Time to Rest and Regroup

[Talion]

((continued from Questionable Business))

May 19th, 122PW

They made for quite the pair, Anther and Talion did. With Talion limping down the street, grumbling over the fact that he was going to have to endure yet another day of agony and Anther nursing his arm as if the pain were unbearable, the two made for quite a sight.

Rather than try to convince the other boy that they would both be better off having stopped at one of the locations Jacel had marked on his map, Talion realized that the discussion would best be saved for later. Anther was nothing if not stubborn and set in his ways. In the time they had spent together, Talion had learned that Anther had this way of pretending to listen to something you had to say and then completely ignoring it if it wasn't something that suited his interests.

So they returned to their flea-infested room and Talion promptly flopped upon his lopsided mattress with a thud. As a force of habit his hand immediately went to his pocket to pull out his grandfather's pipe. He held it in his hand for a moment, turning it over to inspect the grain of the wood as memory dawned on him that he no longer had anything to put in his pipe. Frustrated, he returned the thing back from where it came.

"So now what?"

[Anther]

Anther did as Talion did, though he lay facedown without moving. He rested his forehead on his uninjured forearm, his face hidden from sight. The whole day'd been full of shit, and now he hadda stick around with the daft bozo what nearly cost them the whole meeting with Dog-man. Dogs. He didn't want to think about them. Maybe not ever. He made a face into his arm and tried to ignore the renewed throbbing in the other one. What if it got infected? Was he still allowed to go to the hospital? Could he even go there without being scoped by other streetrunners with long memories and scores to burn?

"I don't know," he muttered, and he hated how whiny and angry he sounded. Everything was shit. He hadn't wanted any of it, least of all to be stuck with Talion. He wanted to see Yoger again. Teodinus, he'd even settle for Rue's ugly face.

[Talion]

He scratched at yet another flea bite on his ankle. He scratched until the skin felt raw, and yet it still itched. Damn fleas. They were worse than the lice, at least the lice stuck to his hair and didn't insist on biting him at all hours.

Anther was in another one of sour, pouting moods. It was best just to ignore him at that point. But there was nothing else to do. He could lay there and stare at that spot on the ceiling where the paint had peeled away where he could see the wood of the beam that supported the floor above him, but he had already spent hours doing that over the past few days. He had already determined that the water spot along its edge looked like that of an ugly old man winking at him and he didn't feel like being stared at right now.

He rolled over and kicked off his shoes. He removed his sweat-damp socks and tossed them in a corner, silently promising to himself that he would in fact wash them tomorrow, just as he had promised to do for the past two days.

He let out a sigh and picked at a scab forming behind his left ear.

"Should we check in tomorrow or look into The Drunken Rat?"

[Anther]

The sound of Talion scratching was so much worse than the pain alone would've ever been. Anther knew the itching, had dealt with it all his life, but it seemed like Talion was the loudest scratcher he'd ever had to listen to. That or maybe it was just the small room. Stuck inside it with someone he didn't want to stick with, yeah, that wasn't his idea of a great time.

"I don't wanna see 'is fat face right now," Anther muttered into his arm. Softer, he said, "Spit on the lot, 'drather find my crew."

His stomach growled, and he grunted in annoyance. "I'm hungry." He was used to that too, but it was just too rutting much right then.