bakerstreet | Find my home with you

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[meme] shipping

Find my home with you

The ＴＯＯＫＹＯＵＩＮ Shipping Meme

They were on your front door, in your yard, or on the street, confused and clearly in no position to fend for themselves; in a worst case scenario, they were bruised and battered, possibly close to death. Bleeding heart or not, you can't just be so cruel as to let them suffer. They need a place to stay, and you'll open your home to them...long enough to get back on their feet, anyway.

Speaking of feet, the shoe could be on the other one. You're worse for the wear - in a new place, possibly injured, certainly not in the best state of mind. You could not even remember how you got here or who you are to get here, for that matter. You may not want to remember. Whether willing or not so willing, you're in no position to turn down help, especially if said helper won't take no for an answer. No matter how dedicated you are to looking after yourself, there's only so much you can do in your position.

The two of you are staying together, at any rate. Only for a while, the plan is. But after said while, even though strength and confidence is returning to the injured, there's something a little different between you two. It could be the close quarters, the kindness shown, or a number of things, but quietly, softly, feelings have grown. Could more confusion and hurt spring from this? What about when it's time to go? Can the temporary resident leave as easily as they intended? You're so close now, perhaps a little while longer can't do any harm...

...until whatever it was that put them in such a perilous position in the first place comes back, and there could be "justice" for anyone who's dared to help.

ＲＵＬＥＳ

Comment with your character and preferences. Say if you'd rather play the taken in or the person taking them in.
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ＰＲＯＭＰＴＳ

ғɪɴᴅɪɴɢ — Who's that? They're no ordinary passersby! Were they in an accident? Are they foreign? ...should you approach them?

ʀᴀɪɴ, ʀᴀɪɴ, ɢᴏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ — The elements make this night no time to sleep out of doors.

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ — Cuts, broken bones, injuries all of sorts...you have to stitch them back up, then make sure they don't get any

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — It's all you can do to show gratitude to the person who took you in. Fix them a meal, care for their house, whatever you can do once you're able.

ʙᴀᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — FUCK THIS PERSON AND FUCK THEIR COUCH. You didn't ask to be brought here. Let them clean up after you, you don't even care.

ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ? — How you got into this situation is a mystery. Even more of a mystery is your identity, and why the person you were would be so displaced.

sᴇʟғʟᴇssɴᴇss —

ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ — If you've been injured badly enough or can't remember all too well, you might have to relearn a good deal. Luckily, you have a helping hand.

sᴄᴀʀs — Scars from the encounter that lead you here or scars from prior, you don't want them to see either. You still have your secrets to keep.

sᴛᴜʙʙᴏʀɴ — Ugh, your house guest is so stubborn! They always get up when they should be resting, have the worst habits, and completely disrespect your home! You'll get to them, one way or another. Or you'll throw them out. You don't want to, but you will.

ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ — Bad memories or nightmares wreck you; your host and nurse comes to your side unexpectedly.

ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄʟᴀsʜ — The person who's taken you in is from a different culture or lifestyle than you, and adapting is harder than you thought.

ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ — Think learning about a new culture is hard? Try being a different species. Can you keep your little eccentricities at bay for the good of your station?

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ — Now that your emotions towards your caretaker/host/jailer are softening, you're finding yourself unusually jealous of those in their life who were close to them before.

ɴᴇᴡ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs — You never thought you'd have fun after all that's happened, yet such simple gestures as a picnic or a movie make all the difference.

ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ — You love them, this person who's taken you in or this person you've found. It's not a pity or a thankfulness, it's love, and you know that now. What you choose to do with this information is

ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ — Suddenly, the person who's been so nice to you finds out that the two of you have a history. You killed their loved ones or caused something terrible. How can they forgive you?

ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ — So much has been done for you. The least you can do in return for the one who helped you at your lowest is make sure they never have such a low point.

ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢ — Anyone in the way of getting to you will be destroyed, and that includes the person you're staying with.

ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ — You've been given a home, maybe which you've never had before. You don't want to leave.

ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ — Not only are you living with them, but you're starting a proper life with them.

ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ — All secrets are laid out on the table. You've decided to tell about your past and what lead you here.

