Made in America. No OCs were used in the making of this product. Slash not included.
Health warning: May contain traces of nut(case).
I was still mad at Mike for giving his damsel in distress the reward and worried he'd bring up Jack Bannister AGAIN. So I finished the mead I'd paid for by playing a few card games with merchants and waved for another tankard.
We were low on coin still because of Noble Sir's damned morality, so we were in a clean but cheap and not too respectable inn in a small town called Gorgepoint.
There was, believe it or not, a huge gorge running through the town. I'm not a stranger to heights and climbing after my years of being a cat burglar, but even I don't cross the bridge much.
There were some shady folks and a few members of local brothel there, so I was jumpy as could be and still sober enough to keep my eyes on dagger hilts and exits. And the heavily painted girls from the brothel.
"Fisk!" Michael snapped.
"What? They're advertising. I'm just watching a show."
Truth be told, I was trying to annoy Michael. He'd been polite, avoiding arguing, for the last month. And though I was not looking forward to the next guilt-trip-wrapped-up-in-a-personal-question about Jack Bannister, I had to admit the lack of chatter was making the rides more tedious than the existence of it.
"That's it. What is wrong with you?"
"With me?" I asked. "I'm not the one using the silent treatment for no apparent reason."
It was his turn to look angrily shocked. "The silent treatment?"
"You never shut up, and suddenly you're like a stone wall."
"In case you didn't notice, I lost the love of my life and got thrown off a cliff and beaten up all in one spectacular sweep."
"So that's it? You want pity? I didn't see painful memories of your past being dredged to the surface and then dragged back up every time your supposed best friend opens his mouth."
"Now who's looking for pity?"
I hadn't even noticed that we were standing and the entire room was silent.
"Best friend?" Michael asked quietly.
Damn it, I was hoping he hadn't caught that. "No, that's not what I meant. Don't twist my words."
"There wasn't anything to twist." He replied, grinning as he sat back down. "You said it."
I rolled my eyes and ignored him, returning to my mead. Michael, however, abandoned his drink and watched me curiously. It became a struggle to look casual and still avoid his gaze.
"WHAT?" I asked finally.
"Are we best friends?"
"I don't know! How would I know? I've never…"
"You've never had a best friend?"
I nodded, one short jerking motion.
"Same here."
Why did he have to make things awkward? I wanted to strangle him.
"Well, good night."
I left the empty tankard on the table and hurried off into the room we'd rented. Trouble's leash was tied tightly to the bedframe, and his tail thumped the floor as I came in. I took the bed he wasn't tied to.
"Stay." I told him.
He kept grinning that stupid doggy grin, so I laid down with my back to him.