Chapter Text

“You folks will be okay here?” Diath asked when they were outside the door ready with their food and belongings.

Garik gazed with concern toward the burnt fields with a disheartened frown, but met Diath’s eyes confident. “Ay. Thanks to ya. Ya saved my darling, so we’ll be just fine. I owe ya so much for that.” He looked at them with a deeply grateful gaze as if they had saved the world.

Diath shook his head, holding up a hand to halt the topic. “It’s no trouble.”

“If you’re ever around, you come by, you hear?” Lemon commanded sternly, pulling Evelyn for a hug then Strix, who flailed.

“Bah! No!” Strix ran when she was released.

“Oh, of course!” Evelyn cried. If she could produce tears, she probably would. “May Lathander be with you!”

“Evelyn,” Paultin sighed, “it’s ‘May the force be with you,’ we’ve talked about this.”

“That, too,” she added with a grin.

Garik and Lemon shook each of their hands and watched them start down the path toward town, waving and wishing them luck. Soon enough, they were on the right track again and the hut disappeared from view, its warmth disappearing with it. The sun was starting to get low in the sky, painting the sky orange and red like fire. The clouds had vanished at some point in the day. Although, he could see another storm on the far east sky, but it probably wouldn’t come in until tomorrow.

They were quiet, stuffed with food and content, as they shuffled down the path. Although, despite the comfort of a hot meal and the delicious buzz from the wine, there was a stone in his gut that could not be dislodged. It had settled there during the battle, twisted painfully in his stomach, and constantly desired his attention though it wrenched whenever he thought about it. He knew what the stone was, knew what they all were for he had a collection. His collection, he imagined, was a smooth shore and a roaring ocean. As he walked along the beach, sometimes he’d step on a stone. It was painful, like stepping on a Lego. He would scoop it off the sand. The stone would be old, one he would recognize it, or the stone would be new, one he would try not to look at. He could never decide which hurt worse to step on. Every time he came across one, he would pick it up and throw it as hard as he could, threatening to break his own shoulder just to get the offending stone out of his sight. It would fly like a bullet into the air and plop pathetically into the water to sink and drown under its dark red waves. He always knew that any stone he threw would return. He wondered if it would be more fruitful to throw himself into its current instead.

When the trees parted, they could see lights not far. The skyline of the town was a relief from the claustrophobic jungle and Paultin was eager to get to a tavern. The Dorfinas’ wine had given him a nice buzz, but he needed to follow up if he was going to sleep well tonight. The nights after battles always put the group on edge, put him on edge, and after walking for so many days, he felt some beauty rest was deserved. Sometimes Diath let them sleep in. They wouldn’t need to take watches while staying at an inn, either, so he could just fall into blissful, drunken stupor and stay that way until the morning.

It wasn’t long before they stumbled out of the jungle and were surrounded by the small city. It was a small town made of clay and straw, hidden away by the trees that crept up from all sides, but the town itself was quite spacious inside. It was likely the town had a population of a few thousand, maybe more. Residences circled the hub, buildings getting taller as they made their way into the center. Laundry lines and canopies hung from every building like veins. Torches and fires lit every path, street, and alley. The town was a star in the jungle around them. They got a few odd looks from the townspeople, but most didn’t seem bothered by them. A young man even strolled right up to Diath and pushed a flyer into his hand before doing the same to a few others around them. It was an advertisement for an inn toward the center of town, but Diath pocketed it before he got the chance to look at it. A few men with swords or spears patrolled the streets as local law enforcement, but often they saw them stopped to chat with locals or asleep. Obviously, they were for show more than anything else. As the sun finally gave out and the air cooled, the town livened. Kids ran around and played. Merchants shouted at the bustling crowds that pushed their ways through the main streets. The smell of different dinners drifted into the air and music played from some rowdy taverns. Diath avoided those like the plague. The air light and carefree with no danger in sight, which let their nerves settle a bit. After a long day of walking and fighting, the energy of the group bled out of them. Even Evelyn looked tired. Perhaps it wasn’t just from their journey, but from the culmination of weight upon their shoulders finally beginning to crush them like Atlas.

