Twit. He grumbled, Wonder if she knows everything you've done to get us here. 'Us' being Nairn and Megara. Nairn's not an idiot; well-aware that without Ruth's help, he'd never have snagged the girl.
He chuckled quietly, as he pointed out the one positive in all this. That she wasn't a bitch, and wouldn't take his actions out on his son. No, she's not a cruel one. But she should be. I deserve it. He murmured, resting his head against his fist, knuckles pressed to his temple. I've been more than cruel. A disappearing act; watching her try to forget, fail to forget, and resign to a life alone with ghosts...
He shoved the bottle towards Ruth, and muttered, Hearth Keeper best keep her nose out of my business. She ain't got a say, ain't her life. He snapped, before he paused.
Ruth scoffed. What I did was the bare minimum, refusing any praise for looking after someone who deserved far more than his poor attempts. He may have helped fan the man’s courage in speaking to her, but she’d proved her loyalty to his friend over and over. Never seen anyone fight for someone like she does for you.
No. Meg wasn’t a bitch and she wasn’t known for losing her temper often. Her silence might seem cruel though, but she’d rather say nothing than something hurtful. Dunno if that’s worse though. Maybe she’ll let it all out on you once she’s had time to think. Ruth shrugged, placing his hand behind and resting his head on them. It was going to suck ass and not the good way either.
He sucked air through his teeth though, taking the bottle from his friend after he spat out the nosy passenger. Yeah. Sylaise… Sylaise won’t do shit without her say so anyways, but you can bet your ass she’ll have a thing or two to say. She scares me more I’ll be honest. Creepy Ancient witch.
Shaking his head, Ruth was about to take a swig when Nairn bolted upright. Um… 20th? It’s Thursday. Why? Brow rose as he finished taking a sip, staking claim on the bottle by holding on to it until Nairn clarified why the date was so important.
Nairn snorted. I'd have never talked to her, without you. And he rubbed his face with both hands, Fuck, she's gonna be dead silent.
He groaned at the date. Fuck. She's been in a restaurant over in Starkhaven for the last... he rubbed his face again. ...Tonight was date night. To make up for fucking her house up.
The realization quickly followed that, no matter what he did, he couldn't show up at their failed date. And he sank back into his chair, and reached for the bottle again. Fuck it. Hit me in the chest. I'll tell her I had a bad assignment, needed maintenance. But that's gotta be real. If he refused, Nairn was already considering what wires in the access panel he might cut with his knife, and whether his friend was sober enough to get him help in time.
No. You might have killed me though, cos I’d have kept trying to, he snickered, then his head began nodding slowly. Yep. And so pissed.
Ruth rubbed his nose, Are you serio- You’re serious. He’d swear, voice grumbling at the idiot across from him. She’d be worried sick, thinking he was dead, or worse, was stuck somewhere. Her head would be a maze of spiralling possibilities.
But no. It got even worse when Nairn asked him to hit him. WHAT?! Ruth sat up, his one eyes glaring at him. And get hung for murdering you? What am I saying, she wouldn’t hang me, she’d make it hella painful. She’d hatch eggs in me, an huge exaggeration, use my corpse for god-knows what.
Ruth brandished a finger at him. No, you gotta make it that it’s not my fault. I ain’t doing shit without your engineer’s around. Fuck right off if you think dying is going to get you out of this.
Nairn scowled, Fuck you. C'mon. I won't die. Probably. He grumbled at his best friend, in part because he was right. He rubbed a hand down his face, and sighed, moving to stand.
You goes find her? I'mma go make this looks real. Not as steady as he'd normally be; yet he was steadier than most would be. He sniffed, Jus'... tell'er was an accident on a job. Don' worry 'bout specs.
He felt guilty about lying to the love of his life, but not guilty enough to back out of it, or keep his friend out of it. Thanks for the advice, he did a half-hearted salute, as he turned to exit the repository.
