Invest in a Gun

Title: Invest in a Gun
Time Period: March 19, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Sorcha plays nursemaid to a familiar until the creature's mage comes for him; Beisdean gets a visit and a warning from someone not as lucky as he was.

Just exiting Pins & Needles is the person in town known to be a vet. An ordinary person might think that he was here for the trio of canaries that reside within and brighten up the shop. Those who know better, know that it was not for the canaries. In teh wake of the troll attack, an unlikely thing that had happened, in that Sorcha had willingly scooped up a familiar.

Which is currently laid out on a pillow set in the open workshop behind all the shelves of fabric and yarns. Sorcha is perched on a stool on the opposite side, having a stare off. Scattered in a little pile beside the martin resting on his pillow are yellow feathers, a smattering of colorful beads and other small shinies beside a bowl of water. She has no clue how to treat it. She's not a mage, tends to want nothing to do with familiars and it's amazing enough that she has shown the thing enough courtesy that she already has.

"He better come get you" Spoken into the air, not quite sure if teh beast will understand her. "He better not have died out there. Can you even survive if he dies" Brown eyes widen. "oh. Oh, I hope he didn't die…"

The sable-and-gold-furred marten is curled up in a melancholy little ball; the bandage on its paw would be chewed at by a normal creature, but the familiar leaves it alone and watches the door. Until Sorcha starts talking. Darklight turns his black beady eyes to blink at her when she talks of Beisdean dying.

Speak of the devil. The door slams open and the man stumbles in — sodden with water and blood and smelling of troll. His arm hangs at an awkward angle, the shoulder not yet set because he ignored the good samaritans trying to help him, coming directly to Sorcha's shop first.

Of course by now, he's been speaking to Darklight telepathically but still, the wild look in his eyes doesn't calm until he sees the creature curled on the pillow.

"Thank you," Beisdean gasps to Sorcha, though he only half turns to her, his eyes still on the marten as he moves toward the injured thing.

"She just really has no idea what she's doing, does she?" It's a familiar voice that sounds from over Beisdean's shoulder as he reaches Darklight. If only just familiar. The ghost seems to have followed him, and while she looks amused by the situation from the vantage point over Beisdean's shoulder, it looks a little ghastly, given her broken neck.

"And you didn't die! I feel like I should congratulate you. But." She doesn't. In fact, she just seems to be making something of a nuisance of herself at this point.

Up off the stool Sorcha nearly leaps at the banging of the door and bedraggled appearance of the familiars owner. " Oh bloody hell. He's fine, he's been laying there, the vet saw to him, and you. Look at you!" No sympathy for the devil they say. "Arm flapping ten ways to the winds" She can't see the ghost. She'll never likely see one. She doesn't approach mage and familiar though, staying near the stool, tips of her fingers on the wooden seat, forefinger tapping in worry.

"Would you leave me alone," Beisdean groans at the ghost at his back, too tired to try to edit on Sorcha's behalf. He strokes Darklight gently, staring down at the creature, brows knit in worry and relief.

She's right. You look awful, and smell worse. Go see the healer. I'll be fine.

The man chuckles, and turns to look at Sorcha. "Thank you so much for getting him. I owe you… so much," he breathes out, his eyes welling up, but he doesn't try to hide the emotion.

"What? Leave you alone? In the middle of everything? You're kidding." The ghost even laughs, like she's seeing some joke in all of this. Somehow. She might have had her humor twisted along with her neck. "No, I get it. You're wounded, upset. Inappropriate time? I guess just after a troll attack, you're not going to be peaches and sunshine. That's okay. I accept that. I mean, I was there, too. Of course, I was dead just after, so it was less of a problem. Not many people trying to talk to me just then, you see? I mean, I guess some people did? A lot of noooo and oooh gooood." There's a beat, just a moment's lull before she adds, "But that's a bit different."

