm; the shiny chunks of meat slinking between and over the spoon in an almost mesmerizing way. She had to look away, uncomfortable with the sight and more than happy to leave the innkeeper to his mystery meat.

The social faux pas aside, she made for a hasty escape back to Skad and Masile.

 

[Skad]

Evidently, they held vastly different methods of operation. Given how everything had unfolded so far, this was none too surprising. Skad did not tolerate any slack from those who worked with or under her, never mind being paid by her. If they did not prove helpful or live up to expectations, the only recourse was to serve in sacrifice. In that respect, every soul with a beating heart was useful.

The Nordwiir shrugged, offering nothing more than callous shoulders to the rejection of her offer and more than happy for Vida to expedite the process of getting a meal.

Confident in the woman's caustic tongue, Skad took the invitation to get comfortable and finally sat down, allowing tension to loosen as she propped her elbows upon the wood and settled into a hunch. It wasn't until now that she had stopped moving that the Nordwiir realised how much fatigue had sunk into her flesh.

It didn't take long for Basil to return with fresh questions, questions that Kin-Slayer found inoffensive to answer, not prying into her faith nor holding nefarious intentions.

"If you are hunting for food on Eyjarnar, then you are fucked," Skad answered plainly, observing the slowing dribble of blood from her palm as it soaked into the sleeve of the borrowed shirt, "most beasts of home are not good for eating. Will taint the guts. Or are eating you instead."

Speaking from experience, Kin-Slayer had learned about the local fauna's poisonous nature the hard way.

"There is farming and fishing," she conceded, looking up from her mark of penance at the curious woman, "In Feittsumar you are feasting and getting fat for Magurvetur. Then you are going days without eating. If Feitsu- summer was good, then you are having rations. If not, you are raiding."

Beyond the collective Wiir faith, their lives revolved around resource scarcity, so much so that it was expressly forbidden to destroy the supplies of another. The rite of Hátíð Sársauka awaited those who dared to do so.

A terrible death.

"But your easy life is good," Skad continued, the skinning knife in her right hand waving conversationally, emoting where her face did not, "it is making you soft, idle, better for raiding."

 

[Vida]

Masile made sure to listen to Skad's storytelling with an open-minded expression, contributing anything and everything to memory - partly out of personal interest, for who knew where her travels would take her? And partly because she sensed there was a certain pressure put on her without Vida there to share in the conversation.

​

So there she sat, listened, smiled and nodded while Skad discussed the more unsavory details of her homeland's climate, confirming her initial thoughts about it. It was a... rather unpleasant place, devoid of many virtues. Also not at all unnoticed was the casual display of unsafe knife handling the other woman was making with her weapon, seemingly as a way of compensating for where her face remained flat and unexpressive.

Planting her chin atop the cradle made by clasped hands, Masile tried to imagine what daily life was for the people living there. These Nordwiir living in their Eyjarnar, where they made ready for Magurvetur - winter, presumably - by reaping the harvests of Feittsumar, not at all dissimilar to circumstances upon the mainland. At least in principle. Where they differed was how the harshness of their winters forced them into a lifestyle of raiding, no doubt influencing their customs and traditions in more profound ways than even Skad realized.

An inevitable part of an existence made difficult by violence, and need.

Masile allowed her eyes to wander, occasionally drawing her attention back to Skad whenever the Norsewoman made a subtle, unconscious flick of her skinning blade. This she did without so much as batting an eye; even when the alchemist in her seat cringed back every so often when the point of the blade came a little too close for comfort.

When Skad came to the part of her spiel about how an easy life was good for Mainlanders - if only for the fact it made raiding more prosperous for Northerners, Masile couldn't help but permit a gentle, chastising smile to accompany her next words. "We are fortunate, I believe," Masile spoke after the other woman finished talking, carefully wording her response, "in more ways than one. Yes, we may be guilty of letting comfort spoil us rotten - but look at all that has been made because of an easy life. Not only for us, but in service of our children, and our gods. Comfort can be used as a tool like any other, if wielded with diligence and care."

Her tongued darted across her lower lip, mindful to catch herself from saying anything too sensitive to the Nordwiir woman's indelicate sensibilities. Masile wondered what Skad thought of her Eyjarnar, since the woman spoke of it with such a casual air of unvarnished truth. Only speaking the facts, a few of the more common translations, and how they went about surviving from the winter to summer months.

Not all that much about her opinion on things; clear enthusiasm for raiding aside.

An interesting ecosystem: those who plow the land and those who take it. Together they were as much a whole as barnacles on whales, or maggots on an open wound. The Northerners derive the benefits of a comfortable mainland, while they in turn make sure that the poor Southerners didn't turn too soft. Not quite the way most would think of it, but then again, Masile was more interested in commensalism than she was about the woes of the common people.

