[ He glances up to the damp towel before giving a small nod and plopping down at the table. ]
Ah. Zashiki Warashi are a particularly...
messy
sort of Mononoke.
[ He decides to spare Aoba the specifics (not that he's ever been particularly specific about anything once in his entire life) because quite frankly losing one's appetite after a long day of work probably isn't healthy. ]
I needed to shower afterwards and my hair is particularly reluctant to dry.
Mostly. The nurse outfit requires heels a little bigger than I'd like, but less people attempted to be handsy; I suppose carrying a needle with me is intimidating. I also am a bit sore. I helped the owner move inventory around because his son is in cram school and the other girls aren't really capable of lifting as much.
[Aoba quickly braids her hair to keep it away from the food before they begin their meal.]
[ There's a sympathetic nod. Oh boy has he had that problem before - certainly not nearly as often as Aoba, and definitely not in heels, but people really ought to learn about boundaries. ]
I am sure the needle is a good reminder that paying for one service does not entitle them to others.
It must not have been easy to lift in those shoes. If you like, I have an ointment for sore muscles.
[Once her hair is done she tosses it over her shoulder and begins to start picking at her meal to make sure it's optimal temperature to start digging in.]
[Speaking of food she'll heartily tear into it. She seems content to focus on the food unless he wants to hold conversation while they eat. Her reactions will mostly be a sting of delighted hums and warm sighs at the taste of their dinner.]
[ Far be it for him to interrupt; not after the day she's had. And it's more than a little flattering that she's tackling the meal with such gusto.
But then again, the simpler dishes always seem to feel the most soothing.
He gradually works his way through his own meal, sitting in a sort of comfortable silence with Aoba as sounds of the city filter in. It feels like a nice, lazy night after a long and hectic day. ]
As partings went, it could have been worse. He had wanted to stay with Arthur a little longer, some unease niggling at his baser instincts that he should stick around, that there was something that needed his attention...
But any excuse to do so had been shot down when Arthur had woke him that morning. It seemed their time was to be brief.
He'd made quite a circuit through the wilderness, over the past few months, laying to rest those who had a bone to pick with the living. More than one had been victims of the Murfrees and he would be lying if he said he hadn't let the poor, restless souls get in a bit of payback before he severed them from the cycle of their suffering.
The Medicine Seller found himself once more leaving Rhodes after purchasing supplies for a trip back north, this time alone and on foot, heading once more into the wilderness to walk the paths humans didn't know about.
He'd been trudging up a hillside when he caught a familiar scent, tinged with -
His heart clenched as he followed it to a camp, knowing what he would find. Knowing it was too late for him to do anything.
Arthur wanted to spend more time with the man, but he had work to get back to and figured the medicine seller did too. And so, they parted, neither knowing that the following months would turn into hell on earth for the cowboy.
One thing after another spiraled and spiraled until they were back into familiar territory of the Murfree Brood's former residence of Beaver Hollow. Miss O'Shea was shot right in camp but while something about her confession still didn't sit right with Arthur, he had other problems to tend to and put it out of his mind.
The day of their supposed final job came. He was pushing his limits, exhausted, but knowing he had to get John and his family out before the man he once considered a father figure got them all killed. Then, if he was still alive, he'd disappear.
A coughing fit wracked him and he spat blood and mucus into the fire, running a hand over his mouth and looking at the red that stained his glove before wiping it on his pant leg. Edelweiss nudged her soft nose against his temple and he gave her cheek a pat. "I'm okay girl. I'm okay."
He poured himself some coffee, the morning sun felt good on him and he'd savor an hour or so here before he had to head off he figured. He then looked up at the sound of breaking twigs and his mare also turned her attention toward whoever or whatever was creeping up nearby.
Arthur stood and took out his pistol. "If you're Murfree Brood, I'd advise you to turn your goddamn ass around and leave before I blow your head off" he threatened.
But out stepped a familiar sight.
He smiled. "Well, if it ain't the medicine seller" he said, sitting and holstering his gun.
