No Encouragement Needed

Title: No Encouragement Needed
Time Period: April 14, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: After more than 24 hours awake, Algernon is in no mood for Luna's antics. Jorn on the other hand…

Bottles used for entertaining are mostly empty or nearly empty. It's the clear glass that Luna focuses on first. The whitewash on the walls seems a dusky blue through some of them, something brought on by the morning haze. The fog hasn't lifted yet, it's that early. She doesn't shift, not yet, simply because she's somewhat afraid of being trapped in purgatory or whatever it is that Beisdean's ghosts seem to be caught in.

She circles the room with a slow glance, noting the two men that are still there. The bundle of sage that was shared between them to keep from acting as Luna's servant has long since burned away, she was asleep before then. And luckily for them, she stayed that way.

The first movement is her hand under the covers. Smoothing across her skin to find the marks on her lower back and rub at them. Then it slides up to her pillow and across to rub at her forehead before she lifts herself up.

"I'm hungry."

As far as harrowing ordeals in the settlement of Dornie go, this particular episode might have taken the greatest toll on one Algernon Fogg. He's been awake now for well over twenty-four hours and looks the part, pale and shadowed and drawn on his feet close to the window. Smudges criss-cross several panes from the outside, white against the creeping blue grey of early morning.

The cigarette he's smoking is hand-rolled, pipe foresaken in lieu of a harsher shock to his system after however many hours. He's still holding a glass as well, scotch aftertaste all but washed from the sides by the water that's replaced it.

His jacket he'd thrown over Jorn, perhaps recently in hope of smothering the off snore before the noise wore through the last threads of his temper.

There's a honed edge to the look he turns from the fog onto Luna at the sound of her voice, glassy and unwell. "There's a kitchen downstairs," he growls — softly — at least in part out of respect for anyone who might still be sleeping. "Why don't you make breakfast."

"Because I can't cook," the impatient retort is spoken as though Algernon should already know that fact. It's possible, except that her mother can cook and Luna is more attached to those apron strings than to anything in Dornie. At least now, now that the herbs and medicines are gone.

Still, she throws the covers off to reveal her usual night shirt. Pale legs twist around to plant her feet to the floor where she tests her own weight on them. "I'm still feeling dizzy, can you carry me?" It might be a lie, a badly told lie, but it's said with a flutter of eyelashes. "Alternatively, you could just yell down for three trays.. or so…" She glances between the sleeping bearman and Algernon himself. "And of course, a tray for yourself and Wartooth as well."

Bitter feline indignance writes itself hard through the bridge of Algernon's nose and colder in his eyes. He doesn't waver, or breathe, or blink, but rinses water lukewarm through his teeth after a turn of smoke through his nose. He turns his back on her in the next beat, vest creased where he'd been in the bed or wherever else earlier.

"Wartooth," he more or less grouses, voice projected to be clearly heard, even if it's through his jacket, "your equanimity is required."

Unlike Algernon, the incident has not taken as terrible a toll on Jorn. Not because he lacks concern, but because whether or not he stays piping alert, it will have little to no bearing on Luna's state. Though he certainly did ask Fogg ahead if it was fine to sleep. If the other man had felt it was urgent he stay awake, he would have. The snoring came and went, there for as long as Algernon couldn't stand it. The nap turned into a longer sleep, however, and Wartooth quieted down considerably even though his frame still sits rather rigid in the chair. The northman is a little too big for it, and a little too rough-edged for the room as it is. Not the usual, certainly.

Wakefulness is abrupt, instead of peaceful. When others wake him, Jorn's mind is set to flick on like a bulb- being ready to be ambushed in the middle of the night will do that. The taller man twitches awake into darkness- no, wait- his hand reaches up to yank the edge of Fogg's tossed jacket from his face, and his blue eyes are already steely and darting around the room. Algernon, Luna, Luna's bed, Luna's room. Jorn grunts. "Mmgh?"

"What is it? Is she alright?" Because apparently she cannot answer for herself when his eyes are on Algernon.

Luna's jaw hangs open and eyebrows raise for a moment before she glances at Fogg and then back at Wartooth. "No, I'm not alright," she answers for herself, "I'm hungry and he won't be kind enough to fetch me breakfast." She darts a quick look at Algernon along with a teensy pout before turning it solely on Wartooth. "You'd think after all that I've done for him— and to him— that he'd at least feel enough compassion to bring me a crust of bread and some water."

Apparently the sickly woman isn't above airing a little gossip to get what she wants. It's what she's best at.

"Don't you think, Mister Wartooth?" The prostitute then slides one slender leg out, toes pointed in a blind search for a slipper. When it's finally felt and kicked closer, she bends to pull it on before groping by hand under the bed for the other. "I haven't been well, I've been quite ill. Attacked by all manner of creatures and all I ask for is a small tray or three for breakfast. I haven't eaten in so long I can hardly remember."

