Every City's Dirt (Quill)

Terrel snorted softly at the question, wondering all the while how on earth you could get a flame to run that was cold. "Me? No not really, besides what singing I can pull off." It was true that her singing was probably more than just pumping out some notes or words, though, but how big of a deal could you make that? She hardly understood the whole thing anyway, so she wasn't about to go galavanting through a conversation talking about it. Well, actually... wouldn't she? That seemed the type of thing she would do, loud-spoken woman as she was supposed to be. There had certainly been plenty of complaints back toward home about her needing to keep her mouth shut all the time.

But she was surprisingly passive around Marcus right now. Why was that? Part of it was probably because of how much he knew about her now. It was harder to be calloused and belligerent when you were worried someone might hit you between the shoulder blades with a needle you'd given them. Another part was probably because she felt surprisingly protective of him, which didn't really make any sense because she'd only just met him and now was making him charge into a pub with her. Well, she'd have to just try harder to be more like herself.

Bracing herself, she prepared to say something tough and abrasive to Marcus. Something that would be more her style. Only, she found herself saying something that sounded dreadfully pathetic, soft, and mopey. "Do you think there's music that can bring back the dead?" If there was music that could take you anywhere, then why not? Only, it didn't seem like something she should be caring about. Instead it felt like something Marcus might. Bah. Maybe she'd just be cross with people besides him.

"No magic can bring back the dead," Marcus said immediately. "Not really. I met a Necromancer, once, who reanimated the bodies of the recently departed by funneling his unique magical energy into them, but it wasn't real. It wasn't actually them, you know? Just empty puppets being pulled by his magic." It was the first lesson that was ground into the heads of the students of the Healer's Academy; never, under any circumstances, try and bring back the dead with your magic.

"They taught that to us," he said, his face black and red underneath the shadows of the hood, "what would happen if we try and bring someone back." He lifted his hand, shaking it free of the dark sleeve. It glowed brightly with cascading light. "Most of the time, nothing will happen; the magic will just burrow into the body and fade, not finding any spark of life to bond with. Sometimes, though... sometimes the magic of Life latches onto the departing spirit as it leaves the body for the Void, either to rise to the Sacred Realm of the Goddesses or to fall to the Evil Realm. If that happens, the mage will be caught, his life energy dragged into the Void with the soul, damned to wander through the gap between the worlds until the end of time by the very soul he was trying to save."

He lowered his hand and shook his arm, sliding the sleeve back over his hand. "It's the first thing they teach Healers," he said. "They do their best to pound it into our heads, to make the warning such a part of us that we would never even consider trying it. Sometimes, though, a person forgets, or refuses to accept a loved one's death." He swallowed. "A... friend of mine went home one day to find a letter waiting for him. His sister had been killed by Moblins while on a surface raid." A man, sitting by the fire, his eyes staring and empty, a piece of paper hanging from his listless fingertips. "When they brought her body down, he forgot himself." A stretcher bourn by six, who's faces were nothing but stone. "He forgot the warnings of his elders and tried to bring her back." The man was screaming as his grasp was ripped, the procession line broken. No direction, no landmarks, just eternal darkness and cold. "They only barely saved him." A rough arm throwing down to the ground, the unimmersed darkness ripped away.

"But," he said, trying to lighten his tone, "Hyrule is a magical place; there are some potions and fairies that yank the soul back into the body before it can escape. That isn't really bringing the dead back, but with everything the Goddesses left behind, there may be something that can."

He looked sideways at Terrel, lifting his head to try and see her through the hood. "Why do you ask?"

Because I'm a thick-brained fool that fancies herself far more philosophical than she actually is, Terrel instantly responded in her head, scowling at her own words. In actuality, though, the woman merely shrugged at the question for the time being and glanced at the sky, the stars beginning to show up in bright little speckles all across it. A lot of what Marcus said she doubted he could really know for sure, but he certainly told that story with quite a bit of conviction, and the death was about a person's sister. Could it have been him? That unsettled her a bit, and she wondered if she should give him a pat on the shoulder or something. That unsettled her even more, so the woman refrained from it.