Arthur was almost an entirely different man to the one the other had met months prior. He'd lost a lot of weight, was pale in the face and his eyes were bloodshot. A constant wheeze also graced his breathing.
It was as he'd feared; a strong scent of blood, and Arthur had wasted away beyond help of treatment. Any attempt to try now would only kill him faster.
But the Medicine Seller was no stranger to death, and Arthur probably didn't want pity, and instead he let his fondness for the other man overtake the heartbreak.
"It is. I had thought something smelled familiar. Would you like some company?"
"Hope that don't mean I been neglectin' bathing" he chuckled, which turned into a short cough.
Arthur nodded and gestured beside the fire. "Yea for a bit anyway, have to get moving in awhile." he said, taking up his cup of coffee and letting the heat of the bitter liquid sooth his throat and chest. Edelweiss came over to the medicine seller and nosed his hand, evidently remembering that he often gave her treats.
"Business doin' well? Encounter anymore cannibalistic creatures lookin' to take a bite outta yea?" he asked.
"Not at all. I just have a keen sense of smell," he said, greeting Edelweiss with a pat and a fresh apple from his box.
He took a seat beside Arthur, close enough they were almost touching, and folded his hands in his lap. If he was heading out soon, they would only have a little while left together.
"Nothing has yet managed to wound me quite so much as the Nae yet. I cannot say you seem so fortunate, however."
When he sat beside him, part of Arthur wanted little more than to pull him into an embrace and perhaps just say screw it all and leave with him. He knew where they could go, a little place by a lake west of here...
But John. Abigail, and Jack...they needed him. They needed him to be there for them. John had a chance for a life. And he'd use his every last breath to ensure he got it if it came to it.
So he sat where he sat, drinking his coffee and listening to the strange soap and medicine seller.
Good to hear he was doing alright for himself, but at the mention of him, he grunted and nodded, "Yea, ain't doing well. Got tuberculosis. And ain't got a lot of time left"
The Medicine Seller has long grown used to being a stranger in strange lands. He is, after all, at such an age where even his birthplace has no one left he recognizes. So traveling across the sea makes little difference to him.
As far as he's concerned, people everywhere, across all times, do not change much. Cultures, traditions, governments? They may vary, but people's hopes, dreams, desires, ambitions, virtues and vices remain relatively consistent.
And so he does what he always does. He sells medicine.
---
It's late evening when he steps out of the Warm Red Pavilion, carefully tucking away the spoils of his latest trade into the confines of his voluminous sleeves. Brothels really were the best when they were run well - always someone in need of a poultice, a powder, or certain... enhancers. He's got himself a cozy little room at the brothel all paid up for the next week, and enough cash to burn that he'll be eating like a king for just as long.
He follows his nose down an alley towards the delicious fragrance of a cart where a merchant is selling buns stuffed delicious meat and vegetables. In his eagerness to sink his fangs into soft, chewy dough full of tasty surprises, he practically stumbles over a person, propped and prone against the side of the brothel.
It is a very good thing that the Medicine Seller tends to be curious and doesn't simply go with his initial suspicion that the man is a drunk sleeping off a bender. No, not with that nasty looking head wound.
The Medicine Seller sighs. Duty, as per usual, calls. His meal of tasty, tasty bao will have to wait.
---
When the stranger wakes, it's amidst plush cushions, gauzy pink curtains, and the overpowering perfumes and incense the brothels use to mask... other odors. His head is bandaged, and there is a tray of plain congee and a pot of medicinal tea set out on a stand by the bed.
Not far off, the Medicine Seller is seated on a table, legs tucked under him and his well manicured hands folded primly in his lap.
Despite his somewhat inhuman countenance, his gaudy attire makes him look quite at home within the ostentatious walls of the Warm Red Pavilion.
"You survived after all," he remarks blandly. "It was a little... uncertain at points."
He doesn't remember taking the first crack on the head, which was a bad sign. He remembers getting hauled up in front of the generals, though. They'd just been so fucking serene as he cursed them for what they'd done.
