A Miasmic Mystery [Closed]

[Michaela]

Both of her companions recoiled at the sound of Michaela's outburst, but they reacted differently. The scarlet-haired man, Garnet he had called himself, wore an amused smirk, which was contrasted by Hemlock's furious scowl. Michaela winced at Garnet's chastisement, and blurted out "Oh! I didn't mean--" Michaela caught herself, and took a deep breath as she told herself off. Shouting about stealing... how could I be so daft?! She released the breath, recovering her emotions and rearranging her expression into a cool stare as she looked back towards Garnet. "My apologies, that was foolish."

She maintained her cooler demeanor as the conversation proceeded, which was easier said than done. Michaela was unused to reigning herself in as much as she was now, but seeing how both of her comrades reacted to her last outburst, it was vital that she do so to retain any sort of credibility. I will not be treated like some child who lost her nurse, especially not by Hemlock. Michaela's thoughts didn't reach her face, she remained silent with an even expression as Hemlock and Garnet weighed in on her question. Michaela was almost thankful that they had so much to say, it gave her time to collect her thoughts.

Garnet's choice of honorific spoiled Michaela's efforts momentarily. She felt herself growing flustered as she replied, "Ah... Just 'Michaela' is fine... or perhaps 'sister'. But not 'your holiness', I'm not a bishop..." Michaela wasn't even sure she could be addressed as a sister, considering that she had still been training under a sister when the abbey was attacked, but what her companions didn't know wouldn't kill them. Michaela saw it as a reward for being humble enough to reject the title of 'your holiness'.

"I agree, Hemlock would be an excellent opportunity to approach the merchant..." Michaela pursed her lips after weighing in. At Hemlock's mention of disguises, Michaela's fingers idly weaved through her hair as she mulled over the possibilities.

Hemlock addressing her startled Michaela out of her schemes. It's a trap... Maintain composure... Michaela did her best to provide no reaction to Hemlock's obvious mockery, but her brow furrowed minutely despite her best efforts. Michaela's voice sounded tight to her own ears as she hesitantly replied, "That's... not a bad plan, actually." Michaela smiled in spite of herself, she would greatly relish the opportunity to give someone a piece of her mind.

Unfortunately, there was a hitch with both plans. Michaela addressed Hemlock, a little more warmly than she had a moment ago. "However, there's one thing we need to take care of before we head off... Garnet doesn't look like a noble, you don't look like a noble's child, and I don't look like a priestess..." Michaela looked at each member of the party as she spoke before casting her eyes downward at her own plain garments that the church had purchased for her as a ward under their care.

"I've a sum of money we could use to get something more suitable, but..." Michaela rummaged through a plain leather satchel fastened about her waist and produced a bag of gold. The church had said it was 'for conveniences', and passed it on to her after she was dropped off with Silas. Michaela started towards Hemlock to hand the bag of coin off, but gave it to Garnet instead after reassessing the situation. "I'm not sure how much it will get us..." Michaela had little concept of trade, everything she had needed before had been provided at the abbey. Michaela smiled uncertainly as she returned to where she was originally standing, "still, every bit helps, right?"

[Garnet]

Garnet found himself sizing up these two by the things they said, as well as their actions and reactions. What told him the most about the pair was their motivations though, which he was only just getting a read on. He chuckled inwardly at how they naturally expected him to partake of these schemes and pulled him in. He must simply have that kind of face.

The idea of passing himself off as a nobleman's courier amused him. He'd played been the rendezvous a few times in his time in the watch. He still remembered using the bridge near his town for a favored meeting place. Crooks thought it safer because of the barrier of the river, but Bryant's watch hadn't been hindered by such paltry difficulties as a bridge.

"I don't have to look like a noble for this to work." Garnet said calmly, tossing the pouch that the girl had handed him up and down to get a feel for its weight. Not a great amount, but more than he'd expected. And alot to trust him with so quickly. "Just look like someone who works for a noble. And Hemlock doesn't have to look like a noble either. We couldn't pull off her being an heir. Lordlings don't travel anywhere without a small entourage, which is beyond our ability to imitate.... And his name is Kieran, not Kermit." He wondered why he even bothered to correct the name in this instance. Probably just old habits.

I guess I could afford to shave, for such a righteous cause as this." The swordsman felt a wry grin overtaking his features at the comment on the "righteousness" of their efforts.

He tossed the pouch of gold back to Michaela with an idle flick of his wrist, and closed his eyes for a pause before speaking. "Here kid. Keep your gold. Unless I'm wrong, Hemlock will be better at quietly getting me into possession of a suitable set of clothes than either of us would manage. As to looking more like a priestess...." Garnet turned and looked her over. It was true that she didn't bear the appearance of the clergy of Elimine. "This is a small enough town. I'm sure Hemlock could find something for you as well." He looked over at the smaller silver haired figure in their little action triangle.

"And I don't think that its wrong to expect her to manage it out of her own resources. I will help if that cough is going to be an obstacle though."

[Mel]

Mel pursed her lips and blew an extended raspberry, looking at Michaela with a slim brow raised. Her? A noble's child? She could hardly pass for a scullery maid much less a noble's child. She was far better at not being noticed at all over disguises. Honestly. She'd ask if Michaela had anything at all up in that cheesebrain of hers but the answer had already made itself known.

