023: ANNOYANCE

"What an asshole," Blackened muttered, shoving his supplies back into the bag they'd come from. It disappeared somewhere under the folds of his robe. After this fiasco, Corosa thought, he'd rather never see Blackened or his tools at work again. Or at least, not at work on Satero.

"I suppose," Corosa said through ragged breaths, sounding dubious only for Satero's sake.

"No magic? What the shit kind of priest are you?" Satero howled, from somewhere at their feet.

It hadn't been very neat operation, Corosa thought. 'Not neat', in the sense that in order to sew Satero's shoulder up, they had to force Satero down, and because Blackened needed both hands it'd been up to Corosa to hold Satero still, and because Corosa only had one arm--

--They'd spent most of the time with Corosa's legs wrapped around Satero's waist in order to keep both of his arms trapped, and Corosa's hand in Satero's hair to keep the mastersmith from biting anyone. Corosa also spent most of the time bitterly wondering why Satero had shark teeth and sorely missing his two-armed days.

And it'd been a horribly awkward position, made worse when Blackened got to the business of stitching and Satero struggles became more panicked.

"This wouldn't'a happened if you were a halfway decent priest," Satero groaned, pointing a finger at Blackened.

"Ain't my fault I can't do magic -- and you oughta consider yourself lucky that you didn't get an infection," Blackened said. He brushed himself off and made a face at his hands, as if touching Satero had given him some unspeakable disease.

Satero tugged at Corosa's leg and whined. "Help me up."

"It can't be that bad," Corosa said, not amused in the slightest. Especially when Satero swore and pounded the side of his fist into Corosa's ankle.

"Don't know how you managed to survive. Actually, don't know why the fuck it was still bleeding after all this-- never mind," Blackened sighed, looking at the dark expression on Satero's face. Black looked away towards Corosa instead. Corosa thought he saw pity on the priest's face, and for once he could understand where it was coming from.

"Am I getting paid for this?" Blackened asked. The line of his mouth suggested that, contrary to all appearances, the matter of payment was not a question. That was a little worrying to Corosa, particularly because they had no money.

In that case, perhaps it was good thing that Blackened was magicless.

"Paid? Hell no," Satero said, having finally gotten to his feet. He spat and rubbed at his shoulder stitches. Blackened winced and bit his lip, twisting his fingers into his sleeves.

"We...don't have anything to pay you with," Corosa corrected, a little more tactfully. It was lucky that Blackened seemed slightly more mature than Satero (though there was a rather large age difference, wasn't there? Satero was at least thirty, and Blackened didn't look much older than eighteen), because after a moment's hesitation, Blackened chose to discuss the matter with Corosa rather than Satero.

"Really?" Blackened asked. He glanced pointedly at the gun case.

"Fuck you," said Satero, noting what Blackened was looking at.

"Weaponry," Corosa said, slower than Satero by a beat. And he felt trepidation coming on. Blackened was going to ask for the guns as payment, wasn't he? Even if he couldn't or wouldn't use them, there was always a willing buyer. Except that Corosa did not want to part with any of his firearms.

He braced himself for the demand.

To his surprise, Blackened merely sighed and crossed his arms.

"Of course. My luck," he said, glaring at Satero, who glared right back. Blackened looked away first. Corosa suspected that was because in addition to the glare, Satero had brought his teeth into the contest.

"Never mind then," Blackened snapped. Corosa edged back towards Satero, ready to leave, watching Blackened out of the corner of his eye and vaguely wondering how such a tiny body could contain that much anger. As he watched, Blackened spun around and stalked off, shoving his hands into his pocket and--

--freezing.

It was the strangest freeze Corosa had ever seen, quick jerk inwards of the shoulders and a hunching of the back. Nothing particularly worrying in that, except Corosa suddenly had the impression of an explosion, somewhere, beneath the surface of someone's skin -- vertebrae snapping outwards like the doors and the floorboards--

But when Corosa blinked, the impression was gone, and Blackened didn't look strange at all. All that remained was a lingering, disquieting sensation of being watched. Corosa turned as Blackened did. Satero was still toying with the stitches, still grimacing.

"Say, actually," said Blackened, walking back towards them with his head tilted to the side. His hair, shoulder-length and shaggy, obscured his eyes. "You could help."

"Oh, shit no. Can we run now?" Satero asked, backing off.

"No. We'll repay him," Corosa said, pulling Satero back.

It was a matter of conscience, for him. That was what he told himself. What it wasn't was a matter of you're always safer with more people around -- or if it was, it was purely in the context of being attacked by an outside force.
Nothing else.