He doesn't remember how he escaped either, so he'd probably taken more hits then. He'd broken the chains at some point, and when he wipes the blood off his face, a bunch of soot comes off with it. Huh. Well, whatever he'd done, there'd been some flair to it. Shame he wasn't in on the details.
He stole some clothes, bundling up his armor and uniform in a robe. It clanked against bruises every time he took a step. Had to keep going, though. He needed to find a place to lie low. Scrape himself back together and think.
The buzz of danger leaves after a while, and he's just tired. He sits down for a minute to catch his breath, squeeze his eyes shut like it'll stop the headache.
There's a brief moment where he's asleep, and aware of it. All his senses go quiet, and it's a relief.
---
Then he opens his eyes, and immediately squeezes his eyes shut against the smell. No, it doesn't make sense, but it's a lot. Feels like someone's decided to light some incense in his lungs.
This isn't where he was a moment ago.
He sits up, which feels like the biggest mistake he's made all month. It takes him a moment to get his eyes to focus, and a moment more before he realizes that some of the nearby bangles are attached to a person.
"I'm still uncertain about it," he rasps, throat dry. "Where is this?"
"The Warm Red Pavilion," comes the slow, deliberate response. The Medicine Seller gets up off the table to pour the stranger a cup of medicinal tea. It has a strong, bitter scent that sharply cuts through the cloyingly sweet atmosphere, and he passes it to him.
"You were in the alley nearby. Madame has generously permitted you to stay while I treat your injuries."
Generous. He had to pay her an "Extra Guest Fee" to haul this man back to his room! Extra guest fee his tails! She clearly just made that up on the spot. Madame really knows how to squeeze blood from a stone! He can certainly take a guess as to what her specialty used to be when she was still a working girl.
Well, no use sitting in the corner and growing mushrooms about it. Will he ever get his delicious bao...?
"This injury was not from a recent fight. How long have you been wandering about?"
Even the more powerful cultivators would have eventually succumbed to such an injury if left untreated. A potent golden core goes a long way, but sometimes you need some good old fashioned medicine to treat a severe concussion.
"The what?" The details fly straight over Slick's head. Apparently he hadn't gone far, though. Might be a good sign--if the army was onto him, they would've searched here by now.
He takes the cup, but stops, taking a careful sniff. What's in this stuff?
"Hard to tell." He had to lie about this stuff. Or at least half-lie. "I got cornered. Don't remember how I got away." He'd gotten baited out of hiding. A complete miscalculation, he should've known better than anyone that his brothers weren't stupid.
He hasn't drunk any of the tea. Trust isn't something he's got in him at the moment. But... "Nobody else tried to help, I guess. Just you. Who are you?" He doesn't recognize the markings.
The what indeed. If the name weren't a dead giveaway, the decor and ...odors should make it more than apparent they were in a brothel.
"Have you never been to a pleasure house...?" he hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "The Warm Red Pavilion is one such place."
He watches the stranger - watches how he takes in his surroundings, how he examines the medicinal tea and is, understandably, suspicious. Too many attempts at assurance would probably make him clam right up, and that is hardly conductive to sating the Medicine Seller's boundless curiosity. After all, he's never met a mystery he hasn't felt compelled to compulsively pick at like a bored child with their scabby knees.
"I am a foreign merchant from Dongying enjoying a bit of an overdue vacation," he explains. "Simply put, I am a Medicine Seller."
He inclines his head to the tea. "And that is medicine. ...Free of charge."
Oh. That does explain some things. Like why there were enough pillows to smother an elephant. "Haven't found the time."
So, a foreigner here to see the sights, who just happens to sell medicine too. Other spirit soldiers might be trusting enough to find that plausible, but he isn't. The mercantile states have a lot of outsiders working for them. Maybe this medicine seller was being paid, just like he had been.
To do... something. That's where the suspicion falls apart.
He'd been unconscious, long enough to get bandaged up. If he was going to get dosed with anything bad, it would've already happened.
Slick finally drinks, grimacing at the flavor. He tries to find something else to focus on, something... "I had a bundle with me." Where's it gone?