ʀᴇᴠᴜʟsɪᴏɴ — What you've done and who you are is so heinous, they want nothing more to do. You're to leave their home and leave them alone.

ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ — It doesn't matter what they've done. You've opened your home and your heart to them, and nothing's changed.

ᴘᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ — All things must come to an end. No matter what you feel for each other, it's time to leave. Hopefully, you'll see each other again.

ʜᴀᴘᴘɪʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ — Come what may, you've decided to stay at your new home with the person you love. Now, it's safe enough to do so.

ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ

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You look like you wouldn't hurt a kitten. [ Then again, why would anyone hurt a kitten? ] I was working a job and shifted in front of some people I shouldn't have. It was stupid. Careless. [ It's rare that he ever shifts fully except on the full moon, the toll it takes on his body being too great. What was supposed to be simple had turned into a near-death experience, and he doubts his boss will care for anything except that he let his mark go. He drains the rest of his glass. ] I can blame no one but myself. It was a split-second decision that nearly cost me my life.

But you helped. And I'm still in your debt.

[Well they're certainly on the same page with this point.] A kitten, no I'd rather not. A charr on the other hand... Okay honestly, I'd probably run away from a charr. But if it backed me into a corner and was about to gut me, I could fight my way out is what I'm saying.

[His smile hangs in the pause as he gives Jericho a careful look, putting the pieces of his explanation together.] There isn't too much in the way of magic where you come from. I guess that makes what you can do seem like some kind of threat, huh?

It's not like that here. Here everything's soaked in magic. So you're safe. [He brushes a stray lock of hair back from Jericho's cheek and takes his empty glass.] And enough of this debt crap, man. You don't owe me. If anything, I owed you.

Another?

I can only assume a charr has very big claws.

[ He scoffs lightly even though there's really nothing funny about this. ] There's plenty. We're just seen as second-class citizens. I don't have it as bad as some others. For the most part it's easy for me to pass as human, and even if I don't, I'm employed with an organization that works on making us seem less threatening to humans and therefore more accepted. [ It's the cover story for The Factory, and probably the biggest pile of bullshit he's told Vrenille so far. Still, the laws that keep them from being hunted are shoddy at best and rarely enforced, but should he kill a human, he'd likely pay with his life.

He hasn't seen an abundance of magic, but the atmosphere here feels different from what he's used to. ] Even you? [ A mild query. He turns his face toward Vrenille's touch, gaze curious and open, and nods when he asks about a refill. ] I don't know if buying you a meal is on par with what you did for me, but if you insist.

Big claws, big teeth, big horns. [It's a cursory explanation--he doesn't really want to talk about charr now. The topic is messy and complicated, and even if Vrenille is more willing to deal with members of the species than he once was, there's no escaping that he grew up in a city they were holding under siege.

He's not sure what to make of the organization that Jericho's speaking of or how best to put it in a context he can relate to. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe he really just doesn't get it.] Are you a threat to humans? Because I gotta say, I don't get that from you. Werewolves don't wanna like...wipe humans out, right? [That would sort of make them like charr a little. Maybe.

After the touch, there's a crooked smile, as if to say, Well I'm not going to brag about my magic. It's really not something Vrenille is comfortable talking up though, and anyway, Jericho will inevitably see plenty in the morning, if not from him then from others. For now he smoothly sidesteps the topic as he pours more whiskey.]

It wasn't the meal. The night I met you I really needed to catch a break. The last penny I had in my pocket I'd used to buy that beer I was working all through my pitch. You know trying to work a bar like that...it's like trying to land a job with a guy who probably didn't think he was hiring for a post he probably wasn't expecting to pay to fill.

[He passes the refilled glass back to Jericho again.] I needed that gig so that I could keep going--so I could get back here, ultimately. The trouble you're in's written right on your shoulder; mine didn't have the same tell. Other'n that there's not so much difference.

I have no interest in wiping anyone out, nor do any of the other werewolves I know. [ Not that he knows very many. In addition to feeling disconnected from most humans, he spends most of his time avoiding other wolves as well. He's not one for sticking together, and his loyalty can be given to select people, but rarely whole groups. Just because they share the same cursed blood doesn't mean he feels any sense of connection with them. ] And any that do have probably been driven mad and deserve to be put down.