"You look enough like a priestess. Boring, plain, with a face that looks easy to take advantage of. It's not impressive, but it'll do. On the other hand, why would a lowly courier be dragging about some sickly noble child across the countryside." Her head cocked, fixing her with a fat load of false sympathy as she took the moment to antagonize her. "Anyone would know that if they actually had a thought in their head." She pulled in a sigh and shook her head in disappointment as she returned her gaze to Garnet, the only competent one out of the two.

"Shave, wash up, ...." Mel paused, trying to drag up something else to add to the list, but it was rather simple and clear cut. She doubted even Michaela could mess up, or any of the residents of her mind's long list of incompetent individuals. After a moment's reconsideration she threw out the thought, Jude would certainly be the one to find a way. In fact he'd probably even look for a way just to spite her. Her hands balled into fists, momentary irritation overtaking her as the imbecile flounced across her mind. No matter, no matter, there was work to be done even if it was only grudgingly.

"I'll find something for you to wear if I ha-" she broke off to let out a nasty series of coughs, grimacing afterwards as she spat a glob of grey congealed phlegm into the dirt. This sickness was a plague on her patience, and she couldn't wait to be rid of it.

Mel swallowed, composed herself, and started again.

"I can probably find something that makes you look somewhat presentable, without any help. Thanks." It was obvious that there was no gratitude behind the word, if she couldn't manage stealing clothes from a laundry line somewhere than there was no hope for the rest of her plans. "Then if that's all, we should scatter for the moment."

[Michaela]

After Michaela proposed her piece of the plan, Garnet and Hemlock both cast doubtful looks her way. As Garnet took it upon himself to explain why Michaela's idea was preposterous, Michaela had to work hard to maintain her even expression. I wish I hadn't grown up in that stuffy abbey! Michaela paused, and took a calming breath after pushing the thought out of her mind. As much as she hated being corrected at every turn in this conversation, she would hate it even more if she blushed like a fool at the same time. Michaela's attention to Garnet's explanation wavered between resentment and curiosity, and so she found herself grudgingly committing Garnet's tidbits about the world to memory.

"--Here kid, keep your gold." Michaela returned her focus to Garnet on being addressed, and promptly found herself juggling her wallet of coin, which Garnet had tossed back before addressing her. After an awkward moment of re-balancing the wallet of coin with one hand while the other fumbled with the clasps on her satchel, Michaela finally managed to put her things back in order. She nodded curtly in Garnet's direction and addressed him in a haughty tone, "Ah, I hadn't thought that through... thank you." She suppressed a smile after addressing him, that was how the sister at the abbey had responded whenever Michaela corrected her during lessons.

"--Pbbbbbbbbbbbtttttt!" Hemlock's raspberry crushed Michaela's remaining dignity after her slip-up, and shattered her resolve to not react to criticism. As Hemlock ranted, criticizing Michaela's suggestions, mocking her appearance, and belittling her understanding of the world, Michaela felt her heart turn to ice, her glare towards Hemlock could chill a stream at its source. "That's enough!!" Michaela cut in to the end of Hemlock's tirade. The interjection had been at normal speaking volume, but was taut with wound-up tension, like a fully-drawn bow tracing its target. "Look here, you wretched little..."

Unfortunately, Hemlock had already turned to address Garnet. I don't believe her! Michaela's eyes widened in rage, but she resigned her self to stiffly crossing her arms in front of her chest and maintaining a frosty glare in Hemlock's direction.

Michaela had yet to calm down by the time Mel suggested they scatter. "Fine." Michaela's assent came quietly, but was loaded with the same tension as her earlier rebuke. "I'll be over in the square waiting, I'll watch thee alleys for you two to return." Her tone dared either of them to challenge her, to pick apart her next suggestion. Without waiting for a response from either of them, she stormed off in the direction of Silas' stand.

---

Michaela marched up to Silas' stand walking stiffly with her hands clenched into tights fists, and her displeasure at being so thoroughly embarrassed clearly etched on her face. "Hmmm, I haven't seen you this lively since I first took you in." The elder man sounded quietly amused as he greeted his incoming charge. Michaela shot Silas a look and opened her mouth to direct her displeasure at him, but Silas raised his hands disarmingly and barked a quiet laugh before apologizing: "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Michaela groaned and climbed up onto the back of Silas' cart. She looked up from her brooding when she felt Silas climb up next to her.

"I was watching, you know, you and those two across the square...they seem like interesting characters." Michaela sighed, then addressed Silas in an exasperated tone. "You don't know the half of it!! The girl, Hemlock, she wants me to steal--" Michaela was interrupted by a hearty laugh from Silas. Time stretched as Silas' laughter petered out, his wiped an eye once he had finished and addressed Michaela. "Yes, I definitely heard that, you should heed their advice on being quieter." Michaela unwillingly heeded Silas' advice as she stared at him, slack-jawed. Silas chortled at her expression and continued, "you needn't be so surprised, nor should you be ashamed! Compromise is a part of life, part of how people get by, even in a hamlet like this, and I'll wager whoever taught you knows the same thing." Michaela sat in silence, unsure of how her mentor at the abbey would have replied, she looked at Silas and opened her mouth to ask a question, but no words came out. Silas' grinned, and his eyes gained a mischievous sparkle as he concluded: "I'll know you'll set things right... and you're willing to do whatever it takes... I can feel it."

