Asking For Trouble [Rina/open]

[Tally]

Ruben caught Doyle's hiss of pain and struggled for something to say, some commiseration, but any words he might have conjured up sounded inadequate and weak in his mind and so he stared on in silence.  It amazed him that Doyle would express pain at all.  He seemed stalwart and unbreakable as the armor collected about the room.  Or so it had looked to Ruben's eyes in the desperation of the night before.

To see Doyle display such a mundane human weakness put him more at ease.

Throwing back the sheet, Ruben scooted away from him and swung his legs off the bed.  He nudged each boot off with a foot and gave a sigh as his feet came free of the leather, then gave his attention back to Doyle as the man inquired around his sleep.

"Very well," he said, face screwing into a frown.  "The tea must have been strong.  I usually keep the night hours for work."  That he'd slept through the night with just one mug of Doyle's tea concoction left him thinking maybe he had better limit himself next time.

Not that he intended to stay here another night if he could help it.

Already the terror of the night before had faded, prudence taking is place.  With no mortal peril to be seen, Ruben regained some of his practicality.  At the least, he didn't think Doyle was a mortal peril, and this wasn't Zantaric, where one might find oneself saved from the lions only to be devoured by the wolves.  But Doyle had risked his own life to help Ruben, had sustained injuries in doing so, and was now housing, feeding, and doctoring him.  Only a fool would expect all that to come without a price.

Ruben eyed the food, but Doyle made a point about tending to his arm first.  The tingling in it was already elevating into sharp pinpricks of pain.  He would not be reduced to tears again.  "Bacon and eggs is fine," he muttered, turning upon the bed so he could present his arm to Doyle and using the opportunity to get his second good look at him.  What manner of thing did a man such as he desire?  Money, surely.  Everyone desired money, of which Ruben had enough to live on but little to spare, though perhaps they could come to some arrangement.  Power maybe, and Ruben would be little help there as well.  They would have to talk about it, what price Doyle put on a stranger's life.

One thing was still on his mind, though.

"What was that sound outside?  It sounded like something dying."

[Anonymous]

As Ruben moved about and finally spoke, Doyle relaxed a little. He was starting to worry that the mage had been traumatized by the events of the night before. But he seemed to be handling things better after a good nights sleep. And he wasn't yelling at Doyle for asking how he was. Which was always a plus.

"Yeah. That's one hell of a tea. Learned it from my wife. She was good with herbs and stuff." She probably still was, but it felt weird to refer to her in present tense, as she wasn't his wife anymore. But she had been when he had learned how to make the tea.

The mention of keeping night hours for work made Doyle a little curious. Though he figured that he could ask him questions later. Right now he would just concentrate on getting Ruben's arm taken care of. He opened the jar and took out a scoop, holding out his other hand, waiting for Ruben to give him his injured hand, "That's because it was something dying. A pig. Sacrifice for the gods." Doyle gave a small laugh, "I figure that last night was proof that I pissed one of them off. And I figure it wouldn't hurt to ask for a bit of good healing to be sent your way."

He still wasn't sure if Doyle was going to feel up to visiting the doctor, but he could wait to ask him about that after the salve took effect and they had eaten. Despite being a little grumpy and taking over his bed, forcing Doyle to sleep in the kitchen, he was rather glad Ruben was there. Made the house feel less empty.

Doyle hadn't really realized how lonely retirement was. Just having someone around was kind of nice. He hadn't really made many friends in the town yet. Doyle always felt a little awkward around lots of people.

[Tally]

Wife?  Ruben hadn't noticed anyone else in the house the night before nor heard anyone downstairs this morning except for Doyle.  He was about to ask where this elusive wife might be before he fully realized what Doyle had said.  She was good with herbs.  Past tense.  Maybe she was dead, maybe just gone away somewhere.  Best not to mention it either way.

"Oh," he said.  Just that, no more.  He hoped he wasn't about to get the entire story of Doyle's marriage.

Ruben offered his arm and looked away.  He remembered moonlit glimpses of the burned flesh from the night before and knew he would not be able to take seeing it in the full light of morning.  The memory of it from last night was enough to knot his stomach up and make him shiver.

Scars.  What if it leaves scars?  If the healer here doesn't know what he's doing I could wear a sleeve of scars the rest of my life.

While Doyle worked at the wound, Ruben tried to put his worries aside and occupied himself with the weapons.  There were dozens of ways to kill a man in this room, and Doyle probably knew how to use every single one.  Ruben found the whole room unsettling.  Doyle must have been collecting these for years.  Ruben didn't know much about weapons, but he knew good ones weren't cheap.