"Would you have enjoyed a life like this, if it was your home instead of ours that reaped the benefits?"

Oh gods, no. This was getting a little too close to philosophizing.

Vida wasn't back quite yet, though the drum of her boots could be heard throughout the tavern while she noisily hunted down Varnehy. Masile wasn't all that inclined to call out for her, to ask what she was doing; thinking it best that the third member of their party be present when the sellsword returned.

Truth be told, she almost admired Varnehy's resilience, a punching bag for those occasional bouts of misdirected aggression Vida was... oft known for. Surprisingly, he took it far better than the alchemist ever would, simply nodding his way throughout whatever lecture he was subjected to. Pretty much driving all rage out of the other woman before she even had a chance to get worked up.

Anyway, that was their dynamic. While Masile had her own with the sellsword.

Now, it seemed, she had an altogether different dynamic with this Skad. Masile's mind drifted back to the woman seated before her, eyeing her expectantly while her chin sunk deeper into those clasped hands, awaiting a reply. There was something she found very agreeable about that dead-pan face of Skad's, so very serious yet so painfully genuine in her words and actions. At least those few words she did speak.

No doubt the Nordwiir had her own share of secrets, Masile wasn't that big of a fool.

 

[Skad]

The opportunity to sit and discuss the nature of living did not grace Skad very often. Polite conversation was reserved for those who weren't reviled by their peers who held their tongues for fear that any sentiment may have been their last. Her expectations were lofty, and even a shred of doubt in Haraudur's will was as good as a death sentence.

She did not hold these people to her standards; the lack of a massacre within the inn was evidence enough of that.

In stoic contemplation, she considered the notion of comfort as a tool. The edge of her skinning blade snaked through the air as if ready to strike down any errant thoughts that held doubt. Comfort as inheritance, on the surface, seemed sensible. Was it right to pass down hardship, ensuring life remained just as brutal for the following generations?

No, not right. Necessary.

There were no illusions on Skad's part that her home was a merciless place, but that struggle to live bred strength, cunning and will. How many of her kin had she slain because they lacked those traits and lacked them because they chose comfort in place of reverent suffering? The craven would not, could not survive. If Eyjarnar did not allow it, then the Gods would not allo-

Her thought couldn't continue as Masile followed up with a hypothetical question.

The knife halted.

Skad's lower jaw shifted, jutting out like indominable rock in the face of Basil's words. Her stare was no longer empty but instead foreboding, suggesting to the short woman that she had said something very wrong. This was no longer a conversation about simple culture, but had instead broached precarious waters.

<"You ask dangerous questions,"> she muttered in her native tongue, the words a guttural scrape that seemed like a threat instead of statement.

The first time seemed like a mistake, an errant comment on the nature of gendered clothing and why society operated off of the basis of another's spoken rule. A second time...?

If.

If was doubt in the disguise of a question. If sought to erode the foundations of belief. If could shake resolve and breed treachery. If was not real.

Those already bloodied fingers of her left hand curled around the thirsting blade, as if touching her extension of Haraudur's will could protect her against the question. It created a hypothetical person, one that was not chosen and had no reason to kill. Surrounded by a family that still lived, by friends and lovers. What was her role in society? What did she strive for? Her fingers ran across the edge of the knife and that stinging slice reminded her where she was and who she was.

Kin-Slayer.

"It does not matter," Skad replied slowly, her jaw relaxing but her crippled stare still holding that serious nature, "it would not be me. I am only knowing what I am now."

Her thoughts solidified, she released the blade before pointing the tip at Basil.

"Are you wishing you are different from who you are now?"

 

[Vida]

The speaking in the Nordwiir's native tongue aroused a flutter of suspicion somewhere deep within Masile; how frightful was that eye of Skad's! She wondered then, distantly, if she had overstepped.

Something was deeply troubling the other woman, when inoffensive words earned such a reaction.

​

Masile watched on as somewhere along the way Skad's knifework took an altogether different tone, becoming focused, as her intent with the blade shifted from idle diversion to an interrogation of sorts. And yet, Masile found the act to be one of self-reassurance more than a direct threat, as if pointing that thing at her would have eased the burden of doubt planted within. Even if that doubt was a thing entirely unwelcome; not at all within her to truly grasp onto.

This Nordwiir woman didn't just want to avoid uncomfortable thoughts, she wanted to avoid their existence completely.

She was what she was, and there was no sense in entertaining the idea whatsoever.

Something about Skad's closed expression gave the distinct impression that her answer was final, with no more room for even a hypothetical to be given consideration. Now this was a tough nut to crack - and if Masile had the interest in cracking it like all those hazelnuts strewn about the table, she might have deemed it impossible. It was good then for the both of them that this was not a subject she cared to pursue too vigorously.

