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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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."