"Sacrifice?" he blurted out, turning to Doyle in surprise and still carefully not looking at his arm.  Oh stars, he was in the house of a madman!  Sacrifice, indeed.  Prayer Ruben could accept on some level.  It gave people comfort, and that made sense to him.  But to go through the trouble of killing a pig to appease some nonexistent god!  Lunacy.

If he hadn't still been just a bit afraid of Doyle, he might have told him exactly that, but caution held him back.  But he still couldn't imagine killing a pig himself!  "How can you stand to slaughter it?  Didn't it turn your stomach to listen to it...scream?"  He shrugged his shoulders in discomfort.  "It did me."

And the blood.  There must have been so much blood.  Ruben eyed the plate of food and wondered if he'd be able to eat with the image of a dying pig in his head and the too real threat hanging over him of living the rest of his days with a hideously scarred arm.

[Anonymous]

Doyle was more then happy to let the subject of his ex-wife drop. It wasn't exactly his favorite subject to dwell on. He didn't refuse to talk about it, but Doyle was more then happy to not go into details. Not that he figured the mage was interested.

Gently holding the boy's arm, Doyle carefully worked the salve into his skin. It should keep Ruben's arm numb long enough for the healer, even if Doyle had to go bring the man...woman...whoever back to his house.

The bedroom was rather large, light coming in from two windows, soft and warm. The furniture was almost none existent, just the bed, the small table and a chest of drawers pressed against the wall. The walls were all covered with various weapons, mostly swords and polearms, but there were quite a few exotic and strange weapons Doyle had collected in his travels. Though all the weapons were beautiful and high quality. There was a small fortune just collecting dust on Doyle's walls.

The mage's outburst caught Doyle by surprise, his body tensing slightly, jerking Ruben's arm slightly. He had been raised by a very religious father and kept the faith even through his years as a mercenary. The time spent fighting and killing had caused Doyle to turned even more to the comfort of prayer. To help him deal with the horror and tragedy he had seen and caused., "Yes sacrifice. It's a gift to appease the Gods, so they will grant me luck and smile favorably on me. Don't you give offerings?"

He couldn't really imagine the prissy looking mage making a proper blood sacrifice, but there were other offerings one could give. He gently shrugged his shoulders as he finished applying the salve to Doyle's arm and began to lightly bandage it, "I've spent the last almost...20 years now as a mercenary for hire. You get used to blood." The screams were never pleasant, but Doyle didn't really feel like talking about that. Wasn't necessary.

"And it's no different then slaughtering it for food. Don't think to much about it. You'll just spoil you breakfast." The warrior grinned at Doyle, tying the bandage off and wiping his hands off on his pant legs, "Now, try and eat. You'll feel better with a full belly."

Taking his own plate, Doyle dug right in. He had grown up on a farm so slaughtering an animal wasn't going to keep him from enjoying his food. It was the way the world worked. It seemed worse to him to pretend that you weren't eating the animal. You should show it enough respect to acknowledge what you were eating.

[Tally]

Ruben's eyes kept wanting to drag downward toward his arm.  He didn't want to see it, yet it pulled at him like gravity.  Morbid curiosity?  Perhaps, but he twisted his head around as far as it would go and forced his eyes to focus on what was in front of him.  If he looked, he'd regret it.  He just knew it.  The images in his imagination were bad enough.  He'd get a look at it after a healer had been at it and eased away most of the raw flesh.

Thank the stars Doyle worked efficiently.  The salve went to work just as the pain began to resurface, and soon that same queer tingling from last night enveloped his entire arm.  Soon, the hurt would vanish.

"I don't...give offerings," he said.  

Because that's ludicrous.  If they were indeed gods and they were indeed all powerful, what need would they have for anything a human could give them?  What would they do with a dead pig?  It made no kind of logical sense and Ruben gave Doyle a quizzical look.  In his opinion, grown men should just not be holding to what Ruben considered children's tales of myth and legend.

Let's not insult the man with the multitude of weapons.  Ruben clamped his mouth shut and fought his natural instinct to set Doyle straight.  

Twenty years, though.  Doyle had been walking hand in hand with violence and death for nearly as long as Ruben had been alive.  He could scarcely comprehend such a life, nor how one could live it and still stay sane, much less retain the affability Doyle had shown him thus far.  Twenty years...