Just enough to satisfy some small, natural curiosity that she couldn't exorcise as easily as Skad did hers.

Because yes, of course, people were complex and messy. Masile found the more complex and messy they were, the more she cared to know about them. But the knife pointed in her face told her in no uncertain terms to stop asking. So she stopped. Pushing herself deeper into her seat as to appear a little less threatening to this Norsewoman, clearly indicating how willing she was to concede when threatened with violence. It was usually a very effective tactic.

And yet Skad didn't stop there, asking: "Are you wishing you are different from who you are now?"

Now there was a dangerous question, Masile had thought. Her thinking undoubtedly influenced (at least a little) by the blade that hovered over her like a figurative guillotine - or quite possibly a literal one. Depending on how enthusiastic Skad might be with the whole beheading thing with a weapon that size. Somehow, it didn't seem terribly wise to risk finding out.

But it wasn't only dangerous, it was also a profoundly funny one, as well.

Masile's lips twitched upward of their own accord, an appearance that came perilously close to becoming a full-fledged smile, albeit in a perfectly polite, restrained fashion. How would one answer that question; how would she of all people answer it? It wasn't a hypothetical insomuch as it was a non-question for the lifestyle she lived. She was always a different person to some extent, she always acted differently when circumstances demanded it.

Her life was a facsimile of her current environment. Everyone had facets to them, they certainly weren't fixed and unchanging - least of all for someone like her, whose transience and career history promised that no two Masile's ever met one another. And in reality, most people wished they could be different in some way, be it in character or circumstance, but rarely did they truly change in any meaningful manner. Masile did; in every way.

Somehow, she didn't think this kind of answer would be understood by Skad, or most others, really. There was a chameleon wearing this alchemist's skin, and the interrogation posed was one that was laughably on the nose. Still, she searched within until there was a kernel of truth she could grasp, a way for her to answer to the Nordwiir's satisfaction.

"I am who I am and there's nothing that can change who we are, you are very correct," Masile mulled over her reply, more so for herself than for Skad's curiosity. "That isn't to say I'm not always making changes that affect who I'll become - but the future me is the only one capable of answering. So... no, I don't wish to be different from who I am, right now, that is."

There was a manner in how Masile attempted to placate Skad that probably didn't sit right with the Nordwiir; smiling in spite of the naked threat, her voice an idyllic balance between an all too passive acceptance and a strangely cheerful ambivalence. Both her face and the words she spoke blending in seamlessly with one another, the same way it usually did when she didn't otherwise have sharpened steel pointed at her.

It was almost a kind of default she turned to whenever all other avenues of expressing herself fell short.

"I'm certain you enjoy who you are as well, I meant nothing by the question."

The dissonance of the alchemist's actions and words was short-lived however, when she broke eye contact first to steal a glance in the direction of the innkeeper - finally having mustered the valor to leave his kitchen. He stood in the doorway, in the middle of removing the stained apron by fussing over the knotted strings behind his back when his eyes finally caught a glimpse of the two women; looked as if he'd run away again, yet surprisingly, remained resolute.

"Ah, well, I wanted to let you ladies know that supper's coming," the innkeeper suddenly spoke, hands momentarily sliding from the string around his waist. His words were aimed towards Masile, as were his eyes, despite the Nordwiir woman obviously being more prominent of a presence, "so please do be seated, it'll be right out. A... momentarily."

He paused uncertainly, perhaps sensing the violence in the room?

"Will that be all, or is there anything else I could do for the madams?"

 

[Skad]

It was difficult to parse if the woman's answer was satisfactory, with Skad's stiffened jaw easing but the tip of the blade remaining accusatory in its direction.

What was certain was that the alchemist was not as edgeless as her mannerisms suggested.

Foreign mindsets with alien vocabularies were eroding the Nordwiir's mental fortitude alongside the strain of fatigue. Oh, it had started innocently enough with questions of culture and the factual differences between northern survival and southern comfort. In that respect, she was happy to educate and develop a loose basis of trust and understanding, given they would be working together, albeit briefly.

But the questions had changed, words delving too far beneath the skin.

Perhaps in the embrace of luxury, these people could afford to sit around and consider their sense of self, creating hardships where there were none.

It didn't matter. None of this mattered.

Skad had opened her mouth to say as much but was interrupted by the presence of a tragic figure who wore his anxiety upfront, a pathetic excuse of twitching uncertainty, afraid to make eye contact as if the Nordwiir might have eaten him. This was the feeble soul of the south perfectly encapsulated in the form of one man, the fruit fallen from the tree grown in comfort.

"Be faster," Skad spoke, her face settling back into the void as she withdrew her knife and set it down on the table.

