[DS/Vantul/Saria] The sun beat down on the canyon, hot streams of light hitting the bare moblin's skin like knives. How long had he been walking? Where was he going? Spaghet panted as he walked through - where was he? A canyon? A valley? Oh dear. He was all sorts of lost. It was getting harder and harder to breathe as he walked. He desperately needed to get back to civilization, and fast. If he didn't, he was certain he would die. He knew he was in Southern Hyrule, but beyond that he was unsure. He clutched at his side. He was broken, battered and bruised. But at least he had his book. His precious, precious book that he clutched in his paws as he walked throughout the canyon. The moblin opened it up as he walked. There was no way he was going to die without knowing what happened in the longest series he had ever had the pleasure of reading. He just wished the author would stop hiding the novels in dungeons. It made absolutely no sense. It was a romance story for Nayru's sake! Well, sort of. It was much too complicated for him to explain with a single genre, of course. It was more of a romance, science fiction modern day time travel experience. His glasses fogged up as he blushed, feeling embarrassed about his strange interests. He should be interested in fighting, or weapon smithing, or armor making. Instead he liked flowers and weird story books. How embarrassing. He suddenly closed his novel as he smelled something in the air. Something was wrong. He smelt.. he knew what he smelt. Other people. That thought alone made him more than nervous and it began to stir a sort of terrific panic in him. He looked down - realizing he wasn't wearing a shirt. His nervousness had just moved to complete panic. He looked so uncivilized, not to mention anyone could see he was injured. If what he smelt was correct, he was very much afraid of looking weak. But then again, being a moblin, the man was always a bit afraid of looking weak around someone else. He looked around, hopeful to find some sort of rock or brush to hide in, but it didn't appear that there was much around. Spaghet began to hyperventilate, wishing that he didn't have what he assumed was either a bruised or broken rib. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, oh no, he felt as if he was about to pass out. But he didn't, the man stood tall.. exposed and completely out in the open, but tall. As tall as a Bokoblin could stand. He looked around, waiting to see if what he smelt was true or if his senses were just playing tricks on him again. It wouldn't have been the first time since he had been injured..
Spaghet was right that someone, something, was indeed approaching him. In the distance a figure could be seen, and it was definitely heading directly towards him. As the figure got closer the clinking of it's armor (minus the sword and shield) would start being heard, a large club dangling on its right hip. The being was surely an intimidating sight, after all it appeared that a Darknut was heading directly towards the injured Bokoblin. A strong gust of wind would blow from behind the figure, taking his scent towards Spaghet. The smell that Spaghet would pick up would be that of a Common Moblin. Once he was only a few feet away from Spaghet, the large armor clad moblin would stop and stare at him in silence for a moment. Without breaking his silence the beast would start digging around in it's adventure pouch looking for something. Maybe it was looking for a disposable weapon to finish Spaghet off with not wanting to make a large mess in this heat with it's club. Finally finding what it was looking for it would quickly pull it's hand from the pouch, a piece of fabric following after it. Taking another step towards Spaghet it would kneel down and extend it's hand, and the fabric, slowly out towards Spaghet. "You take." The fabric that hung from his large hand was nothing more than a simple hooded cloak, roughly the right size for Spaghet, that would keep the sun from beating down on Spaghet's already injured flesh. "Me Sandal. Me help." Aside from not being able to form full sentences, his deep voice held an innate kindness to it. Unlike typical common moblins Sandals vice wasn't violence, but rather armor and clothing. He had been enamored with it from a young age and had grown up as a rather odd puppy. While he was offering help to Spaghet, the truth was that Sandal needed help himself. He had gone and gotten himself lost again. He was hoping that by giving Spaghet the cloak he could help lead him back towards civilization, or at least some place with some shade. He was cooking in his armor after all, but feared being attacked by something just for being a moblin. The amount he suffered just because he wasn't born as one of the 'civilized' races. He shouldn't have to hide what he was, but if he didn't he knew that he would be attacked at some point. Hylians and the like never even give him a chance if they meet him without his armor on first. While that shouldn't have been the case with a Bokoblin, you never knew what was going to happen in this crazy world. It was why he kept his armor on even in places like a desert.
Spaghet sniffed. He had blood in his nose as well and it was hampering his sense of smell. Din dammit. He inhaled sharply, only to suck down a large clot. He could have sworn he picked up the scent of another moblin, but honestly he wasn't sure at this point. He began to shake as the man approached, his eyes darted from side to side looking for an exit or at the very least a hiding place. He found none. The man stood feet before him, and this time Spaghet was certain he smelt another moblin despite the amount of blood seeping down out of his snout. The book he held shook most noticeably, but any amount of observation would reveal that his entire body was a shivering wreck. He was not in any position to defend himself and he was certain that if he ran the other man would catch him. The hope that was that even if this man was barbaric, the fact that he was a fellow descendant of Ganon would let him walk out of here with his life (and maybe only a few extra broken ribs). However, despite his worst fears, the man began to speak and even introduced himself. The moblin attempted to steady his breathing as he stared at the piece of fabric held out in front of him. The man had.. an odd name. Then again, he wasn't one to talk. The moblin carefully took the cloak that was held out to him with his hand that was the least bloodied. "... ... T-Thank you, S-Sir," the Bokoblin said, unsure if he should ruin this man's cloak with the amount of blood and grime on him. He looked up at the unrelenting figure and began to sweat. He would probably be offended if he didn't put it on, so he did so. Despite Spaghet's initial hesitation, the garment was on its way to being ruined and stained. "... ... 'Help'?" Spaghet tentatively spoke again once the cloak was on his body, his book tucked delightfully under it, hidden from view. "... ...Well... Well I certainly look like I need it, don't I?" the moblin began to chuckle a bit, realizing how horrible an idea that was with a broken rib. The pain made him visibly cringe and he inhaled some air sharply, another decision he immediately regretted.