“I’ll buy supplies for tomorrow,” Diath murmured, rubbing his face. He always put getting supplies before resting. “We’ll go to the inn first.”

“Where’s the inn? My feet hurt and I have a tongue that I wanna turn into a potion.” Strix grumbled to herself, holding onto her staff with both hands as if it kept her standing.

She looked exhausted, too. It was her day without the ring of protection and he could tell it had taken a toll. Beneath all the dirt and kamadan blood on her face, she was quite pale. He would have offered her a drink if he had one. She waved away the dirt and gold from Evelyn’s clothes when the paladin started to pat herself down, tired of Evelyn’s complaints. She had been trying to brush it off for the last hour, whining occasionally when it only stained her white clothes more. He was just glad he didn’t have to grimace at the dried gold from her wounds anymore.

When they finally found an inn, they were in the center of town with a large open square before them. Whether it was the same inn as the presented flyer, he knew not. There was a much larger crowd in the square. Many were swarming around pop up shops, buying goods as they pushed past each other. The city spread out and around from the large fountain in its center. Spraying water from its maw, a sculpted tiger with blazing green gems for eyes crouched in the water. It loomed above, up on a decorated pedestal. Its green eyes appeared to follow them as they made their way.

For a moment, he couldn’t look away from its stare. The mouth hissed purple vapor and the water churned, thick with gold-....

The bottom of the fountain shimmered in the firelight with what were actually loads of gold coins. The residents must regard the fountain as a wish granter, and a good one at that from the amount of gold pieces he could see. The inn was a extravagant, two story place, large compared to some of the other structures. The lobby area was open to the outside and it was cool inside. It was well lit inside with a bar area to one side and a desk to the other. It crowded with guests of all kinds. A rowdy many lounged around in the tavern while others checked into rooms and disappeared up the stairs.

Paultin eyed the stage nestled in the bar. It was wide and there was no one playing music or performing, so he went for his mandolin. There we go. Typically, he could talk the managers into letting them stay for free, so long as he performed. After all, gold pieces don’t grow on trees. It was easy enough for him to play a few songs and get them a place to stay. He started for the front desk, but an arm lifted to stall him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Diath offered gently, dropping his arm from Paultin’s intended path.

“Uh.” He stared dumbly at Diath for a beat then shrugged and drew his mandolin back. “Sure thing.”

The rogue didn’t speak further, striding up to the front desk with Evelyn on his tail. There was a tall man with a bristled mustache behind the check in, who looked at them with a raised brow, and welcomed them.

Huh, gonna pretend that didn’t happen.

“Welp, they have a bar at least.” He muttered to himself when he could pull his perplexed expression away from Diath’s back and Strix grumbled.

“Oh, good.” She rolled her eyes at him, but trudged toward the tavern anyway.

She flopped onto the chair of an empty table in the corner and he took the seat across from her. Beside them was a party of obnoxious and drunk dwarves, who sung a horribly slurred tale. He hadn’t heard it before, but they may have just butchered it so badly he couldn’t tell. The other guests were quieter, but the lull of conversation was loud as everyone tried to hear over the ear splitting sounds of a bunch of dwarves trying to hit the high notes.

A man with fiery hair wiped the table when they sat down. “What’ll you have?” He grunted.

“Ale,” Strix answered shortly, not looking up at the man as she pulled a book from within her robe.

“The strongest you got.” He replied when the barkeep looked at him. “Shaken, not stirred.”

The man stared with an unimpressed raised brow, but he was too exasperated by the dwarves to ask inquire further and he left to get their drinks.

Strix slapped the book onto the table with a thud and started filing through it, murmuring to herself. He eyed her carefully as she chewed at her nails and followed the lines of her book with her gaze. Each page creaked and she filtered through. Her hat was askew with horns poking up from underneath and her clothes more rumpled than usual. There was clumps of clotted blood mixed with dirt in her hair. The bags under her eyes were heavy and dark. She was antsy, her knee jumping up and down, as was typical for Strix, but it made his chest twist.