Then, expecting the man to find a renewed sense of urgency, she turned her head and full attention back to Basil, clearly more relaxed than she had been moments prior. Clasping calloused hands together, Kin-Slayer leaned forward, head sinking low to level eye contact with the short woman.

"I am forgiving you," she stated, the low timbre of her voice at odds with the words until the Nordwiir continued, "You are not knowing any better. Next time I am taking your tongue, yes?"

 

[Vida]

At long last, some of Skad's words finally pierced the stubborn hide of the other woman's practiced smile. Masile's wide, watchful eyes flickered with a shadow of apprehension, producing a titter of what was more nerves than good humour.

"I do suppose that's fair."

​

Whatever was next in this exchange was clearly never to be, for any long enough pause was extinguished by the grumbling departure of the innkeeper, then the subsequent entrance of the two other sellswords practically right after; the woman dropping back a handful of paces behind the man in order to observe his reaction with what was probably a childish amount of glee. Oh, not so bold as to be completely open-faced with it, but Vida's eyes did a fine enough job conveying every fiendish sliver of satisfaction she found in this miserable scenario.

Varnehy was an unwilling victim of a war waged on him by all three women - even Skad in her own, unintentional way.

He might have commented then and there, given the impulsive twitch of his jaw, but one glance at the woman by his side told him all he needed to know. This was a trap that had already been sprung, and while the Nordwiir might not have recognized it, he knew better than to give away the advantage of surprise in an ambush - no matter how much it hurt. Or how much those pants cost to fit in his flatter dimensions.

So he did as he was trained to do in any ambush. He stopped, quietly and quickly assessed the situation, then proceeded to walk the rest of the distance with the trepidation of a man already condemned. Vida followed close behind, hands clasped behind her back as she strutted - not strolled - strutted with little pretense now that the drow had already seen the travesty in its full glory. Whether Skad's choice of form-fitting clothing was really a travesty? Well, that was undoubtedly still up for debate.

Only a few very precious seconds had passed, yet it was a flurry of emotions both big and small.

Vida preened like a particularly pretty peacock; Masile's nervous grin transitioned into a downright horrified, thin-lipped smile at the former's entrance; Varnehy just looked a bit pained, though considering how little he demonstrated any lick of emotion - it was saying a lot more than he let on. Even if he had the wisdom not to show it too plainly, especially not in front of these women.

All in all, it was a veritable whirlwind of small facial transformations, something of a harsh contrast to Skad's insistence on emotional austerity.

And no doubt a retelling only a bard could do real justice to.

The woman seated herself first with a contented sigh, chin cradled atop intertwined fingers while she observed the drow take the vacant spot across from her, pulling up one of the chairs to sit at the end of the table between Masile and Vida. Probably no coincidence that it also happened to be the spot furthest away from Skad, who was at present wearing some of his finer clothes. With all the rest of them simply... strewn across the surface of the table, abandoned like so many of the crushed and smashed hazelnut shells left in the destructive wake of the three mercenaries. Honestly, Varnehy wasn't entirely certain what to make of it.

Masile cast an apologetic grimace in his direction. An action that, predictably, garnered no reaction from the drow.

Instead he chose to grace Skad with that stern complexion of his, as well as his next words: "I see you've taken the liberty of dressing yourself in my blouse, and my breeches," was what he chose to say in a tone that brook no condemnation nor conviction; a simple observation. His long canines showed then, but not for a smile, at least not for a pleasant smile. "They aren't terribly cheap to fit."

Ah, maybe it wasn't all simple observations, but it wasn't possible for the drow to completely prevent the exasperation from leaking into his voice, here and there.

"But you were wise to choose black, it's the color of a dark night. An ideal choice for stealth."

"If it's any consolation," Vida chimed in with the typical, lazy cadence she used whenever she was feeling a little more forgiving in the words she spoke. Adjusting her chin on its perch so she could now address the drow with those mischievous eyes. "I think she looks rather fetching in them, so you'll have to forgive Basil for allowing Skad to have her pick of all your nice clothes."

To that, the only reply of Varnehy was a rise of a brow. He was shrewd enough not to play along.

Meanwhile the chagrin of Masile, seated to Varnehy's immediate right, only grew as she continued to pretend to be interested in anything other than the drow now positioned next to her. She couldn't really look in Vida's direction either, because at the present the only thing that gaze contained was thinly veiled disdain. So she made the prudent decision of looking nowhere at all. No, the poor alchemist elected instead to bury her eyes at the bottom of an empty flagon across from her.

Remaining absolutely, positively fascinated with the quality of the cup's pottery. Poor Basil.