Michaela wavered between gratitude and uncertainty, the extra line to Silas' earlier advice came off as somewhat ominous. As Silas set about unpacking lunch, however, Michaela consented to drop the matter and resort to small talk as she watched for her companions' return.

[Garnet]

So it seemed a plan was coming together. Almost of its own accord. Garnet wasn't going to take credit, and these others had their own motivations. It didn't seem a very good or thought out plan, but they would be able to adapt it as time went by. Egads! Had he really just offered to charade as a noble's spokesman to find a healer. A foolish venture for a foolish idea, but he might be able to lay the grease on thick enough to get it to work. He rubbed the bristles on his jaw, thinking how it might be nice to just whack them off and be done with it. Simple inconsequential problems to distract from the far more daunting prospects of what he'd stepped into.

Garnet frowned at Hemlock's behavior. The younger girl could be naive, it was true, but that was no reason to go about bullying and such. Michaela was young and inexperienced. And an idealist unless she had hidden motivations of some kind. He didn't think so. Guilt wasn't the right word to describe Garnet's feelings as Michaela stormed off. Neither was disgust or annoyance. Displeasure fit pretty well though.


"You shouldn't antagonize her so much." Garnet spit out bluntly in a deep, quiet, almost lazy voice as he inspected the phlegm that Hemlock had spit out. Coughs. Weakness. Dehydration. Those seemed to be symptoms that were going around, among others. It was right that they try to put an end to this.

"When you have what we need, come the to second house from the west edge of town. There's a small bench just outside the door, and a small garden in front of it. I'm looking after the place while the owners are... otherwise occupied." A simple way of putting a morbid thought.

Before too long, he left, and headed back to where he'd been staying. A family had let him use their home while he stayed, in exchange for looking after it. They were among those being cared for in the inn now. They'd be among those helped by these actions. Garnet headed to the the stream behind the house with a few buckets, and started toting water back for a bath and a shave. He started a fire using some of the logs he'd chopped for heating the water and set up the tub in a back room. Then he got to the business of scrubbing up, and giving himself a shave. It didn't take as long as some might think, the longest part of the task being actually getting the water for the tub. When finished, he felt fresher than he'd felt in a long while. It might have even helped lift his spirits, but he wasn't going to count on that lasting.

[Mel]

It didn't take long for Mel to reappear after their casual parting, cloak tied tightly around her waist as she clambered through the window to the house Garnet had indicated. She'd seen him outside, a flash of crimson in passing as she had sullenly slunk up the path. There was a noticeable bulge in her makeshift belt, a bundle quickly unraveled and laid to rest on the first surface she had come upon. A bedside table which the silver-haired girl had collapsed next to, eyes squeezing closed as Mel sucked in long measured breathes. She had run a little more than she should have after raiding a few idle clotheslines  in an attempt to make up for lacking sense of...

Well...

She certainly wasn't herself in any degree and there would be no way she would allow it to be proven any further, no matter how ridiculous the lengths she was content pushing herself to. But for now, Mel found it reasonable to rest for just a moment.

On the table lay an odd assortment of clothing, a vague hoard of garments all hovering around the size she had pegged the crimson-haired mercenary. Notably, the colors were out of place among the usual dress the villagers were observed, a point Mel had taken into high consideration whilst plundering laundry lines. How was anyone to believe an unlikely story such as the one she had concocted for the man without at least a few solid supporting elements. Honestly. It was the little things that mattered the most. 

[Garnet]

Garnet had finished cleaning himself up as best he could and stood in the wash closet over the tub, scraping away at his face and neck carefully with a razor he'd salvaged from the house. It had been awhile since he'd shaved it all off, normally being content to trim it back to a more manageable length. This called for a true shave though, and one much cleaner than he'd seen in quite some time. He heard sounds of entry as he was finishing up, but didn't bother going to investigate the newcomer. That would be Hemlock, and if she'd been followed, this would all turn rather awkward. He patiently continued his work, feeling along his neck and jawline to be certain that his shave was done right, and rinsing as he was satisfied. No major cuts. The little nick that he'd made would stop bleeding within a few minutes.

He walked out to the room where he heard labored breathing coming from, grabbing a pitcher he'd filled along the way. He set it, and one of the house's wooden mugs down on the table next to the silver haired girl working hard at recovering near the bundle of clothes. The wooden mug made a solid "thunk" sound on the table as he let it rest by her, and poured some of the drink into the mug.

"You know, if this doesn't work, you'll probably be the death of me."

Garnet was trousered, but shirtless and barefoot as he started sorting through the clothes. At one point, Garnet would have been considered a handsome man, with a lean and fit cut to his body. Now, while there were still plenty of muscles, it was all under a film of scars covering him. His arms and shoulders carried nicks and stabs from a life fighting. Small perforations and old gashes lined up along his chest and side. The worst of it were a series of bad burns running along his side, back, and most of his upperbody. They were old now, healed naturally with the aid of vulnerary. It was the story of his life and how he had lived impressed upon him.

He paid Hemlock no mind, setting to work sorting through what she'd brought. Most of it looked to be the right or nearly the right size, so that was good. He would have to take the best of them to make the lie fit though. He managed to find a blue coat, and some nicer shirt and some breeches that looked like they ought to fit, and went to check. When he came back, he stood for the silver haired Hemlock to inspect, waiting on her judgement. Once they were done here, they could head back out to meet their last young companion.

