Spirits of the Earth

The smell of saltwater and the chatter of seagulls was all the lullaby former thief turned treasure hunter Simon Dabrowski needed. The pub he had chosen to rest in had been named something different the last time he'd been in Cerenis; The Wicked Wyvern? The Naughty Nymph? Something along those lines. It was The Gilded Lily now and it had changed owners, theme, and direction...the pub had been a sailor's haunt those many years ago and had a very...manly...choice in its lack of decor. Fights had been common, whoring had been the norm, and respectable people hadn't set foot inside for fear of catching something that a healer couldn't fix.

The Lily was a different breed of establishment altogether. There were still card games and drinking, but the cards were dealt by well dressed dealers, the music was played by musicians in fine uniforms, and diners enjoyed choice cuts of meat and gourmet dishes served by waitstaff in similar uniforms to the waiters. Everything was touched with garnet red or brilliant gold accents. The bar top was polished cherry wood with gilded accents. The alcohol bottles weren't dusty.

And the patrons were not ashen from road dust, armed with daggers, masked, or cloaked like some brigand or highwayman from a bard's midsummer tale. Well, one was. The crowd stared at Simon and he stared back. For a long moment, silence pervaded the space between songs, then the band struck up again and the tension melted. The zombie treasure hunter slid to the card tables and found an empty chair. It took two garnets and a small sapphire slid to the dealer in order to get dealt in, but the pot would be worth it if Simon could work the table and bilk some of the fat cats from their gold.

---

Silas needed a change of pace, if just a small one. His hometown in Ravensway was tranquil for the most part but even for somebody who enjoyed lowkey living, copious amounts of relaxation became a little monotonous. He did have some reservations about actual adventuring, but he hadn't left Serendipity itself. And this wasn't his first ever visit to the port town, either. Hadn't there been a pub there, called The Raunchy Rabbit? He could vaguely recall the shabby, shady old place and its intimidating patrons. The food there wasn't terrible though - not always - and it was cheap, too. So long as he kept to the shadows he'd be able to enjoy it well enough without being hassled.

Or so, that was how he'd remembered it. What was once raunchy had become gilded and not just in name alone. The establishment had been completely made over from the interior to the staff to the entire menu. And the prices were upped greatly as well. Silas had brought a fair amount of gold with him, but nothing that he expected would buy him anything very filling. All of the traveling he'd done had worked up his appetite quite a lot, too.

He was in a predicament, but one that was not without a solution. For as much as he wasn't a gambler, the card tables could provide him with more to spend if luck was on his side. Feeling desperate, Silas sat across the treasure hunter who looked about as out of place as he did in an entirely different way. "D-do you come here very often...?" Silas asked the man as quietly and politely as his rumbling belly was refusing to be. He thought himself to be ill-fitted at the pub, but he had to assume that in a way, the stranger felt the same.

"Who, me? Nah," Simon began his reply as the dealer began dealing cards. Each player got two, then an additional shared three were put up on the table. Whoever had the best hand of five won the pot. He considered the King and the ten in his hand, then continued to speak to the new guy.

Newbie had dark hair and a thin look about him...he almost looked like he could have been related to Simon, but he wasn't going to insult the soft spoken man by asking if he had a whore for a relative.

"I used to come around more four or five years ago when it was still...the Jaunty Jug? I can't remember...anyway, how about you?" he asked. His voice still had a smoky growl to it, but that may have become a good thing. None of his past acquaintances would have recognized his tone.

---

It didn't take long for Silas to notice the strange smell emanating from his new acquaintance. It was faint but all the same unpleasant. Silas wasn't one to judge as he'd been subjected to plenty of cruel criticism particularly when he was a young boy, but all the same the stale stench was hard to fully ignore. His nose wrinkled slightly as he took the cards he'd been offered by the dealer. He tried to hide his uncomfortable expression behind the Queen and the seven that he held. It was a decent hand, but nothing that would guarantee him a win.

The stranger spoke, prompting Silas to look to him attentively. His voice was curiously gnarled but understandable enough as he made mention of a Jaunty Jug pub that had stood in this one's place several years ago. "Ohh...it was the Jaunty Jug, then..?" Silas mused, still soft and polite in his tone. "The last I recall, this pub was The Raunchy Rabbit. That was around twelve years ago. I do not think that I've been here since. I wonder how often it changes..."