It'd be much easier to simply focus on the conversation as it had turned. Marcus seemed to want it to move in a different direction anyway. With that thought, she finally responded to the kid, "I don't really know, I guess. Sometimes I wonder what they would say, if they could see me where I'm at now. Can't really know if that would be a good thing or not though, come to think of it..." Her voice trailed off, perpetually wondering if she should add anything more but getting lost in that thought. Eventually she shook her head a bit and tried to think of something substantial to say.

A moment later she added to her unfinished sentence, trying to get the topic off death, "Sometimes I wonder if musical magic just works completely different from other types of... magic. I don't know, I'm certainly not some scholar. I heard once, though, that those 'magical melodies' are really just songs to the gods, and they grant requests when you sing or play in tune with them. What if there were a tune for everything?"

Marcus felt his mind niggle a little. Magic was a strange thing that was constantly being redefined and expounded upon; what if there was something that could do what she said? What if that was possible, what she said? What would that mean for him? What would he do?

"I suppose it's possible," he said, "I've heard something like that too... there's a legend that the Goddesses brought the world into being through music, so it may be true... it's definitely worth looking into."

Terrel mentioned a "they." Marcus wondered who she meant, but knew it wasn't worth pressing. "We could look into Music magic at the Library, once we're done here. There's bound to be something on it there. The Temples should know something about it, too, if its really the gods'."

Someone screamed to his left. Marcus looked through the hood and saw a girl running as quickly as she could away from a boy lying on the ground. "Stop!" He yelled, scrambling around like an upturned beetle and pointing after the girl wildly. "Thief!"

Ugh, libraries? She liked music, but that wasn't how you learned about it. You couldn't be taught music in some musty old tome, it was part of the experience that came with it. You could tell someone all about a song, but that was completely different from hearing the thing itself. She'd have to teach the kid a thing or two about that. Why, after they were done--"Thief!" split the air, and Terrel spun to see another figure dashing off into the night, clutching something in their hands. Time froze for the previous criminal, and two thoughts clashed into each other brilliantly inside of her mind.

Leave it! one seemed to scream at her. The robbed didn't deserve their property if they couldn't hold onto it. That woman, for she could see it was a woman now as it sprinted past her, likely needed that money for food. Who was she to intervene in something like that? Besides, she had her own problems to worry about, what with going to this pub and meeting people probably just like the fleeing thief. She couldn't spare the time to deal with everyone's problems.

But another thought struck at her just as hard.

Stop her! it said, equally as desperate. Did she deserve her son, robbed from her, if she couldn't hold onto him? Would she not have given anything if someone had thought it worth their while to stop those thieves? She was a changing woman. Life was no longer just about taking what you wanted but also about preserving what deserved to be protected. Terrel couldn't say whether that fool on the ground crying for help deserved to be protected, but when her stuff had been stolen she doubted she would've deserved to be protected either. That didn't change the fact that she wished for protection all the same.

She had to do something.

Looking down, she realized with surprise that her crossbow was already in her hands, the crank wound tight and a bolt neatly fitted into the mechanism. Had she really loaded it so immediately and unconsciously? There was no escaping it, then. Raising the crossbow to eye level, Terrel fired the thing a heartbeat later. A snap came immediately from the weapon firing, the shaft hurtling through the air faster than anyone could hope to run.

A moment later the bolt struck the thief's back, near to the shoulder, and Terrel heard a sickening crack as the bolt went clean through a bone. It knocked the thief clean off her feet and caused her to careen spectacularly towards the earth, landing with a harsh thud.

The hood was up. His vision was unimpaired. The Academy in the Western Caves, and his adventures through monster-ridden caverns, volcanoes, and ruins had all taught him the importance of quickly absorbing and analyzing important areas. His eyes were clear of paint. No fumes bogged him or made his head spin. He was standing to the side and slightly behind Terrel.