[Michaela]

The sun ambled across a cloudless sky as Amber awaited the return of her companions. Having finished lunch, Silas returned to his stand to peddle the fruits of his labor. Business was still slow. extremely slow... Michaela gloomily observed as she stared out over an empty town square. Yet between the pregnant pauses of silence, a patron would emerge from the empty alleyways and make their way to Silas' stand. Michaela perked up form her perch on the cart as movement caught her eye. Not them... Did they forget about me? Michaela's hopes of seeing Garnet and Hemlock were dashed as she watched another potential patron approach Silas' stand. The citizen was a short, stout man with a balding pate and a scruffy mustache. Silas appeared to recognize the man, and cheerfully hailed him as he approached.

"Ho there, Jameson, I was starting to wonder if I'd see you today!" Jameson raised his hand in acknowledgement and opened his mouth to reply, but instead doubled over as he started coughing furiously. That sounds just like Hemlock Michaela subconsciously backed further into the depths of the cart, but couldn't help herself as she took a closer look at the approaching patron. His plain, worn clothes matched his lackluster appearance. Based on what she had heard earlier, this wouldn't be the sort of fellow who would be able to satisfy Kieran's demands. Jameson's coughing ceased as he strolled up to Silas' stand. In contrast to Michaela, Silas seemed unperturbed by Jameson's condition and wore a patient smile before he lead the conversation.

"The usual then, Jameson?" Once again, Jameson tried to reply, but was halted by another coughing fit. After a moment, Jameson hacked a grey glob of phlegm on to the pavement. He reddened at the sight and looked abashed as he answered Silas. "Sorry abou' that... Nay, just the cheese this time... Funds are a little low since we sent my son away to Ostia." Michaela crooked an eyebrow at his statement and chimed in, "what? Is he that sick?" Jameson started and looked toward the cart in alarm. He can barely see me since I'm scooted so far back! Michaela chided herself and felt flustered as she clumsily hopped down from the cart. "S-sorry about that... you said your son is in Ostia, does that have anything to do with the illness around here?" Jameson's shock became pleasant surprise. He somehow maintained his pleased expression as he spent the next minute clearing his throat before he responded to Michaela's inquiry.

"Nay miss, we sent the boy off to Ostia to further his learnin'." Another coughing fit rattled Jameson's chest before he countinued. "Ain't no cheap thing, sendin' over to Barek's academy over in Ryerde. Pity that Kieran's such a stickler." Michaela moved a little closer to Kieran, her curiosity piqued. "Kieran, the merchant? What makes you say that?" Jameson's eagerness deflated, he stared at the cobblestone road and shuffled one of his boots as he cautiously replied. "Well, I asked him about gettin tha' cure of his, on accoun' of me and my wife being ill. Took the time to explain why we were short of funds as well... Didn't mean nothing to him, all he said was 'no gold, no cure, need the money up front.'" Jameson scratched his head and bemusedly added, "says we ain't got no credit, wha'ever tha' means." Michaela replied with a grunt and nodded sympathetically. Jameson's story about Kieran more or less matches what Garnet was saying earlier... Jameson broke into another coughing fit, having suppressed it to give his account. As Michaela watched Jameson's shoulders shake, Silas gave her an appraising look and then shot a smirk towards her staff, which was still propped against the cart. Michaela smiled. "Mr. Jameson? Would you mind having a seat on the cart? I'd like to try something..."

Okay... easy ...you can do this. This is just a test... Michaela's knuckles whitened as she gripped the haft of her healing staff. She knelt in the back of the cart, with Jameson laying in front of her, hacking between labored breaths. Michaela had nearly considered covering her face with a cloth before agreeing to this, and only held off because Silas hadn't done so. "St. Elimine, hear my plea..." Michaela's prayer trailed into whispers. She shut her eyes tightly as she directed her attentions inward and toward the healing staff she grasped with both hands.

Healing magic is much more than waving a wand and making problems disappear... That was voice of her mentor, a sister back at the abbey. Healing requires of its servant: focus, faith, and empathy. To know how to heal, you must feel what you are healing. The words repeated themselves in Michaela's mind as she prayed under her breath. The magic crystal set atop her staff started to glow...

Ugh?! This... I feel awful! Frantic thoughts threatened to break the link. Michaela's head throbbed with a dull headache, her throat burned with the urge to cough, and it felt as though someone were sitting on her chest. It was similar and different to treating infirmary patients. Previously Michaela had only treated scrapes and cuts, and had to brush aside pain as she focused on healing. The sensation of feeling ill while performing a healing was more distracting and felt more...abstract, overall. Small wonder that Hemlock is so cranky... Jameson must be the happiest person in the world when he's feeling well... The sensations dulled as Michaela became lost in her own thoughts. She noticed this with a start and brought her full attention to the task at hand: channeling healing magic to right the flaws she could feel within Jameson.

A cold sweat came on as Michaela poured her power into her patient. After several minutes, she felt little change save for her throat being less scratchy. Michaela's breaths started to shorten, and she suddenly felt dizzy. It will come slow at first, don't overexert yourself! Her mentor's voice again, sharp and reprimanding, as it had so often been at the abbey. Michaela halted her healing reluctantly, as she felt much hadn't changed at all. "Ok... It's done..." Michaela panted the words in between puffs of breath. Jameson sat up slowly and looked around with an unreadable expression.

