Every City's Dirt (Quill)

Water's Den. Andolais. Ten. Those three bits of information had saved Terrel countless days and weeks of simply running around hoping to find something that didn't want to be found. It had also cost her more than she thought it would have. Blast that kid for being there, grounding her to reality the way he had. But would she really have had it any other way, if she could change the past? Bah. No point dwelling on that, it just tied her mind up in all sorts of knots. She'd spent enough time the next day feeling raw over the whole thing anyway. She didn't to spend more time thinking about it!

Most of the day-after had been spent resting and doing some reconnaissance to the area they'd be going to. Water's Den was a nasty little pub about an hour from where they were staying right now, and Terrel didn't really look forward to seeing the place after hours. There weren't many entrances and exits, so if it was a trap then things could probably get ugly quick inside there. She found the city interesting, but using a crossbow in these parts could be such a pain, unfortunately. Things in the woods were a lot simpler and more open, but it wasn't like that here.

Glancing at the clock, Terrel forced herself to relax a bit. It was eight, and she was supposed to meet Marcus down here before nine, at some point. She hadn't tried to convince the kid not to come after the whole ordeal in the prison, but hopefully he didn't want to come look out for her or anything, though. For the last couple of years her life had been trying to save another person. What would it mean if someone else was trying to look after her during the whole thing? It seemed like a mess, and she didn't want to think about that either.

She looked at the clock again and grunted at how little time had passed since the last time.

Today was the big day. If all went well, Terrel's lead would hold true and point them in the right direction. He felt much, much better after resting for a day. The day at the prison had been draining; mentally, physically, emotionally, and even spiritually. He was still working out the knots in his head, and he bent down to fasten his shoes to avoid getting lost in their tangles.

Water's Den had been as he had expected: it was the kind of place where wouldn't even dream of entering without some sort of armed guard. He wasn't sure if Terrel really counted, but he tried not to think about that. His stomach rumbled, and he decided that he best get a bite to eat before heading out.

He met Terrel downstairs at 8:20, sitting across the table from her. He said hello, waving down a waitress to order some food. "Cucco strips, please," he said, looking at Terrel for her order.

Terrel sighed when Marcus ordered. Always the polite one, wasn't he? She wondered for the hundredth time whether bringing him along was a good idea or not. On the one hand, company was always good, and the last thing you wanted to do was show up somewhere alone, if you could help it. On the other hand, though... how would he feel about doing what needed to be done? These people weren't particularly fond of empty words, and undoubtedly she'd have to show some of what she was worth to get anywhere with them. Granted, there were lines now she didn't exactly feel like crossing, but when it came down to it she would do anything necessary to get to the finish.

Catching Marcus' glance, she grunted and shook her head once, "Not hungry. These people..." She stopped amidst that and bit her lip. She'd been about to talk about what they looked for, how they acted, but she hadn't actually told Marcus yet that she'd been one of them once. Sure, it probably wasn't hard to guess, but there it was. It probably wouldn't help to tell him how nervous she was about the whole thing either. "They're funny folk," she finally said, "sometimes you need room in your stomach for more than just food." Ale was expected tonight, but hopefully they wouldn't get her drunk; it certainly wouldn't help her cause.

Reluctantly she brought up something that she'd brought up before, "You know, kid. It could be a hornet's nest in there. You southerner's are tougher than you look, but they might end up asking for some... you know, proof that you're not just some light-suckling kid who keeps his nose in books all day long." With a grunt, she realized that's probably what he was. "Just... if you need to go, I won't hold it against you. I don't know what's going to happen in there."

Marcus frowned, drumming his fingers against the wood as he thought. It was something she had already brought up several times, and while his automatic reaction was to bristle....

"I've been thinking about that, actually," he said slowly. The waitress came and quickly deposited a glass of water on the table, then scurried back into the kitchen before the large woman who owned the place could do more than glare. He fiddled with it as he spoke. "It's like you said, I don't look or act the type. The last thing you need is for them to get suspicious. I can't be seen with you," and here he reached into his bag, "but I can still go."

He pulled out a small rod, only a few feet long, and capped with a clear jewel. He set it gingerly on the table, facing it away from anyone in the bar. "I may not be able to sit with you, but I can provide backup. If things get too bad, just signal me and I'll use this on anyone who's trying to attack you. If you don't want your cover broken, I can heal you like I did at the Alchemist's; I've been practicing, and I'm getting better at it." He licked his lips and looked up for the first time since he began speaking. "Would you feel more comfortable that way?"