The dealer laid down a seven and a king, then called for bets. Simon considered his hand. He had a pair, but that pesky seven wasn't going to help him. He threw in a silver coin for the pot and continued the conversation.

"Heh...maybe that's why I can't remember the name. Damned place is probably cursed by all the souls that passed through it...eh. Sorry for being maudlin. I remember this place as the haunt for a rough crowd and a stop for pirates. This frippery is...odd. Still, I'll give it a fair shake. Name's Simon. What do I call you?"

The slight grimace hadn't been lost on the adventurer. The herbs he'd purchased several days ago must have gotten overwhelmed by the grave-scent came off of him now. Thankfully, it must not have been obviously the scent of undeath, or else the slight man was more strong willed than he first appeared.

---

Silas bit down on his lip as he contemplated his cards. It had been a long, long while since he'd played a game of Blackjack but he knew for certain that he needed to be closest to a twenty-one. A seventeen probably wouldn't cut it. He motioned for another card, hoping his greed wouldn't cost him. He really needed to earn the coins for that meal!

As he waited for the dealer to toss him a card, he spoke again the rugged one now identified as Simon. To add to his discomfort, he was now speaking of curses surrounding the pub. "I-it can't truly be cursed, can it...?" Silas said with an edge of anxiety in his tone. "If anything it seems improved. To an extreme..." He frowned slightly at his last remark. If only the prices hadn't been increased he'd be eating a warm meal instead of messing around at a cards table with a man who smelled vaguely of rot.

The fishy smelling man was moving on to introductions now. So, the man's name was Simon. "I am Silas..." was his response to that. He'd say it was a pleasure to meet him if only he didn't smell so rancid. And of course if it was under better circumstances. To make matters a little less fortunate, Silas had just been given a six in the game. "Oh, it's a bust..." he groaned sadly as the dealer took his bet.

OOC: Sorry for sweary parts!

---
IC:

Si-

"Oh, of-fucking-course it is..." he muttered to himself, probably loudly enough to be heard. Dammit! The bastard Lord Monmouth probably was in no way related to this poor sap who happened to share his name, but even just the association with Simon's most hated nemesis was enough to put the man into a sour mood.

And...wait...a bust? Fuck, this was blackjack.

"This isn't Thanatosian poker? Fuck's sake I'm set up wrong on my betting strategy." He sighed heavily, mood souring quickly from off-center to annoyed. And that wasn't fair to Silas, was it? Not a bit. Still, he didn't want to explain, especially here where half the patrons were side eying him and the bartender looked like he was about to call the town guards. Of all the things that could happen, that'd be the worst, because they sure as shit wouldn't allow him to keep his mask on. Then it'd be a THING, and it would just be too much to never be able to come back to this town and-

Simon took a completely unnecessary but satisfyingly soothing deep breath and forced himself to calm down. If the dead could have a panic attack, he was working himself into one rather quickly. It'd be better to just leave and bunk down in the town stables for the night and get a move on in the morning, so he folded, then flipped a gold coin to Silas.

"Sorry; it's been a rough few weeks for me. For your troubles, and I'm sorry for the cursing," he added with a nod to the dealer. His ashen cloak swirled around him as he got up and stalked out. Was the drama necessary? No, but he wanted out from under the eyes of people as quickly as possible.

Horses didn't judge. Horses didn't make you feel less than human, or dangerous, or stupid. Horses didn't keep slaves or conduct cruel experiments on each other. Horses were better people than people. Simon couldn't remember half the journey to the stables, but once there, he slipped into his gelding's stall to brush and talk with his friend. The sweet Percheron was huge, patient, and attentive. Simon got a curry brush from his gear bag and began the quiet work of grooming the horse. In the comfort of the dark stable, he removed his mask and dropped the pretense of humanity. No more forced breathing, or making the small sounds of the living...he just let himself be, let the memories pass through him, and come out the other side maybe a little more whole for having faced them.

---

So much happened in the several moments following his introduction, and each and every little occurrence was odd and unexpected. First and foremost, Simon's demeanor from at least somewhat polite to downright sour and glum. Silas struggled to understand just what had been the cause of this. All he'd done was introduce himself. He almost wanted to assume that the strange-smelling man had downed a few drinks and was going through a mood swing because of them, but that didn't seem to be the case. On the surface, Silas could see no telltale sign of drunkenness about him.

