westwhere | [ CLOSED ] Grief will have to wait.

WHO: Wrathion & fellow travellers
WHEN: Travel Arc!
WHERE: Mistress Isakanami's inn.
WHAT: A multi-prompt travel arc extravaganza! Check here for planning something custom, or he has an end of Serthica network post here or an open inbox!
WARNINGS: None at opening

Wrathion is exhausted.

So much as he is pleased to leave Serthica, so much as he is relieved to have had results there the whole experience has left him drained. The concept, then, of having some reprieve before they launch into more lengthy travel is... appealing, to a point.

It does, he assumes, mean staying somewhere else -- and based on their previous accommodation this may not necessarily be... pleasant.

Although it would be nice if it was.

The journey is long, but being flown there is at least pleasant initially. Far better than hiking, a wagon, or having to ride another creature. Then the weather begins to cool further, and Wrathion senses that they will not be relaxing in a tropical climate.

Snow. Of course.

The Merchant, at least, appear to have selected somewhere with pleasant-seeming facilities. They are, naturally, housed with the staff and expected to perform some minor tasks...

Still. If this place is devoid of any major problems, it does have potential. A hot springs in the mountains brings back fond memories, of a far flung place long ago. Of a time when he was young, before he felt the bitter sting of consequence.

It is also, so far, blessedly free of hozen.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Making something warmer to wear."

Given the blizzard outside.

"I brought some bolts of fabric with me from Serthica, along with those scissors."

He holds out a hand for them, lofting an eyebrow warily at Marcos. His approach is... strange, slow, guarded. Almost as if he's any minute going to wield the scissors as a weapon.

"If you're wondering if I could make something, you need only ask."

Is it curiosity? Surely he is familiar with the concept of sewing, after all. What else could it be that is making him wary? Some particular objection to the fabric?

The strange look on his face doesn't settle when Wrathion starts to explain. If there's some way to tell if someone is possessed he doesn't know it. He looks behind him, unsure if he should get a second opinion or roll with it. The idea that it might just be something he decided to do on his own seems more farfetched. Somehow he missed this side of him when they were roommates.

"No, I'm alright." Slowly, he gets closer and watches, like he's fascinated by the concept. "Is that a hobby of yours?"

Of all the things he expected someone to be weird about, he didn't anticipate tailoring to be on the list.

Marcos appears to not be handing over the scissors for the moment, though, so Wrathion drops his hand back down and shoots him a mildly irritated frown.

"I consider it a practical skill more than a hobby. Do you have some objection?"

Really, he struggles to imagine exactly what the objection could be.

Mostly that he's being compelled to do menial tasks by some mischievous ghosts. Marcos doesn't have enough experience with magic to be able to tell, but he has had his fair share of encounters with telepaths. Not to mention the times he's seen it happen here. He still can't decide, and he clears his throat in response.

"So this was something you came up with all on your own?" He can't help but ask one more time, and keep a close eye to see if he's showing any other signs. His irritation seems genuine though, and he releases a breath. "I've seen things, man. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Is tailoring a sign of not being okay? Wrathion lofts a bewildered eyebrow.

"Yes," he replies. "It happens to be snowing outside, and I don't enjoy the cold. I decided to solve that problem."

Seems like a sensible enough idea to Wrathion. He studies Marcos curiously a moment longer, then sets aside the bundle of fabric after a moment. It seems like he may need to potentially get up.

"Not that I don't appreciate the concern," he adds, "but I was unaware enforced tailoring was a risk."

He's still not totally convinced, and he seems to have all but forgotten the scissors in his hand. It's a few moments later before he breaks and moves to set them on a nearby table.

"You'd be surprised." It's terrible to think he's turning into one of those paranoid weirdos in their group, but it's kind of hard not to be. Everything is a little bit off around here and the dangers aren't always obvious. "Apparently whatever is haunting this place can compel you into doing their chores. I don't know how it works, but you have to admit you look suspicious."

... Suspicious? The sceptical look Wrathion shoots his needlework says he doubts this, but he supposes if Marcos has seen evidence of this he is in no place to judge.

"Well," he says, "I'll take your word for it."

No more sewing visibly where people can suspect he might be under a compulsion. He leans to pick up his scissors, puts them away in a box to try and stop them floating away again.

"Did you bring the box to the inn?"

He won't enlarge on the details, given this is semi-public. He just recalls Marcos had concerns about how secure it was.

In retrospect, it does sound like he's making a lot out of nothing. Sewing isn't exactly as bad as half of the things he's heard about, but he still feels better once Wrathion doesn't have any trouble taking a break from it. That has to be a good sign.

When he mentions 'the box' he looks away and tries not to sound as concerned as he is.

"I still have it." For lack of an alternative. He still doesn't feel any better about keeping someone's beating heart hostage. At all. "I thought it'd be safer once we were out of the city, but the ghosts seem to have sticky fingers."

There's a slight pinch at Wrathion's expression, then his eyes flit away.

"Serthica was an unpleasant place," Wrathion allows, "but we're not quite at peace here, you are correct."

As if on cue, Wrathion's fabric begins to very slowly lift up. He shoots it a sharp look.

"Leave it," he says, and it drops -- the ghostly presence chastised. He takes a breath, lets it out slowly and flexes his fingers. Some attempt to regain self control. "If you'd still like it examined, I can make myself available."

Marcos watches the fabric without saying a word. Floating objects doesn't phase Marcos as much as it probably should, but it's weird to think playful ghosts are behind it. Should they be concerned about that? Spirits that are caught in some endless loop to continue working at an inn for all eternity? Sometimes it's too easy to assume someone else with experience in these things will take care of them.

He belatedly nods at his offer. Ever since he first saw the thing, he's regretted getting involved, but he feels somewhat responsible that it's with them in the first place.

"Sure. It's... I can get it." Does he need to worry about the ghost overhearing where he hid it under some floorboards? Better safe than sorry. "I haven't contacted the Merchant. I want to know if we're walking around with a target on our backs as long as we have it."

[ CLOSED ] Grief will have to wait.

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