[ It's not lost on him that Vrenille has yet to give him a straight answer, but he isn't going to press. The non-answer really tells him much of what he wants to know, anyway. ] You were lucky I was drinking that night. Inhibited the senses. [ Though it's not exceptionally hard to catch him drinking. ] Lucky you have that face, too. It helped.

[Vrenille takes a long slow swallow of his drink before setting the glass back down. He's thinking about chance and coincidence and, sure, luck. But also about different worlds and what that all means.] I didn't spend all that much time in your world, ultimately, but I think I got the picture that humans run the show pretty clear.

It's not like that here. Three or four hundred years ago, maybe. But not now.

Anyway, I don't think you have to worry about anyone hunting you here's what I'm saying. So maybe Lyssa's smiled on us both. [He gives a wry smirk, not thinking for the moment that references to the human gods probably don't translate easily from one world to the next. Instead, he takes the liberty of casually starting to get Jericho undressed, pulling off the man's shoes before setting hands on the waist of his trousers.] Sort of begs the question what your senses will tell you in the morning when the haze of pain and drink has faded a bit, don't you think?

Yeah. You wouldn't have seen a lot of people like you or I flaunting themselves. [ It's almost strange knowing that he could go out here and not have to worry about blending in. He thinks to ask about the gods, but he doesn't care for gods in general, and then his focus slips when Vrenille's hands are suddenly on him. Pain radiates through his shoulder as he shifts, a crease in his brow as he looks down at him. He's capable of undressing himself, but it would take longer and look considerably more ridiculous if he did. He absently wonders if mixing alcohol and the effects of silver that have his blood feeling uncomfortably warm had been such a good idea.

He exhales, canting his hips lightly. ] They'll tell me I've made worse decisions than this. Much worse, with far more unfavorable company.

[More ridiculous and also, Vrenille suspects, considerably more painful. He’s not trying to start anything here, he just figures that it makes more sense this way, with him opening the front of Jericho’s pants and sliding them down as he complies with the gesture.] In that case they’ll be very right. Not that I know anything about the worse company you’ve kept before. I just know a thing or two about the company here—besides me, I mean.

[He sets Jericho’s trousers on a chair and starts to get himself changed for bed as well. It’s different than the way he behaves when he’s working—a genuine casualness that’s more intimate than just him taking his clothes off. He takes his clothes off for a lot of people, but he takes his game face off for very few. The number who’ve seen him in his bedroom pulling on his simple cotton pyjama pants like this is well under a dozen.] Just roll with it in the morning, yeah? Even if it seems a bit strange.

[Whatever Jericho is or isn’t used to seeing as far as nonhumans flaunting themselves, he’s willing to bet it won’t hold a candle to what he’s going to see here by the light of day.]

You're making it sound as though I'm going to regret being here in the morning. [ Realistically speaking, he won't exactly be fit for travel in the morning. However, that normally has never stopped him from leaving -- not from a one-night stand or anything else, and this falls somewhere in the "anything else" category.

He works on his second drink as Vrenille gets dressed for bed, and while his regular experience is having to drink double or triple the average amount to feel anything, right now he feels dizzy. The temperature in the room seems to rise, and before he knows it his cheek is resting against his pillow, glass still cradled in his hand. He cracks his eyes open, vision swimming before coming to focus on the window. This feeling of complete weakness is unusual to him; even through the worst of injuries he still manages to keep some semblance of strength. Right now he feels vulnerable, useless, yet he somehow still wants another drink -- perhaps it'll push him over the edge into unconsciousness instead of this in-between state where he feels he might catch fire from the inside. ]

I'm sure I'll have seen stranger. [ His whole life is strange. He exhales quietly, rubbing his tired eyes. ] Strange doesn't bother me quite as much as normal things like expectations and feelings.

I'll take that bet. But no, I don't think you'll regret it. [He doesn't add "I never have."

And he doesn't say how strongly Jericho's words about expectations and feelings remind him of a certain best friend of his who would probably say the exact same thing if anyone ever managed to pin him down long enough to get him to say it. (It's ironic, because aside from that and apparent fondness for strong drink, Vrenille doesn't think the two men have much in common.)

