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A moment wherein Tomlyn is tending to Sylf's wound and they chat about their respective homes.

Timeframe: Pre-Row House

Sylf grit her teeth as the fabric of her shirt jostled against her open wound. "Watch it!" she hissed.

"Sorry!" Tomlyn said from behind her. "Lemme try again."

He moved his knife more slowly through the fabric this time and gently removed the blood-stained cloth. He whistled, low and loud. "Wow, they got you good. Looks like it's clotting though, so you won't die from bleeding out."

Pain swelled in her as she breathed deeply. "Can you at least give me some liquor? This fucking hurts."

"Sure, sure," he said lazily. But he got up swiftly and quickly returned with the cheap whiskey he brought over the last time he visited her shabby apartment. She loathed his choice in liquor, but she took the bottle anyway and downed a gulp. She shoved the bottle into his chest, coughing as the liquor burned her throat and made her stomach churn.

"I think this will be better if you lay down," he said slowly, observing her. He helped her move to the bed and strip out of her dirty trousers and boots. She laid on her stomach and Tomlyn brought over some water for her to drink, the whiskey, and a bowl of hot water and soap. A clean rag was draped over his broad shoulder, and she watched him frown as he inspected the wound.

"Any deeper you would be dead for sure. And any earlier, I wouldn't have been there to distract them. You are really lucky, you know that?" He didn't wait for a reply before leaving her side to rummage through his bag. When he returned, he was holding a small jar with a lid. "I just picked this up from Doc's before running into you, too."

"How much?" she grunted.

Tomlyn set the jar down next to him and took the rag, dipping it in the water. Then, she felt the warm rag against her skin, cleaning the dirt and dried blood away.

"Cost me nothing."

"Hah. Sure."

"In the sewers near the guardhouse, there's a small spot where this mustard fungi grows. It's pretty common back home so my Grandmother taught me, well taught all of us, how to make a strong salve from it. Anyway, I can't make it here myself, but Doc can. So, I told him the recipe, gave him the fungi, and I get some of the salve for free."

He set the rag aside and grabbed the jar, twisting the lid off. Sylf scrunched her nose at the horrid, acrid smell.

"That smells disgusting."

Tomlyn brought the jar to his nose and sniffed. "Does it?" he shrugged. "Smells like my Grandmother's room."

"Did she wear it as a perfume?" Sylf snorted.

Tomlyn paused, his hand covered in the brownish-yellow salve hovering over her side. Then, he frowned. "Now that I think about it, there was always this haze in her room, like an incense with this smell. I guess, because she was sick." He murmured something in Undercommon, but she didn't know what.

She could relate a little to the feeling of familiarity in objects—she always associated tall, billowing curtains with the open arches and freshness of her mother's room.

When the salve touched the gash, her skin felt as though it were on fire. She cried out, grabbing the bedding in pain.

"Oh, yeah, that's infected. This is going to hurt. Sorry, Sylf. Here." He helped her take another shot of the whiskey and she started to feel the numbing effect, but, as he applied the salve, pain still spread through her.

"What's it like? The Underdark?" She asked, struggling to get the words out through the blazing pain. She needed a distraction.

"My home?" He asked, surprised. "Kinda like everywhere else. Some good, some bad, just depended on who you were."

"And for you?"

"Some good. A lot of bad. My family is intense," he shrugged.

"You're not intense," she replied.

"Nope. That's why I cut my losses and came up here." He sighed longingly. "I came out of the Underdark at night, in a forest. For a minute I thought everything I knew about the surface was a joke because, you know, everything was still dark. But then, I saw the stars and knew that I had made it out.

"The forest was overwhelming, so I climbed up a big boulder to try and get my vantage point. I stayed there for the rest of the night, just in awe. And the sunrise…" He chuckled fondly, recalling the moment. "When I saw that first sunrise, I knew I made the right decision and never looked back."

She felt tired now. The whiskey made her head hazy, and her body started to feel warm, hot even.

"What about you?" he asked.

"My home?" she replied. She focused all her energy responding to the question. "Lots of forest. Pretty waterfalls. But boring. It's far more exciting here."

"Hah! You would prefer a roguish lifestyle over a nice quiet life in the forest. I don't blame you. Nature is awful."

Sylf wanted to smirk, but everything was groggy and the focus she mustered before was failing. She closed her eyes, wanting to rest her mind and thoughts for just a moment. Then she felt the cool press of a palm against her forehead.