 

[Skad]

Content with having made herself perfectly clear regarding the matter of philosophical hypotheticals, Skad was almost prepared to relax once more. A meal would be upon them soon and perhaps a measure of rest within the den of venomous tongues.

However, any thought of the latter was swiftly quashed as Vida returned with the grey creature in tow, their presence replacing the patron saint of infirmity as the innkeeper scurried away. With one eye missing, she was forced to actively turn her head and observe the pair as they approached the table.

The Nordwiir's gut feeling was one of grim omen, like spotting a lurking kaldurhrafn before a raid. Kin-Slayer could only surmise from what little she knew of Vida that if she was happy, somebody else was miserable. It was the tell of pride, after all, that great smugness held in a gleam or in the spring of a step. The other, the man, seemed less than pleased. Just as foretold.

Having flicked between the pair, her hollow stare finally settled upon the man as the point of interest. He'd taken most of her attention when they freed her from certain imprisonment for obvious reasons.

It wasn't every day that one met a Nordwiir; likewise, it wasn't every day that a Nordwiir met a...

...whatever he was.

Keeping to form, her first thought had been to ponder the colour of his blood, although asking out loud seemed unwise then and perhaps still unwise now.

They were his clothes.

"Not taking. Borrowing," she corrected, her head turning to glance at Basil, who was avoiding existence by staring at a mug, probably for the best, given that Skad was wielding her own words against her in tandem with Vida's interjection. "I am hoping not to need for stealth. You are having a small ass, it is too tight for fighting. Only until mine are drying."

A furrow of the brow interrupted her attentions, looking back to her least favourite mercenary with that dead-eyed expression affixed, betraying her frustration in the face of another unknown word.

"What is fetching?"

 

[Vida]

By all the gods and their saints, what did he do to deserve this? Varnehy gave it legitimate thought, in-between the clarification that she was only borrowing his clothing and the unnecessary commentary on the dimensions of his ass.

He kept a straight face, mindful to not look too bothered by any of it; at least she didn't intend to fight in them.

​

That alone was a small victory, so he took what he could get. As for everything else? He assumed it was some kind of divine retribution that haunted the steps of most in their particular profession, chalking it up as some karmic re-balancing by the gods. There was certainly an ironic type of humour in teaching a Norsewoman of all people what 'borrowing' had meant, when by all accounts so far Skad hardly seemed the type to care for the distinction.

The ghosts of future goats flashed through his mind, then.

With a proverbial shrug of his shoulders, he replied: "I think the distinction with borrowing lies in asking the original owner for permission, but I cannot fault you for what you don't know."

His peripheral vision narrowed in on Masile, who still continued to inspect her cup of imaginary wine.

Thankfully it seemed like neither Skad nor Varnehy deigned to push it further, at least not yet, despite hemming in the poor woman with both their bodies and their now mutual distrust. Instead the Nordwiir chose to direct her next line of inquiry towards the third woman in the room, opting to quiz her on semantics of words she wasn't entirely familiar with.

"What is fetching?"

This would be an interesting conversation, if Vida's ready smile was anything to go by.

Not quite a smile as it was the personification of some majestic cat one saw in the jungle, languid as it lounged in the sun and decided whether or not the prey jumping into its mouth was worth the effort of being eaten. Vida pushed herself back into the chair, legs crossing together while she did the same with her arms; it was apparent where Skad lacked in facial emotes, she preferred them, at least over the virtues of primitive gesturing to get a point across.

Like the animal she imitated, the tilt of her head was similarly indolent; she studied the Nordwiir before her with a predator's gaze. "Fetching means pleasing," the blonde-haired woman explained with a saint's patience, eyes travelling to land upon Varnehy first, then flickered to Masile instead. "I suppose that depends on someone's tastes; what they find pleasing in another. I find you fetching in your clothing, but that's only my opinion, it does vary."

Here she made a very visible, soon to be very audible attempt to actively draw Masile into the conversation. And just like that, the empty tankard of the alchemist was all the more fascinating. Fetching, even. Masile made every attempt to look anywhere except for the eyes she knew were pinned on her, but it was pointless, she knew she would have to face her retribution eventually.

She mustered whatever internal reserves she could, looked up to meet Vida's eyes.

"You must have an example of something you find fetching in Skad."

That was not at all a question, that was an order, one she found prudent to obey.

For no other reason than the fact that she was completely and utterly alone in this particular scenario, even Varnehy remained silent; but it was clear as to what he thought of this whole affair, there was no doubt he wanted his pound of flesh as well. That meant she was literally out of people to turn to - aside from the hulking Nordwiir sat next to her. Masile's lips began to transform into that habitual smile of hers, a shield of placidity when confronted with the awkwardness of conversations, like this one.