Fuck me? Fuck you, this is your mess, dying is not gonna fix it. Ruth argued back, unnerved by the idea of doing anything that would permanently fuck his friend. Frowning, he quickly followed Nairn to his feet though not as gracefully. He stumbled, his depth perception only worsened by the mixture of alcohol and bump.
Tell her ‘bout something I ain’t fucking certain of? fuck no. I’mma pass on that straight up. If I go get her, tell her a half-tale, she gonna have questions, he spread his hands, you think I’m not gonna fuck it up? His body swayed, eye still starring at him with a serious look. Then as Nairn made a beeline for the door, Ruth blinked in surprise No he fucking didn't, quickly grabbing the rum and stumbling after him. Oi! Fuck face! Not without me you ain’t! If anyone’s gonna hit you it’s gonna be me!
Even if Nairn told him to stop, Ruth was too stubborn to listen, following after the assassin through the eluvian to Kirkwall.
Nairn scowled, as he stumbled through the eluvian, Ruth hot on his heels. He turned and shoved the other man, Fucker. Knew you wanted to hit me. He snorted, an almost laugh, as he took a step backwards and studied the neighborhood they'd stepped into.
This'll do. He murmured, Hi' me. If it wouldn't be such a devastating blow, to be hit in the chest, he's certain this would almost seem like two fucked up fools having fun with one another. How often had he goaded Ruth into hitting him, back in the day, just because he could?
Don't want witnesses, the street was currently empty.
Mind the rum! Bastard! his free arm shoved him back, legs quickly regaining his footing.
Ruth glared at him, hand curling into a fist. His back straightened with those words. Yep, cos you’re fuckin’ it up, Nairn. You’re bein’ a lil bitch. He shot back before eyeing the street and then returning to focus on the chest piece. Lifting the bottle of rum to his lips, Ruth swore luridly in dalish taking a long draw of the sweet nectar.
No magic o’ course, wiggling a finger at him and shaking his head, I fuckin’ hate you, I’mma break my fuckin’ hand!. Groaning, Ruth set the bottle down and squared up to Nairn, slowly wandering closer. It didn’t take much to stir the elf’s quick fuse, especially so inebriated, fist first appearing to be going for his nose until his other followed.
A hard jab landed across Nairn’s nose, breaking it before his other landed heavily against the plate, a curse and grunt of pain cracking and echoing through the street.
Motherfucker what fuckin’ metal even is that! You fuckin’ dickhead, I broke my fuckin’ wrist!
Nairn grunted, not expecting the punch to his nose. One hand cupped his nose, as he stumbled—and Ruth's next hit landed where he'd said; knocking the inebriated half-elf down. Blue eyes glared up at him, as blood from his nose dripped between his fingers. Fuck.
Though, a few seconds of glaring quickly melted away into quietly gasping for breath. His free hand press to the chest plate, fingers trailing the dent Ruth had put into it, dead-center. Trying to find the access panel door, only to find it bent inwards, unable to pry it open.
He held his free hand out, towards the hand Ruth didn't hit him with. Help... me up. He was going to be dizzy as hell, trying to walk. And he wasn't going to be able to pinpoint whether that was because of the alcohol and lyrium in his system, or because of the malfunctioning chest plate.
It wasn't as bad as when he'd ran into Megara, that very first time, though. Then, he'd only kept walking because she'd been forcing magic into his system. So, at least there was that.
Ruth wrapped his palm around the broken wrist, a distorted, stuttered flow of magic began pooling into it. Bones realigned with sound click and a sharp curse from the elf before his own gaze fell on Nairn, flashing him a harsh smirk. Didn’t expect that, eh?
The brief one up was short lived and Ruth quickly went to pull Nairn back up, wincing at the pain flaring in his hand from the swollen wrist. The two swayed in their steps towards sanctuary, though Ruth wasn’t sure they had the time as he took Nairn’s arm bringing it over his shoulder in support to keep him up.