"I'm...sorry..." Were she not so tired and pale, Michaela would have blushed with her apology. She had never 'failed' a healing before. Jameson however, smiled in response. "Sorry?! For what?! I haven't felt this good in a fortnight!" Michaela's exhaustion disappeared, she stared flatly in Jameson's direction, and her tone had a dangerous edge as she voiced a question. "What? A fortnight? You've been ill that long?" Jameson nodded, mutely and uncertainly, and added somewhat optimistically. "Yeah, but it ain't all that bad...If things don't clear up, I should be able to get that cure for me or my wife in a month or so!" Michaela's mouth thinned. She struggled to maintain her composure as she replied. "Hopefully, things will clear up before then... Do you happen to know where Kieran is at the moment?" Jameson nodded, unaware of his conversation partner's change in mood. "Yup, he's been lurkin' around the Red Oxen Tavern lately... since most folks stay inside nowadays." Michaela nodded mutely, her tightened jaw prevented her from doing much else. At that moment, Silas appeared at the back of the cart. "How'd it go?" Jameson beat Michaela to a response. "Wonderful! I can hardly remember feeling better!" Jameson punctuated his exclamation with small cough. Silas raised an eyebrow towards Michaela on hearing the cough, but helped Jameson out of the cart instead. They talked for a short while, and the Jameson departed with a package of goat cheese along with a container of goat milk at Silas' insistence.

Michaela exited the cart and spied Hemlock and Garnet waiting across the square. "That didn't work then?" Silas' tone of voice denied Michaela her temper. With urge to snap at him for asking quenched, Michaela merely sighed. "No...His symptoms should be better for now, but will return shortly. I haven't done illness before, so perhaps that's the issue..." There was a moment of silence, Michaela turned to address Silas. "I'm going to see this 'Kieran' that Mr. Jameson mentioned... Along with my companions over there." Silas smiled in reply, "do whatever it takes." Michaela smiled grimly in reply, her blood boiling at Jameson's injustice. She walked with clenched fists toward her companions at the other side of the square.

"Right, so Kieran's probably at the Red Oxen Tavern, according to a townsperson I spoke with..." Her voice was terse, indignant even as the group made their way towards Kieran's location. She was so angry that she had only spent a minute or so marveling at Garnet's new appearance. Michaela was all for Hemlock's plan now, if only because it afforded her the opportunity to give this merchant a piece of her mind. Michaela halted in the street, there was a red sign in the shape of an ox at the corner ahead of them. "Alright, so if I'm remembering our earlier discussion correctly...I will wait until Garnet's had a chance to introduce himself and create a sense of urgency, then I'll wander in and plead Kieran to reconsider his ways." She surprised herself at how flatly she spoke the words. Deep down, she supposed she still wished that her methods were the correct solution, but an imitation of her mentor's words rang in the back of her mind, unbidden. Sometimes it's going to take more than waving a wand and making problems disappear...

[Mel]

Garnet's original ensemble had been met with a scowl and a firm shake of her head, not bothering to voice her disapproval after having made it quite clear. She sucked in a slow breath through her nostrils and continued to sip slowly on the water he had offered her, eyes flickering over the pile of remaining clothing to find something more appropriate. Alas, as expected from a shoddy backwater town there was hardly anything that would even fit the high standards that she was attempting to achieve. They blue tunic would have to do.

Mel took a step backwards and set the mug back down on the side table with a soft thunk, pushing aside her thoughts on his clothing to find something more substantial to criticize. "Oh!" Her hand sprung up and away, a sharp snap cracking from her fingers as an obvious discrepancy in the faux-courier's story slapped her in the face. "You look too clean to have been traveling. Roll around in the dirt for a while. Run some ink through your hair too."

She pulled her cloak up and tied it back about her waist, eyes lowered as she examined it's folds and racked her brain for anything to add. "And be careful not to sweat. You don't want the ink to run down your neck, else it might be in two halves by the end of the day." Stretching her arms up over her head Mel let out a yawn, raising herself up onto her toes as her shoulders let out satisfying cracks. "It would trouble me. I expect you at the least to be competent, but if you fail..." There was almost a pained look on her face as she mentally ground through the many ways Michaela could cause their plan to fail.

There was a lack of expectations regarding the Godly-wodly girl's performance, and somehow Mel was still expecting to be disappointed.

---

Mel's brow cocked in pleasant bemusement at the radical change in Michaela's demeanor since their last encounter. In fact, she was almost impressed with how dedicated she seemed to their plot with how hesitant she had been originally. She didn't care enough to question it, a sudden and new attitude was unlikely to stick anyways. New found enthusiasm still meant nothing when there was no skill to support it. However. Mel could still throw the god-doggy a bone, she'd done a nice trick.

"Well then. That makes this simpler. You don't have to go see him at all. You two just have to go where he's staying and distract whomever is standing about keeping watch, if anyone for that matter." It was a nice stroke of luck to have the opportunity avoid meeting the merchant. It certainly gave her more time to go through his things if whomever was waiting there had to go fetch him for Garnet to harass. "Better than expected..." Mel's gaze drifted in Michaela's direction, though it was unclear if she was speaking about the cleric's information or the situation.