Masile assessed Skad like a cornered animal would their hunter, no doubt running her calculations between accidentally saying something offensive to the woman who earlier threatened to cut that same tongue out - or to deny Vida - hardly an option either, considering she kind of deserved it. And by the way that disdain remained on the sellsword's face, it was hardly possible for her to avoid this forever. Alas, all roads led to punishment. The fate destined of Masile.

So she forced herself to appear genuinely curious, as if this was an equally genuine topic of study.

"Ah, as an example. I find the colour of your eyes very pleasing, like moss on rocks." This was meant to be a compliment, at least by the way she spoke of it in wistful tones that only an enthusiastic botanist could possess. "It's a thing that immediately stands out to you about another, one of their... features, like my choice in question."

Vida's gaze shifted again, this time from Masile to Skad as if to share in the alchemist's sentiments. "Yes, your eyes for example, Skad - it's fair to call them fetching. Well, in the singular since one of them is ruined." She almost stopped then, but instead decided to offer a helpful clarification. "It doesn't mean they aren't fetching anymore, just that one of them has to work twice as hard,"

As her lips parted to continue, Varnehy finally, thankfully interrupted her. Even if he did find some amusement in the unfolding exchange, he saw where it was headed, deciding to make an emergency divergence before this evolved into a bigger Thing than it needed to be. His index finger tapping the hollow ceramic of one of the tankards closest to Vida, causing her to redirect her attention, already arching a brow in amused reply.

"You told me the innkeeper had half-decent wine, but he's too afraid to serve it to us, would you like me to?"

Her brow only arched higher, clearly grasping the hint. "That would be kind of you." Came the response after a pregnant pause, not entirely unhappy with the diversion, but hardly interested in agreeing so readily.

Her brow lowered as if to declare an end to the engagement. Though she still returned to her previous staring contest with Skad, idly curious what her response would be. If any.

 

[Skad]

Pleasing.

Skad, Kin-Slayer was a great many things. To the people in this room, she was blunt, savage and fragrant. To her fellow Wiir, she was vicious, opportunistic and merciless. To put it plainly, she was nothing if not a stone-cold cunt. Pleasing did not fit into any facet of her being amongst those borne of flesh and blood, not emotionally nor aesthetically.

Ultimately, it did not matter how mortal eyes viewed her.

But as it stood, Skad was still in this room and had engaged the conversation with her question, thus making it her responsibility to endure.

It was not entirely pointless, although illuminating for reasons beyond understanding southern language. The Nordwiir had been struggling to pinpoint the nature of the relationship between the three mercenaries. Vida was in charge, evidently, but the bonds that tied the other two to the smug social tyrant were still a complete mystery.

As Basil attempted to stare a hole through the tankard, Vida was there interrogating her existence with a gaze that only seemed to give Skad further doubts.

And yet, as she was bullied into complimenting the Nordwiir as an example, a pleasant smile crested, betraying every suggestion that this was not something she wished to do. Naturally, Skad stared back, her confusion hidden by that vast blanket of nothing, peering into polite curiosity. Was Basil expected to lie or face retribution were she not to find anything pleasing?

Quick thinking found her eyes, or rather eye and observation was given. The hurdle cleared until the next one was set, longing for lacking legs to trip.

That only seemed to shift Vida's attention; her helpful explanation seemed less than charitable and far from pleasing. Highlighting a flaw only to frame it as complementary. Perhaps, if Skad had been some creature capable of vanity and not a woman who had just bathed in fetid horse water, it might have had an effect.

The man, who seemed determined to avoid sustained contact with any of their conversations, opted to hunt for wine as Kin-Slayer digested what had just occurred. This designated him as the smartest of the trio.

Her head twisted between Vida and Basil, and she allowed that hard-working mossy rock to narrow. "You are both hurting my head," she admitted, her head finally giving up on a focal point and rolling backwards so she could grace the roof with her stare instead, "better to be saying what you are meaning."

Perhaps this dance of words had a different meaning, evading the Nordwiir's thoughts until that moment.

"You two should trying fucking. Get the bad out of you."

 

[Vida]

An answer taken and an answer given; the apparent solution to the indeterminate conflict between the two women.

Not exactly an inexplicable end result to Skad's theories, considering just how awkward and tense things were between the two mercenaries without the very much needed context to claim it to be anything else.

The look on both their faces would at least partly dispel the assumption.

"Please don't be so crude."

"Absolutely not."
​

Well, that didn't go as intended. For people apparently so much more proficient than Skad with social niceties and nuanced discourse, the frantic aftermath probably only brought more questions instead of squashing the lingering accusation. And it certainly didn't help either when both women were not at all willing to look at one another after the words left Skad's lips.

For two very different reasons, however.