It was no accident, no hunter's reflex. Her gaze had flicked down the crossbow before lifting it and firing. This was no unconscious instinct; this was a choice she had made. He wanted to run over the girl and spread his hands over her, but he knew he mustn't. They were too near to Water's Den to risk something so... good. A woman's scream split the morning air, quickly joined by dozens of others who were standing near. He grabbed Terrel and hauled her back into a side-alley before people realized what was going on. He turned around the corner and saw that bystanders were still hanging back awkwardly- the bystander effect would help them in this instance. He raised his hand, the sleeve falling around his arm as his fingers glowed. A ball of concentrated healing magic formed in his hand, and he bounced it up a few times before lobbing it high into the air. Guided by his mind, it sank into her body and blanketed her in his magic.

"Come on," he said, tugging her arm. "We have to go!" The clanking sounds of metal footsteps were already drawing near. "The Guard is coming, we can't be here!"

Terrel felt relaxed, relieved at her choice. Torn between what she'd wanted to do and what she felt she had to do, she'd chosen the latter, and it caused an immense relief she couldn't quite explain. Only, a moment passed and people began screaming. What was wrong with them? She'd dealt with the thief, and there was nothing to be worried about. Terrel was halfway through putting the crossbow on her back again when Marcus tossed an orb of light toward the woman. It looked a lot like the one he had used for healing. Well, that made sense she supposed. Except now he was pulling on her arm to leave.

The crossbow barely in place, the kid pulled her into an alley-way away from the scene, and she could hear the guards coming in the distance. It did make sense, in a way, that they wouldn't want to get stuck there. Water's Den wasn't too far off, she supposed, but part of her had sort of been looking forward to being the one talking to the guards about reprimanding criminals. Usually she'd been worried it was going to end up the other way around.

Finally after running for a minute or two, Terrel forced the two of them to slow down, calling out to the kid, "All right, slow down, Marcus. If we keep running like this those guards are going to think we're the bad guys here."

"Aren't we?" He asked. His breathing was shaky and deep, fast and erratic. He leaned against a wall, trying to steady his breath. This ridiculous hood was in his way; he tossed it over his shoulder. He calmed his body down, and said, "what was that?" He needed to hold his thoughts until she explained. The last thing he wanted to do was formulate an opinion on her actions before being completely clear on why she had nearly killed the girl.

They were alone; if the guards were nearby, they were being extremely silent. Nobody was in their alleyway, and the people streamed past the opening, not knowing and not caring about the two people within the shadows.

Terrel frowned, her heart thumping as well, and she looked at Marcus with surprise, "What?! Of course we're not. We stopped the thief, right?" That still made her cringe a bit on the inside. Why had she gone out of her way to do that? Was it because Marcus had been there? Every part of her had wanted to simply let it go, she'd thought, yet something had overridden that anyway. She didn't really understand it, and she wasn't really sure she wanted to either. Frustrated with the whole thing, she resisted the urge to stomp the ground to vent her feelings.

Still frowning, she glanced at Marcus, not entirely sure what was getting into him. Her frustration rising to the surface, she found her words similar to her harsher self, "Look, kid. Spit it out, we don't have that much time. I don't think we're that far from the pub, but we really only have a few minutes before we need to be there."

"I... Right." Marcus pulled his hood back down and stepped away from the wall. "We can talk about it later; your son comes first." Your son comes first... he wondered just how true that was. As much as he wanted to stay and talk it out, they simply didn't have time. They only had a few minutes before the meeting began, and they couldn't just walk in right then. "Lead on."

Terrel looked at Marcus carefully--reluctantly--for a minute, not entirely sure how she felt about him speaking of her quest so candidly. Of course, it wasn't like it was a surprise or anything, but after so long of keeping to herself, to hear someone speak so plainly about what she was actually about was disconcerting. Made her nervous. Add that to the fact that, for some reason, he was acting like she'd just attacked a poor, innocent woman who was with child, her stomach was beginning to get all sorts of sour. Desperately she reached for her stubbornness, calling on it to protect her from second-thoughts now.

"Let's get moving, then," she grunted, looking around the streets to orient herself. They were within three blocks or so of Water's Den, and the day before she had taken the time to get to know these streets. Cities still confused her to death, but in a lot of ways they were similar to the forest. Everything looked the same, but that was just a first impression. If you could use your eyes then you could figure out where you were. Of course, the forest was still much, much simpler.