Although his lack of perception regarding what they'd been playing was a tad worrying. It seemed to be the catalyst, too, for what Silas suspected was inward panicking. As he stared widely without finding it in him to properly react, Simon had apologized, all but confirmed his suspicions and tossed a coin in his direction before slinking out of the building.

Very odd and unexpected, indeed.

Silas took the coin off the table and gave it a long, thoughtful gaze before turning his attention to the door that Simon had departed from. He was feeling pretty peckish, but curiosity was beginning to override the gnawing hunger. As was concern. "The game is off, I suppose..." said Silas to the dealer as he abruptly rose from his seat. Sighing, he made way for the exit and followed Simon.

In these cases, he was lucky he had a certain special ability, for trailing after him by foot would have been less reliable and taken a lot longer. The energy cost was the same though, if not more demanding. By the time he'd jumped from shadow to shadow and reached Simon's hideout, he was wobbly and lightheaded. He swayed on his feet upon landing next to the stable doors, and had to lean on one of them so he wouldn't collapse. Or rather, he'd hoped not to. The unlatched door gave way and down he dropped into the dirt on the other side of it, landing on his hands and knees.

The stale stench of death was more powerful in here, which meant that Simon was very close by. Little did Silas know that he'd crashed just a few feet away from the putrid-scented man and his horse.

Simon's memories gnawed on him; the unpleasant drip drip dripping of ground water seeping into his basement cell, the chafing of the bespelled slave collar that made his will fuzzy and suggestible, the grating clank of iron gates closing behind him, the rough sound of someone falling through the stable door-

Wait.

What?

The incongruent sound broke Simon out of his ghoulish reverie and he belatedly reacted. Something or someone had burst into the stable, but they weren't visible to him from within the stall. Quickly, He turned and dove for his hooded mask, jamming the cloth and metal over his face. Once concealed, Simon cautiously put a hand to a dagger hilt. He didn't want to make any more sound.

What if it was a town guard? Could someone from the Gilded Lily recognized his name or voice? Or was this bad luck?

A niggling thought in the back of his mind questioned whether his patron goddess was displeased with him, given the state of his luck recently. He had, after all, just abandoned a gambling table; she had no temples but casinos, accepted no offerings other than risk, and gave no blessings other than luck...He thought on that second phrase. Was that it? He'd been cowering instead of risking himself whenever he came into new towns. Yes, he'd gone on risky adventures and tomb raids and gotten rich from them...because of the risk he took. He was being too cautious with his interactions with others, and so the goddess was withdrawing her luck from his social sphere. Ah. Well...he removed his hand from the dagger hilt and drew up his meager courage. With a brave swagger that he didn't feel in his heart, he went up to the stall door, leaned his elbows atop it, and looked out.

"Ah. Silas! What are you doing on the floor? And how'd you get here so fast?" Bravado made him sound almost manic, so he cleared his throat and tried to soften his tone.

"Are you okay?" There. The concern in his tone was more natural, even if a touch of caution tinged it. Behind him, Fairwind shifted around to stick his head out and blow a greeting snuffle at the newcomer.

---

Sure enough, Simon was nearby. So close, in fact, that he was able to react to the intrusion pretty much immediately. Silas had not yet gotten back on his feet when he'd peeked over the stall and barraged him with questions. The stale-smeller almost sounded hysterical in doing so at first, which was understandable given that there'd just been a couple of unexpected loud noises going off in his hideout. Ones that could have just as easily belonged to a thief or an assassin. Simon did strike Silas as the sort of man who might have attracted those unlawful types.

But there were no such scoundrels breaking into the stable as of now. Only weary, hungry, unsteady Silas. Still on his hands and knees and attempting to see straight, he must have looked to be in a terribly vulnerable position. He considered himself fortunate that an edge of concern had found its way into Simon's tone.

"Please, do try not to speak so loudly..." Silas urged him, his own voice sort of strained as he struggled into a sitting position. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Simon. Two Simons!

No. Only one of them was there due to his dizzying double vision.

Silas placed a hand over his perspiring forehead and tried to fend off the second image. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to intrude like this..." He closed his eyes for a moment, and bit down on his lip. A wave a nausea had suddenly hit him, as it sometimes did after shadow stepping.