He remembered the skittish mess she had been after the rusty armored mercykiller came for her, after it almost took her, after it almost took Diath, after it dragged them to Sigil. He hadn’t been there, but he could see it all in Strix’s eyes. He saw the weight of constant dread on her shoulders, the way that terror would freeze her whenever she was caught off guard, the nervousness fidgeting that plagued her, the chronic shift of her gaze as she always noted exits. It made them all antsy as it worsened, pulled them apart and thinned them out like cobwebs. Since Barovia, Strix always marked protective symbols before bed and did magic that they didn’t understand, but every night since the mercykiller grew more erratic and extreme. She would throw salt, bat everything in a room with a clump of burning herbs, mutter enchantments endlessly. Once, she even released “lucky” crickets into their bedrolls. Another time, she wiped mud on their faces while they slept. She fluttered like a moth as she paced back and forth, pulling at her hair and chewing her nails. He had thought she’d gone barmy. They quickly realized she hadn’t slept. Each night, her wild routine would grow a bit more bizarre and she would flop down in the middle of a salt circle. Her head would lull tiredly then snap back to attention, her eyes wildly searching her surroundings before the process would repeat. Diath looked about ready to fall apart as he hovered over Strix. Even he was keeping an eye on her until they had managed to convince Strix to sleep. This was only after Strix had fallen asleep mid battle with that dick-of-a-goblin and her nightmares had managed to summon a projection of the primordial Dendar. To have nightmares powerful enough to summon a projection of The Night Serpent, it was no wonder why she often screamed at night. From the way sleep seemed to torture her, he wasn’t sure if it was better or not that she had finally rested. He would lay in his bed roll as she cried and stare into the night. Sometimes, he’d offer her a drink before she slept because he knew what it was to be plagued by dreams. It helped until she didn’t need it, until she could rest throughout an entire night. She became less haggard. They became less distraught.

Averting his gaze, he glanced toward the front desk where the mustached man handed Diath a key with a smile before talking to Evelyn, gesturing with his hands directions for her to follow. She nodded, beautiful golden hair bouncing, and looked to Diath. The words across his lips suggested they were going to meet outside. Evelyn’s expression light up and she turned to Waffles, pulling Simon off her back and setting him on his feet. She said something sweet he couldn’t decipher, watched as Simon gave her a thumbs up before turning and shuffling in Paultin’s direction. Evelyn waved to him, pink painted lips turned up in an affectionate smile, then disappeared with Waffles outside.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted Simon, pulling him up into the chair beside his leg. The construct was too short to reach, but he looked happy enough. “Sitting at the big kids table, eh?” Simon shrugged.

“They didn’t have many rooms,” Diath explained when he came up to their table. “So, we’re just in number 12. They have cots.”

As if we’d sleep in separate rooms anyway.

“You two’ll be okay here?” He glanced between them, but he didn’t exactly meet Paultin’s eyes.

“I’m gonna turn this tongue into a sleeping potion!” The tiefling grinned mischievously.

Diath’s eyes shined proudly. “Looking forward to it.”

He’s no Evelyn, but he’s so obvious.

“I’ll be back soon,” Diath assured.

When the bartender set their drinks before them, the rogue slipped the room key into Strix’s hand and disappeared like a phantom out into the square to who knows where.

“Ale for the lady,” he muttered, but Strix didn't look up. “And a Chult fairy whiskey.”

Paultin had never heard of such a drink. Surprisingly enough. Curious, he picked up the cup and spun the liquid around. It looked more like a fruity drink, sparkly blue and garnished with a lemon slice. He wondered if the barkeep was messing with him, but he’d take anything at this point really. He dropped a few silver pieces into the bartender’s outstretched hand and the man scuffled behind the counter to clean glasses. When he took a hearty sip, the fire of the drink burned his mouth and throat, tasting like smoke and fruit. His eyes watered and his throat tickled. He coughed, clenching his hand, though trying to appear neutral. It was good stuff whatever it was. Strix peered over her ale at him curiously, or rather, his drink.

“Do you want some?” He offered the goblet to her. “Be my guest.”

“Is it good?” She frowned. “You look like you hate it.”

“That’s how you know it’s the good stuff.”

She considered this and shrugged, putting her ale and book down to take his cup with both hands. A quick sniff of the stuff had her coughing and waving one arm. “Oh gods, that’s awful!” She took a cautious sip and all but shoved the cup back into his hand, face twisted up as she pushed back from the table, kicking and coughing.