Ruben sighed.  "I think it's too late for that."  His breakfast was as spoiled as it was possible to be.  All this talk of blood sacrifice and mercenary work and dying animals had killed his appetite.

Nevertheless, he took up his own plate and stared down at it.  Eggs, bacon, bread.  His body needed it, but his mind heard echoes of the pig screaming.  Ever prone to a wandering mind, he couldn't help but to picture the pig in life, doing whatever it was that pigs did.  Eating, sleeping, burrowing in the mud.  And then Doyle, approaching with a knife.  And the poor, unsuspecting pig not even realizing that the man who had been feeding it, sheltering it, would now take its life.  It must have felt betrayed in that instant of comprehension, after the knife slid in, after its life began to pour out of its open throat.  Thus was it a victim in this grisly, barbaric ritual meant to satisfy a bloodthirsty (and nonexistent) god of the human-creatures.

And now Ruben was expected to turn his stomach into an altar for it.

He'd been staring off into space for quite some time now, steaming plate in hand and seemingly forgotten.

[Anonymous]

Not believing in Gods just seemed so odd to Doyle. He had always believed, it was just a way of the world. It was a fact of live, the way rain was wet, snow was cold and it hurt when you got hit with a sword. Gods were the same way. They watched over the world from their great hall. Great deeds and heroics impressed them and cowardice displeased them.

Burning food for them let them feast on it, but more importantly, it showed that Doyle acknowledged them, paid homage to them. It was an ego fluffing more then anything else, and everyone knew that Gods had huge egos and it was best to not offend them. And Doyle must have done something to anger them to have his life take such a painful turn.

The painkillers were settling in, but it still hurt to breath. The warrior had to settle for shallow breaths, trying to move as little as possible. Ruben's comment of not getting offerings made Doyle give a short, deep laugh, quickly followed by a wincing hiss, though he still looked quite amused, "You don't give offerings? Shit." Doyle didn't often swear, despite his time spent around men-at-arms and soldiers, but he did use profanity every so often. "Now I understand. It wasn't me that the Gods are displeased with. I just happened to get some of your bad luck."

He smiled again, the scars on his face twisting slightly, distorting his expression a little, "Don't worry. I'll make sure to pray for you as well." Doyle could tell that Ruben had lost interest in his food. Damn. He hadn't meant to gross the kid out. And the mage needed food if he was going to heal, "Hey. If you don't want to eat that, I can get you some porridge or potatoes or...what ever else I have in the kitchen."

It was going to mean an extra trip up and down the stairs with his ribs, but Doyle could manage it. And he was starting to worry again, that maybe the mage wasn't doing very well, "Hey....Ruben?" That was his name, right? Doyle hoped so, "Are....er....how are you doing?" This was going to get him yelled at again most likely, but Doyle would rather have that then see the boy look so....fragile. It made Doyle want to protect and coddle him all the more, "I know we just met and all, but last night was pretty messed up. If....you know...you want to talk about it."

Doyle winced slightly. That sounded stupid, but he had never claimed to have the best social skills. And he wasn't really used to dealing with anyone like Ruben.

[Tally]

It was Doyle's laughter, rich and deep, that started Ruben out of his gruesome imaginings.  He frowned at the man and leaned away.  Those scars made for a...characteristic expression when Doyle smiled.  Compelling even, if only for the unknown story behind each one.  But what could possibly be funny, here in this aftermath of a nightmare?

The words that came out of Doyle's mouth next left Ruben staring dumbstruck.  He was speechless, not because he had nothing to say but because he had too much to say.  An genuine tirade was building up in him in fact.  How could Doyle even imply that Ruben was responsible for that attack?  The nerve!  The absolute gall!  It got Ruben's back up, literally.  His spine went rod straight.

"Talk about it?  Talk about it?"  Ruben took a deep breath; he had a fair bit to say and Doyle was going to get it all.  "I don't even want to think about last night and how dare you suggest that it was my fault just because I don't butcher animals in the name of some all-powerful, arrogant, demanding overlord who may or may not be floating up on a cloud in the empyrean somewhere watching over every individual on the planet—which isn't even possible by the way—and sending smelly monsters after anyone who displeases him!  I don't need anyone praying for me, and I'll thank you not to insinuate that I am remiss because I don't hold with your outlandish fantasies."