The woman chewed on her lip in thought, thoroughly disconcerted by the whole situation at hand. Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted to Marcus to come. Probably irrational, probably soon to pass the moment they started, but there it was. It could have something to do with simply having someone nearby, but maybe she really did want a censor of sorts. Terrel wouldn't normally think twice about having to do something to save her kid. Could... could people sense that? What if it had been a weakness of hers all along? Well, she wasn't prepared to simply stop, but maybe--maybe she would think twice. Especially with him there she would, anyway. What a fine mess this was.

"Wish it were that simple, Marcus" she finally admitted with a sigh, dropping her hands on the table and leaning back a bit. "If things go even remotely well, then that means I'm probably going to follow them out of that pub to gods know where, and I doubt they'd think too kindly of you following all of a sudden. Besides, I doubt you could sit alone in there without drawing the wrong kind of attention. No offense or anything, but I'm going to be causing a ruckus by showing up as it is." Terrel grunted, shifting awkwardly in her seat before finally spitting it out. "You'll be better off sticking close, and I'll cover the rest. Here."

She bent down a bit, rummaging around in the pack for something she had brought with her. A moment later the woman pulled out a dark cloak for someone of about their heights, a hood on the back that could cover most of someone's face. "I hate to do this, but it'd be best if you went for a... I don't, a mysterious look? You magical fellows scare the souls out of thieves half the time. Do you think you could manage?" Terrel gave him a searching look, and half out of curiosity and half to avoid his answer for a moment longer, she asked, "What is that thing anyway?" The rod seemed curious, and Marcus seemed to suggest he could take out some foes with it. What kind of weapon would the kid carry? She hadn't figured him the type.

Marcus took the cloak, weighing it between his hands and smiling. He liked this cloak. It was travel-efficient, with thick material and no space wasted on unnecessary frills. It look used, too, which would work wonders for his disguise. "I should be fine," he said, "if I keep quiet and look serious. Can I keep this?" He asked, smiling. "I could use this in my travels."

She brought up the Rod. He had known that she would; he had planned on bringing it out and showing it to her, after all. "It's called a Magic Rod," he said, still not really looking at it. He had researched it while he was in the Library, wondering what exactly the magical item was. "And, it's not really mine. The last time it was used, it almost killed me and my friend." He cleared his throat as the waitress reappeared, setting down his food. "Thanks," he said. "He was a Ganon-worshipper," he said in lower tones, glancing around to make sure no-one was listening. He didn't know how it was in the North, but in the South? Even saying the term was absolutely taboo. Accusing someone of worshipping Ganon was worse than accusing him of murder; Ganon had ruined every life in the Caves, causing the deaths of family, loved ones, and friends. Even mentioning the phrase "Ganon-worshipper" was something best done in hushed tones in the corner of a private bedroom, and even then only after dark.

"He nearly killed us," he said again, "but I used my magic and reflected it back." He bit his lip. "He didn't survive." His fingers tapped the wooden table. This was where he had predicted a slip in his bearing would be most likely to occur. He had spent his days in the Library trying to drown himself in knowledge so that he wouldn't have to think about what he had done. He was a killer now, a Healer killer. He may not have swung the wand, or done anything with malice or intention to kill, but he was a killer nonetheless. He could tell himself he did it to save lives, not only those of himself and his friend but also those of all of Impa, but... that didn't change how he felt. Logic could only do so much, and changing the course of his emotions wasn't within its power.

"I don't like to touch it," he said, still refusing to look at it. "But I will if it means keeping us safe. I looked it up, and it's not usually deadly on its own. Not unless... well, not unless there's a stalagmite behind them."

Gods, what did you say to something like that? Maybe if Terrel had been better with her words she might have been able to guess. Sure, she remembered the first time she'd killed a man before, and it had likely been for far worse reasons than what Marcus had to claim. Did she talk about them? Try and relate? No, no... That wouldn't do, it would probably just make him more disgusted about the whole situation. She could see it on his face, the way he avoided looking at the object and the way he bit his lip when he talked about the man's death. Feeling awkward, she tried to frame her words as best she could manage.

"Look, kid," she started slowly, wondering if she should reach across the table and hold his hand or something motherly. She was so bad at this. Sighing, she continued anyway, "There's a difference between a killer and murderer. Murderers kill because it gets'em something, you know? But sometimes... sometimes there's grounds for killing. Maybe it's to protect someone you care about or to preserve Farore's Laws or keep justice. I don't know, I'm not an expert." Grunting with displeasure at her own performance, she shifted in her chair and sat a little straighter.

