One More Look at the Ghost [MorningStar!] [M]

[Rhindeer]

A long silence followed his confession—and then a soft, mirthless laugh, more to herself than anything. How desperate had she been to deny the truth...she truly was a fool.

And yet even as the words spilled from his own lips for a second time, she could not for the life of her see a heartless killer in his eyes, and his behavior didn't match the confession, either. His remorse after pulling a knife on her, his respecting of her space, his politeness—in his own way. If he had wanted to hurt her he would have already done it, and even now he was giving her the opportunity to leave.

She watched him in silence, weighing his words, feeling her belly tighten with nerves. Was she doing the right thing? What was the right thing? Lawfully, she should turn him in, but...

Fang drew a deep breath, fussing absently with a strand of hair. "I offered to help you," she said at last, "and so I will keep my word, if you still want my help. This is bigger than just you and I, Lawrence. You need my help, but so do they."

She met his eyes. "You say you're a killer, but that's not who I see before me now. And...maybe I'm truly a fool here, I don't know you, but..." She rolled her shoulders back, straightening. "We can't change the past. What you were born into, what you did, it's not right. But I believe in rebirth, and I don't think you need to die to get there."

Her mother would kill her if she knew she was entertaining something this insane. Or rather, lock her up and marry her off as she had wanted to all these years.

She paused, considering, and then asked, "Do you regret it?"

[MorningStar]

As Spike settled beside Fang, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the surroundings. His mind was a tempest of conflicting emotions, each one battling for dominance within him.

Regret, like an ever-present shadow, loomed over him. The pain of his past deeds, the lives he had taken for profit, gnawed at his conscience. The weight of guilt bore down on him, and in the fading light, he could see the ghosts of those he had killed haunting the edges of his vision - despite rather or not the spirit were actually present at that moment.

Yet, amidst this sea of remorse, another emotion swelled within him—an overwhelming gratitude toward Fang. She had offered him help, extended understanding without judgment. A warmth emanated from her presence that he couldn't quite articulate.

Spike sat in the silence of the setting sun, the conflicting emotions painting an intricate canvas across his face. Then, he finally answered her. "Yes," he said. "I regret everything. No one-" he cut off, as if he swallowed his words. "No one deserves what I've done to them. But still I.."

He let out a shuddering breath, as if a weight had been momentarily lifted. Then, he turned to her, and told one more truth. "My real name is Spike," he extended his hand, a second chance for the greeting.

[Rhindeer]

He regretted it.

Good.

Fang watched his face a moment as though searching for the lie, but she saw only sincerity there. Alright, Fang. This was crazy, right? She was actually going to do this, help an admitted murderer? What he had done, taking all those lives...there was no coming back from that. That was a wrong that 'sorry' could never right. Those people, their families, all that pain...there was no undoing it.

Right?

And then there came another confession. At this point, she couldn't say she was surprised.

"Spike, hm?" she repeated, looking down at his hand—and then taking it, much more successfully this time. She gave his hand a shake, obviously unpracticed, and then let go. "Nice to meet you, Spike. I'm, well...I'm still Fang."

She flashed him a smile, a little amusement in her eyes, before she sobered. Goddess, it was so hard to believe she was speaking to an assassin.

"Anyway, Spike, I believe you. And maybe I'm crazy—goddess know I've been lectured enough—but I think this is even more proof that our meeting wasn't just random happenstance. I think there's an opportunity here—an opportunity to do good, to balance out the wrongs. Ah...hmm...how do I put this...?"

She frowned, tapping her chin with a finger. "It's complicated. You can't undo what you've done; the dead are dead with or without you in this world. But you know that, and I truly believe you regret it. If it's like you say and you were never given the chance to do good to begin with, if you were born into a life where that was all you knew...how could you do anything else but what you were taught was true? But now here you are, seeking a different path."

Peering up at him, she gave his arm a gentle pat. "I'd be a terrible priestess if I helped only the dead and abandoned the living, right?"

[MorningStar]

Fang's words resonated with Spike, stirring emotions that he seldom allowed to surface. His stoic exterior cracked, revealing a vulnerability he wasn't accustomed to expressing. In that moment, his eyes softened, mirroring the genuine touch of gratitude he felt. Uncertain of how to articulate his emotions verbally, Spike offered a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes.

