"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?"
He pauses, reaching into the pillow swarm to feel around. There's a large lump under the mattress. Okay. He'll have to... something. He should probably get rid of it all, but throwing away his only protection just feels wrong.
For all the good it did. He'd lost his helmet and used all the tricks he'd kept hidden on his belt, and the rest of it hadn't helped much. He glances down at the bruises visible under his stolen clothes, considering how to answer that question. "I got in a disagreement with a few people. They didn't take it well."
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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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?
no subject
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?"
no subject
For all the good it did. He'd lost his helmet and used all the tricks he'd kept hidden on his belt, and the rest of it hadn't helped much. He glances down at the bruises visible under his stolen clothes, considering how to answer that question. "I got in a disagreement with a few people. They didn't take it well."