It isn’t the first job that they’ve completed since they left Valentia together, but it is the first one that gave them a close call. Even still — true to form — Krue is all patched up by the next night.  They don’t usually hang around after completing jobs — but they’re in a bigger town than usual, and when Krue suggests heading to the local tavern, Ezmerelda certainly doesn’t say no.  It’s already late into the night when they arrive. It doesn’t surprise Krue when Ezmerelda leaves her at the front door to go sit at the bar; Krue is sure that it doesn’t surprise Ezmerelda when she follows.  The bartender is quick to take their order. He’s also quick to try to chat up Ezmerelda.  Ezmerelda quickly busies herself with making fun of the guy. Krue would be worried about the price of her drink, were it not immediately clear that he’s too stupid to catch on.  Krue is so distracted by the show that she almost doesn’t notice when a woman slides into the empty seat next to her. She does notice, though — she kind of has to, really, because the woman is speaking to her. Reluctantly, Krue looks away from Ezmerelda and turns her head to be greeted by the sight of a short half-elf woman. She’s smiling, and it’s a friendly, pretty smile.  By the time Krue has focused her attention, she realizes that she hasn’t heard more than three words of what’s been said to her; the woman’s voice is soft, unsuited to overcoming the buzzing conversation of the tavern.  “Sorry,” Krue says, sheepish. “I didn’t catch that.”  Her smile turns patient. “I’m out with my friends,” she says, a little louder now, nodding slightly to the other side of the bar, “and I couldn’t help but notice you. Could I buy you a drink?”   Krue tries not to look as surprised as she feels — she’s never had a woman approach her like this, and not for no reason.  She enjoys being an owlfolk, largely. But after running away from an aarakocra-majority community, Krue realized pretty quickly that the rules of romance are a little different for her, out in the world. And it’s not like she minds, usually — not unless she’s in a particularly downcast mood about a particular someone.  Krue’s surprise gives way to a vague guilt as soon as she realizes that she’s going to have to let this nice lady down.  On instinct, she looks over at Ezmerelda. Krue finds her looking a little more annoyed than usual — so she sneaks a quick glare at the bartender, because if Ezmerelda is annoyed enough to look it, he must’ve said something stupid.  The bartender meets Krue’s eyes in return, but he only looks confused by the look that is leveled his way. Krue doesn’t have time to think about that, though, because the nice lady is waiting for an answer, and Krue has one for her.  “I’m sorry,” Krue says, for the second time now.  The woman glances away from Krue — to Ezmerelda — and then back, giving another patient smile. She stays polite, for her part, but she excuses herself soon enough. Krue watches her return to her friends before turning back to Ezmerelda and the bartender — or just Ezmerelda, actually, because the bartender seems to have made his way to the other end of the bar.  The difference in Ezmerelda’s expression isn’t much, but Krue can tell that she doesn’t look annoyed anymore, at least.  Krue squints at the bartender one last time before meeting Ezmerelda’s characteristically neutral gaze. Krue asks, “You good?” Ezmerelda blinks. Then, “Yeah.” She says it in that one way she does — the way that indicates to Krue that she has just asked what Ezmerelda deems to be a stupid question. “*You* good?” Krue blinks back at her. “Yeah?” In lieu of responding, Ezmerelda turns in her seat slightly to face Krue, who straightens up in her own seat to better face Ezmerelda.  Then Ezmerelda does something that Krue does see her do often: she hesitates, just for a moment—  And then she’s talking again before Krue can figure out what it means.  “So if you’re not going to take her up on that drink,” Ezmerelda says in that slow, matter-of-fact way of hers, “Do you mind if I—?” Ezmerelda’s eyes are a challenge, as is the look in them. There is a level of amusement behind them, too, Krue thinks — but Krue isn’t feeling very amused.  Krue slouches back in her seat. She can’t remember the last time she felt this — whatever the fuck this flash of feeling is. Embarrassed, maybe? Humiliated?  She manages to keep her voice clear when she says, “Go crazy.” In an instant, the amusement is gone from Ezmerelda’s eyes, and the emotion that replaces it is unreadable.  