He stayed very still until he was fairly confident that the discomfort had passed. "I will be alright, this isn't anything new..." he told Simon, keeping his pale blue gaze fixed on the ground now. "I suppose my curiosity had gotten the best of me. Although, I really must pay heed and recognize my limits." He let out a weak cough. "Shadow stepping can be very costly..."

Simon frowned under the mask. Silas wasn't doing well at all...he appeared dizzy, pale, sweating, weak...Simon recognized the symptoms and opened the stall's door. He kept the Percheron within and started to dig through the horse's saddle bags until he found two apples. One went to bribe the horse into good behavior. The other went to his new...friend was still a bit premature, but friendly acquaintance fit. He knelt beside the man and held out the apple.

"Here, eat this. I don't have a waterskin, so if you need a drink you're going to have to share Fairwind's trough," he said apologetically, keeping his tone down.

"So, curiosity drove you here, eh? Curiosity has gotten me into more trouble that she ever got me out of, though her sister Luck often provided for that bit."

This could be a thieves' ruse, Simon belatedly recognized. Pretend to be weak and injured or unable, then shank your target and steal what you want while they writhe in the dirt...he'd done it himself a time or two when times were desperate, but he wasn't an ideal target for that gambit anymore, what with the not feeling pain...Silas would be in for a rude surprise if he tried it.

But what if not everyone is as twisted inside and out as you are, Si? Hm? Maybe the poor guy was just worried about the masked nutjob who fled like a nincompoop from the gambling table. He could be a decent fellow. You should give it a try sometime. It'd be an interesting change of pace.

Internal Monologue was right. Simon decided to not be on guard and see what happened.

---

The truth was that Silas did not have the slightest clue of how Simon would react to being deliberately trailed after. The man did seem particularly gruff with him at the pub. It was as if he had a chip on his shoulder and that he had somehow been the cause of it just by existing there. So when Simon approached him from behind the stall door with an apple in his outstretched hand as an offer to him, it only felt right to be a tad skeptical. Silas found himself staring widely yet hesitantly at the piece of fruit for what might have seemed like a moment too long.

He finally did reach out to take it once another rumble erupted from his empty belly. "An apple..." he said quietly as he wrapped his bony fingers around the nutritious treat. "Ohh, thank you. This should be quite enough for now..." Though as weak and desperately hungry as he was, he still paused to briefly inspect it for rot or worms first. He couldn't find any obvious signs of either, thankfully.

Silas took a large bite out of the apple, putting his eyes on the horse the other had called by a name. This place, he had to assume, was where Simon must have kept horses. A fellow stable worker, perhaps? The pale man intended to ask but he too preoccupied with tasting fruit flesh and the other's curiosity about, well, his curiosity.

Silas gulped down his mouthful of apple before confirming his suspicions. "Y-yes. Though I do hope you aren't meaning to cause me trouble. Luck is so very rarely on my side..." A second paranoid glance was shot at the tasty snack he held. It was certainly not rotten and there were no worms inside so far. "I only followed you because I found that scene you made at the Lily to be curious and I wanted to understand what had brought upon such a volatile reaction..." He bit into the apple again, then chewed and swallowed a bit slower this time around. His new acquaintance's death smell was making it slightly harder for him to enjoy eating it but he wouldn't dare mention it.

Luck...ah she was fickle, wasn't she? Simon nodded at Silas' paranoia, understanding completely. He'd not missed the growl from Silas' stomach, so he headed back into the stall and grabbed the smaller bag of Fairwind's treats. The horse squealed at Simon, head-butting him gently to beg for a treat. The young man chuckled softly and obliged his grey friend with a carrot.

"Here."

He set the bag down outside of the stall, opened so that if Silas wanted more apples, a carrot, or a turnip he could reach it easily. He leaned on the inside of the door of the stall and started answering Silas.

"I follow Lady Luck...she's not a demanding deity, but she's kind of fickle and ambivalent sometimes. She's as generous as she is harsh...she'll give a young thief a ruby the size and color of that apple, but she'll also let that young thief go to prison. She may even let a new warden take over the prison. If she's really pissed at you, that warden's gonna be an evil son of a bitch who'll experiment on you, try to enslave you, and turn you into a hideous abomination."