His hand, calloused from a lifetime of challenges, reached out hesitantly towards Fang's. The simple act of taking her hand conveyed a depth of understanding and appreciation that words struggled to capture.

And then, an after thought surfaced. "You're a priestess?" he asked from genuine curiosity. "How did that happen?"

[Rhindeer]

Fang blinked at his question. "Hmm. I'm not sure it really happened so much as it was just always meant to be. My mother's the Maha—ah, she's Temple caste, and her mother before was also Temple Caste, and so on, so I was just born into it. But even if I was born elsewhere, it would have happened all the same—I would have been given to the Temple once my gift manifested."

He was holding her hand, but Fang didn't withdraw, instead lightly squeezing it before covering it with her other. He no doubt needed reassurance and simple human connection after everything that had happened.

"Of course, it's not just priests and priestesses in the Temple, but I like this kind of active service. I feel it's a good use of this gift." 

There was a pause, and she added in a mutter, "And it, ah...keeps me out and about and away from the Temple itself."

[MorningStar]

A faint smile graced his lips in response to her last comment, and he nodded subtly, conveying his genuine interest in her narrative. Despite the seemingly impassive nature of his mostly blank face, his body language spoke of attentiveness. Eager to reciprocate the exchange of personal details, he shifted on the ground, folding his legs over one another and positioning himself directly in front of her.

"I don't recall my parents," he shared unexpectedly, the revelation offered willingly. "My early memories are dominated by training for combat. In my community, it was the expected path. It took years before I grasped the weight of taking a human life, and even then, I didn't fully grasp it."

A fleeting thought crossed his mind before he resumed, "Oh, I promise not to kill you," he added casually, as if it were a customary assurance. Extending his pinky, a gesture he had observed children in his community perform, he offered it to her.

[Rhindeer]

He had never known the value of a human life. No parents, born to kill. It was a disturbing idea—and she thanked Inima he was from Serendipity, because surely that meant his group wasn't here. Brainwashed. Indoctrinated. What she wanted to know most was what changed for him? It took strength to break a generational curse like that. But before she could ask, he threw in a curveball.

I promise not to kill you.

It was so unexpected, and the gesture so childish, that Fang had to bite her lip to stifle her laugh. The air still escaped out her nose, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Oh goddess, with all the adrenaline and shock of the night slowly draining out of her (for she had not experienced such emotional whiplash in ages!) she was left feeling strangely giddy beneath the outward calm—but it seemed even that was starting to crack.

"I...I actually wasn't worried..." she managed to say as she bit back her giggles. "Not until you said that!" Reaching out, she hooked her pinky with his.

"But I've been told this is as good as binding, no? My life is literally in your hand. Or pinky, as it were." 

[MorningStar]

The pregnant pause that followed spoke volumes, as Spike's reaction—or rather, the lack thereof—echoed through the charged air. His gaze shifted downward, lingering on the entwined pinkies, a momentary contemplation etched on his features. When his eyes ascended, meeting the woman's gaze once more, an air of uncertainty seemed to shroud him. Was there something funny about what he said? Spike wasn't known for humor; perhaps it was just the woman's nerves getting the better of her.

"It's getting late," he interjected, his words breaking through the contemplative silence, seemingly at odds with the current conversation. "Do you have some place to go? We can meet at the cafe again tomorrow.. well, if you'd like to."

[Rhindeer]

Oh. Was he serious? His expression was unwavering, not a crack of a smile to be found. 

Maybe for his people it wasn't a childish thing at all but actually was binding. And here she'd just laughed at his customs! Fang's cheeks heated and she cleared her throat, quickly withdrawing her hand and folding it in her lap. Oops.

His question saved her. Perking up, desperate for a subject change after that fumble, she nodded and waved a hand. "Oh yes, my own lodging isn't a problem. I don't have a place in mind yet, but I'm sure it won't be difficult to find an inn." She paused.

"Unless you know a place? Where are you staying?"

[MorningStar]

Where are you staying?

The unexpected question lingered in the air, catching Spike off guard. No one had ever asked about his lodging before, leaving him uncertain about the appropriateness of his response. "Here's good," he offered simply, his eyes scanning the surroundings for a secluded spot. A clearing not far away seemed suitable for the night.