He doesn't offer a refill this time, instead taking the empty glass and setting it on the table before he lies down at Jericho's side, careful not to jostle him or bump his shoulder. He strokes his cheek briefly with the back of his fingers.] Think you can sleep?

[ It's not so much falling asleep as it is losing his tenuous grip on consciousness. He registers the gentle dip in the bed and something soft tickling his warm cheek. After that there isn't much more than darkness.

His sleep feels fitful and too short. All too quickly his eyes open again, this time with pale sunlight beginning to stream in through the window. There's a warm presence at his side, close, too close, but his shoulder feels too stiff to move with any sort of grace. Sometime during the night he'd bled through his bandage, but his mind feels clearer even through the exhaustion, the silver's effects seemingly having run through his system. He should start healing more rapidly now.

He pushes onto his back, away from the strangely comforting closeness, and immediately regrets it, the blood flow returning his arm and pumping fresh pain through his shoulder. He sucks in a breath, his free hand coming up to cover his eyes, and after a moment or two, it passes, settling to a more manageable level. He feels more normal now, less worried about his injury and more annoyed than anything else.

If he wanted to slip out unnoticed he might've done a better job at being quiet. As it is, he only just thinks of it now, gently pulling the covers back and sitting on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath, running a hand through his hair. ]

[The sound and shifting of Jericho's weight are enough to make Vrenille stir, but they're not what wake him properly. Instead, he merely rolls over onto his side as he feels his bedmate move. It's the knock that sounds at the door a moment later, though, that make his eyes open properly.]

Vrenille? [Slightly muffled through the wood, the voice is clearly male though not terribly deep, English-accented, and quite calm.] Are you all right? There's quite a lot of blood downstairs.

[Vrenille gives a slight wince, as though he was really hoping the telltale smears and smudges from the night would have managed to go unnoticed--really, he was hoping that they'd have been cleaned up by the household's resident domest-o-matic cleaning golem before anyone else saw them. He looks up at Jericho from his spot on the pillow and places a hand on his thigh, giving him a reassuring smile before he answers.]

Yeah, I'm fine. It's...not my blood.

[There's a pause. On the other side of the door, someone is clearly working out their reaction to this information--both what it reveals and what it leaves only implied.] All right. I'll set out another plate for breakfast.

[It makes Vrenille smile almost sheepishly.] Thanks Kyinnlen. We'll be down in a bit.

[And then he turns back to Jericho, pushing himself up onto one elbow and looking at him properly. (That bandage will clearly need a change...)] Sorry about that. How're you feeling?

[ He hears the footsteps long before the knock -- really, he's picking up on all sorts of noises throughout the house -- and waits until after the exchange to move, and after Vrenille moves his hand. But standing feels like a chore, so the most he does is begin to unravel his bandage, his skin bruised and smeared with damp crimson, but the wound finally clotting. ]

I can't stay. [ He doesn't offer a reason because he doesn't have one. He could very well stay and pick at his breakfast while Vrenille realizes just how picky of an eater he is, but he feels uncomfortable at the entire situation, knowing he'll be surrounded by strangers, and even if they share any non-human traits, he has a complete disinterest in forging connections with anyone based on some mistake of birth. It's how he sees himself, and it colors his perception of all others as well.

He finally does stand to toss the soiled bandages into the trash. He feels more or less steady on his feet, but he knows he's in no condition to do anything strenuous lest he risk opening his wound again or succumbing to vertigo. The bed dips again as he lightly sits, looking down at Vrenille from where he's lounging. ] I feel better thanks to you. There's no reason to inconvenience you further.

[There's quite a lot of noises to pick up on, really, in spite of the early hour. Sounds of movement upstairs, downstairs, elsewhere on this floor as people in the household begin to wake. But there's also the shrill cry of early morning gulls, the distant voices of the harbor men, the sound of merchants setting up their stalls out in the square below the window.

Vrenille watches Jericho peel off the bandage, shaking his head with a dry laugh.] Uh-huh, sure you can't. [He sits up, letting his arms hang between quilt-covered knees. He isn't buying this for a second.] You're in a city you don't know, in a world you don't know. Where exactly are you supposed to need to be?