[Garnet]

Hemlock's reaction to his picks wasn't surprising. The acts that he'd put on in the past had had far more support behind them. And a bank of supplies and skilled staff to go with it. Now there was only what he could see before him. Just Garnet, Hemlock, and the little town out in the sticks. The disguise they came up with dropped in quality to what they had to work with.

"...roll around in the dirt?" He raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. He'd do it, if only because this little venture was growing about as ridiculous as it could. Might as well finish it off. The ink was a practical idea though. He wasn't sure if everyone in this town could write. Actually, it was likely they couldn't, but he'd spied some ink in this house earlier in his stay here. Small favors.

"Alright. Back in a few." Taking the clothes, and a few secondary options in case it didn't quite work out as he hoped, he headed out of the room to put the finishing touches on the unsupported disguise.

- - - - -

There seemed to be something different in the young healer when they came back. She seemed more fired up about something, and acted as though it had focused her in on their goal. He could tell that Hemlock felt the same way as well: the girl's haughty attitude had taken a rest, and it was hard to imagine a better time for that to occur.

"Spending his time in the Ox, hmm? Probably taking advantage of the situation there too..." He nodded at Hemlock's comment about things being simplified. He wasn't too concerned about that. He was getting ready for the role he would need to play. It would either work, or... well.... He'd have to make certain that it worked. The more time he could buy, the better off Hemlock's chances would be.

"Remember. I'm the noble's messenger, and I'll be arguing to get him out of the town. He doubtless won't want to come, unless he really is a skilled healer, but I'll be asking questions to be certain that he can follow through on "My Lord's son's illness." He spared a glance to the darkish hair on his head now. It wasn't black, but neither was it really a blue in color. Merely darkened to some greyish blackish mush of color mixes. It wasn't bright red, and that was the important bit. He carried Hemlock's warning in mind about not sweating. He wasn't sure if he could manage that for long out in the sun.

"Give me some time to find him and get his attention." Garnet said, turning to Michaela. "After that, you can start up for the village. Hemlock should be in the clear once we start." He looked over towards the diminuitive figure, still struggling with her sickness.

"Don't fail us, Little Siverlocks. If I can get them to leave, I'll take them as far as I dare before disappearing."

The disguised swordsman closed his eyes and felt the act that he was going to put on overtake him. He stood up straighter, looked down his nose at people, and put a sharper and less gravelly tone into his voice. The shave, the darker hair, and the blue set of garments were all dressing on the real change. For a little while, he'd stop being the wary soldier, the worn down former guardsman, or the fiery vigilante rendering judgement on his people. For now he would be an overbearing and demanding herald and servant of a noble. And someone expecting to get what he wanted.

"Now, clear a path!" Garnet barked out sharply, fixing a frown on his face as he stepped past the pair. "I'm searching for one 'Kieran the Trader', and I don't have time to entertain Tuscana's masses!"

Garnet pushed in through the doors to the Red Oxen Tavern, in a flurry, and stood straight as he surveyed the inside. It was quiet and subdued inside, and the sudden exposure to light and Garnet's confident stance drew surprised, glances from the villagers. He had just enough shine on him to look like something, though it was covered in a glaze of dirt and "travel grime". Anyone that looked at him too long, he matched with a hawklike glare. The villagers were already scared and abused by this Kieran. He was their only hope though. What else could they do but give him what he wanted.

The mercenary swordsman fought the urge to curse as he saw that Kieran wasn't present, instead using the pause to finish surveying the room. A few looked willing to meet his eyes, and those were the dangerous ones to his act. they might recognize him if they spent too long looking at him.

And then he spoke. The change in his voice left no doubt that this was a completely different person. The crisp and accusatory tones could never belong to Garnet, the quiet mercenary who said little and growled more than he spoke. "I've traveled a long way across Lycia in search of the skills of an able healer...." He paused, and fixed a fervent gaze on one of the ones that had looked up on his entrance. "I've heard there is such a one aiding your hamlet. One Kieran the Trader. Where is he?"

A tough over in the corner sat up as he spoke, and Garnet looked over to the shaded space. He saw the two guards that Kieran kept with him over there. No sign of the wagon driver/assistant of of Kieran himself though. Damn.

"He's here. Whatdo'ya need?" One of the toughs spoke up, as he rose, and a moment later, the other was up on his feet too.

Garnet sighed inwardly. Drunk on too much leeway, these two had turned difficult. They questioned when they should go to their employer. Garnet thought about how his persona would react to these too. Sharp tongued, arrogant, and fiery tempered.... "I need him here. Now!" Garnet snapped. "Clearly, he's not here now, or else I would have introduced myself to him, and I could begin confirming that his skills are up to task. Now, do I look like someone who is used to delays!?"

The tough that'd spoken to him before apparently took offense to Garnet's tone, and started to take a menacing step towards the blue garbed swordsman "You look like someone who could-" His friend put a hand out and stopped him, whispering in his ear, and Angry frowned, glaring back at Garnet and stopping.

He's indisposed at the moment. I'm sure he'll be back soon though. Second Man was alot more restrained in how he spoke. And alot more controlled. It was still a delay though, which wasn't something Garnet's persona would appreciate.