Returning his gaze to Fang, Spike noted the unmistakable flush of red on her cheeks under the moonlit sky. Tilting his head slightly, he studied her with a curious intensity before gently placing a delicate hand against her skin. "You don't look so well," he observed in a hushed tone. "Are you running a fever?" The concern in his voice conveyed a genuine worry, a departure from the usual guarded demeanor he presented to the world.

[Rhindeer]

"Here?" Fang repeated, and threw an incredulous look around the area. Was there a building here she had somehow missed? Because surely he couldn't mean... "Here as in...right here? Oh no, no, I don't think that's—"

But whatever she had been about to say was cut off by a cool hand on her skin and his concerned question—and neither helped with her flush. How strange that she had no issues with contact when she was playing her role, and yet suddenly such a simple touch threw her.

And ahh! He'd noticed, when she had been hoping it was too dark. She did not want to explain the reason behind it!

The heat spread down her neck and she gave a nervous laugh, gently shooing away his hand. "No, no, no, I'm fine, really! I'm not sick, I'm just...um...maybe a little tired? Ah, it's nothing! Anyway, as I was saying, you're not sleeping out in the dirt. Is money the issue? Because I can help!"

[MorningStar]

A furrow creased his brow in surprise. "Oh no," he quickly reassured her, a confident tone in his voice. "Money is not an issue for me. I've got plenty. Besides, sleeping in isolation like this reduces the likelihood of someone killing me in my sleep."

His words, darkly tinted, were paired with what he hoped passed as an innocent smile and a knowing chuckle, as if that was a normal thing to say. However, almost instantly, a sense of unease crept over him. Realizing that his comment may have sounded anything but normal, he hastened to correct himself.

"I'm sorry," he admitted, a touch of self-awareness in his tone. "I'm not great at banter. But really, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Just make sure you get that fever checked out by a doctor."

[Rhindeer]

"...Pardon?"

Kill him in his sleep?? Was that a genuine issue he had to worry about?!

That settled it! Bad joke or no bad joke, she just wasn't so sure she should believe that was only banter after everything else. From what she'd seen so far, even when he was joking there was a layer of truth.

"Oh no, absolutely not!" she said, rising to her feet and offering her hand. "Come now, we'll find an inn together. And sleep in a room. In a bed. I can't imagine being alone out here would be safer than a room with four walls and a roof over your head!"

[MorningStar]

Spike bestowed upon her a modest smile, then gracefully took her hand, ascending to his feet. The noticeable contrast in their heights became evident as he stood upright. "You're sweet," he uttered softly, locking eyes with her, oblivious to the implications such a gesture might hold in her people's customs.. or just in general.

After a brief contemplation of her offer, he conceded with a nod. "Sure," he agreed, a thoughtful expression on his face. "But perhaps it's a tad early for us to share a bed, don't you think?"

Spike was really winning today.

[Rhindeer]

...huh?

Share a bed...why would they need to share...?

Too early for...what...?

Wait...what?

Fang stared up at him, head tilted and expression blank as his words echoed in her mind, tumbling around but not quite registering—and then they slammed into place with a resounding crash. Her eyes went saucer-wide, her dark skin turning a deeper shade, and she practically flew backward from him, holding up both hands and waving them frantically.

"Ah! No, no, wait! That's not what I—oh goddess, what did I say?! I'm sorry, Common isn't my first language so I'm bound to make some mistakes, some words sound an awful lot alike and ahhhh!" She rubbed her face with both hands, laughing helplessly into them. What a thing to mess up!

She sucked in a wheezing breath. "Oh Inima. What I meant to say was...we can sleep in beds. In rooms. Separately. Our own beds! Not..not...together."

He must think her such a floozy!

[MorningStar]

There's that fever again. This girl really was strange.

Nevertheless, Spike found himself swiftly developing an affinity for her. Uncertain about his feelings regarding staying at an inn, he chose to indulge her whims for her sake. She was extending help to him in ways he may not fully comprehend, and their limited interactions had already provided a rare sense of humanity he hadn't experienced in a long time. A selfish part of him wanted to cling to that feeling.

"I see," he responded calmly, his unwavering gaze fixed on her. "That makes sense. Let's go then."

Without hesitation, he reached for her hand, pulling her along as he set a determined stride toward town.

[Rhindeer]

For all her flustered panic, he was calm as usual, accepting her explanation with ease.

And running with it.

There he went, grabbing her hand again and pulling her along the same way he had back at the tea house, and Fang had no time to even be startled as she jogged beside him to keep up. The man was on a mission!