Look, even if you want to get back where you came from in a rush, you can probably do with some directions before you go getting yourself well and truly lost.

Besides, if you take off now, you're leaving me to have to explain everything that happened last night all by myself. All those questions and just me by my lonesome to field them. [He smiles. It's faux sort of guilt trip, all playful...but it's a guilt trip nonetheless. He practically bats his eyelashes--teasing, tempting...inviting.] Now that wouldn't be very good thanks for helping you out, would it?

[ He doesn't have much inclination to rush back home, where he'll likely be reprimanded for either nearly dying or disappearing -- he doesn't yet know which one will get him in more trouble. And he doesn't know his way around this world, not that he thinks he can't figure it out, but he'd rather not do anything at all except crawl back into bed and quietly fall asleep once more. ]

Somehow I feel like you can handle a few questions just fine on your own. [ The smile he keeps giving him makes him want to relax. There's no one here he knows. For all intents and purposes, he could hide here. He hesitates, glancing at the door to look away from the distracting thing Vrenille is doing with his dark lashes. He really doesn't know what he's getting into, considering the company here, but something compels him to give in. ] But I could stay just for a little while. I need your help with this bandage again.

That's what you think. I mean, you haven't seen their interrogation techniques. It's beyond anything I could resist. [Okay, so he's obviously being facetious here--clearly no one is getting interrogated. But that's not really the point. The point is that in spite of the hesitation and reticence, he's managed to get Jericho to agree to stick around, at least for the moment, and he's quite pleased about that. He wants him to stick around; in spite of all the reservedness and constantly trying to warn him off, he finds him quite good company.

Smile broadening at the answer, he reaches up to brush his knuckles briefly over the soft stubble on Jericho's jaw before swinging himself out of bed.]

I'll get some clean bandages. [He pulls a soft white cotton shirt over his bare chest, and gives a brief gesture towards the hallway.] The washroom's the second door on the left if you want it.

[And so saying, he leaves Jericho on his own for the moment, at liberty to do as he will.]

[ He's coming to learn that Vrenille is a very tactile person, offering his touch freely and seemingly without the same slew of reservations that accompany Jericho's mind before he lays a finger on anyone. It's an effort not to stiffen beneath his fingers -- an even greater one not to shove him away. Yet there's still a part of him that remembers the gentle comfort of touch, Vrenille's fingers tickling at some long-buried memory he's tried to forget.

He busies himself with pulling his jeans on and following the instructions down the hall, where he finally gets a good look at himself in the mirror. A splash of cold water on his face does little to hide the exhaustion set into his eyes, and while his skin had been unnaturally flushed last night, right now he looks pale as his body fights to replenish the extensive amount of blood he's lost. His face becomes less of a concern in comparison to his shoulder, even with knowing that ultimately even the scarring will heal. He looks like extremely questionable company at best.

He cleans up the residual blood and then spends a moment on his hopelessly tousled hair, eventually giving up when he realizes he has absolutely no concern for the opinions of anyone here, except possibly Vrenille, but he's already seen him looking much worse, so there shouldn't be anywhere to go but up on a regular day like this. He feels like he could fall asleep standing, which he nearly does while leaning against the sink and watching the water swirl pink in the basin. ]

[Vrenille is quite tactile, it's true--he's very used to touching people and to being touched. But he's also being free with Jericho in a way that he'd almost never be with a man who was simply a client. When it comes to that kind of work, every touch has something calculated behind it, even if it's calculated just to make him seem natural and uncalculated.

It's not the same as this, where he's guided simply by feeling glad to have Jericho stay for a while longer and a sense of affection and warmth towards him that he should...probably pause to reflect on at some point. Anyway, he doesn't reflect on it right now as he slips downstairs to collect the needed supplies.

Provided Jericho does not in fact fall asleep on his feet, when he steps back into the hallway, he'll find someone else just stepping around the corner. It's not Vrenille though, as the sound of footsteps might have better told if the person in question didn't seem to be taking pains to walk as softly as he could possible manage.