"What I'm trying to say is you can think whatever the hell you want about yourself, kid, but you're not a murderer. You can hate yourself if you want and I for one won't bloody stop you, but you're no murderer, and if this world didn't have people willing to kill for the right reasons then it'd be a darker place. Just don't beat yourself up over it," she finished lamely, as if it were so easy as those words. By Nayru's own truth, she certainly knew she wasn't particularly graceful with words, and this was hard enough to begin with.

"Keep the cloak," Terrel said softly, reclining in her chair a bit and trying not to think about what she had just tried to say and likely bungled in the process.

Farore, why did he say that? He and Terrel may have spent a very interesting couple of days together, but just plopping something like that in her lap was just... rude. He stared down into his food, willing it to leave his plate and jump into his hungry mouth. The message of her words reiterated his reasoning, but to hear it from someone else felt... different, somehow. More piercing, less of an excuse; it sounded more like truth when someone else said it. His throat felt the now-familiar burning sensation, but he swallowed that down.

"Thanks," Marcus said, stuffing the cloak into his pack and putting the Magic Rod neatly on top of it. You're no murderer, she had said. Did she know how much that meant to him? His hands stalled at the top of the pack. "Thanks," he said, in a much different tone than before. He tried to convey a lot of unspoken things into the word, but he didn't know how well he had done.

He grabbed his fork and began to munch his way through his cucco strips. "So," he said between mouthfuls, "do you have a plan?" He asked partially from an actual need to know, but mostly from a desire to move the topic away from his ill-chosen revelation.

Looking for a way to distract herself as well, Terrel hefted the crossbow from the side of her chair and plunked it onto the table, taking up most of her side. The innkeeper shot her a nasty look, but Terrel merely returned the glare and the innkeeper shook her head and retreated. Terrel would likely get an earful later for that. Rather than thinking about that she chose instead to start dismantling the device before her, cleaning and oiling it as she went. So Marcus wanted to know the plan? Well, she had a semblance of one, though likely it would end the moment the situation really began to develop inside of that grimy little pub. She'd much rather have preferred to meet out under the stars.

Focusing on her crossbow, the woman mulled ideas over in her head, wishing she had something to drink to numb her brain a bit. "A plan? Yeah, I guess," she said finally, examining the cranking mechanism for any signs of stress on the metal there. "They'll probably send some honcho who's more brains than brawn. He probably won't be that important, but you can tell by how many guards he comes with. I expect he'll want to know why we're here and all that." Pausing, Terrel examined her now fully dismantled weapon carefully.

Would they know who she was? That would bode poorly. It was a slim chance, though, so she decided not to bring it up, instead skipping to the next part. "I figure we probably need to get in beyond just the face of this whole joint. I need people to talk with. Can't say I rightly know what that's going to take, but hopefully being a stranger here will help." Or it could hinder. They could very well decide that she wouldn't be worth the trouble; that was how the last of them had felt. "Probably goin'to have to play most of this by ear once we're there. Need to intimidate them without making them feel really threatened, you know?" She might as well have just said 'Got to stick your hand in water without getting it wet' for all the sense it probably made, but she wasn't the best at describing these things.

"Sounds... sound." Marcus tapped the table. She knew more of how these affairs worked than he did; he had to trust her judgement. He wished that he had something to fiddle with like her crossbow, but unfortunately, magic didn't quite work that way. It made him nervous, going in without a real plan, but apparently, they had no choice. Too many variables, he supposed.

He finished his cucco strips, downed the last of his water, and stretched. "8:35," he said, "we should probably get going. Almost done?"

Just then, he heard the sound of rapidly-approaching footsteps. He looked up and saw the large innkeeper, towering over him and glaring down at Terrel and her dismantled crossbow. "Get that out of here," she snapped. "It's bad enough outside without you bringing that in here."

Terrel snorted at the innkeeper as she came up. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, beginning to slap the contraption back together with a certain level of comfort. Dismantling and rebuilding the crossbow was something that she liked to do to ease the time away, and she'd become as mechanical about it as the device itself was. With a final deft motion she restrung the thing, clipping it into the mechanism and sliding the thing off the table. "Happy now?" the woman said unhelpfully, sliding out of her chair and meeting the innkeeper's gaze defiantly.