You know… I don’t think we’re far from someone's... Head swivelling, Ruth recognised the street. Her place was on the way to the Coterie entrance - if she was in, perfect, if not - they’d only waste a few minutes. Nairn seemed stable enough to cope. Let’s see if Spiderbait is home.
Mmm, nah. Deserved it, he mumbled, fingers curling into the other man's shoulder, bunching the fabric of Ruth's shirt under his fingers. They were swaying; wobbly, both injured and yet Nairn didn't fear for his life. Just goes to show how much he trusted his friend (and now, once again, partner in crime).
Who..? He grumbled, not recognizing the name. Though it didn't sound like a name, more like a nickname or pet name. Quiet breaths, that rattled in his throat, he shuffled along with Ruth.
Ruth scoffed, True. Also, no-one gets the 'Fuck up' crown. We all know it’s mine. His swollen left hand wrapped tighter around the man’s waist as they began a meandering path down the street.
Spiderbait? Ah, yeah, her. A spicy wee ‘warf is all, there was a small shrug there. Owes me a favour. Pretty sure… yeah, there it is, he turned abruptly, his bruised hand gripping the one of Nairn’s that hung over his shoulder to check-in on the fool. She’s an engineer of sorts… family business or, something, was too drunk at the time.
Another shrug and turn brought the pair in front of a small cottage. Might be a lost cause, might tell us to fuck off, but you never know, he’d offer, reaching over to pound on the door and oddly straightening a little a wide smirk beginning to sprawl across his face. Might be I make her as pink as Ruthmillion again, don’t hold it against her though, she got brains this one.
Theodora lived outside of town for a reason. She liked her sleep, and more importantly, she liked having her home, the small thing it was, be a refuge of sorts from the towns and cities out there. And besides which, she needed a place to work at times, and now was one of those times.
Hunched over her workbench, the forge full flame, she was heating an ingot up to snuff for her to beat out a new blade for her hand crossbow. The blade had to be done in steel, otherwise it wouldn't bend and snap back appropriately, even after she had worked the gear box for the repeater in place. Sweat poured down her face and cheat, dressed in as little as possible, all her windows open to the night air as she worked, she pulled the ingot, glowing bright pink from the forge to take over to her anvil. Raising her hammer, she tapped the head into a small dish of water set on the anvils edge, hit the horn twice and was raising her well muscled arm to strike metal when she heard voices and a knock on her door.
Eyes narrowed, she slipped the ingot into the cooler coals to keep it at least withing a few minutes of being back up to temperature and grabbed a rag to wipe her hands and face off with as she headed to the door, opening it, assessing the two men on her porch.
You get ten words, before I go get Vera, and none of those involve my state of dress, nor an offer to keep me company in my bed because I can smell the damned drink off ya from here.
She opened the door and he’d barely flashed her a grin and she was already chewing him out. Ruth sighed, seeming deflated before it flipped and his head was turning to Nairn. See, Spicy he’d chuckle, hands shifting to hold Nairn by the shoulders.
Cheer up, Spiderbait. I bring you a defective puzzle.
There. Exactly, ten words and boy was he smug about it, briefly peeling a piece of Nairn's shirt to reveal the mechanism. Leaning forwards, Ruth winked, hand then giving a 'gimme more words,' just to spite her.
She counted out the words on her fingers as he spoke and then leaned forward some as the shirt was lifted away. Fuck me.. It was low, and a bit in wonder as she realized what it probably was, mind already starting to whirl as to what lay underneath. Dwarven in construction, she was immediately intrigued.
Set him down at the table, I'll get my tools. Theo stepped back from the door way and motioned to the table, as she went over to pull the slide door of her bed, and close the door of her wardrobe as she pulled a robe out, not bothering to tie it, but at least that counted as being more dressed, right? She popped over and grabbed what she thought she'd need and padded back into the main room. Which mechanic installed that contraption? Weren't named Hazel and Brock were they? She was pretty certain her parents wouldn't have had any part of this, but never hurt to ask.