He's a giant--not a proverbial "giant of a man," but an actual giant: probably close to eight and a half feet tall with arms the size of tree trunks, he looks a bit cramped even with the house's tall ceilings and broadly build spaces. He's got skin the color of dark chocolate, but hair down to his shoulders that's bright as a polished copper penny and the same copper dusting of a light goatee. He's dressed only in his underwear, which is stitched of heavy woven cloth, and there are pale tribal-like tattoos that ring his shoulders down to his flanks.

The impression he gives overall is probably a bizarre mix of Norse, African, and Celtic. But perhaps the most bizarre thing is how this giant reacts to the surprise of coming around the corner and seeing Jericho there--as though despite the fact that he lives here, he's the one who's in the way.] Oh, I'm sorry. [Though deep, his voice is very soft spoken, and he seems embarrassed enough by the unexpected meeting that he'd withdraw right back down the hall...if that didn't risk being rude. Instead he sort of averts his eyes, so as to be sure not to stare.] I beg your pardon.

[ He's not sure what exactly he expected to see this morning, but the giant coming into view immediately upon exiting the bathroom isn't it. Jericho tilts his chin to angle a better look at the man, taking a half-step back simply out of surprise. Even without a shirt, he's still somehow the more dressed of the two, and the closer he comes, the larger he seems. ]

It's fine. [ His eyes fall onto the markings on his skin, tracing the patterns with a sharp gaze. He doesn't smell danger from the man, instead a strange sort of nervousness invading his senses. If this place is full of oddities just like him, The Factory would have a field day with all the new subjects to research, experiment with, and ultimately end up killing at least half of them.

He gestures with a quick jerk of his chin that inevitably pulls at his shoulder. ] Go first. [ He can't imagine what strange company he looks to be, half-dressed with a painful-looking bullet wound on display. And though he feels relatively safe here, he still doesn't want anyone at his back. Especially not someone of this stature. ] I'm waiting for Vrenille.

[It's not precisely nervousness, though it's easy to see where the impression would come from. In general, the giant manages to convey an impressively accurate sense of a very big person who would much prefer being a very small one. But perhaps he can be forgiven for being a bit off his game: he really wasn't expecting to round the corner into this meeting any more than Jericho was.

Hyperaware that wearing so little makes it even more obvious how much of him there is, he looks sheepishly at his feet when Jericho suggests that he go first. If he does that, he knows, he'll take up the whole hallway.] Oh. No, it's okay. I don't have to go this way. [He makes a vague gesture back the way he came.] I don't want to be in anyone's way.

Only...I don't mean to pry, but is Vrenille looking after you? [He makes a small, subtle gesture towards the gunshot, because yes, the wound and the pallor are indeed combining to give Jericho a fairly unhealthy look. It's a much less intrusive thing to say than remarking how Vrenille has almost never brought anyone home with him, let alone to spend the whole night, and a much less brazen one than demanding to know who the stranger is and what he's doing wandering around their house.]

You won't be in anyone's way. You live here. [ Still, Jericho goes before him at his insistence, turning around at the question. Looking after you is probably an accurate description of what had taken place last night, but now that he's back to his senses, he's suddenly very aware of how much he's leaning on the other man, and he's fairly certain he doesn't like it. It's a show of weakness, and while he does feel weak, he's supposed to know how to handle it better than this.

If Vrenille hadn't come along, he might have still made it to the morning, stiff, miserable, in terrible pain, but alive. But there's also that niggling feeling that he might not have made it at all, and that's what sets him on edge. Killed by a hunter isn't how he wants to go -- or more accurately, bled to death alone by an ale cart. He should have done better, but he's all but useless after a shift.

He shakes the thought away, resettling his gaze upon the giant, standing right before him in the middle of the hallway. Now he couldn't pass even if he wanted to. He feels suddenly defensive, and he can't pinpoint exactly why, but he reminds himself to control his tongue. ] Yes. Just for now.

[ He turns and heads back toward the bedroom; even though there are other questions on his tongue, they go unasked. But when he places a hand on the doorknob, he casts another glance behind him. ] I'm Jericho.