She shrieked and he laughed at her. “Can’t handle it?” He smirked.

Glaring at him with wet eyes, she hacked into her sleeve. “That’s disgusting!”

He took another gulp, which was easier than the first, but he still grimaced, and shrugged. “Nah, it’s not that bad.”

“Ugh.” Strix took gulps of her ale, trying to relieve the burning in her throat. “That tastes like it cleans floors. Not just dirty floors, like Sigil floors, and let me tell you, those floors are gross.”

“It’s better the second time,” he refuted, offering it to her once more.

“I don’t want your floor cleaner,” she grumbled with a furrowed brow.

With a smug grin, he wiggled the cup at her. “C’mon, you totally do.”

She gave him a disbelieving stare, but huffed and snagged it begrudgingly. “You’re the worst.” The second sip made her hack and splutter, but she didn’t shriek like she did on the first go.

“Ah? See?”

They sat quietly in the rowdiness of the bar for a while, passing the cobalt drink back and forth when the dwarves started another drunken song. They lounged while Strix created a potion of the kamadan tongue and he fiddled with his mandolin, enjoying silent camaraderie. Stunned he’d almost forgotten, he pulled the sheet of half written music from his shirt and started to halfheartedly play the notes. Maybe now he could grasp the melody that eluded him, but toward the bottom of the drink, his body felt fuzzy and his head was clouded. His face was flushed and he was lighter without the weight of his thoughts. He was without a care in the whole world and it was wonderful. He felt normal again and didn’t have the sober mind to hate himself for it. At last, he could breathe as the stiffness in his lungs loosen and the stone in his gut sank into nothing.

Under the filth and blood, Strix’s face was brushed with pink. Although the anxious bounce of her knee persisted, she appeared less tense. Her expression was calm in concentration. Magic was one of the few things that could capture Strix’s attention long enough for her to relax. She put everything into her magic. Perhaps that was because maybe if she knew magic, that would be enough. He wasn't so sure anything would be enough. She had steady hands and a focused gaze while she finished her concoction. He played the short verse he had written, not really minding the notes as he just needed something to do.

Strix’s hands paused as he played, her eyes lifting to watch his fingers dance. With shaky fingers, she set the bubbling, purple portion down. Pulling at her cloak, anxiousness crawled back into her skin. When she started fidgeting enough that it distracted him, he met her eyes and raised a brow at her. Her eyes immediately darted away, gaze rolling over the other guests before coming back to him.

“I was with the Vistani sometimes,” she blurted like she didn't want to say it. “When I was alone.” She quickly drew her hands up to hide her face.

His fingers fumbled over strings when her voice broke the air, the melody he’d been half heartedly strumming giving to silence. A dwarf at the other table looked up, drunkenly slurring his request for more music. Paultin said nothing, just refocused bleary eyes on his hands before picking idly at the strings. The dwarf’s head dropped like a stone into his meal as the man passed out.

Right… Vistani…

A glance showed his shadow upon the wall next to him, fortunately copying his every move.

“I told them, well, that you liked... like music,” she continued when she was ready. In a rush, she started to dig through her robes, pulling out jars or frogs from the bottomless pit that was her pockets. “Before they… brought you guys...you back, I…hold on.” She was quiet for a moment, looking determined as she searched through her things, but her words were unsure and her fingers shook. She wanted to bolt like a startled deer, he could tell, but she had committed herself already.

Suddenly, she withdrew a thin, leather bound book. The outside was dirty in some places and stained in others. The front and back covers didn't line up right and the water stained pages stuck out all over. It was put together like a car wreck, obviously due to lack of skill, not lack of trying. It was made by an amateur, no doubt, but with odd love. It was like an old broken antique that was lined still with feeling. An embroidered wreath of vines decorated with symbols covered the front. The colors of the thread were faded greens, yellows, and purples, and some of the stitching had come undone, but it was strangely beautiful. The papers inside were yellow and white like they were thrown together, new and old, into the book. There were dark feathers and strips of bark tucked between pages like bookmarks.