Corosa turned to Blackened, who still didn't look much happier than before. "What do you want?"

"That kid I was talking about before," Blackened said. He ended his demand there, as if that explained everything. Corosa recalled a brief mention of a name, but not much more than that.

His confusion evidently showed on his face, because Blackened proceeded to give his memory a prod. "Mukhari Sharak? One-eyed priest, went missing 'bout a week and a half ago."

"What, you want us to look for him?" Satero asked, jerking his head back in Blackened's direction. "Shouldn't that be the Church's job, or something?"

Blackened paused, before echoing, "The Church?"

Then he laughed -- a twist of his mouth upwards and a widening of his eyes. The expression looked downright deranged, but that could be attributed to the fact that until now, Corosa hadn't seen Blackened do anything but scowl. Or perhaps it was the sound of the laughter itself. It started and stayed somewhere low in Blackened's throat, breathy and halting, never quite making it past his teeth. That was it, Corosa decided. It was the noise.

"More likely -- it's the Church's fault -- he's missing," Blackened continued, trying to speak through his laughter. He coughed and steadied himself, reverting back to his previous frown with disturbing ease. Though Corosa could still see the corner of his lip twitch every now and then.

"Whatever," Satero said, arching an eyebrow, still picking at the stitches. "'s not our job -- get yourself a stalker or somethin'. Or an assassin, if that's the way you're--"

"Can't," Blackened said shortly. "Just as broke as you are. 'sides, most people would rather he go missing forever."

Oddly enough, that seemed to spark some actual interest in Satero, rather than the logical effect of making him even more suspicious. He stopped flicking at his stitches -- to the obvious relief of Blackened, whose shoulders visibly uncoiled -- and leaned forwards.

"What, got himself a lot of enemies?" Satero asked, curiously.

Blackened's frown turned into something of a pout, bottom lip sticking out. "Not in that way. No serious enemies, just lots of barkeeps wanting money."

Satero straightened to lean on Corosa's shoulder. "That sort of priest, huh. Why're you looking for him?"

"He's a friend." Blackened seemed angry to admit it. "Why're you askin'?"

"'cause I'm a cocktease and no, we're not helpin'," Satero said, abruptly pulling away and yanking Corosa with him. He was grinning again, apparently extraordinarily pleased with himself.

Corosa batted his arm away but didn't do anything more than that. For a priest, Blackened was starting to seem more than a little sinister -- traveling alone, with no magic and nothing else in the way of defense? That wasn't even taking his mannerisms into consideration. But on the other hand, Corosa could see shreds of logic behind the oddities. Take an angry, unloved man, give him friendship and then snatch it away from him, and Corosa could see why Blackened would be traveling alone and defenseless. Desperate measures, he thought.

He wondered if he could only see because of reflections.

"Wait," Corosa said, to Satero.

"Oh, fuck no, you are not--"

"Why not?" Corosa watched Black edge closer. Circling again, just like he had when they first came across one another.

Satero's eyes flickered between Corosa and Blackened, then settled on Blackened. He grimaced. "Do you really want to spend more time with him? Me, I've got my share of bitchiness, I don't want--"

"I can hear you," Blackened said.

"So can I, isn't that--"

"We don't have much else on our hands," Corosa pointed out.

Satero snapped his head back towards Corosa.

"So? Doesn't mean--"

"Ignore him," Corosa finally said to Blackened, wearily. Just as usual, arguing with Satero wasn't going to get them anywhere. "Just follow along, he'll get used to you eventually--"

"I -- what? No. I will not--"

"Thanks," Blackened said, sounding grudgingly grateful. He stopped circling, to Corosa's relief, and when he closed in he did so without the predatory stalk that Corosa had been expecting. But the tension was back in his shoulders, and his attention was entirely on Satero.

"You little -- how the hell do ya expect us to actually find this bastard--"

Satero took to ignoring Blackened's presence and focusing his complaints on Corosa, and Corosa took to quickly walking away and hoping Blackened didn't take the opportunity to sew Satero's mouth shut. Then he heard Blackened mumble something, and the rest of Satero's complaints were aimed at him.

Corosa felt a headache coming on already. It hadn't even been five minutes yet, had it? He wondered if his conscience would let him live with denying Black repayment. It would certainly make life for all of them easier, save, perhaps, the priest they were now looking for. But--

Corosa tried not to look at Satero as the mastersmith stormed past him.

No. Probably not.