He paused and cleared his throat. He hadn't meant to get that personal, but here they were.

---

The fruit was not at all rotten, but Silas was feeling a bit spoiled himself. Embarrassing as it was, Simon must have heard his complaining gut and brought out more food because of it. Either that or he was still feeling bad for initially being cantankerous around him. Silas did pay heed to how he fed the horse in the stall with care, too. Maybe Simon wasn't such a shady guy, after all. Silas of all people knew that looks could very well be deceiving.

His attention shifted from the horse to the bag of snacks, then back to the apple core he held in his hand. "T-thank you. I only hope I won't be depleting your friend's supply of food..." Regardless of if he actually was or not though, Silas needed to eat. He discarded the core, then reached into the bag and pulled forth another particularly juicy looking apple.

As he munched on the fruit, he listened to Simon speak about, well, he wasn't sure what at first. As he went on, the details became oddly more specific to the point that Silas couldn't help but wonder if the tale he was telling was about his own life. He hummed thoughtfully once Simon wrapped up his story. "That isn't how..?" Silas began, though he paused before going any further in case likening the other man to the description of a hideous abomination would be just a touch too offensive. "Ohh, pardon me. I am also very much familiar with the more twisted side of Lady Luck. Just as well as her absence in times of need..." His face fell a bit as he recalled being bullied in his younger years. Such terribly unpleasant memories!

Simon was still not used to how it felt, being enraged and emotionally sick about a memory, yet having no physical sensation to confirm his emotional state. There was no hitched breathing, no nausea, no pounding heart, no flush of heat...just the cool, numb void where once there had been life.

"Yeah...Or maybe Lord Silas Monmouth had some way of circumventing the Lady's powers. Evil sonuvabitch consorted with demons and dabble in necromancy. The name-...that's what set me off. So, I'm sorry. That wasn't fair of me. You're not at all like that two faced rat bastard motherf-..." He let he rest of the word out in a hiss of air, deflating himself on purpose. He was getting too spun up again, so he turned back once more to the horse. Even with Silas sitting there, he needed contact with the animal in a way that would help him relax, so he removed the cloth and metal mask covering his head.

He didn't look at Silas. It could have been shame, it could have been ambivalence, and it could have been a myriad of other reasons, but the ghoul just closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the Percheron's shoulder.

"Luck's been turning back to me since I escaped that prison. I've taken to dungeon delving, looking for lost relics for clients...earned me a fair bit of coin for a while. I bought Fairwind from a lumber mill and have been traveling with him since...he's a spoiled brat of a baby...that bag was just his treats. He's well fattened and full of snacks, aren't you, boy?" He half crooned the last sentence to the horse. Fairwind nickered in agreement and reached his long neck down, lips fluttering as the horse tried to reach for a turnip.

"So...what's your story, Silas?" Simon asked.

---

The pieces were beginning to fall into place here. Simon's outburst hadn't been because of him, after all. Well, at least not his actions. As it turned out, there was an unfortunate coincidence in which both he and a particularly malevolent necromancer the ghoulish man had previously tangled with shared the same name. Silas Monmouth had no actual relation to the Grimshaws though. As far as he knew, anyhow. Which admittedly wasn't much. Silas tried to hide a pondering frown behind the apple he was taking a chomp out of.

What if there indeed was a connection hidden within his mysterious family tree? His shadow powers had surely come from somewhere and by the sound of things, the malicious Monmouth had dabbled in dark arts. Shadows were dark. Not necessarily dark in an evil sense, but there was a commonality there.

But he was going to give himself a headache if he overthought it! Silas would put those musings to rest for now, but he didn't go without acknowledging Simon's troublesome past with the familiarly named overlord. "Ohh, what a regretful coincidence..." Silas said softly upon swallowing another mouthful of fruit. "I am so very sorry. I only hope that Lady Luck can be much kinder to us both from now on..."

Silas smiled feebly at Fairwind's curiosity in the bag of treats which happened to belong to him. The notion that the horse might also be peckish got him back onto his feet. He felt a bit better since he'd downed an apple and a half, and figured that he ought to share with the bigger mammal. So with the swift motion of his hand, Silas scooped up the turnip and held it up to the equine's snout.