Turning to the kid, she began to pretend as if the innkeeper weren't there at all, slinging her pack over her shoulder and clipping a quiver onto her belt. Finally she hefted the crossbow over her shoulder and responded to Marcus, "Might as well get going now. We'll be early, but I can pretend to get drunk before they come." The way the innkeeper glared at her, Terrel though about not 'pretending' to get drunk at all. Taking the edge off would certainly be nice right about now.

"Are you ready, then?"

Marcus nodded, sweeping the cloak out of the bag and hurriedly standing up too. He threw the cloak around his shoulders, anxious to be gone. The innkeeper was still glowering, and in the interests of his weekly dues he was ready to leave. His fingers fumbled around the dark cloak's clasp, but he eventually got it.

"I don't look very intimidating," he said. "What if they pull the hood back? Should we stop by the Library for some kind of spell?" He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, then reconsidered. Did mysterious magical types have packs? After a moment's thought, he pulled the Magic Rod out and tucked it into the cloak. "I better run this to my room," he said to Terrel.

Terrel considered Marcus' proposition for a moment, forced to agree with his notion. The cloak certainly helped his appearance but it didn't make him look entirely intimidating. They could demand that he lift up the hood, and it would seem odd to deny them that request. If they did, they'd find some teenage kid. Marcus didn't look entirely soft, but a mage was a mage and there wasn't a whole lot that a person could do about that. By their very definition his sorts stayed away from swords and cudgels, not out of fear but simply practicality. The thieves around Darunia didn't have very many mages, since most of them went to the big cities to be trained and then became thieves, but they were a valued resource to be sure.

But that was beside the point right now. What mattered was first impressions. Unfortunately they didn't have time to be thinking of this right now. "I don't think we could do it, kid. We've only got about twenty minutes of play time right now, and that library is huge. Even if you knew exactly what you were looking for... Go drop your pack off in your room and meet me outside. I've got an idea." She paused for a moment and caught the innkeeper still giving her a nasty-look, so she hastily grabbed her belongings as well, moving away from the table.

Glancing over her shoulder, she called after Marcus, "Make it quick, kid. We don't have a ton of time." He was right about it all, but how had this not come up sooner? They would be fine. Schooling herself into calmness that seemed downright unnatural for a person like herself, Terrel slipped out the door of the inn into the cool evening.

Marcus ran upstairs, all but hurling the bag onto the bed and racing back down. Only twenty minutes left? How had this happened? Why hadn't he asked her about the plan sooner, why had he waited until now? If they had only talked about this earlier....

He landed on the steps one-by-one, hurtling down them as quickly as his non-athletic body was capable of doing. He flew by the inkeeper, who opened her mouth like she was going to say something (reprimand him for running and ruining the quiet serenity of the inn, probably) but decided against it as the door slipped shut softly behind him.

Terrel was waiting for him outside. He skidded to a halt, the cloak still flapping about him. It would definitely take getting used to. "I'm here," he said, only slightly breathless now that he had stopped. "What's the plan?"

It took her a little while to find what she'd been looking for, but by the time that Marcus finally opened the door again she had extricated a couple of sealed jars. The kid looked slightly out of breath, but he seemed almost as in a hurry to get going as she was. Terrel appreciated that right about now, truthfully. As people passed on the street in fewer numbers behind her, the lanterns lit up the way for the most part. It was still pretty dark outside, but not the creepy kind of dark that made you wonder what was lurking in the alleys around every corner. It was also enough light to work by.

Each of the jars carried paint, one red and one black. She wasn't really sure why she had the stuff on her person, but it worked out this time. Perhaps she was a bit of a pack-rat for things that could be useful, and for once that happened to end up in her favor. Breaking the seal on both of them, she kept one hand free and held the two jars in the other hand, exposed to the air with the wet paint ready to be applied.

"All right, here's the deal," she began at a brisk pace, wanting to get on with the whole thing. "No one really knows what's going on with the Southern Hylians. Some people don't want us in a war, I guess, so they've chalked you guys up as basically primitives. People who live in caves and could be wiped out easily. You guys are as much of a myth as Ganon is, at this point, and we can use that." Terrel held up the paint with that hand, gesturing to it, "Close your eyes, kid. This is gunna have to be quick." She dipped a couple fingers into the paint and readied herself to paint Marcus' face.

Marcus automatically balked as she raised black and red paint up to his face, then closed his eyes tightly as she pressed it into his face. It felt horrible, like someone was rubbing clay all over his face, and his first inclination was to yank himself away from the cold, mud-like substance. He did his best to hold still, though, shuddering with relief when she finally pulled away. His face felt stiff, and he feared to smile or change facial expressions too much for a reflexive fear of cracking. When he raised tentative hands to his face, though, it felt normal. He worked his face a little bit with his muscles and found that he could move them without breaking anything.