Out of air at last, Ruben refilled his lungs then added, "And I don't need porridge or potatoes or anything of the sort.  I can eat this just fine thank you, and I can I can walk to the healer's myself."  Just to prove his point, Ruben stuffed the piece of bread into his mouth.  He'd choke down the eggs and bacon strips too, appetite or no, and afterward he'd walk to that healer's house whether it was a hundred feet or a hundred miles from here.  They'd fix his arm up and he could be back at the observatory by nightfall.  This superstitious lout would have to cause to talk down to him then.

The gods' displeasure, Doyle had said.  Well, Ruben did not believe in such a thing.  He could admit to himself if not aloud that the attack last night had been a result of his own poor judgment.  It had nothing to do with gods or luck or prayer.

[Anonymous]

The mage's outburst caught Doyle by surprise and he blinked, pulling back a little. He listened as Ruben blew up, calmly waiting for him to finish. He hadn't meant to upset the kid and he felt bad about his poor choice of words. He didn't think that Ruben was in anyway responsible for the attack, just that his lack of faith meant the Gods hadn't shown him any favor, hadn't given him any luck.

Though...then again, maybe not. Maybe there was something special about this kid that the Gods smiled on. After all, he had just happened to be walking by at the right time. Maybe Ruben was Godtouched, despite his lack of faith.

Once Ruben had finished and was angerly shewing the bread, Doyle smiled gently, "Done? Well, then I want to apologize. I hadn't meant to imply that you were at fault for last night. I don't think you are at all. Just that because you don't honor the Gods, they don't bestow favor on you. Which leads to bad luck. I am sorry I made you feel I was suggesting you were at fault. You aren't."

As for Ruben not believing, Doyle wasn't going to bother debating that with him. Doyle believed, to his very core. But it wasn't a zealous belief, he felt no need to convert other people. It was their choice or not and arguing wasn't going to solve anything.

Reaching out, Doyle placed his hand on Ruben's good wrist, keeping him from shoving any more food into his mouth, "Relax kid. I'm sure you can eat the food. I just don't want you to choke." He smiled again, that odd, twisted grin, "And there isn't a need for you to walk. I am sure you could, and if you feel up to it, I can walk with you. Or I can bring him here." The kid seemed pretty high strung and Doyle wanted to calm him down a bit.

"Let's just enjoy breakfast. Talk about something else. Religion is a poor topic of conversation when one is eating. You have your beliefs and I have mine. Simple as that." Doyle paused, trying to think of something better to talk about, "Well, you know a little about me. I don't know much about you. What were ya doing out in the woods so late?"

Doyle let go of the other male's arm, hoping he wasn't going to start shoveling food back into his mouth, "I must say, while I don't go around saving people from mortal danger all the time, I can't recall ever having been yelled at so much afterward." Doyle gave another laugh at that, trying to lighten the mood. He was still in a bit to much pain to really feel up to fighting and yelling. He winced again, reaching over to snag his own tea mug, taking a drink of it. When he tilted his head back, the scar that ran under his chin could be seen, a reminder of the time someone with very bad aim had tried to slit his throat from behind.

[Tally]

His mouth so stuffed with bread he could barely chew it, Ruben gave Doyle a look out of the corner of his eye, suspicious.  He'd expected at least some feathers to be ruffled.  But there Doyle sat, smiling and feathers in perfect order, taking it all in good humor.  Ruben got the sense he was being mocked, but it was difficult to formulate a suitably scathing reply against such determined amiability.

He opened his mouth to accuse Doyle of making fun of him, but couldn't get any words around the bread and had to shut it again before his food fell out.  Flushing and feeling silly now, he covered his mouth with a hand and worked at getting all that bread chewed.  By the time he'd gotten it all down without choking, his jaw ached and he'd forgotten what he'd wanted to say.

"Yes well...don't let it happen again," he said, chin coming up, seeking to reestablish some pride here.

But a mere heartbeat later, he gasped and slapped a hand to his forehead.  He'd forgotten about the charts and starmaps and data logs he'd lost out there in the woods until Doyle brought the subject up just then.  "Noooo," he groaned, clenching his eyes shut.  His shoulders sagged.  All that work, all those endless hours spent staring through the telescope until his eyes grew dry and aching, all of it gone.  He couldn't even begin to guess everything that had been lost.  It was worse than his arm.  He would gladly have worn the scars for the rest of his life to have that data back.