And now on to his story. "There isn't much I can tell you, I'm afraid..." he told Simon, pausing to take a small nibble out of his half-eaten snack. "Only that I have resided in Ravensway my entire life. I'd never gotten to know my birth parents, although the ones who took me in did treat me very kindly. As if I had been their own child all along..." He trailed off, suddenly grimacing as if the apple he was eating had just gone sour. "Not everyone in this world is so kind, though. I was not always kind, either..." Silas gently stroked the bridge of Fairwind's nose in an attempt to fend off the queasy, anxious feeling that had just hit him. "But, w-what's done has been done. I won't ever harm another living creature so long as I live..."

Simon listened as Silas shared with him. The zombie continued to pet the very spoiled horse. The gelding huffed in pleasure and butted his nose into Silas's petting. The big horse happily chewed the turnip, unaware of the open pain the two men were sharing with each other. Simon toyed with the horse's silvery mane briefly.

"I'd say you're doing a good job of keeping that oath...you're one of the very few people I've ever shown my face to and you've not flinched or thrown something at me...thank you." His tone had started off with bravado, but it gentled into a genuine gratitude.

"I've given up thieving in a similar vein...I'd be better at it now than I was, but...I'm not that man anymore. I think, maybe that's the Lady's more subtle gifts. Some of us are lucky enough to get the time to change."

And that was luck, wasn't it? He could be mindless, a slave, or worse. He could be dead. Luck had given him a thin shred of an opportunity to restart his life. He had a way of becoming very rich, very quick. He'd have to relearn life, but...he had the luck to do that.

"Maybe your luck has been in the opportunity to grow, too. That kind of luck...it's big, so maybe that's why we don't see a lot of good luck in other areas." He speculated with his new friend.

---

TW: animal abuse mention

Silas gave Fairwind's nose one more gentle pat before dropping his arm back at his side. His expression remained solemn even after hearing Simon's pep talk and making a feeble attempt to smile in response. Recalling what he'd done in the past to save his own skin from bullying brats was difficult, indeed. Instead of letting himself get the beating, he'd taken it out on the most innocent of creatures to satisfy those cruel kids' appetite for destruction.

A bird's wing broken here, a puppy's paw stomped there. Those were the sort of actions that stuck with the performer forever, as they had with Silas. Just thinking about those moments turned his stomach. He couldn't bear to tell Simon those horrible, gory details. Even if the other man was an ex-thief with a sordid history of his own.

So, to the best of his ability, he'd continue to keep the very worst part of his story untold.

"I-I suppose you are right..." Silas said to his undead friend. His voice started off a little shaky, though the softness of his tone might have been enough to hide it, if it didn't accentuate it. Again he tried for a smile, which did last a bit longer than the previous. "The horses that I work with do like me very much." It was true, so far as he could see. His job as a stable hand was good for him. And he was never forced to hurt a horse which made them easier to look at without feeling too strong of a pang of guilt.

He looked down at the half-eaten apple which he'd been holding onto all the while and considered finishing it off before deciding against the idea and offering it to Fairwind instead. "Hm, I think I've had my fill of apples for now..." he murmured quietly as the horse ate from his hand. Truthfully, Silas did feel full and may have actually eaten half an apple too many.

"You really do spoil your animal friends, Simon..." the pale man went on, pausing to stifle a yawn, "...if what you say is true about the apples being theirs." He only wished there was a comfortable place for him to rest nearby while the snack settled in his stomach.

The ghoul moved back in the stall and began arranging his cloak on a pile of hay. He didn't technically need sleep, but it would be safer to stay hidden during the night time. Anyone out and about at the twilight hours was either a city guard or a ne'er do well. Either way they were a risk to his safety.

"I don't eat. Food and drink just sits and rots in my stomach, so yeah...all that is for Fairwind." he explained sheepishly.

"Should I let you get home to bed? I don't sleep, either, so its okay if you want to head out." Had it really been over a year ago that he'd had human needs? He'd forgotten how it felt to be exhausted, hungry, or thirsty. Truth be told...it was nice to not be distracted by that anymore...

---

Once Fairwind had eaten the last bit of the apple, Silas gave the horse a final pat on the shoulder. It was astonishing how much the animal could eat in comparison with a feeble human such as himself. But from the sound of it, he was able to consume plenty more than Simon. He frowned sympathetically as the undead man claimed he did not have the need to feed. While on one hand there was the advantage of being unable to starve, on the other, he was missing out on the pleasure of enjoying good food.