[The giant smiles at the reassurance, though it falters a little as he backs right up against the wall to give Jericho as much room as possible, a gesture which doesn't do any real good in the taking-up-less-space department. Then the smile returns and with it an admission that he shares almost confidentially, like an open secret.] As I have often been reminded, but between living here as the mouse or as...the bear, [the hint of a veiled joke there, some sort of double entendre] I'd prefer the former.

[An odd shift of energy happens when the two of them are standing face to face in the hallway. Wound or no wound, this giant is clearly not driven by the predatory spirit that looks for advantage against a weakened rival. But he's actually not so wholly faint-hearted as he might have seemed at first either. He actually seems less timorous the more direct that Jericho becomes, like it makes him steady and calm to talk to a person who faces him this way.] You're in fine hands while you heal. There's no shame in having the shelter of a burrow while you do so.

My name's Bertolt. [And he won't press for any further conversation if Jericho doesn't want it, but he waits to allow further question or remark if he decides that he does.]

[ He wonders if people are afraid of this man here, or at least set on edge if they're otherwise so accepting of different creatures. Jericho doesn't feel fear, but then people have never been the stuff of his nightmares. He feels a strange sort of intrigue, which he normally also doesn't feel, preferring to pass by with largely ignoring most everyone around him -- just like he ignores the compliment to Vrenille, because he has no real reason to care. Still, it sticks in his mind, adding stock to the growing belief of his goodness, and how very different they are.

He doesn't yet open the door and go in. Vrenille isn't back, and he needs those bandages more than anything else in the room. He regards the giant -- Bertolt -- again. ] I don't see many that look like you where I'm from. [ It could be from a necessity to hide or a complete inability to do so. Jericho at least has the luxury of passing as completely unremarkable on most days. Then again, that hadn't saved him from becoming tangled in this web of hatred where he's lauded and despised for his abilities in the very same breath. As long as he's useful, he's afforded some semblance of freedom. The second that he's not, there are many ways to remind him. ]

Then you must be from very far away and probably haven't been in Lion's Arch very long. [There's no judgement in the observation, but perhaps the casualness of it points to a general social acceptance without fear or censure.]

There are a good many norn who've come to these parts, especially what with the Consortium rebuilding the city and now the Guild Initiative. [He breathes a bit of a sigh.] It's very hot though. Especially for the biggest--they feel it the worst. [At the moment, it's actually not very hot. In fact it's quite pleasant and mild...or at least it is for anyone whose body isn't made for life in high frozen mountains where the ground is perpetually covered by meters of packed snow and ice.

Of course it doesn't occur to Bertolt that Jericho has no idea about norn in general. If he knew, he would be the first to say that he's absolutely the worst possible ambassador for his race (though whether he likes to admit it or not, being the 'worst' might also be what makes him the 'best,' since he's much quieter, calmer, an less brash and blustering than what's typical). Regardless, he can't help but be presenting a rather partial and skewed impression.

For example, he hesitates for a moment as though trying to decide if it's too prying to ask (no other norn would bother to second guess)...and then decides to risk it (as a rule, most norn would run headlong towards risk of any kind).] Are you from Ebonhawke as well?

This is my first time here. [ It had been accidental in the first place, but a necessary accident. Though he hasn't heard of this race, it's easy enough to follow his words without too many prying questions, and a small part of him marvels at how a man like this can make a life here at all. It wouldn't happen back home.

His blood runs hot as well, and he almost smiles, though as it is his expressions just softens a bit as he leans back against the door. He's grateful Bertolt is as mild-mannered as he is; he doesn't have the energy for much else. He doesn't divulge his own identity, but he feels like he could if he truly wanted to. But once in the habit of keeping secrets, it's a hard rule to break. He doesn't want to think about how he's broken it with Vrenille already. ]

I'm not from around here. Home is very different from this. [ Less welcoming, less diverse. Humans live in fear of the monsters that walk among them. He could be openly killed and it would barely make a ripple -- he's just lucky that he's exceptionally difficult to kill and doesn't fear much at all. ] Back home you would be in hiding, living in some remote land. There's little chance you'd be welcome in the city. They'd take one look at you and cry for your imprisonment. Needless to say, it's nicer here.

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