"Indisposed? How?" Garnet put as much intolerance and impatience as he knew how into his words, and was rewarded with a an answer for it as Second Man sat down again.

"He's in the privy, if you must know."

Inside, Garnet felt a laugh coming on. What timing.... Outside though he was sputtering.

"The privy?! I've traveled from Pherae, fought storms, done battle, and evaded monsters. Do you know how little a man's relieving himself means to me at this moment?!" It was for certain. Garnet wouldn't enjoy meeting a man who was behaving as he was now. He'd probably douse the man's head in a bucket of iced water. By the looks of it, that's about what Angry wanted to do. Second Man just gave a mild shrug, and a soft "Isn't worth my time. Go and get him." to Angry.

Angry stalked outside, presumably to do just that, as Garnet waited. He didn't bother sitting. He wasn't sure that someone like who he was playing would accept sitting with those "beneath" him.

[Michaela]

Michaela found unconsciously held tension dropping from her shoulders when Hemlock failed to retort. Well, she did retort, but not with the usual venom. Michaela shrugged the thought off, and felt her temper return as she recalled the situation at hand. Garnet addressed Michaela, outlining his part of the plan, and then fell silent as he appeared to steel himself for what came next. Michaela nodded along, paying rapt attention, but chose to linger at the door as Garnet entered and started to give his big performance.

Garnet's change in demeanor startled Michaela. Her eyes widened as she took in the performance. He was imperious, bold, and confident as he strode into the room, drawing the eyes of Kieran's men and the townspeople almost instantly. Kieran's guardsman made themselves evident almost immediately. One was very short-tempered, and the other, while more calm, seemed like he had slower reactions. Michaela admired Garnet as he struck down their challenges with ill-tempered posturing. Things were going smoothly so far.

"Kieran's missing?" Michaela whispered curses as she surveyed the room, as Garnet had done earlier. Garnet rescued the situation by demanding an audience with him, and Angry excused himself to fetch him. Michaela's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. Something in the room changed with that exchange, but what-- Oh... The townspeople, who had been solemn when they walked in, and then surprised at Garnet's appearance, now looked thoroughly downtrodden. Michaela teased one of her bangs, remembering Garnet's description of events from earlier that day. If Kieran leaves for Pherae, this town loses their savior... Regret accompanied the thought. Perhaps if I had taken action sooner I could have... Michaela blew a strand of hair out of her face in irritation. No time for that.

A plan began to formulate. Garnet's demands run counter to the town's wishes... If I can rally the townspeople... Michaela slipped into the crowd, and proceeded unnoticed after Angry. Hemlock had been correct earlier about Michaela not needing a disguise. After staying on Silas' farm for a month, she had more or less disappeared from the town's memory. Michaela didn't recognize a single patron at the tavern, and they didn't recognize her in return. Perhaps they would recall the Eliminean priestess once she revealed herself.

Angry approached door and hovered a fist before it, preparing to knock. Michaela pounced on the window of opportunity "E-excuse me, what do you think you're doing?!" Michaela raised her voice above what would be considered appropriate indoors and grabbed Angry's shoulder, effectively gaining the guards' attention as well as the tavern's patrons. "We have people here in need of Kieran's services as well!" Angry spun on the spot and fixed Michaela with a nasty glare, and hovered a hand over the hilt of his sword. Michaela felt herself take a step back, eyeing the weapon hesitantly. Silence pervaded the tavern, every eye was fixed on Michaela. She cursed herself for being intimidated and raised her voice as she continued. "Since when do the needs of foreigners take precedent over Tuscanans?" That statement struck a note with the crowd, the tavern was filled with appreciative murmers, and a few hushed 'ayes'.

Angry managed to look angrier as he took a step towards Michaela. Michaela was unsure whether fear or stubbornness kept her rooted to the spot. "And what gives a little girl like you the right to say that." Angry practically spit the word 'girl' out, extending it to demean her. Michaela balked and no longer felt like she was acting as she scathingly replied. "I'm no girl, I'm a sister of Saint Elimine's order." Michaela hesitated, and spotted recognition on a few patron's faces. "And Elimine sent this man, Kieran, to care for this village in their time of greatest need. While townspeople suffer for weeks from this illness, Kieran alone possesses the skill to deliver them from their ailments. It is not Elimine's will for this man to be pulled from that task!" Michaela nearly screamed the last sentence. She felt nauseous as she tallied up that last statement as another lie to confess to later. Curiously, Angry sneered at Michaela, and opened his mouth to reply, but was halted by a pointed stare from the Second Man. Angry scowled, looking hesitantly over the tavern, which was filled with now restless patrons. Angry seemed to consider for a moment, then shrugged and addressed Second Man, who was standing adjacent to Garnet. "Fine, take our dandy friend on his way, Kieran's too busy."

Michaela panicked. I was building a case against Garnet that entire time! Garnet would almost certainly be thrown out, and Michaela didn't fancy her odds against either of the guardsman if things got any more heated. There's only one thing for it... Michaela untied a ribbon holding her hair back, she'd need to become as disheveled as possible in a moment. "And another thing!" Michaela raised her voice even further, so that she was entirely too loud at this point. Angry shot her a look of disbelief. "I've recently learned that Kieran has been charging for his services, this cannot stand!"