But Simon did still have some senses about him, zombie or not. Apparently he'd caught onto the yawn and general signs of fatigue around him, despite his own lack of exhaustion. "Oh, but home is quite a ways off, I'm afraid..." Silas admitted. "...and I am not sure I have it in me to shadow-step again..." Another attempt at a shortcut might very well make him get sick or pass out in a place ill-fitted for rest.

He shot a wayward glance in the direction of the hay pile that Simon had left his cloak on. Assuming that spot was taken, he looked to the area opposite it. There were indeed additional piles of hay fit for fashioning into a bed. "You wouldn't...mind if I rested here for tonight...?" He asked the question cautiously, and in a manner that would sound open for potential rejection. The last thing he wanted to do was intrude on anybody's personal space.

The ghoul waved a hand at the hay pile that Silas was eyeing.

"By all means, please. I'll guard you until the morning comes. Do you want to be woken before the rooster or no?"

He sat on his own makeshift bed and started rummaging through his saddle bag. Out came a well worn deck of cards. Without much attention to the deck, Si began shuffling and cutting the deck. He practiced the more complex looking shuffling techniques he knew, then practiced his card counting skills. Prestidigitation wasn't an innate magic, but a skill for sleight of hand tricks. The only way to keep the skill was to practice, practice, practice.

---

Simon didn't seem to mind his intrusion at all. How fortunate. "T-thank you..." Silas told him as he stepped over to the hay pile to organize it into a more comfortable shape. "It may be best if you let me sleep in, if that isn't a problem..." At times like this, being a stable hand accustomed to doing such a thing really came in handy. In no time, the once formless pile was fashioned into less untidy bedding fit more for horses than for humans. But it would do for now. Sleeping in hay beat the streets, no doubt.

Silas sat down on the bedding and shifted into a resting position. His weary eyes were still on Simon, who looked to be shuffling a deck of cards. "Do you enjoy card games...?" He asked the undead man casually. After two instances of seeing him with playing cards, he could only figure the answer was obvious.

Si dealt out four hands, as if for poker, then mentally tabbed which hands where which, checked them, then discarded the cards. He repeated the practice while Silas made his bed for the night.

"Hm...yeah. I've conned people out of their money on card games most of my life. You know the dockyard game hustlers? I was doing that at six. Also, don't ever dice or card with the game hustlers. They'll rob you blind in the end, either by rigging the game or actually robbing you later. Now though...its more the practice to keep my hands nimble, keep boredom away, and practice my card counting, magic tricks, and sleight of hand."

He gathered the discard pile up and shuffled it several more times. This pack was getting worn; if he were to ever do a con, it'd be too easy for the mark to say that he was marking the cards. For a practice pack though, it was just fine.

---

Silas blinked slowly as he listened to Simon give another snippet into his past and offer a warning about swindling game hustlers on the side. Perhaps if he wasn't so sleepy, he might have suggested that they play a second round of cards without stakes. But the journey here had exhausted him and having eaten his fill and probably just a tiny bit beyond that, while rejuvenating, also did serve to make him feel drowsy.

If only there was an enjoyable activity to do before dozing off to dreamland! One that required less brainpower and more observation...

Fortunately, Simon had made mention of precisely that sort of thing in the list he'd given of what he liked to practice. Silas rolled onto his side, his pale eyes now brighter and attentively on his friend. "Oh...you do magic tricks..?" he asked the zombie curiously. "Of what sort might I expect to see from you..?" With those words he was beckoning for a demonstration.

It wasn't every day one met a magician, and an undead one at that.

The ghoul smirked and shrugged self-consciously. He stood and slid within arms reach of Silas and sat on the stable floor.

"Most of my stuff is for pickpocketing, but," he reached over and pulled an Ace of Hearts from behind Silas's ear, showed it to him, slipped it into the deck and shuffled. Simon spread the deck out and made a show of looking for the card, getting frustrated when he couldn't find it.

"I could do this a lot easier if you weren't sitting on the card I was looking for," he admonished in a playfully scolding tone. The ghoul held his hand out expectantly.

