His heart skipped a beat, as she insisted on looking at his complexion; his face. The range of emotions that crossed her face made his already pained expression worse. She choked on his name, and he bit back everything that came to mind to say. Nothing he could say would fix the way she was feeling.
She asked no questions as she hauled him upright.
Where her fingers touched flesh, she'd be met with clammy, hot skin. After a few minutes of awkward shuffling, with her magic easing some of his symptoms, they found an eluvian.
Stepping through it, they stood in a back alley in Kirkwall. He shifted to stand on his own, once able to lean against the alley's slick wall for support. A moment's rest, before he pushed off of the wall and reached for her hand. He didn't lean on her, merely used her for balance and her magic.
When it came time to go down steps, into a cellar, he paused and exhaled softly.
As they took the stairs slowly, they'd overhear conversation:
"Boss is looking worse every day. But he pays good."
Another voice responded: "That's all the more reason to keep him alive. He's livin' on borrowed time and he knows it. We know it. Boss doesn't seem to care, though."
The chattering died down as he stepped into the cellar, which had a network of tunnels underneath the city. He doesn't address what he'd heard, because he tripped over the last step and stumbled; with Meg behind of him, he had no-one to catch himself on (and if she were still holding onto his hand, she'd find herself yanked with him).
Catching himself on a nearby table, he hauled himself to sit on its bench. The two dwarves who had been talking hurried towards him. One dwarf undid his cloak, then removed his shirt.
The other laid out a dozen or so tools, and climbed up onto the bench beside of him. "You get hit in the chest, Boss? I hear a rattling that wasn't here when you left a month ago." The inventor accused, as they set to work opening the access panel.
Nairn tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, gasping quietly. His fingers were starting to pale; there wasn't enough blood pumping; he wasn't getting enough oxygen. The inventor snapped at the enchanter, who was readying an etching tool.
"We've got to find a new way to make it permanent, or one of these days you'll wander away and won't make it back in time." The enchanter scolded, as they stood on the bench on his other side, leaning against him to etch runes into the metal plating that covered his collarbone.
The inventor worked calmly, and eventually stepped off the bench, dusting off their hands. "Y'know, if we knew savin' you from that 'splosion meant we were stuck with ya, I think we'd pick different." The enchanter grumbled, as they unhooked a coin purse from Nairn's hip. Shaking it, they tossed it to the inventor and stepped down off their bench as well.
He watched them leave, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing. After a few moments, he closed the access panel on his chest, hooked the little latch that kept it closed, and paused. In his bout of panic, he'd almost forgotten Megara was there. She'd been silent, unnaturally quiet. And that was almost as bad as watching her mourn the deaths of him and all of the rest. He'd watched her mourn for him when she thought no-one was looking... He'd watched her fall to pieces, and then plaster a smile across her face. Nairn hated himself, for never stepping from the shadows, for never finding his way back to her. He hated that he so badly wanted to be well before he let her see him; or to die as he should have.
It was his pride that would be his undoing. Or her silence; how he loved the sound of her voice, her silence was almost deafening.
She asked no questions as she hauled him upright.
Always were good under pressure, Meghren.He murmured, as they shuffled toward the nearest eluvian. If he'd had it in him, he'd have chuckled. But it wouldn't have been true amusement.
Where her fingers touched flesh, she'd be met with clammy, hot skin. After a few minutes of awkward shuffling, with her magic easing some of his symptoms, they found an eluvian.
Stepping through it, they stood in a back alley in Kirkwall. He shifted to stand on his own, once able to lean against the alley's slick wall for support. A moment's rest, before he pushed off of the wall and reached for her hand. He didn't lean on her, merely used her for balance and her magic.
When it came time to go down steps, into a cellar, he paused and exhaled softly.
Coterie safehouse.It was all he said in explanation, before he went down first. There weren't many of the group that would know her; they were liable to attack first and ask questions later if she happened upon the younger members of the growing organization.
As they took the stairs slowly, they'd overhear conversation:
"Boss is looking worse every day. But he pays good."
Another voice responded: "That's all the more reason to keep him alive. He's livin' on borrowed time and he knows it. We know it. Boss doesn't seem to care, though."
The chattering died down as he stepped into the cellar, which had a network of tunnels underneath the city. He doesn't address what he'd heard, because he tripped over the last step and stumbled; with Meg behind of him, he had no-one to catch himself on (and if she were still holding onto his hand, she'd find herself yanked with him).
Catching himself on a nearby table, he hauled himself to sit on its bench. The two dwarves who had been talking hurried towards him. One dwarf undid his cloak, then removed his shirt.
The other laid out a dozen or so tools, and climbed up onto the bench beside of him. "You get hit in the chest, Boss? I hear a rattling that wasn't here when you left a month ago." The inventor accused, as they set to work opening the access panel.
Nairn tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, gasping quietly. His fingers were starting to pale; there wasn't enough blood pumping; he wasn't getting enough oxygen. The inventor snapped at the enchanter, who was readying an etching tool.
"We've got to find a new way to make it permanent, or one of these days you'll wander away and won't make it back in time." The enchanter scolded, as they stood on the bench on his other side, leaning against him to etch runes into the metal plating that covered his collarbone.
The inventor worked calmly, and eventually stepped off the bench, dusting off their hands. "Y'know, if we knew savin' you from that 'splosion meant we were stuck with ya, I think we'd pick different." The enchanter grumbled, as they unhooked a coin purse from Nairn's hip. Shaking it, they tossed it to the inventor and stepped down off their bench as well.
He watched them leave, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing. After a few moments, he closed the access panel on his chest, hooked the little latch that kept it closed, and paused. In his bout of panic, he'd almost forgotten Megara was there. She'd been silent, unnaturally quiet. And that was almost as bad as watching her mourn the deaths of him and all of the rest. He'd watched her mourn for him when she thought no-one was looking... He'd watched her fall to pieces, and then plaster a smile across her face. Nairn hated himself, for never stepping from the shadows, for never finding his way back to her. He hated that he so badly wanted to be well before he let her see him; or to die as he should have.
It was his pride that would be his undoing. Or her silence; how he loved the sound of her voice, her silence was almost deafening.
Meg... I can...'Explain' felt wrong. But that's what it was.
Nothing I say will make up for my absence. But may I explain?
11-19-2023, 02:49 PM
