Muddling Migraines

[Suede]

It had been several days since the tailor had stumbled out in a bizarre funk caused by what bystanders could only assume was Catch's smell. He'd staggered after the drow, but the question was if he managed to keep up.

He'd returned to the tavern with little physical change from the recent months. He was still pale, wane, and faintly twitchy. But those bloodshot eyes were focused again, and a little smirk was dancing across his face between the winces caused by a ripple of pain through his head.

He was sunk low into one of the cushioned chairs near the fire, back to the door, nursing a very strongly spiced cup of mulled wine. The tailor was expecting company, since he'd left messages with both the drow and Catch asking them to stop by, and he hoped they'd arrive soon, as he was liable to fall asleep otherwise.

[Jirai]

Keep up with the drow? Certainly not. She had vanished shortly after emerging from the tavern doors and hadn't been seen since.

Not until now, at least.

Her arrival had been subtle. Possibly she had come down the stairs, but it was difficult to say for certain. Regardless of how she had entered, she was now standing with her back to the wall at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded across her chest, the hood of her cloak low over her face. Despite the cloak, though, it was obvious who she was - the red leather was a dead giveaway, as was the crossbow. She said nothing.

[Suede]

He knew she'd show herself eventually, if not to see his bright smile, then to see if her use of her time had bore any fruit. The creeping fatigue fled the instant Jirai had entered the room. Suede could hear Jirai's entrance despite her silence movements. Enough time around her had given him a sixth sense to protect him from random sharp objects.

"Not interested in coming over to gloat that you fixed me, Qu'essan?" He set a foot onto the low table in front of him to purposefully cause a clattering from the bottle of brandy set there.

[Jirai]

"I scarcely need to do that. ...Yet."

Gloved fingers rattled briefly against her arms, but she did not move to join the man at the fire. Caution was called for, after all. Suede might appear to be fixed, but she certainly wasn't. She'd been able to keep up the facade for most, but Suede had never been "most."

"Besides, you were becoming far more annoying than usual."

[Suede]

Heaven fend if Suede were what was considered normal. The world wouldn't last a matter of days. He stayed languid in his chair save for turning his head about awkwardly to peer from one eye in her direction.

He watched her in silence for several heartbeats before placing fingers lightly against his chest. "Me more annoying? Heaven forbid, I'm certainly glad you corrected that issue, Qu'essan. However..." A purse of the lips and an exasperated sigh, yes he was certainly seeming more himself, or at least acting the part quite well. "That yet does concern just a touch. Do I need to return the favor? Or maybe deal with a few random errands for you?"

[Jirai]

"The last thing I need is someone else messing around with my head." She growled. Unable to remain still any longer, she shifted and eventually sauntered towards the man and his brandy.

"Pour me some of that."

[Suede]

"You say that as if I haven't been messing with your head for years." She had never hesitated to return the favor, either. In this particular case she had merely stepped of the game from words and acting to mystical.

At her approach he turned forward again in his seat and leaned over to oblige the request, and he was taking it as a request. A soft pop as he uncorked the bottle and filled her a glass to the brim before topping off his own.

"I do owe you at least one favor, I can't begin to show my appreciation for the return of my sanity." A sly grin was tossed her way, thick with his usual false sincerity.

[Jirai]

"Indeed, so clearly I need no more of it."

She moved closer to the table, reaching down to scoop up the glass he had filled. She took a slow sip of the liquor as he spoke his next words, a pale brow arching, a smirk twisting her lips for a few moments.

"I'm sure you can't." A pause, another sip. "You don't owe me anything. Consider it my own repayment."

[Suede]

He frowned faintly, but whether the source was what she said or his headache was hard to discern. A sip of his drink as he leaned back into his chair again.

"Repayment for what? I was aware you had any outstanding debts." He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his brow. "If there are any others, I'd appreciate having a say in how they're filled, just so you know.

He considered a moment before he spoke his next words, no longer looking at her. "The kid was asking about you the other day."

[Jirai]

Jirai's notion of debts had always been fairly concrete, if somewhat twisted. She had also been prone to keeping those she owed to herself, and this does not seem to have changed.

"I'll be sure to tell you if any occur to me." Right. Hah.

His next words caused the reaction that was probably no longer unexpected. Silence, the unfocused gaze - in fact, she very nearly dropped her brandy. After a moment or two, she snapped out of it. Jaw tightening, it would be another few moments before she spoke.

"...Oh."

[catch]

They spoke of payment and repayment, and yet who had done the real work? Who had opened up his head to engulf the tailors, to take inside even more nightmares and twisting, slick things, into a mind that was already shattered beyond repair? Catch could not read; he had but to show the slip about, however, before being set on the right path.

So. There was the weasel-tailor, and there was the drowess, who tickled and squirmed on the back of his tongue. Scattered puffs of snow and crystals sat on his shoulders and in his beard, unaffected by the warmth of the tavern, and he sidled towards their set with uncharacteristic sulkiness, and said nothing.

[Suede]

Suede took note of her reaction to mention of the child, and the rather lackluster response. He'd leave it that line of discussion to rest for the moment, however. At least long enough for him to address Catch.

The tailor hid his nervousness around the man, a man who had seen a tad too much into his head and vice versa, behind that delightful mask of false sincerity he so delighted in wearing. He tossed a small bag onto the low table between himself and the addled man.

"You'll find it full of beetle eyes, my good man, just as you requested." See that Jirai? He can be useful, filling in another small debt, he was.

[Jirai]

Lackluster? Perhaps he didn't understand as much as she thought. Her head snapped towards the insane man, pleased enough for the distraction. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut as the tailor tossed the bag onto the table. Instead, she simply scowled at both of them and tossed back her brandy.