---

Silas might have felt a little too full and also quite sleepy but he was intrigued by what sort of magic tricks that Simon had to offer. He was, however, slightly taken aback by the undead man's approach in both a literal and figurative sense. His new friend had moved in closer and before he knew it, he had reached out towards his face. Or rather, his ear. The sudden, unexpected gesture did make Silas flinch.

He stared widely until he realized the purpose of it, which was that it was apparently a very part of the magic trick he'd requested to see. Anxiety quickly turned to awe. "Oh, but..." Silas started speaking, only to stop at the other's reprimanding. Was he really resting on top of a card? He hadn't seen one laying there before, although he'd not paid attention when he'd flopped down onto the hay.

To confirm whether he really was sitting on it or not, Silas scooted to the side. And there it was. "...this isn't the same Ace of Hearts, is it?" Silas pondered out loud as he picked up the card and offered it back. If it wasn't the same, then it could have easily fooled him.

For a brief, bright moment, he had forgotten what he was. In the dim light of the stable, he could ignore how pale his hands were, or that he didn't need to breathe, or that he was technically dead. He could ignore that, but he couldn't ignore the flinch.

Simon's breath hitched and he held it rather than apologize. He did NOT choose this for himself in some odd bid for immortality...but he knew the flinch was an instinct; life protected itself from the unnatural, and what was more unnatural than the walking, talking dead?

So, instead of giving a verbal yes or no, Simon merely gave Silas a wry grin, plucked the Ace from his hand, shuffled the deck with a flourish, and fanned a deck made of nothing but the same Ace. He shuffled again with another flourish, fanned a normal seeming deck, then quickly gathered the fan back into a deck.

He slid back to his own hay nest, contemplative, still unbreathing, trying to figure out the appropriate thing to say.

---

The nonverbal response came to Silas as completely unexpected. Surely, his undead friend would have offered up a witty remark such as watch and learn or something along the lines of that! At least under circumstances like these where fun was being had. But instead he'd been flashed a forced smile and a display of the deck twice over before the show wrapped up in a rather anticlimactic end.

Fun was being had, wasn't it?

Silas pursed his lips in a pout as he watched Simon slink away into the safety of his hay bed. The man was moody, no doubt, but just about two seconds ago he'd been pretty cheery. What had changed that? Silas thought back on his actions. Had he underappreciated the trick? Had he bent or torn the card by sitting on top of it? Neither option seemed to fit the bill. He simply didn't understand.

Flopping down onto the bedding back first, he rested a hand on his stomach and stared up at the ceiling for a good few minutes. As much as he'd hoped for an answer, one did not come on its own. So, he went ahead and asked. "I-is something the matter..?"

The reply was another few seconds in coming. For Simon, they felt like torturous, stretched out, painful minutes rather than the brief seconds that it took for him to draw in enough breath to send out a barely-there whisper:

"I'm sorry for startling you. I'm-...I forget what its like, sometimes."

And he did, didn't he? He forgot what it was like to interact with other people. They were going to fear him from now on, and he'd no longer be able to get cozy and interact up close with people. Survival was going to be predicated on staying away from humanity, away from the prejudices of the living, and away from any meaningful relationships.

It was going to hurt, ripping off that bandage...Si had been gregarious and affable as a youngster. He'd grown close to his gang, but they were all gone. The dock they'd haunted as kids was destroyed for some pier expansion project. The neighborhood had been gentrified. The old ways were gone, and he would need to adapt. Well. He could do that.

---

That softly spoken response had Silas rolling back onto his side to face the area where Simon was resting. He frowned, not out of annoyance or anger or anything of the like, but rather concern. It seemed that in instinctively twitching, he'd hurt the undead man's feelings. Silas hadn't meant to draw out his insecurities, though. He couldn't help his own reflexes. After being hurt so many times in his youth by bullies, it was a natural reaction to shirk back at any hand reaching out, whether is belonged to somebody fully alive or otherwise.

He supposed he owed the zombie an explanation, painful as it would be to do.

"Oh, it isn't your fault..." Silas told him calmly, almost glumly. There was a short pause as he tried to find the right words. "Not yours particularly. I suppose I've never gotten used to being at close quarters with anyone. Normally, an outstretched hand would spell ill news for me." He let out a sigh, not wanting to speak on the subject any further than that. However, if demanded to be more explicit, then he would do so.