Huh. Not what I expected.

From the way Strix gripped the book, it seemed very important to her, like she had been carrying it a long time, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to give it up.

“When I liked a song, I asked them to write it down, so I had something to…so I could remember you-” She shook her head fiercely and all at once shoved the book across the table toward him. “Agh! Anyway, I don’t need it anymore! And you can actually play, so here! I hope you like it!” In the same burst of anxiety that she exploded out, she shrunk back in, curling up in her chair and pulling a strand of her hair into her mouth to chew on nervously.

Uncomprehending, he stared at the book for several beats.

“Agh! Um!” Strix shifted wildly. “Some of it might be magic, I’m not sure! But I also enchanted it! No one but you can open it unless you want now!”

She...did this for me…?

He was suddenly very aware of his own breath, of how his lungs were rattling.

“Uh, neat,” he said at last, drawing the book toward him.

His fingers tickled with magic both familiar and not when he opened the cover. The book creaked and the pages cracked as he flipped through the pages. Dumbstruck, he drifted over the scribbles of music notes and lyrics, recognizing some and squinting at others. Each song was scribed in various handwriting from chicken scratch to neat script. Some lyrics weren't even written in a language he knew.

The tiefling didn't give him much time to explore the book before she began to splutter. “Is it bad? Bah! I mean, uh, I don’t care what you do with it! You can burn it if you want or give away! It's totally fine,” she said dismissively, unfurling from her bunched up posture. “I don’t… I don’t need it anymore. You guys- you’re back, so it’s just a book now!”

Paultin knew that Strix had collected many things in Barovia and such things, she had given to them. She gave him the doll she'd made in his likeness, which he still carried. Simon likes it, he told himself. Strix had also given them each her “contract.” He used his like a coupon.

In all that time, however, he thought the gifts as something she had given to the group. For some reason, they never struck him as gifts she'd given him. It was clear that until now this had been much more than just a gift. At one point, it had been all she had of him. Strix had spent the course of fifty years collecting music from Barovia, from the Vistani. For him. Because even if he wasn't alive, she wanted to remember him. Because it was all she could do, all she had. Because they weren’t just buddies, no, she loved him like family even after he was gone and that was the only thing mattered to her.

Oh.

Huh.

Uh. Uh. Uh.

After death, the mists of Barovia became a sight he was intimately familiar with. He’d forgotten, until nothingness became a thick fog, that even in death no one could leave the cursed land. As a Vistani, he could have. When he was living, he could have strolled right out and blown off the people of Barovia, Strahd, his friends. He could have. He supposed he should have. As it was, in death, he was as trapped as the rest of the souls around him. The first thing he became acutely aware of was how incredibly not drunk he was. His mind was so clear it was as if he’d never had a drink in his life. It was especially strange because he knew for a fact he had been, at the very least, plastered. He was face down in muck, which wouldn’t be strange if he was drunk, and the air was chilly. He struggled to his feet like a newborn fawn, wiping the guck from his face and clothes with disdain as he slid around in the gunk. Everything around him was dark. It wasn’t the light itself, in fact it might be very bright out if the sun could get through, but it was that the very ground drained the essence of the place. The earth was a sloppy, bland brown. It looked like dyed shirt washed too many times. There was a forest of trees and their leafless branches stretched out like the limbs of corpses. The dirt they were rooted in was without nourishment, more likely to suck the life out of them than to provide. All color seemed to bleed out until the environment became putrid and languid. Even the hanging fog drifted without life. The entire landscape was grey with decay, rotting away without the warm touch of the sun. Where-? Movement caught his eye, brushing through the trees just out of his sight. It lurked like a shadow, phasing through the dull vegetation. Slipping through the mud to a dryer patch of earth, he eyed the movement carefully. The figure was humanoid, yet it didn't walk, rather it appeared to float across the ground. Evie-? When it rounded a tree, he was struck by how ghostly the figure was. It looked to be a young woman, perhaps one of great beauty, but something was obviously wrong. Her face held no flush of life. She really was more shadow than human. The lines of her body were gone. Her legs had completely vanished. He caught her eyes and could tell that once they had been a beautiful blue, but now they were translucent and they weren't looking at him. She was not Evelyn. She was hardly a person at all it appeared as she drifted away, becoming lost in the gloom, or perhaps, becoming it. At once, he was overcome with a sense of wrongness. His hand shot to his throat, breath quickening exponentially as he grasped where he was and, more importantly, why. Like cotton, the fog choked him as he breathed and he stumbled forward. He didn’t have his mandolin or bagpipes. His winesack was nowhere in sight. Neither was Simon. All he had was the very clothes on his back. Evelyn, Diath, Strix, Evelyn, Diath, Strix. They most certainly were all dead, too. If they were, he would find them here, couldn’t he? He wouldn't have to be alone. If they were alive, he luckily wouldn’t find them. It would be okay to be alone. They would come for him. Would they? They believed in family and friendship. It’s not enough. They considered him as a friend. You let them down. They would find him and he would protect them, that was all he could do, that was all he was good for, he would do it, he wouldn’t let anything hurt them again. You killed them. The dry and fragile tree he hit exploded into splitters with a crack. He took a step. Then, eventually, another. And another. He lost all measure of time searching the mists, but he never found the soul of his friends. Soon he forgot it was supposed to be a good thing he couldn’t find them. Soon he began to fade. Soon he became more mist than man. Like every other soul, he drifted through the suffocating forest without direction.