"I left it all out there," he said.  "And I don't have copies made of all of it!  It'll take me months to replace all—what on earth happened to your throat?!  Did someone do that to you?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.  He had turned to look in anguish at Doyle and caught the very obvious scar running across the man's throat.  Ruben may have known little of the body's vulnerabilities, but he knew that was bad.  Lost documents forgotten for the moment, he leaned forward to get a better look at the scar—couldn't help himself.  Just looking at it sent a phantom pain tickling along his throat and he unconsciously raised a hand to lay it across the smooth, unblemished skin there.

What kind of life must this man have lead?

[Anonymous]

It was almost funny watching all that anger deflate of of Ruben. He was still obviously miffed, but he was no longer trying to force food into his mouth. Though all that bread shoved into his mouth made Ruben look like some arrogant and disgruntled squirrel. It was very, very hard for Doyle to not snicker at that mental image, his lips twitching into a slight smile.

"Of course. I shall try and watch my words more carefully. I meant no offense." The mage really was a kid. Doyle wasn't sure the last time he had ever dealt with someone so spoiled and childish over the age of 5. But it wasn't all that bad, there was something cute about it, made him want to tease him some more, just to watch him fluster and explode. But that should wait until he had seen a healer.

The head slap startled Doyle, his hand twitching as he stopped it from going for the knife in his boot. Years of habit were hard to break. Well...shit. That had been the wrong thing to say. He really needed to work on his people skills. As Doyle was only barely literate and rather injured at the time, grabbing some silly paper hadn't really been real high on his list of things to do.

He froze mid drink as Ruben commented on the scar. Damn. He had forgotten about that. That had been a less then fun event. Doyle was covered in random scars like that, and each one made him feel a little awkward. He was already odd looking, vicious scars showing how often he seemed to fuck up didn't really help much.

But he had grown used to them. Lowering his tea mug, Doyle smiled that crooked, twisted smile of his, "Ah. Yeah. Some dumb ass who wanted me dead and had real bad aim did it." Doyle gave a shrug, not really sure if the self-centered mage would want to hear about it. One on hand, he seemed to have that horrified curiosity a lot of people had about his battle wounds, on the other hand, Doyle was always hesitant to talk about himself much when not pressed.

The sight of Ruben with his hand pressed to his through got a small chuckle, "Relax. I survived. It actually wasn't that bad." He tilted his head back, tracking the scar, "See? It just missed my jugular. It bleed a bit and hurt like hell, but I got fixed up alright." And he had made damn sure the guy wasn't going to be getting a second chance to get him again. But that wasn't needed to be said aloud, "I've got plenty of others."

Holding out one dusky hand, Doyle pointed to a thin slash in the flesh part between thumb and pointer finger, "This one was a vicious cooking accident. Bastard tomato."

[Tally]

Scars and more scars.  And Doyle spoke of them as if they were nothing, matter-of-factly, the way a normal person might have spoken about the weather.  As though people trying to cut his throat open was a mundane occurrence.  No great issue.  Just another brush with death.  How could anyone live that way?  More pressing, how could anyone have lived that way and still manage to come out of it a—albeit relatively—civilized person?

Ruben had to admit to a hesitant awe as he listened to Doyle recount the attack so casually.  And what happened to the man after he failed to kill you?  Doyle left that part out of his story, but there was only one answer wasn't there?  He supposed it said something about Doyle that he'd chosen to omit that detail.  But this was a man who had...killed.  Not only that, but he had survived the efforts of others to kill him.

He must have been good at his work.  What a simultaneously comforting and fearful thought.

"Tomato," Ruben parroted absently, staring down at Doyle's hand.  Tomato?  Wait...was Doyle making a joke?  Ruben looked up at him through long, black lashes, but this was all too intense for him to try at a smile.  "Cooking accident," he said, nodding.

Anxious as he was to get going to the healers, he looked at the plate balanced on his knees and hesitated.  He wasn't exactly used to being someone's guest.  At the observatory he did everything for himself and any visitors he had were there on business.  Was he supposed to go and clean the plate himself?

"Ah..."  He'd need one other thing before leaving, and didn't know if Doyle could provide it.

"Do you have any shirt I could wear?"  Probably nothing anywhere near his size, but so long as he could roll the sleeves up, he would manage.

[Anonymous]

To Doyle, that was all the scars were. Simple facts of life. They happened when you fought. You learned to live with them. Sure, there was a story for all of them, but mostly unpleasant memories. No point in exulting in or dwelling on them.

And to be honest, talking much about himself always made him feel awkward. He didn't think he was all that interesting. And Ruben's bored response to his joke left him feeling even more awkward. Doyle liked people, but he had never really been good with them. Always said the wrong thing.