"I.. I can leave you alone…" Sorcha offers, uncertain. Whether he's talking to her, or to his familiar. Though, makes no sense to her, that he'd say that to his familiar and then carry on stroking the thing. But then he's thanking her and she taps her fingers staccato along the seat, shifting from one foot to the other and looking down at the object of her usual unrest. "He's.. important to you. I mean… you owe me nothing. It's okay. I'm sure the vet will come find you to get.. payment" Probably not. Sorcha reaches up to tuck some wavy hair behind her ear, toes wriggling in her shoes.

"Sorry, no, it wasn't you I meant to leave me alone," Beisdean mutters, tossing a look over his shoulder at seems to be thin air. "I… the pain, it makes it hard to concentrate. I have a charming young lady who's distracting me at the moment, you could say."

The marten is lifted ever-so-gently, injury avoided, and tucked against Beisdean's chest protectively. "I know you don't like him, so it wasn't nothing. It was kind of you, and I appreciate it. I'll try to make it up to you somehow, ma'am."

He glances at the pillow, the sparkly items there catching his attention, and he smiles. "Darklight thanks you, as well."

"Do you see this?" The ghost speaks in Sorcha's direction, even knowing she can't hear her or see her, her hand gesturing toward Beisdean. "I can take a hint! I see where this is going! But don't be surprised if trolls aren't the end of your worries."

She doesn't exactly go away, not yet anyway, but she does go quiet as she sits on the floor next to Darklight's pillow, arms folding.

"I don't not like them I just…" Doesn't like them? "Listen. Just put him back down. He was fine, he was just laying there. So see Aislinn, get your arm looked at before it falls off. While I may not care much for… you know, them, I think that I can survive a few hours in the company of him. I don't like birds and yet, there's Butter, Jam and Toast" gesturing to the large cage where the canaries have been silently watching, all in a row on a stick.

Sorry broke neck twisted dead girl, she doesn't see this :|

"Really Beisdean. He's earned the things there on the floor and I can work around him, and it'll be really awkward for you to.. open doors if you're holding onto an injured.. familiar with your only good side" Sorcha points out from the stool where she's opted to take up a seat again. "Just go, get it fixed, patched up, come back. Get him. or you know.. call him to you.. if you can do that sort of thing" Can they?

"What are you on about," Beisdean says irritably to the ghost, shaking his head and then glancing at the door that closed behind him. He looks at his injured arm and fingers twitch as he tries to raise it.

The color drains from his face with the pain, and he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath.

She's right, brother. You can't function like this, and you're likely to drop me and injure us both for the worse. Set me down and go find the healer. Tell Hush hello for me.

Beisdean sighs, ganged up on by both sides, and bends to put the marten back on his cushion.

The ghost looks up at him, and for a moment, she presses her lips together like she's going to be difficult about saying more. But then he just looks all broken and hurty and she looks at the familiar, then up at the man and spreads her hands out. "The trolls aren't the end of it. Not by a long shot. Might invest in a gun. Large… hammer. Big shield…" A beat. "Good running shoes…" Of course then, with what may just have been an insult, the ghost lifts her shoulders in a shrug and fades out of view.

Well, at least something is going to go her way tonight. 'That's right, down he goes, I'll make sure he doesn't get nailed by a troll or anything else. You come back when you're patched up. I'll leave the door unlatched if it's late and he'll be right here" She solemnly promises the man. "Just… don't think I'll do this all the time"

Beisdean scowls at the girl's warning, or insult, or both, then scowls more when she disappears. "Gun's not a bad idea," he mutters to himself, no doubt wishing it would work on the spirits that plague him.

Rising up again, he gives a nod to Sorcha, brows still furrowed with the worry of what the ghost said. "No, ma'am, I wouldn't dream of it. We'll be out of your hair in no time."

He turns to the door, then looks back at her. "Be safe, Mrs. Ferrier." The door is opened with his good hand, and out the door he goes, quieter and calmer — if not much happier — than he was on the way in.