After a moment's study, Terrel was pretty confident she knew where she was, so she decided to take her own advice and get moving. In a lot of ways, it would be a little better that some of her nature had returned in time for this encounter. A little aggression could help with these people, though she'd learned that too much could flip the table just as easily. Still, she felt comfortable when she was stubborn. She could ram her head into a mouth of swords, but it wouldn't matter if everyone knew that she hadn't given over.

A minute or two passed from walking, and Terrel wished she carried a time piece. Not that it would help, though, they were already there. Water's Den stood before them, smashed neatly between two other businesses that seemed to be closed for the night. She knew that behind this street ran a parallel alley, one that led to backdoors for each of these businesses. The streets were narrow, even the proper ones, though, and the whole place made her uncomfortable. As they reached the door to the pub, she steadied herself, reaching for the door to enter and thinking better of it a moment later.

It was time to get in character.

Instead of opening the door and waltzing in, she opened it and let the way remain open for Marcus, giving him a glance of feigned fear and prompting him to walk in front of her. What better way to appear intimidating than for the people who knew you to appear intimidated around you? The game had begun.

The minutes passed. Marcus wanted to say something- it didn't feel right to walk to what may be their deaths upset with one another. He could feel the tension between them, as thick and impenetrable as a wall, and it made him feel uncomfortable. As they got closer to their destination, though, Marcus gave up on trying to think of what to say and just concentrated on keeping his face blank and his movements mysterious. How were movements mysterious? His facial expressions wouldn't be visible underneath the hood, but it still made him feel more comfortable, and he knew that they had a direct impact on his body language. He practiced keeping his walk fluid and his footsteps silent. Then he realized that these were thieves, much more practiced at stealth than he, and he gave up on that, instead going for a more... aloof stride.

And there they were. The sign hung cracked and faded before the door, swinging forlornly from a rusted and red-splattered spike of wood. The door looked soiled and dirty, and Marcus had to suppress the urge to lick his painted lips. Terrel opened the door and glared at him; his heart skipped a beat, but then he remembered that they had to act in-character. He was a mysterious, barbaric mystic from the Southern Plains. Right. Without so much as a nod to the woman bearing the door for him, he swept through the entryway, the long cloak swishing about him ominously.

He still couldn't see much. The hood blocked so much of his vision, and he hoped no-one would question how he was managing to walk like this. Truthfully, he was barely making do with the meager scraps of floor he was capable of seeing. Raucous laughter echoed all around him, beat at his ears and thrummed in his skull, and he clutched the Magic Rod underneath the cape's voluminous folds for reassurance. He had no idea where he was going, so he decided the best thing to do was stop and wait for Terrel to lead him on.

As Terrel let the door shut behind her, the woman immediately glanced at the time piece in the room. Unless it was inaccurate, it looked as if they'd beaten the clock on this one with a minute or two to spare. Looking around the room, she didn't see anyone or anything that looked particularly out of the ordinary, so she had to assume they had actually beaten the fellow here. Time to find a place to sit and raise a flag, then. Thankfully Marcus hadn't decided to go sit at the bar or anything decidedly stupid, and he was just waiting, looking somewhat mysterious.

Terrel had no idea how effective the disguise would be, but she didn't think it was too bad. Any glimpses of his face would be fearsome enough, and he'd have to leave most of the talking to her, so they wouldn't be able to learn much more. Maybe she should have told him to hiss quietly under his breath or something. Well, it'd have to do. Stepping in front of him so that he could follow her feet, Terrel made her way through the tavern, eventually finding a booth of sorts.

After a moment's thought, she stepped back from it and tried her best to give Marcus a graceful wave into the seat. It would look better if people saw her deferring to him individually, maybe. Not to mention that being close to the exit would allow her to grab anyone who tried to run away quickly. Turning to one of the waitresses, Terrel bellowed across the room, calling for a drink that was more native to Darunia and the Lost Woods, instructing the girl to bring her a Hammer Spike, as they called it. She seemed to recognize it anyway. Well, there went the flag. Now she just had to wait.

