Esme moved on from the apple, setting the core aside. She cut her bread into slices and speared a piece on the prongs of a fork. By the time she heard a man vomiting in the bushes, she was well on her way to having toast and cheese over a tiny candle flame.
But he did rather ruin her appetite. Grabbing the candle and shuffling toward the back of the wagon, she cracked open the back door. There was an elf bent over in the thin light, a few horse lengths away. Golden haired, angular, exceedingly short.
”That sounds ill advised. Had a bit too much to drink, have we?” No, maybe not. The longer she looked, the more it became clear something else was wrong. Puking sucked, certainly, but not enough to cause tremors like that. It wasn’t cold out and he didn’t seem otherwise in the grip of an anxiety attack. Withdrawals? Or else something she wouldn’t be able to do fuck all about. Esme stuck her head out, peering back towards the tavern as if wondering whether this clearly very ill man had anyone else to look after him.
It seemed not. Shakes were bad. So were strange men. She heaved a big sigh, making up her mind.
”Okay, I might be able to sort you out. Come in. Try anything and I’ll shoot you.” The low ceiling made movement awkward, potentially revealing her false leg as she crab walked back to the bench and stool on the other end of the space. That left the stranger with her nest of blankets to sit in. She fervently hoped he wouldn’t be sick in them.
But he did rather ruin her appetite. Grabbing the candle and shuffling toward the back of the wagon, she cracked open the back door. There was an elf bent over in the thin light, a few horse lengths away. Golden haired, angular, exceedingly short.
”That sounds ill advised. Had a bit too much to drink, have we?” No, maybe not. The longer she looked, the more it became clear something else was wrong. Puking sucked, certainly, but not enough to cause tremors like that. It wasn’t cold out and he didn’t seem otherwise in the grip of an anxiety attack. Withdrawals? Or else something she wouldn’t be able to do fuck all about. Esme stuck her head out, peering back towards the tavern as if wondering whether this clearly very ill man had anyone else to look after him.
It seemed not. Shakes were bad. So were strange men. She heaved a big sigh, making up her mind.
”Okay, I might be able to sort you out. Come in. Try anything and I’ll shoot you.” The low ceiling made movement awkward, potentially revealing her false leg as she crab walked back to the bench and stool on the other end of the space. That left the stranger with her nest of blankets to sit in. She fervently hoped he wouldn’t be sick in them.
04-27-2024, 07:49 PM