Sandal couldn't help but smile as Spaghet took the cloak he had offered him, not that it could be seen behind his helmet. "You walk?" While it may have sounded more like Sandal was telling Spaghet to walk presumeably to some place for some vile and unspeakable act, in fact Sandal was only asking if Spaghet could in fact walk. They were in the middle of the desert and Spaghet was clearly injured and needed some shade, water, and probably even medical help. Of the things he needed Sandal could likely help him find some shade, and something to drink. Though two Moblins looking to get some medical help in Southern Hyrule, that would be a task to be sure. "Me lost. Us help other." There was the other shoe! Spaghet had probably been waiting for it to drop when Sandal had started being so nice to him. While Sandal wasn't injured and could easily keep on moving through the desert on his own, doing so would likely only lead him to get even more lost, and he only had a limited amount of supplies in his adventure pouch. Wandering around aimlessly like he was would likely on get him killed, not to mention how bad it would be if he were to wander into the city of Ruto. His only chance of survival was if Spaghet could lead him somewhere and it looked as if Spaghet would need help getting out of the desert himself.
The moblin froze. Of course he could walk. He shambled here, despite his injuries. His... multiple injuries. He was lucky to have some contacts outside some not so friendly monster cities. The issue was finding them. He began to sweat nervously. Did this man expect him to lead the way? He couldn't do that, oh no. He wasn't a leader, not by any regards. However, as the man spoke again, Spaghet nodded slowly, and then quickly sped up his nods. Yes, yes of course. That made sense. If this man wanted to help him, he would accept it... but then Spaghet looked up. He had smelt moblin... but he was still unsure. His nostrils were coated with his own blood, and he had known of other races who had coated themselves with the blood or skin of moblins to fool their senses. Besides, what moblin wore such armor? Spaghet nervously looked up. The same sort of reasoning why a moblin would wear a wig, he hoped. "... Y-Yes, yes of course," Spaghet stuttered. "W-Where were you headed? I... I reside in Castle Town, but.. but it's quite a-ways away and I.." he could make it if he tried, surely! He just.. had to keep up his optimism. "... well, it would probably be wiser to f-find some.. ah, help, closer." The moblin bit at his finger nails, looked at his book and sighed. His case had been broken earlier in his journey (thank goodness he always had a strap on his violin) and he adjusted the thing on his back. It felt uncomfortable under the cloak, but the Bokoblin felt too awkward to adjust it now. But then he got an idea, and wondered if it was worth it to take off the cloak after all. "W-Well..." Spaghet "W-We... could always ask for more help."
As Spaghet asked Sandal where he was headed he would lift his arm up and point off behind Spaghet before looking off in a different direction and turning opposite the way he was looking. The result of the moblin trying to figure out which direction he was supposed to be going was him tripping over his own feet and falling face down into the sand, his helmet popping off once more (you'd figure he'd have a strap on it by now to keep that from happening ) and bouncing towards Spaghet. Frantically Sandal would turn away from Spaghet keeping his head as far down as he could to try and hide his dog like face as he dug through his adventure pouch for something he could use to hide his face. Not that it would do much good at this point. He had taken too long, he knew it. Spaghet had already seen his secret putting on a new helmet now would be pointless. Slowly he would turn to look at his fellow moblin, fear in his eyes. Hylians and the other 'civilized' races attacked Sandal for being a moblin. His size and appearance frightening all but those that had been trained to fight, and even a few of the guards still found themselves intimidated by him. He couldn't even come close to a town if he hadn't spent a fair amount of time making sure that he was properly covered. What those races didn't know was that even among his own kind he was an outcast that was attacked for being different. He wasn't scary enough. He wasn't smart enough. He was too nice. The other moblins didn't even want him. It was why he hadn't revealed himself to Spaghet yet. He didn't want him to turn him away like all of the others. The moblin couldn't even find any words to say to Spaghet as he sat there unsure of how the bokoblin was going to react.
Spaghet averted his eyes. He was sympathizing a bit too much with the man and his own embarrassment was leaking out as he watched the other moblin scramble around. When the helmet bounced towards him, Spaghet bent down to pick it up, of course. He did his best to avert his eyes from the man in front of him who was obviously flustered. A hypocrite in at least that regard, he didn't like dealing with people -- especially strangers -- who were in such states even though he was prone to them himself. "Here," Spaghet said quickly, offering the helmet back to the man. He did his best to make eye contact and force a smile, but it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. Spaghet suddenly became very aware of the small cracks in his glasses and the blood slowly congealing under and on his wig. He would have to replace it, surely. But why did he keep replacing his wig? Why did he feel he needed a wig in the first place? The same reason this man might want to wear a helmet, of course. Spaghet was just.. an odd fellow in his solutions. Besides, who wants to wear armor all the time?