The sight is far from unfamiliar territory for Krue, but Ezmerelda’s inscrutable expressions sometimes have a habit of making Krue feel hopelessly far away.  She feels like she may have given the wrong answer, but she can’t for the life of her figure out what the right answer was supposed to be.  Ezmerelda is standing before Krue has a chance to walk it back. “Don’t come by the wagon for a while,” Ezmerelda says, voice flat, and then she’s gone.  When the bartender returns with a pitcher of ale and two mugs, he looks as disappointed as Krue feels. Scanning the tavern, he asks, “Your friend leave?”  He places the pitcher and mugs down on the table in front of Krue. Krue gestures vaguely before answering, “Yes? She says it just as his eyes stall on something — Ezmerelda, presumably, judging by the strange look he gives her. He takes one of the mugs away and says, “Right. I’ll put it on your tab, then.” Krue shrugs, because she still has more money than she knows what to do with. And then, when she hears Ezmerelda’s laugh from across the bar, she asks, “You got anything stronger?”                                                                              --- It doesn’t take Ezmerelda long to leave with the woman. Krue notices her absence with another flash of that half-humiliated feeling, and she still can’t quite pin the emotion down. At this point, the most that Krue can tell about it is that it hurts somewhere deep in her chest.  As she waits for the feeling to fade into something manageable, Krue is interrupted by someone crowding into her space. A human man — a big one — leans over Krue’s shoulder, over the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention.  He’s shouting about needing another round, but Krue doesn’t let him get far into his sentence; she elbows him in the stomach, lightly, but hard enough to get the message across.  The man doubles over like Krue stabbed him, and Krue quickly realizes that this man is very, very drunk — and very, very angry, judging by the look on his face when he rights himself.  Krue’s on her feet and he’s in her space once more. He’s just tall enough that Krue has to tilt her head up to glare at him before she— “Hey!” the bartender calls, voice sharp. “Out, both of you.” Krue thinks she feels the beginning of a migraine coming on.  She watches as the man’s eyes dart to look behind her. He looks even more pissed off, now. He starts, “She—” “Save it, Sidgal,” the bartender says. “I’m not going to let you pick another fight in my bar. Get out.”  The man — Sidgal, Krue supposes — glares at the bartender, and then at Krue. To Krue’s surprise, he doesn’t say a word before he retreats.  Krue doesn’t watch him leave. She turns to the bartender, flipping him off with one hand. He doesn’t say anything, though, because she uses her other hand to rummage around her coin pouch.  She drops five platinum, and the bartender’s eyes widen as they clatter onto the surface of the bar.  The bartender scoops up the coins. “It’s been a pleasure,” he lies. “Now leave.” Krue does as she’s told, muttering all the while. She just can’t catch a break today.  It takes her entirely too long to get to the door — Krue hadn’t noticed the place get so damn crowded. Her irritation distracts her enough that she doesn’t notice the small crowd waiting for her outside until the door is closed behind her.  They don’t waste any time with pleasantries.  She manages to dodge out of the way of Sidgal’s first and second punch, but he has three friends with him. Krue’s hand flies to her side, to her sword, a threat on the tip of her tongue — but one of Sidgal’s friends loops his arms around Krue’s, his fingers locking at the back of her neck. It’s awkward with her wings, but he manages to hold her in place as Sidgal rounds on her.  Krue kicks hard, striking Sidgal in the same spot as before. He grunts, stumbling back. But he’s replaced by another, and Krue braces herself as she takes two quick blows to her stomach.  She twists, trying to free herself, and for a moment she thinks she might be successful. That’s when the last decides to join in, taking one of her arms.  “This is unnecessary,” Krue says, flailing. The two at her sides hold on tight.  Maybe yesterday did more of a number on her than she thought. She did lose a lot of blood — enough for Ezmerelda to yell at her about it, at least. But Krue doesn’t have much time to ponder why she’s doing so poorly in this fight, because Sidgal is back up, his skin blotchy with anger. Krue braces once more as Sidgal winds up and punches her just below the ribs.  