Vida rolled her eyes with the dramatic flourish of a person well-versed in overreacting, clearly an expert at this point by virtue of practice alone. Masile for her part looked a little less convincing, making an uncomfortable dash with her eyes away from the table entirely, a series of fingers tucking back imperceptible threads at her hairline to disguise the visual retreat. Varnehy wasn't far enough away to miss the exchange - so his distant, ambiguous guffaw was the reply they got.

With her arms still lightly folded upon her chest, Vida brought her rolling gaze down and over to where Skad sat, eyes frosted over with a new layer of cold detachment. No longer was there a preening predator that was present mere seconds ago; that was gone now, replaced with stony eyes and a bitter shifting of her lips into an approximate design of a smile, albeit one full of the usual 'You Are Wrong And I Am Right' arrogance of hers she'd worn like a suit of armour all evening.

That in of itself was likely enough, but she had to add insult to injury.

"Please. If I wanted something like that I certainly wouldn't be asking for it with timid little eyes."

The comment was a little on the nose for this to be a one-time discussion.

Meanwhile, Masile looked... surprisingly less embarrassed with the bomb now thoroughly defused. Her head no longer dipped as it did before, though her fingers remained to go over invisible flaws across the side of her temple facing Skad, obviously less willing to showcase her emotions to the Nordwiir at the moment. Instead she brought the full bearing of her scrutiny upon Vida; the second time she did so since everyone sat down.

Her lips curled ever so slightly, putting forward an affection of someone sorely hurt by the claim. Even if there was at least a little truth to be discovered within the pretense, given the way she spoke up at all despite earlier vows of silence. "You think my eyes are timid?"

"No. I think they're large and round - like an owl. Are we done complimenting everyone's fucking eyes?"

Vida for once found herself on the backfoot - and it was Masile of all people that set her on her path - as she figuratively stumbled to retract the insult with as much long-suffering grace as she could muster. Not quite an apology, but neither was she comfortable doubling down; something about that kicked puppy look Masile gave her made the sellsword feel churlish. Even more so after having insulted her a moment before with the all-too-quick rejection to what Skad had said, she wasn't always that mean.

Masile was lucky she wasn't as useless as she let on, damn her. And damn Skad too.

"I always considered them in those terms as well, so I agree. Thank you."

Vida pushed her tongue to the inside of her cheek to bite off any retort, both her brows elevating minutely to demonstrate how well aware she was of this toeing the line of back-talk. "Mm," Vida made a sound in her throat in what could only be described as a measured, exasperated acknowledgement. "And now Skad has the answer to her question." As for this line of inquiry? It was over.

The next reply she briskly authored towards the Nordwiir. Since this was not the desired result of the conversation, she desired to expunge the topic out of existence as quickly as humanly possible. "Anything more you might like to ask? I suppose now is a lovely time, less so after the wine arrives."

That glint in her eyes told as much as Skad needed to know, it was a warning, with real teeth.

Masile didn't bother to disguise the quiet, satisfied hum of victory as her hand bent at the wrist to grasp the tankard at her end of the table, swirling around the invisible contents within in idle contemplation. The question wasn't for her and it wasn't for her to answer either, so she stayed out of it, happy enough to spectate on the sidelines from underneath the bangs of her lowered head. Poor Vida, but she'd had enough, and she knew how horrid the remaining days would be without any checks and balances. Compliments at sword-point were usually effective, at least for the short-term.

As for later? Well, she'd have to console herself with the small victories where they could be found.

 

[Skad]

What unravelled was unexpected, although still delicious all the same.

So swift to dispel any notion of wanton rutting, perhaps too swift, one could argue. Skad's head remained tilted back, her eye focusing solely on the wood of the ceiling. Buildings made of wood. What a fucking liberty. These people did not deserve the bounty of resources that engulfed them; it made them so wasteful.

The disgust was too much to bear, as was the intrigue at what new war of facial expression was currently being waged by the two women.

Her head returned to the fore, looking from Basil to Vida in her regularly scheduled state of oblivion as the evening's entertainment went to and fro. The eyes had it, from a prickly insult to a back-peddling compliment that the Nordwiir doubted the caustic mercenary was used to giving. It couldn't have been very often that Basil was on the offensive in this migraine-inducing dynamic.

Skad's nose twitched as she barely suppressed what might have been a carnivorous grin were she not so guarded. If she were stuck with these cretins, it may as well have been worthwhile in one way or another, even if such entertainment was ultimately pointless.

A low hum reverberated from the back of her throat as Vida rushed the topic of conversation along lest she was forced to exceed her limits of compliments for another lunar cycle.

"No more to asking," the Nordwiir replied, letting the false belief that she was granting them all a reprieve from this scenario settle for a second or two, "but... I am worrying."