There is the faintest hint of amusement in his low monotone.
"Your things are wedged under the mattress, near the wall."
There is the slow, upward curling of his mouth, as he's clearly taking pride in how good he is at squirreling other people's possessions away.
"...So that when I left to make use of the facilities, no one would steal them."
And yet, he had little issue leaving the massive medicine box he carries completely unattended. (Though it's also not as though anyone can go rummaging willy-nilly in that little spacial nightmare and come up with anything more exciting than his not-so-secret stash of pornography (which is, admittedly, very exciting) and some expired medicine he forgot about a century ago.)
"Do you have any memory of how you sustained such injuries?"
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Prompt List
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tfln for aoba;
[ He glances up to the damp towel before giving a small nod and plopping down at the table. ]
Ah. Zashiki Warashi are a particularly...
messy
sort of Mononoke.
[ He decides to spare Aoba the specifics (not that he's ever been particularly specific about anything once in his entire life) because quite frankly losing one's appetite after a long day of work probably isn't healthy. ]
I needed to shower afterwards and my hair is particularly reluctant to dry.
Did work fare well for you?
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[Aoba quickly braids her hair to keep it away from the food before they begin their meal.]
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I am sure the needle is a good reminder that paying for one service does not entitle them to others.
It must not have been easy to lift in those shoes. If you like, I have an ointment for sore muscles.
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[Once her hair is done she tosses it over her shoulder and begins to start picking at her meal to make sure it's optimal temperature to start digging in.]
It smells so good. Thank you for preparing this.
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[ He smiles, just a little. Not his usual chilly smirk, but there is something a little softer around the edges. ]
deserves good food, no?
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[Speaking of food she'll heartily tear into it. She seems content to focus on the food unless he wants to hold conversation while they eat. Her reactions will mostly be a sting of delighted hums and warm sighs at the taste of their dinner.]
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But then again, the simpler dishes always seem to feel the most soothing.
He gradually works his way through his own meal, sitting in a sort of comfortable silence with Aoba as sounds of the city filter in. It feels like a nice, lazy night after a long and hectic day. ]
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Thread Shenanigans
for unshakencowboah - timeskip to Angst
As partings went, it could have been worse. He had wanted to stay with Arthur a little longer, some unease niggling at his baser instincts that he should stick around, that there was something that needed his attention...
But any excuse to do so had been shot down when Arthur had woke him that morning. It seemed their time was to be brief.
He'd made quite a circuit through the wilderness, over the past few months, laying to rest those who had a bone to pick with the living. More than one had been victims of the Murfrees and he would be lying if he said he hadn't let the poor, restless souls get in a bit of payback before he severed them from the cycle of their suffering.
The Medicine Seller found himself once more leaving Rhodes after purchasing supplies for a trip back north, this time alone and on foot, heading once more into the wilderness to walk the paths humans didn't know about.
He'd been trudging up a hillside when he caught a familiar scent, tinged with -
His heart clenched as he followed it to a camp, knowing what he would find. Knowing it was too late for him to do anything.
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One thing after another spiraled and spiraled until they were back into familiar territory of the Murfree Brood's former residence of Beaver Hollow. Miss O'Shea was shot right in camp but while something about her confession still didn't sit right with Arthur, he had other problems to tend to and put it out of his mind.
The day of their supposed final job came. He was pushing his limits, exhausted, but knowing he had to get John and his family out before the man he once considered a father figure got them all killed. Then, if he was still alive, he'd disappear.
A coughing fit wracked him and he spat blood and mucus into the fire, running a hand over his mouth and looking at the red that stained his glove before wiping it on his pant leg. Edelweiss nudged her soft nose against his temple and he gave her cheek a pat. "I'm okay girl. I'm okay."
He poured himself some coffee, the morning sun felt good on him and he'd savor an hour or so here before he had to head off he figured. He then looked up at the sound of breaking twigs and his mare also turned her attention toward whoever or whatever was creeping up nearby.
Arthur stood and took out his pistol. "If you're Murfree Brood, I'd advise you to turn your goddamn ass around and leave before I blow your head off" he threatened.