Michaela spotted Angry and Second Man sharing a look of panic before decisively nodding. Their primary problem had changed. Perfect. Michaela allowed herself a smile of satisfaction, then stamped her feet and added a fantical pitch: "Saint Elimine would not stand for this! I--" Second Man pounded his fist on a table, drawing the crowd's attention as Angry clapped a hand to Michaela's mouth. Second Man set about pacifying the crowd. "Now let's all calm down! Kieran's going nowhere, our friend here just wants to access his skill..."

Michaela couldn't make out the rest. Angry was dragging her from the room, towards the front of the tavern. Michaela fought with all the tricks she had learned from fighting as a child, clawing at Angry and biting at his hand as he muffled her indignant screams. The disgusted looks some of the patrons shot her way was enough to make Michaela flush with embarrassment. She would willingly seclude herself on Silas' farm for a month after this incident, but every moment of her, Garnet, or the guards being watched was another moment for Hemlock.

Angry unceremoniously deposited Michaela onto the front steps of the tavern. "You're a tyrant! Were your family pigs?!" Michaela screeched the words at Angry, hoping to keep him outside. Angry raised an eyebrow in response, "I'm not the one lying in the dirt." Michaela flushed, and failed to come up with an adequate response. Angry sniggered at her and re-entered the tavern. Michaela rose, and pouted in a secluded corner as she sought to neaten herself up and waited for the other two to exit the building.

[Mel]

It didn't take long for Michaela to be dragged outside the tavern, cheeks flared crimson as she screeched at the muscle. Mel had expected a little more than faint rumblings but she had hardly any room to complain. Nothing was leading their-, her plan astray just yet, but she knew better than to keep all of her hopes on one course of action. Though, she had to admit, it was surprising that it had taken so long for the cleric to be tossed out of the tavern. Their tolerance was commendable.

The guard seated at the head of the wagon took notice of the mousy girl lurking off in the corner after being tossed out by his fellows, wrinkles of concern growing deep in his forehead. In fact the longer that she stood there silently, a pout on her lips whilst she lurked outside the tavern the more concerned he seemed to become. Mel took that as her invitation, the tavern door opening as two more men stalked out with purpose while she climbed up in the back of the sturdy wagon.

She could feel the extra weight cause it to shake ever so slightly and moved quickly, shoving aside a curtain as she hurriedly scanned the cramped space for any familiar tools. There wasn't any sign that the man seated up front had noticed the intruder in the back, but the slight bounce and heavy grind of feet meeting dirt fueled her to search with increased fervor. She listened to the footsteps, worry growing for the slightest moment until it was clear that they were moving further away. Michaela made a great sorry sack, a useful one at that.

The wagon was small for peddling such a high priced product, a thin frame overhead with a tarp pulled taut against the beams. Oddly spaced cupboards hung from the supports, and a small chest lay snuggly in the corner. Mel wished she could smell at least something through the heavy globs of mucus stuffing up her nose, even a slight whiff could unravel some of the questions she held about the merchant's medicine. But without neither a sense of smell nor taste the thief had to work quite a bit harder to find answers. She stepped forward, toes striking the boards first to check for stability before the rest of her weight followed. The quieter Mel stayed the more effective the distractions, and the more time she had left to poke about.

There was a mortar and pestle in one of the cupboards she carefully cracked open, not that it was any surprise to see such a tool. It simply was support for her assumption that he made the draft in the cart. There was something else though, a bundle lying beside it wrapped in waxcloth that drew her attention. She shoved it into her belt and ignored the itch to look into it then and there. There wasn't any sign of medicine just yet, any sort of medicine in that fact. It was puzzling, Mel would have expected at least some bottles sitting about or ingredients. But it was clean, the shelves bare of anything but the necessities. Fresh ingredients daily? If so all it would take was a little observation to see just what they were bringing back.

There was something puzzling about the entire room and Mel couldn't quite shake the prickle in her gut that she was missing some crucial piece of information. She could feel a cough rising in her chest, a weight shoving it's way out of her lungs and nestled in her throat. Even if muffled there was little doubt that a coughing fit would draw someone's attention, more importantly the arms lurking about outside. Michaela couldn't be counted on to react quickly enough to pull their attention back.

Mel blinked, taking notice of the raised voices out front that she hadn't been listening for since entering the covered wagon. She cursed herself, ashamed that she had missed paying attention to something so crucial in her usual line of work. Sickness was consuming her and mistakes were insufferable, even more than the fact that Michaela was somehow keeping her safe with shrill screeches of rage.

The cough bubbled up once and she slammed her hands over her mouth with a thumb pinching each nostril, a soft grunt grinding through as it was shoved back down. There was no time for anything further, Mel had only one place left to search and she lunched towards it. Cold sweaty fingers pried open the chest, an expression of gratitude sent towards a higher power she didn't care for at the lack of a lock. She could feel the pulse in her wrist throbbing, the cough forcing it's way back up her windpipe as she threw back the lid and it slammed into the wall with a muffled thunk. Bottles, corked bottles, small round bottles stood together and Mel let the cough escape.

If the muscle hadn't heard the thunk, they surely heard the grating hack that the small girl expelled from her chest. A hunk of phlegm hit the wall with a wet slap. And Mel, without bothering to catch her breath beforehand gripped two thin bottlenecks between her fingers and pulled them free as she lunged out of the cart and took off at a sprint.