As he took a sharp breath, paper crunched under his tensed fingers. “Right, uh.” He cleared his throat, forcefully unfurling his hand, trying to halt the downward spiral he was on.

“Here!” Strix exclaimed in flurry, reaching for the book. “I, uh, can just get rid of it for you if you want! Ugh, it’s, uh, not a big deal!”

“What? No,” he muttered and pulled it away from her reach. “No take backsies. S’mine now.”

She contemplated him for a moment, pulling her hands to her robe and twisting the fabric between her thumbs. Her attention roamed his face before she relaxed as bit and threw a dismissive wave in his direction. “Sure, whatever, Paultin.”

He stowed the book away to further explore the contents later and drew his attention away from the strange air between them. His eyes made contact with the barkeep, who looked curiously at him. With a flick of his wrist, he ordered another round and the man set to work.

“Want something, buddy?” He asked the construct at his side, latching onto any distraction with vigor to avoid The Look™ 2.0 Strix Edition.

Simon’s head turned between the bar and Paultin before he shrugged.

“Oh, wait, no, you’re not old enough.” He stroked his goatee.

“I mean, technically, he’s older than you are,” Strix argued.

Paultin gasped dramatically and pulled Simon into his chest, slurring, “He’s still my son!”

Strix rolled her eyes, turning her attention in favor of her book and the mess of a potion before her. The rest off the bar was settling down a bit. Some of the inebriated dwarves waddled to their rooms while most of their group finished up their meals and song or passed out at the table. A few off the other guests ordered from the barkeep who sped back and forth to keep up. People from the outside filtered in and took seats in the tavern or went to the check-in desk. The bartender eventually got back to them, setting another glass of sparkly blue in front of Paultin. Wordlessly, he took the money Paultin offered.

“Nothing more for you, garbage lady?” He asked, scooping up her empty pint. “You want some bread to snack on?”

Strix shook her head. “I’m good.”

With a nod, the man went to tend to other guests that were starting to get rowdy, but Paultin didn’t pay anyone much mind as he took up his drink. He chugged half of it down in one go, hacking into his sleeve when it burned his throat. Strix eyed him as her fingers resumed agitated fiddling. She bit her lip, inspecting him as he took another gulp, though her stare couldn’t manage the same piercing perceptiveness as Diath’s.

“Are you?” She inquired, chewing on her tongue.

Befuddled, Paultin’s brows raised. “Am I what, Chicken Little?”

She pulled her hands in toward her chest, her fingernails picking at hole in her robe. “Are you good?” She pursed her lips as if she said something stupid and knew it.

Paultin considered this, taking a swig of his cobalt whiskey. “I mean, we fought Chester Cheeto’s edgy cousin today.” He rolled his eyes, ignoring the way the room spun. “Almost got eaten. But, hey, fancy whiskey! I’m great .”