"Yeah. Anyway. Ya finished?" He stood up, wincing slightly as he jarred his ribs. They should probably stop hurting so much by the end of the day. He was looking forward to that. The bruises would take much longer, but movement shouldn't be do hard.

Stacking Ruben's plate with his own, Doyle grinned, "Yeah. I got a shirt you can use." He actually had three shirts to his name, a fact he was decently proud of. Two regular outfits he tended to rotate between and a set of nicer clothes. He set the plates down and went over the the chest, opening it up. He felt a little embarrassed to give Doyle one of his regular shirts, so he pulled out his nice one.

It was simple enough, as it was supposed to be worn under the nicer jacket. For the son of a butcher and a mercenary, the soft cloth and almost white color was rather impressive. Even though Doyle was rather lean, the shirt was still going to be rather huge on Ruben, "Sorry about the size. But it'll be better then goin' there shirtless."

He pulled out the other shirt. The one from last night was probably not going to be saved. He would try, as he didn't really want to have to buy a new one. But, the whole outfit had gotten some bits of that vile smelling gunk on it. He got the other pants as well, before collecting the plates, "I'll be in the kitchen, yeah? Take your time getting dressed. When yer ready, we can go to the healers."

Ruben seemed the type to want privacy, and Doyle could only imagine the kids face if he stripped his pants off in front of him. And to be honest, Doyle still had some pride. And whimpering like a girl while he changed his pants was not something he wanted anyone to see. So he took the clothes and the plates and headed slowly and delicately toward the kitchen.

[Tally]

"Ah, yes," he said, handing his plate over to Doyle, and realizing that he felt almost no pain in his arm.  The tea and balm combined had left him with no more than a vague achiness, easy enough to ignore.  Effective stuff, that salve.  Without it he feared he would have been writhing upon the bed and unable to walk for the pain.

As Doyle went hunting for a shirt, Ruben stood and arched his back until it popped.  His whole body protested, stiff; knees didn't want to bend as he took a few paces about the room, shoulders sore from sleeping in a strange bed.  The walk to the healers would do him good, and he was ready to get out of this morbid bedroom anyway.

"It'll do," he said, taking the shirt from Doyle and holding it up to examine it.  A little big, but he could roll the sleeves up, and it didn't even look half bad!  He'd been afraid he'd have to walk through the village in a blood-stained jerkin or some such.

Ruben waited until the top of Doyle's head had disappeared beyond the edge of the staircase, then slumped onto the bed with a sigh.  He'd been tense, and didn't realize it until now.  A natural response to being stuck in a stranger's house, but he hoped it hadn't been too obvious.

He pulled Doyle's shirt on, careful of his arm, then stood back up to look down at himself.  The shirt fell too far past his waist, and the sleeves swallowed his hands but it was clean and better than nothing.  He rolled the sleeves up past his elbows, then took up his own shirt and sighed over the loss of it.  There'd be no mending it, burned and torn as it was.

From the window over the bed, he could look down the road leading into the village proper.  There was the inn, and a market square a ways beyond that.  He'd been into the village before, but never had occasion to visit the healers until now.

Ruben ventured down the stairs, prepared to see a living area bristling with more sharp objects and armor, but the rest of Doyle's house was blessedly normal.  He'd missed all this last night in the dark.

"Doyle?" he said, making his way through the sparse downstairs and into the kitchen.

[Anonymous]

The stairs still gave Doyle problems, and he took them slowly. The tea had taken the edge off the pain and he didn't hurt if he stayed still. But every time his chest moved more then a light breath, the bones moved and he could feel a fresh jolt of pain.

He had to pause at the bottom of the stairs, panting a little, teeth gritted. Damn but it hurt. He had dealt with worse before, but without all that adrenaline pumping through his system, it was harder to ignore the pain. Once the pain lessened to a more manageable level, he headed back to the kitchen. The plates ended in the tub. Those he would wash when they got back.

Now game the hard part. Doyle gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and started to carefully peel the pants off. A few small whimpers later and Doyle was naked other then the bandages wrapped around his chest. He tossed the pants over by the door with a slight shudder. Probably best to burn it and the shirt. Who knew what dark magic was in that creatures blood.

Getting dressed took longer then he had expected, and hurt more then he liked to admit. Too much bending and arm raising for him to really like. And why had he gotten those damn boots? Bending over to lace them was not pleasant at all. But he managed to get it done.