What a rump! His hand flicked out to slap the passing wench on the arse. Her shriek was proof enough, she obviously hadn't been here long. Her dirty blonde hair bounced round her cheeks as she bent over to pick up the fallen mugs, blushing like a little schoolgirl.

Andolais winked at her and waggled his eyebrows, roaring with laughter as she scampered away through a servant's door. He slapped his comrades on the back and swigged from his glass, groaning as one didn't join in. "Don't be so stiff," he said, "have a pint!"

Trembling hands reached out for a mug, white lips pressing against the sloshing liquid. Andolais' hand flicked out again and tipped the bottom, sending the badly brewed ale splashing all over his tunic. He roared with laughter again, then leaned forward on his elbows and grinned.

"Listen, Fanininininininine," he said, drawing out the shaking boy's name and grinning, "I gave you forty rupees so you could steal the Skull for me, but," he stuck his lower lip out and shook his head, spreading his hands out, "here I am, kinda... Skull-less. What's up with that, Nini, eh?"

The small Zora stuttered something unintelligible, and Andolais groaned, looking sadly at his companions as they roared with laughter. "Well, then," he said, swishing the wine in his glass, "you'll have to work it off, won't you?"

"Thank you," The fish-boy said, stumbling over his words, "I'll get the forty back-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Andolais said, throwing out a hand to stop him. "Forty? That Skull was a lot more than forty, kid." He waved a hand as the fish's mouth fell open with protestations. "We're done here, I think." As the fish was dragged away, he grinned at the man to his left. "Stupid fish," he said to laughter and nodding, "trying to act like a Hylian." He pushed back his chair and rose, stretching. "Think I'm gonna get another drink," he said, "don't do anything while I'm gone."

He crossed to the bar and leaned over it, licking his lips at the barlady's low-cut dress. "Another round, sweetcheeks," he said, leering up and down her curves. She ignored him, turning to fill his glass, and he raised his eyebrows at the view.

A name caressed his earlobe, and he turned. "Did someone call for a Hammer Spike?"

"Sure," a redhead said, "that flattie down there." He grabbed the drink from her tray, bringing it down to the table she had pointed at.

"Is this yours?"

Terrel almost sighed with relief when she saw the foreign man. He was foreign! She'd never seen him before; what a weight off her shoulders that was. The last thing she needed in her was some blasted man who she'd pissed off or, worse, spent some good'ol 'quality' time with. He certainly seemed like he might be the type for those kinds of shenanigans. Whatever had gone on with him she'd only caught the end of with some fish leaving with his fin between his legs, and now the man had her drink. Coincidence? Not unlikely, but she hoped not. Last thing she needed was to be caught with some guy mooning over her until the real meeting intercepted it. Best to be direct then.

With a smirk and a grin, Terrel tilted her head to the side, "Not many drinks are blue like that one there; I'd reckon it's mine. I'm looking for someone who knows where that drink came from, though. I don't suppose you could give a girl a hand with that, could you?" She almost winked at him but refrained. Acting too carefree might mess with her plans later to use Marcus as a reason for tension. Act too light around him and it might ruin the whole thing. A fine dance she'd begun again. Thankfully she knew most of the steps to it.

((Terrel may, but I certainly don't. This won't be easy to write.))

"Mm," Andolais said, slipping into the chair opposite the girl and grinning, "I suppose I could." He cocked his head and swirled the drink lightly. "But what," he drawled, "would a girl like you want with someone like that?" The skin of her arms were dark, and his eyebrows raised a little as he swept her figure up and down. Nice.

Terrel released a short, breath of a laugh at his comment, using her imagination to bring a touch of heat to her cheeks. "Drinks are a rupee a dozen, y'know?" she said casually, leaning onto the table just a bit and keeping her eyes on him, "But the people who drink them? That's where it gets tricky." With a chuckle, she paused for a moment, quietly contemplating how direct she should be with the man. The drink was the attention grabber, but now it was time to see if he was just some chump who wanted an eyeful or if he was actually someone worthwhile to talk with.