She wheezes as the hit lands. She’s grateful that she didn’t have that much to drink — she might’ve thrown up, otherwise.  Krue stomps on one of her captor’s feet, but she still can’t break out of their hold.  She doesn’t have time to brace for Sidgal’s next blow. It leaves her winded.  She does her best to stand upright, but it only takes a few more hits before Krue can feel her knees buckling.  They let her fall. Sidgal gets in one last blow — a kick to her face — and Krue smothers a yelp, just because she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.  From the ground, Krue dizzily watches Sidgal and his cronies start to leave, all entirely happy with themselves.  She reaches for her sword once more. Hilt in hand, she stands up.  “Hey!” she calls, standing firm as Sidgal turns around and sneers. “Not done yet.” All it takes is one well-timed blow with the flat end of her sword to knock Sidgal on his ass. Two of his friends join him before the third thinks better of it — he takes off in a sprint, away from Krue. Sidgal is on his knees when Krue approaches him. He has a snarl on his face, and Krue is entirely prepared when he lunges at her — she steps out of the way, and he stumbles to the ground once again.  The next time Sidgal looks up at Krue, he finds a sword at his throat.  “What?” he wheezes. “You going to kill me?”  Krue hears Sidgal’s two friends groaning behind her as they pick themselves off the ground, and she pretends to consider.  With a quick flick of her wrist, she slices open the skin just below Sidgal’s eye, at the top of his cheek, in the same place he kicked her.  “Go,” she says, as his hand darts up to cup his own face. He glares at her, but Krue knows before he even gets up that he’s going to listen.  His friends stumble to follow.   Krue watches them until they’re out of sight. Now that the adrenaline is gone, the world seems bright and loud, and the ground is looking particularly inviting.  She has enough of a mind to drag herself over to the wall of the building, propping herself against it before sliding down and letting her eyes fall closed.  --- “What the fuck,” is what Krue hears as she’s shaken awake.  Krue blinks her eyes open and is greeted by two things: a crouching Ezmerelda and her worried, scowling face. “Ezmerelda!” Krue greets. She tries to sound cheerful about it, but she mostly just shouts the name.  “Are you *good*?” Ezmerelda asks. “What the fuck happened?” Krue experimentally twists her upper half and is met with an aching pain in her stomach — but at least it’s not a sharp pain, she supposes. “I’m fine,” Krue says, hiding her wince. As soon as it’s clear that Krue is actually okay, Ezmerelda stands, takes a step back, and crosses her arms.  “You got fucked up,” Ezmerelda observes. All the worry has been wiped from her face — it’s blank, but her eyes are sharp and searching, and they cut right through Krue’s hazy vision.  “I’m not fucked up,” Krue says. She feels something tickle her cheek — she reaches up to touch it and feels drying blood. Ezmerelda pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers, and Krue cringes at the gesture. She almost prefers the blank stare.  “I left you alone for less than an hour,” Ezmerelda says, taking her fingers away so that she can squint at Krue, “and you got fucked up.”  “An hour?” Krue mumbles. She could’ve sworn it’s been longer than that.  But wait. If Ezmerelda left her less than an hour ago, then— “Have a good time?” Krue asks, attempting nonchalance.  Krue’s not sure if it’s that she’s still having trouble seeing straight, but it seems to her like Ezmerelda stares at her for a long while before answering.  Eventually, Ezmerelda shrugs. “Nothing happened,” she says, and Krue only feels a little guilty for how relieved it makes her.  Ezmerelda gives her another stare, and Krue realizes too late that she’s being assessed. “I’d say that you had a good enough time for the both of us, but you got beaten to hell. And you’re not even drunk.” Before she can stop herself, Krue admits, “I didn’t really have that great of a time.”  “What happened, Krue?” Ezmerelda asks, quieter than she’s prone to — and that startles Krue, because she so rarely holds conversations with Ezmerelda that get *quieter* over time.  Krue dusts some of the dirt off her feathers. “I got into a fight.” She waits for Ezmerelda to press her, to ask her why — and maybe she’ll be honest, despite how childish she must seem, because honesty has gotten her this far.  