The house was still a little bare. Only the kitchen had much in it. Doyle had built it for Natalie, and when she had left, she had taken most of the personal touches she had added to the house. And the mercenary hadn't really added much to it yet. But it was clean and neat. The kitchen was by far the most lived in. There were a number of herbs hanging from the ceiling. A simple tub was shoved into one corner and a massive table dominated much of the space. The smells from breakfast still lingered, as Doyle hadn't had a chance to full clean up yet.

Looking up at Ruben's entrance, Doyle quickly did his best to compose his features. Then he gave a short laugh, wincing slightly as it jarred his side, "Well look at you. That shirt is practically a dress on ya." Tying off his boot, Doyle stood, "Shall we go?" He had never been to the healers, as he almost never needed them. Didn't need one now. But he had an idea of where to find him.

[Tally]

If Ruben had to choose a word to describe Doyle's kitchen it would have been...unassuming.  So different from the bedroom upstairs.  Not just functional, but clean and almost welcoming if a bit on the spare side.  A large table drew Ruben's eye.  It could have seated many, which struck Ruben as odd.  Doyle didn't seem the type who would entertain groups of people.

"Hm?"  He looked down at himself then frowned back up at Doyle.  "It's not that long."  Not long enough for Doyle to be finding it so blasted amusing.  "We've wasted quite enough time.  Come along, let's get this over with so I can get back home."

Ruben let himself out and stood blinking in the sunlight a few moments.  It was only morning and already uncomfortably warm.  By the time he made it out of the healer's place and started the walk back to the observatory it would be sweltering.

Last night it had been too dark and he'd been too near delirious to notice his surroundings.  Doyle's house stood in a part of the village he had never had occasion to visit on his few trips.  All he ever came here for was to visit the market and buy food when he needed it.  He didn't like the village.  The solitude of the observatory suited him well.  He'd never had a reason to visit the healer's either.

Ruben took a few steps out into the street and looked down the road in both directions.  There was the inn he had seen from the window, and further down he caught sight of shop signs and crowded intersections.  That must be the direction they needed to go, but Ruben barely made it a few steps before vertigo set in and he had to lean down with his hands on his knees.  He breathed in deeply and let his head hang.  It must have been the bright light and the hot air hitting him after he'd been confined in Doyle's dim, cool house for hours.  That, and the powerful tea concoction coursing through his system just then.  Walking to the healer's wouldn't be as easy as he'd hoped.

[Anonymous]

The taller man just grinned at Ruben. It wasn't quite long enough to be a dress on Ruben, but it wasn't that far off, "Now now. No need ta be so huffy. We'll get ya home real soon." Doyle wasn't really looking forward to walking Ruben back to the observatory and then the long walk back. But the young mage wasn't going out into those woods alone again. Not when that thing might still be around.

Though he would miss having someone around. Even if they were on of the grumpiest people he had ever met. It was better then the crushing emptiness the house normally had. Doyle followed Ruben outside, blinking in the brightness of the day, one hand coming up to shield his eyes. He could see very well in the dark, but daylight was often a bit much for him. He stayed still, letting his eyes adjust for a bit, watching Ruben make his way to the street.

It hadn't been as apparent in the dark woods or the subdued light of his bedroom, but the mage really was beautiful. Prettier then any girl Doyle had ever seen. He was rather glad that his dark skin wouldn't really show his light blush.

The second Ruben bent over, Doyle rushed forward, ignoring the pain in his torso, one big hand resting against Ruben's back, "Hey? Ruben? Ya okay? What's wrong?" Maybe he should carry the kid. It would hurt like no other, but the tea should be in his system a bit longer, so he could do it.

[Tally]

It shouldn't have mattered, not with the skin burned off his arm and months of work gone and lost, but Ruben's face flushed just the same when Doyle rushed over.  Embarrassing, that's what it was, not to be able to walk on his own two feet without pitching over.  Well, that wasn't going to happen.

"I'm fine."  He shuffled aside to get Doyle's hand off of him and stood up straight as he could manage.  It wasn't so bad.  A few deep breaths and time enough to accustom himself to the light and the heat and he was standing on his own again, his head only swimming a little bit.

"It's hardly necessary to panic every time I stumble."  For whatever reason, it was awkward to have someone worry over him.  Too used to taking care of himself, he supposed.  He started off again, slower this time, without waiting for a response from Doyle.