"Oh, shit. You're feverish."

He forced her to drink more water and she felt a cold, wet, rag rest on her forehead. It felt nice. Tomlyn was nice.

"Aaaah, I'm out of money. I need money. Shit, where does she hide everything?"

She lifted her hand limply in the general direction of one of her stashes. "Careful," she mumbled.

After a few moments, Tomlyn found one of her stashes, but then his whole body jerked back. "Periti's Balls, Sylf, why do you have traps on everything?! Crazy woman."

"My money."

"Yeah, yeah your money." He came into her view, and she forced her eyes open to see him. He was blurry, but she could still make out his broad shoulders and his stark white hair. She liked his hair. It was soft and pretty when it was clean.

She felt his cool, rough fingers push back her hair and rest lightly on her face. "Listen, I'm going to run out to Doc and get you more meds, okay? I'll be right back."

He began to pull away from her, and she closed her eyes again. "I'm glad…you left," she sighed. Then, she resigned herself to sleep.

~*0*~

When Sylf awoke, there was an intense throbbing in her side, her mouth was dry, and she felt sticky, as though she was covered in sweat. She tried to push herself up, but horrid pain shot through her and she groaned.

"Woah, woah, take it easy!" Tomlyn rushed over to her and helped her turn over so she could sit up. He handed her some water and she drank it greedily.

"What happened?" Sylf coughed. She felt pain all though her side and her head was pounding.

"Uh, I saved your ass is what happened. You're welcome, by the way."

She waved him off dismissively. "I remember that. I think you went to get Doc?"

"Oh, yeah. I got the meds. Had to wake you up and force you to drink it though. That was kinda rough. But it worked!" He poured her more water and asked apprehensively, "So, how are you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"You look like shit," he agreed. "Want to visit the bathhouse and clean up? We can go at an odd time. Less people."

She sighed. "Yeah." She watched him as he moved about her apartment. It looked like the hidey hole where she kept her gold, and other valuables, was back in place. Over in the small kitchenette Tomlyn was standing over a large pot, his hand on his hip while inspecting the pot's contents conspicuously.

In spite of the pain and aches in her body, she couldn't help but smile a little. Trusting Tomlyn was always a risk, but one that paid off in more ways than one. She was thankful for his friendship and glad she had someone to watch her back. And, well, it was a bit of a perk that he was incredibly attractive; she couldn't deny the charm of his swagger and the allure of his lean, toned body. But, maybe, they could be a bit more. That would be…nice.

"Tomlyn," she called.

He hummed in response as he served a bowl of the pot's contents. He brought it over to her, and the stew smelled delicious.

"I've decided to move out of the Undercity."

He paused for a moment before setting the bowl next to her. He licked his lips and then frowned. "Huh. Okay. Well, I guess—"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not moving out of town. I don't have the details finalized yet, but I'll be living somewhere else soon. I'll show you when it's done."

He looked at her appraisingly and then grinned. "Alright, well, just make sure I'm invited to help," he paused briefly to wink, "break it in."

Sylf feigned disinterest, but with her current state it was clearly fake. "Hm, well, perhaps I can be accommodating if you cook for me again in exchange."

"Hey, this was a limited time deal. It's not like you could get up or anything."

"Mm, maybe I'll have to get injured more often. I like you running around and waiting on me," she teased, smirking a little.

He flashed her a wide grin. "I'd rather you not. And I may be waiting on you now, but you're the one paying for it."

At that, her good spirits vanished. "What? How much of my gold did you spend?"

"Uh…Not sure? You have enough to cover it, it's fine!" She scowled at him, but he stood up out of her grasp. "Look I've got an errand to run, but I'll be back, okay?"

"You're just running away from me," she growled.

"Yep. See you around, Sylf."

He was across the room, far from her questioning and wrath, and near the door when she called. "We're still going to the bath, right?"

He stopped and turned to her, a wolfish grin on his handsome face. "As if I'd miss an opportunity like that." She rolled her eyes and he laughed. "Okay, but seriously. Stay put. Don't try to get up—I know you—and I'll be right back."

When he was gone, Sylf leaned back and sighed. Figuring the stew was cool enough to eat now, she reached for the bowl and noticed the black diamond ring was back on her finger. She stared at it and smiled.

Sylf was going to have a new home soon, somewhere that she could stay safe for a long, long time. And, perhaps, it was somewhere Tomlyn could be safe too.