“That’s not-! What?” Strix looked absolutely bewildered before she rubbed her eyes with a huff. “Whatever, you’re drunk,” she whispered to herself before pulling her hands away from her face. “I mean, which is the problem, agh!” She groaned in frustration.

“How’s that a problem?” He smirked.

The sorcerer’s hands gripped the book before her. “Look, you jerk, we're worried about you!”

He made a face into his drink. “You’re worried about me? Over, oh, I don’t know, all the other shit going on? Like, the monster we got attacked by? Maybe, you know, the soul monger guy? Or the big, bad, rusty dudes after you?” He scoffed and alcohol warmed him from his mouth to his gut.

There’s more important things.

Strix started and began to splutter before she paused, inspecting him closely. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

Her voice was solid and sounded certain in a way that made her question more like a statement. Her eyes pierced into his and her face was troubled with genuine concern.

His fingers tensed around his cup. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said evenly.

“Pike off. You know what I mean!” Strix searched her for words and bit her lip nervously. “You acting barmy, even for you. Like, how you threw yourself at the kamadan today and the ring is bad, like really bad, and-!"

“Diath put you to this? I thought he did his own lecturing?” He asked with disdain curling his lip. “Not that he’s one to talk.”

Her posture drifted nervously, but she shook her head. “No,” she answered honestly, “but he’s worried too, you know? So’s Evelyn.”

He bristled, avoiding eye contact to look around with a bored expression. “That's stupid,” he stated to the air.

The tiefling babbled, her mouth full of too many words to say at once. “Stupid-? I, we, you’re so-!” A fist hit the table with a thunk, making his cup sway dangerously, and his attention snapped back to Strix in surprise. “You’re insufferable! And, barmy! And, and, and selfish!”

Something angry stirred in his chest, but he drank it back. He plastered on the best apathetic expression he could muster and shrugged, pulling his cup from the table in case her fist came upon it again. “Huh.”

She’s not wrong.

Strix tugged the sides of her hat down, exasperated. “Ugh, you just, you- Ugh! We care about you, you dolt!”

They’re going to die-

“Well, don’t. Priorities, bigger fish to fry, and all that.” As he rambled on, he rolled his wrist and swirled his drink around idly. “Like, slow and painful death, for example.”

From across the table, Strix scowled. “That’s not going to happen!”

“Heard that before,” he chuckled, chugging the rest of his drink. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. “Anyway, Dr. Phil, we done? I need me a long beautyrest.”

When he shifted to stand, a hand shot out and gripped his sleeve, but it was the sober expression on Strix’s face that held him. “If you run away, you’re going to lose us, Paultin. I… I promised not to run away.” Her hand pulled back to her side of the table. “You all died in Barovia, when I ran away! I don’t want that to happen again. You’re a priority and you don’t have to do things alone because we want to help, but...but you have to stop running because you’re scared!”

Paultin snatched his hand back, drunkenly knocking his empty glass over. “Well, you didn’t get everybody killed, so maybe running works out. What do you know-?”

“You,” she hesitated and in a hushed voice asked, “You think you got everyone killed?” Strix shook her head and placed her face in her hands. “That’s not what happened. You-”

“Oh really?” He scoffed, clenching his fists. “‘Cause no one would’ve been near Strahd if-"

“You didn’t know about your shadow or that the sword was going to cause weird time travel! No one did!” She fixed her gaze and a sharp, dirty nail at him. “Nothing that happened was anyone’s fault! You didn’t, it wasn’t-! Ugh, no! I’m not going to play the blame game with you!” With a groan, Strix slammed her face onto the table, luckily not seeing him visibly flinch. “We just, we care about you, you absolute dummy!”

“Yeah, well, everyone who does fucking dies,” he spat.

