His head was splitting, like he had an axe cleaving through his forehead. Ouch, he grumbled, holding his head, hands running through his hair and ruffling it. It felt wet and moist, and cold. Damp from sweat, he assumed, but the stickiness caught him off guard. Blood. Damn; he feared it would be. However, it was nice know it wasn't because his head had been split open.
As his headache began to dissipate, Quinlan sat up, rubbing his head and opening his eyes. Cleared vision revealed a mess. A mess he didn't remember doing. "Oh Ansgar's balls," he grumbled, eying the body that had been opened and the blood that spilled out of him. This didn't bode well, not at all. Especially since Quinlan had no recollection of how or why he was here. One thing he did know was that it would likely be best not to linger.
He didn't know the dead man at the center of the room, except for what physical characteristics were readily apparent. He was thin, tall, gaunt looking with pale blond hair (now stained red) and had a constipated expression on his face. Quinlan wondered if that was because he'd been killed in such a horrid manner, or if something surprised him shortly before death. He frowned at the state of the body. It was torn open, and the floor was splattered in blood. The manner of death had evidently been a violent one and Quinlan looked down at his hands.
There were some drops of blood, some crusted underneath his fingernails and some on his shirt, but it wasn't a great deal, compared to the room. He quickly got to his feet and knew it was time to vacate the premises, preferably as quickly and quietly as possible. Quinlan took what sheets he could find and wrapped the body in them, careful to knot it up into a neat bundle before moving to clean up the room. As best he could at any rate.
For a moment he considered leaving the body. If he moved downstairs he was sure he could possibly make a run for it. Listening intently, he could hear faint voices downstairs. There was no hurry, no clamor, and it seems he was in the upstairs part of a tavern. Men were drinking and talking loudly, some women laughed, but there were no sounds to indicate it was anything other than a tavern. There were too many people downstairs, likely, and taking that route, likely would raise too many questions.
His head was still pounding, and no his heart as he saw the only other logical exit. Quinlan moved toward the window and opened it, peering down into the alley below. Darkness was drawing in, and the stars were slowly illuminating the sky. There was little thought to it, as Quinlan grabbed the wrapped bundle and dropped it out the window. There was a thud and soon he quickly followed it, though clung to the edge of the window until he could find etches in the wall to help him climb down. His footing was less secure and he yelped as he slipped and fell on the body below. He heard a crunch and made a face at the red splotches seeped through the bundle.
Quinlan coughed and moved to grab the bundle and stopped suddenly when he heard footsteps coming in from behind him. He whirled around and grinned, stepping in front of the bundle, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. "Oh, evening. Just taking a stroll. It's gonna be a lovely night won't it?" he said.