But out stepped a familiar sight.
He smiled. "Well, if it ain't the medicine seller" he said, sitting and holstering his gun.
Arthur was almost an entirely different man to the one the other had met months prior. He'd lost a lot of weight, was pale in the face and his eyes were bloodshot. A constant wheeze also graced his breathing.
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But the Medicine Seller was no stranger to death, and Arthur probably didn't want pity, and instead he let his fondness for the other man overtake the heartbreak.
"It is. I had thought something smelled familiar. Would you like some company?"
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Arthur nodded and gestured beside the fire. "Yea for a bit anyway, have to get moving in awhile." he said, taking up his cup of coffee and letting the heat of the bitter liquid sooth his throat and chest. Edelweiss came over to the medicine seller and nosed his hand, evidently remembering that he often gave her treats.
"Business doin' well? Encounter anymore cannibalistic creatures lookin' to take a bite outta yea?" he asked.
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He took a seat beside Arthur, close enough they were almost touching, and folded his hands in his lap. If he was heading out soon, they would only have a little while left together.
"Nothing has yet managed to wound me quite so much as the Nae yet. I cannot say you seem so fortunate, however."
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But John. Abigail, and Jack...they needed him. They needed him to be there for them. John had a chance for a life. And he'd use his every last breath to ensure he got it if it came to it.
So he sat where he sat, drinking his coffee and listening to the strange soap and medicine seller.
Good to hear he was doing alright for himself, but at the mention of him, he grunted and nodded, "Yea, ain't doing well. Got tuberculosis. And ain't got a lot of time left"
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"No," he agreed. "You do not."
There was no point mincing the truth, but he gave Arthur's hand a squeeze all the same. Arthur had maybe days at most.
"In your next time around, would you like me to look for you?"
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how it should have ended lmao *gross sobbing*
totally did not get a little teary eyed over arthur nope, nuh uh not me *ugly cries*
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just pretend there's definitely a nook in the house with a tub <_<
i am fully prepared to chuck canon out the window for the sake of bathtime
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will never forgive rockstar for denying us arthur with a scar after the colm incident lol
for all the detail they put in the game and they didn't think to do that
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For Slick
As far as he's concerned, people everywhere, across all times, do not change much. Cultures, traditions, governments? They may vary, but people's hopes, dreams, desires, ambitions, virtues and vices remain relatively consistent.
And so he does what he always does. He sells medicine.
---
It's late evening when he steps out of the Warm Red Pavilion, carefully tucking away the spoils of his latest trade into the confines of his voluminous sleeves. Brothels really were the best when they were run well - always someone in need of a poultice, a powder, or certain... enhancers. He's got himself a cozy little room at the brothel all paid up for the next week, and enough cash to burn that he'll be eating like a king for just as long.
He follows his nose down an alley towards the delicious fragrance of a cart where a merchant is selling buns stuffed delicious meat and vegetables. In his eagerness to sink his fangs into soft, chewy dough full of tasty surprises, he practically stumbles over a person, propped and prone against the side of the brothel.
It is a very good thing that the Medicine Seller tends to be curious and doesn't simply go with his initial suspicion that the man is a drunk sleeping off a bender. No, not with that nasty looking head wound.
The Medicine Seller sighs. Duty, as per usual, calls. His meal of tasty, tasty bao will have to wait.
---
When the stranger wakes, it's amidst plush cushions, gauzy pink curtains, and the overpowering perfumes and incense the brothels use to mask... other odors. His head is bandaged, and there is a tray of plain congee and a pot of medicinal tea set out on a stand by the bed.
Not far off, the Medicine Seller is seated on a table, legs tucked under him and his well manicured hands folded primly in his lap.
Despite his somewhat inhuman countenance, his gaudy attire makes him look quite at home within the ostentatious walls of the Warm Red Pavilion.
"You survived after all," he remarks blandly. "It was a little... uncertain at points."