Her barren countenance, paired with her incorrect verb usage and stretched vowels, almost made it seem as if Kin-Slayer would raise a perfectly valid concern. Was she concerned about the nature of this job? Had she imagined a snag or a future issue that might have caused complications? Her brow furrowed, and given her usually frozen face, that meant it was deliberate.

"There having been no nice words said for Vida's eyes," Skad spoke slowly, her concern earnest despite being perfectly malicious in its shit-stirring, "that is not right."

Her scar-laden hands came up to her chest, palms touching down gently as if to indicate that the Nordwiir was speaking from the heart.

"I am thinking that Vida has fetching eyes. Very strong when not hiding in that black shit."

 

[Vida]

One had to wonder where exactly the sudden enthusiasm for handing out compliments came from, though given how back-handed it was in reality - the answer wasn't too difficult to snuff out.

Was Skad feeling playful? Now this was a surprise Vida didn't expect.

​

While she may have been absently musing in her head about the social transformation of the Nordwiir, the rest of her - specifically the expression on her face - was still reeling from the incredulity of the Nordwiir's strangely under-the-skin remark, namely at how targeted it was compared to the rest of the signature brazenness she had already come to expect. All the grunting and growling, yes. Making fun of her choice of cosmetics? Not so much.

Vida's shoulders, briefly flexing as she crossed her arms all the closer, relaxed again into the chair behind her after a moment's pause. She tried her hardest to unscrunch her nose in this time as well, pressed as tightly as the rest of her features in a face that wasn't entirely certain whether to be mildly offended, amused, or in complete surprise by this turn of events. Probably a little bit of all three, were she being completely honest with herself.

The monster they've created was learning, how frightening.

"I see you're trying your tongue at flattery," there she paused, offering Skad a demure and understanding smile, "it wasn't very good, but I suppose it's fine for someone who hears so little of it.

Not exactly what people meant when they told you to kill them with kindness, but she could improvise. And improvise she did with a flourish of that rarely seen smile of hers, something which was coupled with a lowering of her chin in that condescendingly patient way reserved largely for children or the infirm; the Nordwiir through her lack of social intelligence fitting somewhere within those two camps.

She could still hear Varnehy rummaging around in one of the back storerooms doing only the gods knew what, but for the moment that meant no wine and no reprieve from this torturous exchange of wills. The fault of Masile, now that she gave it some thought. When she went to fish around for what the third woman thought of this whole affair, she was in turn met with that same guilty retreat to her cups. Not that it could entirely hide the amusement dancing dangerously close to rebellion.

Honestly, this Nordwiir pissed her off. The last thing she needed was an alchemist with burgeoning notions of independence.

Life was much happier when others were seen, not heard, and Skad was getting in the way of that.

"Not quite the kind of questions I meant either, but that's alright. I don't necessarily need you to think all that hard."

She wasn't done elaborating just yet, but first she tried her best to make herself a little more comfortable: initially uncrossing her legs and then crossing them again when the former position proved no less agreeable, afterwards leaning over towards Skad when it became clear she was done with the fruitless endeavor. "All you need to be is a tool, after all. A weapon for me to wield and point at someone without having to do it myself, so it shouldn't be terribly difficult, even for you."

With that, she pushed herself back into the chair - quite literally the exact repose she had from the start.

 

[Skad]

What made pride such a vicious shortcoming was its ability to strip the senses, rending logic from flesh and creating unfavourable scenarios. A relatively cordial scene between mercenaries waiting for their supper could have devolved into a bloodbath at the behest of pride.

Fortunately, it was not her sin.

So she sat, palms flat upon the bloodied table, her fetching eye observing Vida in perfect oblivion as the other woman's barbed tongue skewered her.

A witless undesirable, no better than an inanimate object to be used.

At the very least, it was a change from the usual curses muttered behind her back at a safe distance. Callous cunt. Treacherous wretch. Kin-Slayer. None of it held meaning. Words could not stay her hand, whether spat out of earshot or dripping with venom before her through a patronising smile. Not that she would bring it up, no, it was advantagous for her if insults and concerns of perception so easily swayed others.

"You are right," she conceded with a slight tilt of her head as if she considered Vida's statements entirely accurate, "I am thanking for the answer."

If she reinforced the slight, would she be more susceptable to believe it?

Skad wasn't entirely removed from the verbal skirmish she had allowed herself to get drawn into, but at least one enlightening avenue of information had been closed. As petty as it seemed, it was still informative and garnered information about who these people were and how they operated.

She looked to Basil, then to the sounds of avoidant rummaging, and then settled back on Vida.

"Not understanding," she stated, fulfilling her obligation as a base creature too dull to understand things, "are you all..." What was that word? So foreign and useless, "...friends? Or just for the coin?"