All at once, Strix’s head shot up, eyes locking with his, and he stood with Simon in his arms, his chair scraping as it was thrown back. The legs of the chair shrieked and the table fumbled as he bumped it, items clattering about and turning heads in their direction. As he spun on his heel to exit, her eyes dashed behind him and he nearly knocked Evelyn over. He tripped backwards, cursing, and barely caught his balance with his slow limbs. Before him, the gold and blue gazes of Evelyn and Diath pierced into him. The two of them had just returned, arms full of new supplies. Diath cradled a basket of food, overflowing with bread and meats for their journey ahead. There also looked to be berries of some kind from the red stain on the corner of his mouth. In one arm, Evelyn carried a load of new equipment as if it were light as a feather. Draped over her other arm was a new shirt and leather armor not unlike his, though less ripped up. Her hand was outstretched toward him, ready to grasp the front of his shirt if he fell backwards. Her constructed face was pinched in confusion, bright eyes looking from him to Strix and back as she tried to assess what they had walked in on. Beside her, Diath appeared to understand the situation, expression tight with worry as he frowned. They appeared to have witnessed their back and forth.

“Paultin, is everythin’ okay?” Evelyn asked gently. Her voice like a breeze blew over him and the shock pulled into an awkward tension. The air tightened like a rubber band.

He became aware of the stares of his friends and a couple guests on him and he tried to guess the fastest way out of this conversation. “Yeah, ‘course. What’s that?” He pointed to the clothes Evelyn held, drawing her blinding attention away from him. As a smile lit up her face, he forced his shoulders to relax, but his hold on Simon didn’t loosen.

“Oh, this is for you! We figured since your stuff got all torn up and such, we owed you! Diath picked the armor, he’s good at that, but it’s not very pretty, so I picked the shirt because it was nice and the threading is just beautiful! I mean, it’s no Gucci-yar, you know, but…” Evelyn continued on and on, obviously determined to break the tense air that she didn’t understand.

Over her shoulder, Diath’s countenance flickered with what he could only assume was a silent communication with Strix. They had a way of communicating that he simply could not decipher. Perhaps it was in the years they had been together that they became so attuned. A single look and Diath’s demeanor changed as if she had told him everything. His tense shoulders drooped like wilting flowers. Despair washed up over Diath and anger swelled up in Paultin.

“...bells so Strix can fix Simon’s hat and, oh!” Evelyn spun to the rogue and he could hear faint jingling of bells. “Diath,” she said, jarring the man out of his idle state. “Show Strix things you got her!”

Color rose up Diath’s neck as he shot Evelyn a disbelieving look before quickly turning his gaze down into the bag he carried. With all the grace of a lovestick teen, he moved awkwardly forward to rapidly place items before Strix, who luckily became more interested in the items than glaring into the back of his head. From the sidelines, Paultin and Evelyn watched as Diath fumbled over his words and offered each gift to Strix. Despite the hair stuck in her mouth, she looked delighted, snatching things up and investigating them. There was jars of various gross, goopy objects and herbs. Beside him, Evelyn beamed like a proud mom as she watched the two. She offered him a low high-five, grinning like a troll, which he accepted despite the Wumba-esque nature of it. Diath put a hand on Strix’s forearm, pointing to one of the jars and explaining something quietly. His face turned bright red when he pulled back, embarrassed by the contact he initiated. Seeing how red he was, Strix put an innocent hand on Diath’s forehead, asking him if he felt okay to which he assured her that he was.

Evelyn giggled beside him. “One day, Strix’ll get it.” she whispered to him, eyes shining with awe, but he thought her smile twitched with jealousy.

That’s what she wants.

“Sure,” he replied stiffly, coughing to try and cover the strain in his voice.

Gold eyes shifted to him, blinking curiously. “You don’t think so?”

She always looked at him like the sun.

He swallowed, twisting under her attention. “I, uh, don’t ask me. I’m staying out of it.”

Evelyn shrugged, lips curling up as her gaze returned to the two, and watched as Strix shrieked anxiously and stuffed berries in Diath’s mouth. “They deserve a chance at least.”

I don’t.

“‘M going to bed,” he blurted, already halfway turned to leave.

Evelyn looked surprised, disappointed, worried by his abruptness. Trying to determine the cause, she squinted at him, catching his wrist to stop him momentarily. “Are you feelin’ alright?”

“Yup, night.” Spinning on his heel, he yanked away as if burned by the pure radiance Evelyn emiated and stumbled through the bar and guests toward the hall of rooms.

You’re running, a voice sighed.

Stares bore into his back, but he didn’t dare look back.