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He doesn't remember how he escaped either, so he'd probably taken more hits then. He'd broken the chains at some point, and when he wipes the blood off his face, a bunch of soot comes off with it. Huh. Well, whatever he'd done, there'd been some flair to it. Shame he wasn't in on the details.
He stole some clothes, bundling up his armor and uniform in a robe. It clanked against bruises every time he took a step. Had to keep going, though. He needed to find a place to lie low. Scrape himself back together and think.
The buzz of danger leaves after a while, and he's just tired. He sits down for a minute to catch his breath, squeeze his eyes shut like it'll stop the headache.
There's a brief moment where he's asleep, and aware of it. All his senses go quiet, and it's a relief.
---
Then he opens his eyes, and immediately squeezes his eyes shut against the smell. No, it doesn't make sense, but it's a lot. Feels like someone's decided to light some incense in his lungs.
This isn't where he was a moment ago.
He sits up, which feels like the biggest mistake he's made all month. It takes him a moment to get his eyes to focus, and a moment more before he realizes that some of the nearby bangles are attached to a person.
"I'm still uncertain about it," he rasps, throat dry. "Where is this?"
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"You were in the alley nearby. Madame has generously permitted you to stay while I treat your injuries."
Generous. He had to pay her an "Extra Guest Fee" to haul this man back to his room! Extra guest fee his tails! She clearly just made that up on the spot. Madame really knows how to squeeze blood from a stone! He can certainly take a guess as to what her specialty used to be when she was still a working girl.
Well, no use sitting in the corner and growing mushrooms about it.
Will he ever get his delicious bao...?"This injury was not from a recent fight. How long have you been wandering about?"
Even the more powerful cultivators would have eventually succumbed to such an injury if left untreated. A potent golden core goes a long way, but sometimes you need some good old fashioned medicine to treat a severe concussion.
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He takes the cup, but stops, taking a careful sniff. What's in this stuff?
"Hard to tell." He had to lie about this stuff. Or at least half-lie. "I got cornered. Don't remember how I got away." He'd gotten baited out of hiding. A complete miscalculation, he should've known better than anyone that his brothers weren't stupid.
He hasn't drunk any of the tea. Trust isn't something he's got in him at the moment. But... "Nobody else tried to help, I guess. Just you. Who are you?" He doesn't recognize the markings.
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"Have you never been to a pleasure house...?" he hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "The Warm Red Pavilion is one such place."
He watches the stranger - watches how he takes in his surroundings, how he examines the medicinal tea and is, understandably, suspicious. Too many attempts at assurance would probably make him clam right up, and that is hardly conductive to sating the Medicine Seller's boundless curiosity. After all, he's never met a mystery he hasn't felt compelled to compulsively pick at like a bored child with their scabby knees.
"I am a foreign merchant from Dongying enjoying a bit of an overdue vacation," he explains. "Simply put, I am a Medicine Seller."
He inclines his head to the tea. "And that is medicine. ...Free of charge."
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So, a foreigner here to see the sights, who just happens to sell medicine too. Other spirit soldiers might be trusting enough to find that plausible, but he isn't. The mercantile states have a lot of outsiders working for them. Maybe this medicine seller was being paid, just like he had been.
To do... something. That's where the suspicion falls apart.
He'd been unconscious, long enough to get bandaged up. If he was going to get dosed with anything bad, it would've already happened.
Slick finally drinks, grimacing at the flavor. He tries to find something else to focus on, something... "I had a bundle with me." Where's it gone?
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There is the faintest hint of amusement in his low monotone.
"Your things are wedged under the mattress, near the wall."
There is the slow, upward curling of his mouth, as he's clearly taking pride in how good he is at squirreling other people's possessions away.
"...So that when I left to make use of the facilities, no one would steal them."
And yet, he had little issue leaving the massive medicine box he carries completely unattended. (Though it's also not as though anyone can go rummaging willy-nilly in that little spacial nightmare and come up with anything more exciting than his not-so-secret stash of pornography (which is, admittedly, very exciting) and some expired medicine he forgot about a century ago.)
"Do you have any memory of how you sustained such injuries?"
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Thing 4