"Don't encourage her," is Algernon's answer for the same question, glass set aside somewhere it doesn't belong so that he can sweep his jacket the rest of the way off of Jorn and back into his own possession. Through the sleeves together, lapel shrugged down into place, he drags ember back along brown paper a fair half an inch before he stubs the rest out into something that — at least vaguely resembles an ashtray.

She can forward the bill to Aislinn.

"Otherwise who knows what it will be next week." He can't muster the creativity to guess, as he tucks his tie into his trousers and forces whatever smoke remains out in a tight stream. "I trust you can handle her from here."

Didn't need to know the particulars there. Jorn lifts his hand to pat back his hair just in case of bedhead, before he sits straighter and looks from one to the other as they pursue trying to win him to their sides. It is an awkward bit of waiting, considering. He is at least aware enough to close his mouth politely, and without immediately saying a word in edgewise. Jorn will wait his turn, silently watching.

"Handle what, precisely?" Is his reply, after a passing bleariness seems to finally lift off of him. Jorn is not used to the finer points of sharp banter between whore and john, made obvious by his precarious seat being now on the edge of the chair. He much prefers plain fact and simple questions. "Do I need to feed her, or are you coming back?"

"Both," Luna answers again, too quickly before Algernon can get a word in. "You have to feed me and he'll be coming back." The whore's lips purse into an angry knot and she narrows her eyes at her former john. The hand with the leather bracelet much like the one Cruikshank wears around his neck lifts and her long index finger points at him. "I remember Missus Rowntree saying no one's to go in and out and you were to watch me. It's not fair that you're acting like this is all my fault. I didn't ask for you to be forced into my company." Though seeing him sooner rather than later was in her plans.

This is much sooner.

Finally, she turns to Jorn, the pout returning. She twists, lifting the covers to slide back into bed, feet still covered with slippers. "Never mind, both of you go, I'll fend for myself." She folds her arms and juts her chin toward the window. "Thank you for looking after me, I'll send your fees."

Somehow Algernon had been under the impression that it was only necessary to maintain observation until she woke the next day. Combined confusion on that account causes him to hesitate as he reaches for his duster, eyes taking on a glaze while he tries to rack order from his addled memory of the morning prior. Blank, and maybe a little disheartened, he looks back to Jorn.

He is still ignoring Luna. Pointedly enough for it to warrant another mention for all that he has to hear her weaving from petulance to sulk.

"…How long did she say we were to remain here?"

"Indefinitely." Jorn lifts up to his feet, to stretch himself out. He seems to have a moment of discomfort while doing so. The white pelt has gathered on the chair around where he sat, keener on staring emptily out the window over the back of the chair. "I will not leave you for the neamh mairbh." Is Jorn's answer, tired as it is. "I can at least go downstairs and find something for you. I won't be leaving, technically, I think."

"If you are stepping out-" This is for Algernon, Jorn ignoring Luna's pouting for now. "-you can find Aislinn. See what is going on?" Get more information. He's good at that.

The only way for the woman to flounce any more is if she were upright. Heaving a long sigh, she throws herself onto the pillows and tosses the blankets up over her shoulder. ~Drama~. She would cover her head but it would impede her view and hearing, should anything of interest be said or done.

Whatever fears Luna had of Jorn before, they seem to have melted enough that she doesn't protest being left alone with him. At least not beyond the initial pout when Algernon announced his departure. "Mister Wartooth, you'll tell me stories of all of your adventures when he's gone? I promise I won't even peep if you do, I like to hear about exciting things away from this dull town."

Isn't he, though.

Visibly crestfallen at the news that the reprieve he'd been anticipating was sourced in faulty assumption, Algernon dawdles at the door. Thinking. Trying to think, more like — he's having a hard time remembering to keep his mouth closed, like the weight of the world has hooks in his jaw.

"I'll be back in an hour," he decides, finally (and arbitrarily) before shirking into his coat. Exhaustion aside, he's in no danger of forgetting his hat. The motion he makes to flip it off its hook is borderline muscle memory on his way swiftly out the door.

Jorn treats Luna's bit of fussing as he might a child's. As in, not at all. He frowns a little back at Algernon, as if feeding off of the other man's disgruntled reaction. "At least tell her to come back, or send someone."

"I will have to do for now." He cannot be here forever either, but he does address this half to the blonde woman in bed as well, a small smile behind his lips. Just to seem well-mannered. "If you promise to keep your peeps to yourself, it would be my pleasure…" Though if she does break that promise, the northman may not care unless it is expectedly rude or otherwise unwelcome peeping. Jorn gives the departing man a short gesture of his hand in farewell, rather than another noise in his ear. He will go downstairs when he presumes Algernon outside the building, awkwardness avoided.