He waved his hand slowly through the air in front of his face, and a shimmering trail of bright blue crystal followed. He peered into its reflective surface. His face was barbaric and demonic, like something out of a child's storybook. It was simultaneously wicked, cunning, and unearthly, and he shuddered as the crystal shattered into pieces of energy.

"Alright," he said, pulling up his hood before he attracted the stares of passersby, "lets go."

Terrel finished her little masterpiece and stood back from it, seeming to enjoy the process more than the kid had. It'd only taken a couple of minutes, and she felt pretty pleased with the barbaric visage she'd carved into him; if that didn't make a thief think twice, she didn't know what would. Well, a crooked old man with a hooked nose, dark eyes, and several conspicuous warts would probably do the trick as well, but she was happy with this. Perhaps in thirty or forty years Marcus might be able to pull that off. Weird thinking about him as being anything besides a kid. She doubted she'd make it that long, honestly.

But he was right and it was time to go. Nodding to him, the two slipped into the streets together at a walk. The distance was based on walking time, and there would be no need to run the whole thing, even if she desperately wanted to. Showing up out of breath would be a fantastic way to make a calm, confident entrance, but, well, you couldn't have everything.

"What was that that you did just then?" she asked him in passing, making sure to control her pace as they made their way through the now less frequented streets of Castle Town. "The sparkly thing?" She dunked her still wet fingers with paint on them into a barrel of grubby rainwater as she passed by, hastily shaking them off and rubbing them on the back of her vest.

"Oh," Marcus said from within the depths of the hood, still finding it strange to talk through the layer of solidified liquid caking his face, "it's something I learned during the Great Freeze before heading up to the Wizzrobe." He had to admit, mentioning the battle with the Wizzrobe gave him a nervous sort of thrill. He immediately stumbled over an outcropping stone and grimaced. It was much harder to walk with this hood; he had to aim his head down at the ground to see through the tiny opening.

"It reflects the magnitude and velocity of an incoming projectile-" he stopped, realizing that this may not be the best way to explain. "Hold on," he said, bending down to grab a rock. He tossed it up into the air, then quickly swiped his hands under where it would fall. A shimmering trail of crystals followed his fingers, and when the rock connected with the highly reflective magical surface it bounced directly back into the air. "See? If you shot your crossbow at me and I reacted in time, I could reflect the bolt back at you."

Terrel couldn't help but grin at Marcus. "Want to try it?" she said, mostly-joking. That simple emotion, a slight grin and a pang of amusement, helped calm her considerably for some reason. She was tensed up right now, but there wasn't anything she could do her about her situation. That tended to make her more uptight about the whole thing. But she didn't have to be. Marcus might be troublesome little morality pet sometimes, but she'd been doing this alone for far too long. Sure, she couldn't ask him to stay forever, and she didn't expect him to, but for now it was just all right with her.

Glancing at him, the woman pushed some hair out of her face idly and raised an eyebrow at the kid, "Is there anything else that you can do that I should know about? Imitate the king of Hyrule or shoot stars out of the sky?" Where had the kid said he'd gotten that spell? A wizzrobe? She didn't even know what that was, but apparently it had something to do with the great freeze that had covered practically everything not too long ago. It'd been a pretty big inconvenience, but finally it had receded after a few months. Maybe wizzrobes were some sort of winter boar that came around, but she didn't really know why that had anything to do with the spell this kid had picked up. Not to mention she had enough trouble picturing him fighting much of anything at all.

She made a mental shrug over the matter. Just another thing she wouldn't be figuring out anytime soon.

Marcus grinned, and found to his relief that the paint didn't protest to the movement. "Why not," he said, his heart pounding as his grin stretched wider, "I can heal any injury, remember?" He almost laughed- how strange it was, that even though they were walking to pain, emotional heartbreak, lies, and compromise, they could still laugh as if they were heading to no more than a snack shop for an afternoon brunch. Or, perhaps, it wasn't strange at all; perhaps it was the fact that they were heading off to a painful unknown that they were laughing so. Was it a defense mechanism, to keep their minds off of the subject? Or was it something else, that the future itself made them feel nervous and excited, scared and thrilled... more alive?

"If I could imitate the King of Hyrule," Marcus said, "I wouldn't be on the streets; I'd be at the Palace as the Royal Double, studying to enhance my magic for the King's protection. No, just a candle that burns colder than ice. What about you?"