"Short legs!" she panted. "Slow down, we're not all giants!"

With the pace he set, it wasn't long before they reached town, Fang breathless and a little sweaty—Inima, she really should get back to practicing her swordplay, was she that out of shape already? The streets were dark save for the flicker of hanging lanterns and empty save for a lone carouser or two.

Fang scanned the buildings as they walked, spotting the tea house they had met at. She could swear she had seen a tavern near it, but she couldn't quite remember where—ah!

"There," she said, pointing. "We can see if they have any rooms available."

And then it was her turn to drag him as she crossed the road.

[MorningStar]

Once they walk into the tavern, the atmosphere shifts dramatically. The air becomes heavy with the scent of smoke and booze, and the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounds them. The dimly lit space reveals a diverse crowd – from rough-looking adventurers nursing their drinks to gamblers huddled around tables.

Spike found himself in familiar yet uncomfortable surroundings, the tavern's atmosphere thick with the scent of ale and the cacophony of drunken revelry. Though he had often lurked in the shadows of such establishments, gathering information discreetly, being a part of the lively scene was a foreign experience. He nearly had forgotten that they would sometimes have room for overnight as well.

The rowdy patrons, well into their cups, cast lingering, inebriated glances at Fang. Unsettled by the attention, Spike whispered, "Stay close," and draped an arm casually around her shoulders, a strategic move to deflect the more probing looks and create a facade that hinted at a connection beyond mere friendship.

[Rhindeer]

This was not the usual place Fang stayed at, for as they entered the establishment, she was immediately aware that it was a bit...rougher than she was used to. From the thick scent of booze and alcohol to the shady-looking gamblers loudly arguing to the drinkers whose eyes lingered just a bit too long...

Indeed, Fang looked—and felt—painfully out of place. And though she had a sword on her hip, she didn't have the look of a Khan. Almost everyone of her caste carried a sword after all; it didn't mean everyone could use it.

Spike on the other hand appeared to be well in his element. No surprise there, she supposed, but hmm...perhaps they should try somewhere else—oh!

An arm slid around her shoulders and Fang let out a quiet squeak and jolted before she saw it was him, having not realized how tense she was until that moment. Instant relief replaced the shock and the tightness in her muscles eased. Stay close, right. No, there was nothing to worry about, she shouldn't judge these people. After all, look at Spike! People were people, and all anyone craved was understanding. 

"Got it," she whispered back, and nodded toward the bar where a scarred, irritated-looking woman in her middle years was wiping down glasses. "Think we can ask her?"

She seemed their best bet; Fang couldn't pick out any other workers and wouldn't have been able to pick out even the barkeep if she wasn't behind the counter! Putting her hand on Spike's arm, she turned them toward the bar. The older woman arched a brow as they approached, flicking her eyes between them—though her narrowed eyes lingered longest on Spike.

Foreigner.

"Whatcha gettin'?" she asked in Thanati, addressing Fang.

"Oh, um, we were just seeing if you had any rooms available. I know it's late, but—"

"We have one," the woman replied, cutting her off. She named her price—an inflated one, no doubt because it was late, Fang imagined, not realizing it was more likely because the woman knew she was Temple caste and had the money—and held out her hand impatiently.

"Er...just one?"

"Yeah. That gonna be a problem?" the woman asked, eyebrow lifting as she pointedly looked between them again. 

Fang flushed, shaking her head quickly. "No, it's no problem, it's not—" She winced, looking up at Spike, and then back to the woman. With a sigh, she dug around in her coin purse and handed her the coin, receiving a key and directions in exchange.

As the woman went back to her cleaning, Fang held up the key and flashed Spike a sheepish look. "They just have the one room."

[MorningStar]

Spike observed with admiration as Fang seemed to skillfully barter in her common tongue. Although he had picked up a few words and phrases during his brief time in this land, it was not enough for a fluent conversation. Usually, he relied on gestures like holding up a sack of gold and pointing, but Fang's approach appeared more effective.

After the transaction, he caught Fang's eyes, and she seemed a bit embarrassed. With a reassuring smile, Spike commented, "One room sounds perfect. Let's go."

As they ascended the stairs, he wondered if his choice of words conveyed the right sentiment. Was perfect too strong a word? He certainly didn't want to scare the poor girl off.