But what good is honesty when Ezmerelda already knows the truth? And she must know; Krue is certain of it, even with Ezmerelda’s poker face — because Ezmerelda doesn’t ask. Ezmerelda averts her eyes and nods in the vague direction of the wagon. “Can you walk?”  “…Yeah.”  Krue feels Ezmerelda watch her as she stumbles to stand. She feels like it doesn’t take long enough to justify the long-suffering sigh that Ezmerelda lets out, but before she can comment, Ezmerelda is speaking.  “Come here.” But Ezmerelda is already next to her, slinging Krue’s arm over her shoulder. When it becomes clear that it’s not enough, Ezmerelda steadies Krue with a hand at her waist. Krue wants to be embarrassed — she doesn’t usually handle herself so poorly. But the feeling of Ezmerelda, solid and warm, causes a different kind of swooping in her chest. Walking together is a slow and somewhat awkward process, but Krue isn’t about to complain. She’s not about to complain about her bruised organs, either, but she can’t help but wince with every other step she takes.  It isn’t a long walk to the wagon, but Krue doesn’t like the sound of the silence that fills the air as they stumble along.  Krue’s not sure if she wants to know the specifics of Ezmerelda’s absence — but she can’t help but be curious, despite the danger of that hurt feeling returning.  “So nothing happened, huh?” she asks. It comes out stilted, missing the casual tone she was going for. Krue feels Ezmerelda’s hand tense where it rests against her waist.  “Nope,” Ezmerelda answers, voice flat.  It may be the residual alcohol in her system that gives Krue enough courage to ask, “Why not?”  Ezmerelda goes silent for a while. Krue cranes her neck to get a look at her, but her head is turned away. All Krue can see is the tick of her jaw.  Eventually, Ezmerelda shifts under Krue’s arm, facing forward once more. She says, “Wasn’t feeling it.”   Even in her state, Krue can hear the edge to Ezmerelda’s voice — so she lets it go. She focuses intently on walking in a straight line and tries not to be so keenly aware of how close Ezmerelda is. It’s close enough that Krue can smell the faint scent of raspberries under the heavy blanket of alcohol that still lingers from her time in the tavern.  Krue can only try so hard to ignore their proximity. Quietly, she says, “The raspberries always surprise me.” “—What?” “Your perfume,” Krue clarifies, and now she can feel Ezmerelda’s incredulous stare, boring into the side of her face. “I just didn’t expect it.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” “It’s just unexpected! But it’s nice.” She swallows and adds, “I like it.”  “You’re a psychopath,” Ezmerelda mutters, and Krue laughs.  --- Krue doesn’t manage to squash the disappointment she feels as Ezmerelda helps her into the wagon — and sure enough, as soon as they’re inside, Ezmerelda releases Krue and slides out from under her arm.  “Do you need a potion?” Ezmerelda asks her, assessing her once more.  “I’m okay,” Krue says. And then, because Ezmerelda makes a noise that lets Krue know that she absolutely does not believe that for a second, “But I might need to lay down.” Krue waits for Ezmerelda to clear out of the center of the wagon, because she’s standing on Krue’s allotted floor space for sleeping — and she’s just staring at her, for some reason.  “You can take the bed,” Ezmerelda says, just as Krue is about to ask if something is wrong.  As much as Krue hates kicking Ezmerelda out of her own bed, she doesn’t ask if she’s sure. Ezmerelda has had her sleep there a couple times, on nights after Krue had taken a particularly bad beating — like last night, for example — and she’s yet to let Krue say no.  Krue lets out a relieved sigh once she’s laid back on the bed. It does nothing to help the fact that her stomach and the side of her face are still pulsing with pain, but it feels nice to no longer be on her feet.  She realizes too late that Ezmerelda is half-heartedly throwing a blanket over her, and most of it lands in her face. She leaves it where it is, just so she doesn’t have to go through the ordeal of figuring out what to do with herself while Ezmerelda gets ready for the night.  Once she no longer hears a lot of movement, Krue peaks her head out from under the blanket to find Ezmerelda sitting on the floor, without her jacket — on top of Krue’s own blanket and bedroll — looking right at her.  Krue sits up. “Hi.” “Hi?” “How are you?” Ezmerelda barks out a short laugh, and Krue decides that this night didn’t turn out too terribly after all.  “Fine,” Ezmerelda answers. “How are you?” Krue doesn’t answer — not because she needs to avoid the question, but because she has something else on her mind. She says, “Thanks for coming to get me.” It takes Ezmerelda a beat to respond. “Don’t mention it,” she says, and Krue can tell that she means it.  Ezmerelda moves to get under the blankets, and before she can stop herself, Krue says, “Wait.”  Krue receives a less-than-patient stare, and she winces at herself. “You can, uh—” she starts, then stops. She tries again, “You don’t need to sleep down there, if you don’t want to.”  For what is not the first time — just in general, but especially around Ezmerelda — Krue silently thanks the gods that she is physically incapable of blushing.  If Krue didn’t know any better, she’d think that Ezmerelda waits to answer just to give Krue’s anxiety a little push. But Krue does know better, and she knows that something has to be going on behind the blank stare she’s leveled with.  Krue braces herself for some kind of insult, but when Ezmerelda finishes with whatever thought she’s pursuing, she stands up and gestures impatiently. “Move over, then.” By some miracle, Krue manages to keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise.  She tries not to seem too eager when she does as Ezmerelda says, lying down and making room by scooting over and pressing her back against the wall, her wing pinned just a bit uncomfortably.  Ezmerelda takes her time as well, stretching before lowering herself down next to Krue, lying on her back.  Neither Krue nor Ezmerelda says a word, at first. Krue tries to calm her thudding heartbeat, and gives herself a few seconds to study her, to follow the ridge of her brow down to the slope of her nose, and then down to her lips, draw together — as usual — in a tight line.  Ezmerelda’s head starts to turn toward her, and Krue forces her eyes up and away, looking at the wall beyond.   “This bed isn’t big enough for both of us,” Ezmerelda observes. It isn’t even big enough for Krue, really — and even with Krue on her side, Ezmerelda’s arm is pressed against her front.  “I think it’s fine,” Krue says, lowering her eyes once more to meet Ezmerelda’s own.  But fine doesn’t quite describe it; they’re so close, and Ezmerelda’s arm against her is enough to make Krue’s brain stutter.  Ezmerelda clears her throat. Her eyes move, deliberate and controlled, to Krue’s cheek. She says, “You should clean that.”  Krue can’t take it anymore — she closes her eyes.  “Later,” Krue says, voice quiet.  What follows is a long stretch of silence. To Krue’s surprise, Ezmerelda is the one who breaks it.  “Who did you get into a fight with?”  Krue’s momentarily thrown that Ezmerelda brought up the fight again — she thought that she’d be done with it, since the last conversation came dangerously close to *acknowledging thoughts and feelings* territory.  “Just some guys.” “Just some guys,” Ezmerelda repeats.  Krue cracks an eye open. Satisfied with her ability to maintain eye contact, she opens the others. “There was a guy who got in my space,” she says, “so I elbowed him.”  “…and he beat the shit out of you?” “Well, no,” Krue says. “I got kicked out, paid, left—” “You paid after you got kicked out?” “Yeah.” And there’s that you’re-an-idiot stare. Ezmerelda asks, “*Why*?” Krue shrugs with the shoulder that isn’t currently trapped under her. “I have a lot of money.” Ezmerelda blinks. Then she says, “So you left. And then he beat the shit out of you?” “Yeah,” Krue answers. “Him and his friends.”  Straight-faced, Ezmerelda asks, “Want to go kill them tomorrow?” Krue doesn’t bother to stop the laugh that spills out of her.  Ezmerelda looks at Krue like she’s never heard nor told a joke in her life — which makes sense, because Krue has no idea whether Ezmerelda is joking or not.  In a flat voice, Ezmerelda asks, “What are you laughing at?”  “You.”  A pause. “Did you get kicked in the head, or something?” “Yeah.” This time, Krue knows that Ezmerelda’s pause isn’t just for effect, because something flashes across her expression before she says, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”  Krue laughs again — this time in victory — and lets her eyes fall closed once more. --- ## Page Tags/Properties **Tags:** #Writing **Category:** [[Journals and Writings.base|Journals and Writings]] **Character:** [[Krue d'Avenir|Krue]] **Campaign:** [[Borca]] **Date ([[Calendar of Harptos|Harptos]]):** 08/13/1492