"Once I was drinking in Darunia," she said slowly, reaching across the table and tugging her drink away from the man sitting across from her. "Some bloke came into the tavern and ordered forty-seven glasses of Winged Blood. When the bartender asked him why so many, the guy responded that he'd talked to a Rito earlier--you know, flying folk. Anyway, 'e said that the birdman had told him to drink his age in Winged Blood. Said it was part of their rite of passage or something, and that if a Hylian drank it then they could get those wings too."

Terrel snorted at the idea, taking a drink of her newly acquired beverage and shivering at the punch it delivered to her. It wasn't a particularly pleasant drink. "Guy seemed completely sure that since the Winged Blood originated from Dragon Roost, or wherever the Rito are from, that it had to be true. Think he toppled out of barstool and passed out on the sixth drink, though. Not only d'he learn that the drink could kill a horse, that night, he also learned that the Rito are a bunch of bloody liars, eh?"

With a hint of a smirk, she tapped the side of her glass, "So what I want to know is what kind of person picks one of these up, foul tasting as they are." That'd have to do. If the guy was just an interested bystander, her lengthy tale would probably prompt a sheepish grin and a diversion of subject, confused as to what on earth she could be rambling about. In truth, the story was nothing more than an old thief's tale about never trusting the bird people, but if Andolais were actually from there... Well, he'd probably get the hint.

Andolais licked his lips slowly, staring at the girl with narrowed eyes. "Well, well, well," he said, "not just a pretty face, are you?" He took his glass from a girl with a distracting top, but he was too busy looking at the thief across him to really care. He swigged it and smacked his lips, leaning back and propping his feet on the table. "Never trust a bird-brain," he said, "or a flirting thief." He winked. "I should know," he said, running his tongue across his lips. "Now, what is it you want with Andolais?" He spread his arms magnanimously. "I live to serve- anything for a fellow Darunian."

Oh, you know, just full access to your information circles and maybe some people who could do me some favors, Terrel thought in her head. If only things were that simple. Nothing was free, especially not with these people, and if you were too direct then you usually got played. She'd learned that one the hard way. Always looking for a way to take advantage of you, always trying to find your true intention... it was a wonder anybody in power ever got replaced. Taking advantage of the system and manipulating it personally was for someone who understood the whole thing better than she did. Cheat when you could, but for the most part she'd have to do things the way they wanted you to.

"I'm hunting a mage," she said, trying to sound forcibly calm but a little nervous underneath that. "Bottom-dealed some of us back in the Lost Woods and ran." Terrel paused for a moment, gesturing toward Marcus. "This fellow here, he ah..." she stumbled in her words purposefully, a look of discomfort crossing her face, "well let's just say he doesn't forgive debts very easily. He's made it his business to see this through."

Leaning back in her seat, she attempted to spin the thing around. If Andolais were good-natured enough he might honestly take interest in their situation, but what could he really do? She needed something bigger than this man, both for her fake story and for her real one. Spreading her hands wide, the woman offered a masked smile, "But that's my problem, not yours. I figure the best way to find that scoundrel, though, is to get back up in a tree with the right folks, if you know what I mean. I know he's here, and I'll find him eventually, but for now... well, for now I could really use some drinking buddies and maybe some work to pay rent, eh?"

"Work?" Andolai's ears pricked up at the word. A thief he could dangle along by the promise of revenge would be a great tool. He licked his lips slowly, looking her up and down, and said, "yeah. Shouldn't be too hard to find work for you." He laughed suddenly and set his glass down. "Good call for a thief in these parts," he said. "If you're willing to work, I may know a few things about this man." He grinned, twirling the glass on the wood. "If you know what I mean."

He glanced to the man sitting beside his new toy. Hadn't moved an inch. "And what about you, big guy?" He asked. "What can you do for me?"

The black robe didn't shift. Whoever or whatever he was, he didn't want to talk. Andolais glanced at the girl, frowning in irritation. "What's the matter with him?" He asked. "He deaf? Hey, buddy," he leaned over the table, putting his face real close to the downcast hood. "Did you hear me?"