Villagers thronged the main street of the village.  No familiar faces jumped out at him, but then he was only acquainted with a few of them, only the ones he found need to do business with to keep the observatory stocked with food and supplies.  In the presence of so many strangers, he suddenly gave a thought to his appearance.  Ruben grimaced and ran a hand over his hair.  Wished he could have found the time and the means to brush it out and retie it this morning.  It must have looked atrocious, unkempt and tousled from the night before.

Stop trying to groom yourself in public.  His hand had drifted up to his hair again and he snatched it back down.

"There, will that place do?"  Among the other shop signs hung one with a white staff painted upon it.  A place like La'marri would have several healers practicing.  This one was closest, though Ruben couldn't speak as to its quality.

[Anonymous]

Doyle backed off at Ruben's snappy response, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, "Sorry. I wasn't tryin' ta upset ya. Sometimes injuries like that can be rough on someone. And, no offense, ya don't seem the type ta be used to bein' hurt."

As the mage huffed off, Doyle gave a small sigh. Everything he said seemed to come out wrong and upset the kid. And he was going to end up acting like some creepy pervert if he didn't back off. But despite living in the town, Doyle was company starved.

He gave up the attempt at trying to help Ruben and followed him at an easy pace. Most people moved out of his way, his large size and odd looks made most people wary. He looked every bit the mercenary he used to be, someone that had killed and shed blood. It didn't help matters any that the facial scars made even his neutral expressions look angry and his happy ones look odd. Or the fact he was known around the down for driving his own wife away.

"I suppose? Never really been to a healer 'round here. So ones as good as another I suppose?" One seemed as good as another. Wasn't like they couldn't leave if they seemed no good. He almost never used healers, so he wasn't really sure how to judge them, he tended to just heal up on his own.

Still keeping his stiff, careful pace, Doyle started for the healers. Thank the Gods it wasn't that far away. Ruben would probably insist on walking the whole way even if they were clear across town. The place smelled lightly of incense and herbs, probably to help lesson the scent of sickness and old blood that hung around healers places. Doyle's sensitive nose wrinkled. He hated incense and perfumes and other things of that nature. They always smelled over powering to him.

A slightly muffled voice invited them in at Doyle's knock and the large man opened the door, holding it for Ruben. Then froze, not sure if the action would lead to an upset Ruben. But he had already done it, it would be weird, and rather rude, to stop holding the door.

Inside was clean and organized, an older woman, comfortably plump was in the process of picking apart some herb Doyle didn't recognize. The woman's eyes went right to Ruben's arm, "Hmm. That's a nasty burn you have there." Setting down the plant, she moved closer to Ruben, "Let's take a look, shall we?"

[Tally]

Ruben strode through the open door, which he took as no less than what was due a heavily injured person such as himself, and very nearly turned around a stalked right back out again.

One hand on his hip, he surveyed what he could only describe as a hovel.  Drying herbs hung from the ceiling, not so strange for a healer's hut, but you would think the woman could organize them better or at all.  The rest of the place hardly met the standards of cleanliness and ambiance one ought to demand from an establishment meant to treat folk in the throes of physical anguish! Really, if he felt capable of walking halfway across the village to find another healer, he would have left immediately.

That, and in a diminutive village such as this he doubted he'd find much better. That was the trouble with La'marri.  No one in authority to enforce quality.

"Really." He turned a withering glare on the healer woman. If she was going to be stating the obvious the entire time, this would be a trying visit indeed.  It was with no small measure of apprehension that he presented his arm to her.  Fortune send that she had some inkling of what she was doing!

[Anonymous]

Well, that at least was a good sign. Ruben hadn't flipped out at him for holding the door open. He wasn't allowed to help him stand back up, but door opening was allowed. Doyle filed this in the same place he had stuck his wife's irrational fits of anger when it was....that time of the month.

The hut seemed nice to Doyle, comfortable and well used. It had a good feel to it and his hand fingered his ribs. Maybe he would see if he could afford to get her to look at his ribs, make sure they were set straight and if she had some better herbs for pain.

"Ruben!" Doyle was rather shocked by Ruben's tone. Why was he acting like that? The pain must be getting to him. Doyle gave the woman a nervous glance and bowed awkwardly, wincing at the pain, "I'm sorry ma'am. He's just touchy from pain. Would you mind lookin' at his arm please?"

The healer looked Ruben right in the eye, "I don't have to help you, brat. You can take that arm across town and try your luck if you don't like it here." Her gaze then dropped back to the wound and her plump hands were careful as she examined the wound, "Well, it looks like someone knew something when they were treating this. It doesn't look infected, which is good."