Chapter 6
When Jaraxle saw the boy approaching him with determined strides, he stood from his chair, slapped on his charming grin and greeted the boy when he was still a few feet away with a flourish of his hat. At being made aware of Artemis' involvement in the boy's errand, that grin faltered just slightly as he thanked him before dropping a few coins on the table – one into the boy's hand – and sweeping across the inn's common room towards the stairs. On seeing his partner standing at the top of the stairs – not looking very stable on his feet – he walked as quickly as he might run, before draping an arm that for all appearances was casual as he led the stubborn human back to their room. It wasn't until they were back in their inn room, with the door shut, that the grin dropped along with the casualness.
Jarlaxle continued to watch Artemis as the man sat down on his bed, and seemed to all but sink into it. "If you were intending on saying you are feeling better, I'm afraid I am inclined to disagree." He crossed his arms across his chest, and heard his partner give out a small snort in response. He waited for another few minutes, but nothing else appeared to be forthcoming. So he sat down on the edge of his own bed, facing Artemis.
An arm lifted up, and a hand was held out in his direction. The drow scrunched his eyebrows together, not understanding the man's gesture.
A few more seconds passed before Artemis spoke, his hand still out, palm down. "Look."
"At your hand?"
"Yes, my hand. What else would I be referring to?" The assassin snapped at him, lifting his head from its bowed position to glare at the drow.
Jarlaxle held up his own hands in the placating gesture. "Alright, alright." He stood and walked the few steps to get close enough to look. He peered down at his partner's hand.
At first, he didn't understand why he was looking at Artemis' hand. It only took a few seconds, however, to take note that there was something very different about it. The skin on his hand was two different colours. Furthermore, it appeared to extend from his fingertips to his wrist. It wasn't an even split of colour; it was splotchy, like someone had put a coat of something over his hand and then had tried to wipe it off. His normal skin tone – the sun-kissed skin typical of Calishites with the grey undertone – continued on unblemished after his wrist. The splotches were...moving? He leaned closer, face only a few inches away. They are moving. The edges of the splotches seem to dance, waxing and waning, but mostly growing in how much of Artemis' hand they covered.
"Abbil?" He looked up at Artemis' face, curious and unsettled. Slightly tired, but still-sharp grey eyes looked back at him.
Artemis lowered his arm, still holding his hand up as he himself looked at it. "It's my skin tone."
"Pardon?"
"My skin tone before the shade, Jarlaxle." The human's eyes flicked back up to the drow's and held them.
Human. Jarlaxle remained still, sorting through all the implications of Artemis's original skin tone resurfacing. He's human. The most obvious conclusion was difficult to ignore. The shade is fading.
What came hand-in-hand with that conclusion, however, Jarlaxle did not like. The shade is what is extending Artemis' lifespan. If he loses that… And like an unwelcome guest barging in through the door, the prior day's event came to the forefront of his mind. Artemis wasn't feeling well, he had a headache. He'd made an error that even most novices wouldn't. He was tired. So very, very tired. Jarlaxle could see that in his expression, in the way his human partner's posture was slouched.
He was aware it could just be that the man was legitimately sick, but he showed no outward symptoms, aside from the tiredness. A headache would not incapacitate his friend so, yet this one apparently was.
"How is your headache?" Jarlaxle's mind was racing, coming up with alternate, but less obvious conclusions.
Artemis stayed silent for what seemed a long time, looking at the drow as if weighing something. "Artemis?" he tried again.
The man grimaced, before slowly sighing. "I can't remember the name of our location."
