Until They're Done

Title: Until They're Done
Time Period: April 6, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Some less-than-uplifting news is passed on.

Spring is a temperamental thing, and the fast-moving clouds make the weather on an hour-to-hour basis just as mercurial. A recent downpour has just cleared, and now the sun has broken through, the light glaring as it reflects off pools of water everywhere.

Beisdean is leaving one merchant's shop with a package under his arm that he'll be bringing back to one of the various women he runs errands for. For the first time in days he has both arms available, the injured arm having mended enough to say farewell to the sling he'd been wearing since the troll attack of days past.

The marten, too, seems to have taken a turn for the better — it's the first day the creature has been seen upon Beisdean's shoulders.

It seems a certain town prostitute was caught out in the rain. Mariah has peeled her coat off, which is dripping, leaving her in a more revealing, but at least it's dry. Unlike her skirts and her hair. Walking toward the shop herself, she shakes out her coat to try to get rid of the water while her hair lets droplets fall on bare shoulders.

Hopefully, it doesn't get too cold too soon.

Her steps have her very nearly running into Beisdean on his stroll away from the place. "Oh, sorry, I— " Looking up, Mariah pauses a moment upon seeing who it is, exactly, her smile tilting crooked, "…wasn't watching. Beisdean. And Darklight, good to see you out and about, luv." Damp fingers reach out to pet the familiar, but she looks at the mage. "I don't suppose you have an extra sweater on you for a damsel in very soggy distress?"

Jorn doesn't seem to notice any of this going on as he comes out of the shop next door; he is frowning at a sealed envelope in one hand, the other resting at his belt. The man is still soaking from walking about town as it is, though a minute inside has at least let him shake out the hair otherwise clinging to his head and neck. Jorn fails to also notice that it has stopped until he glances up, being more than prepared to keep squinting the rain away from his eyes. All but stuffs the envelope up his sleeve, Jorn pretends that he doesn't hear the brown paper crackling noisily. Totally Inconspicuous isn't his favorite game, one can be sure.

"Looks like you took a swim too, miss Larke." The northman is still a couple of doors down, though his voice carries well enough to her. A polite interjection. Friendly.

Mariah is glanced at; grayish eyes go down her wet dress and then back up, and Beisdean chuckles as Darklight tchs and lets himself be scritched.

"'Tis a shame to cover you up," the man says, though he shrugs himself out of his coat, which is more complicated than it should be given injured shoulder and injured marten. The coat is then draped on her shoulders, and the tall man turns to look at Jorn, giving the other man a nod.

"G'morning," he tells Jorn. "Heard you had some trouble the other day. Glad to see you're all right."

"Such a gentleman," Mariah says with a smile as she settles into the coat. She lets it rest just on her shoulders, which doesn't cover up too much. Her own is going to just have to drip dry for now.

Jorn's greeting gets a smile, too, and she nods in his direction. "A bit of one, yes. I seem to have misplaced my umbrella. Somewhere. Thought I would come find another and as fate would have it…" Rain.

"More than my trouble." Jorn's jaw grinds for a moment, as he sidles his way down the path in front of the shops to meet them. He gestures vaguely to a slim cut across his nose, and then his torso. "One bit me on the face, another kicked me in the side, cracked a rib. It could have been worse. They could have been dragons…" He purses his lips after he makes the rather dark joke, looking a bit peakish in the process.

"The market for full sized kelpie skins will be a little inflated now, I think. I wish that I had one." Jorn chuckles wryly down to Mariah, the scruff of his face still wet as if to make his point.

Beisdean's brows lift and his smile is wide for the joke, dark as it may be. "Something wanting you dead is as bad as another, all told, I think. I do seem to be often in the wrong place at the wrong time." He turns to to Mariah. "Be wary of that, lass," is said lightly, but there's something more solemn in the warning.

"But you're right. It is more than just your trouble, and more than just mine." His eyes turn to the sky, scanning it for a moment thoughtfully as his brows knit together. It's an awkward pause, where it's clear there's something he wants to add, his lips parting to speak but then closing again.

Finally, he huffs an exasperated puff of air out and speaks. "After the troll… someone warned me that it wouldn't be the only thing, that it wasn't the end of it. I didn't think anything, really, because it's not unheard of… none of these things are, but this many in a row… something odd's going on."

"True, but I never liked to look of those skins, really," Mariah says with a cant of her head and an equally crooked smile. "Plus, gives the male population of Dornie a chance to be chivalrous." Her smile widens a touch when she glances Beisdean's way. Of course, his warning makes that smile slip a bit.

"I never did learn how to use a gun properly. Perhaps now's the time to correct that, aye?" With the town in trouble and all. Her eyebrow lifts as he goes on, though, vague warnings tugging her lips into an out and out frown. But Mariah isn't the only lady listening, as a certain familiar ghost pops up into view just behind the prostitute, leaning an arm on her shoulder.

"Oh, gettin' around to spreading the word, are you?" The ghost's free arm rests on her hip as she looks over Mariah to Beisdean, "About time! Did you see? He almost got kicked to death by a big… watery… horse fish! Or something. What was that thing?" The question doesn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular, though.

Jorn narrows his gaze and listens to the younger man, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening just slightly. There is clear suspicion there now, but not reserved for Beisdean alone- also for the matter he speaks of. Something odd indeed.

"I wish that you had said something sooner. I thought that the trolls were acting strangely, coming so close to town. I just did not know I was right." With scolding under his tone, Jorn can hope that from now on, Beisdean Skye might choose to be more forthcoming with danger signals. "And yet even after the dragons?" He even shakes his head once. "Who told you this?"

"And were there to be more?" The berserker grinds his teeth a second time, looking both disconcerted and irritated.

"Kelpies," Beisdean mutters to the dead girl on Mariah's shoulder, glancing at Mariah with something like apology in his face — sorry there's a ghost leaning on you, Larkie.

That apologetic expression turns to Jorn but it hardens after a moment. "I was a bit distracted. It was right after the troll, at least the first hint, and I was looking for my marten and a bit mad with worry." Not to mention pain, but Beisdean leaves that out.

He shakes his head at the last question. "I'm not a soothsayer, Wartooth. The information's from a girl who died because similar things were happening to her… down in England, somewhere in the south." He glances to Mariah's side again, where nothing seems to be.

Mariah tilts her head at the mutter, which puts her in an eerily similar position as the girl leaning on her, but the apologetic look has her glance to the space next to her as it she might somehow be able to tell what's there.

She can't. Obviously.

But she looks back to Beisdean with an encouraging smile. No apology needed. "Aye, you were both wounded after that attack, as I understand it through the gossiping," she says with a nod, as if her agreeing with him might lend his excuse more credibility. Maybe it does.

The ghost meanwhile, leans back with a laugh at Jorn's question, a bit of dark humor, perhaps, but hey. She's dead. "Were there to be more. Ain't over yet! They won't stop until they're done. Took months before they cut out back home. MONTHS. Had to rebuild the smithy six times. It was out on the green, you know. Got monsters running through it every other week, seems like."

Similar things, down in England, enough to send a dead girl here. Jorn's hand comes down over his hair, eyes watching the horizon while he thinks. He wipes the slickness from his chin, or at least attempts to, fingertips dragging.

"There was something at the southwestern border last year." He starts, and pauses again. "A flock of Greens burnt most of the farms and fields up in a town by the coast. Could have been nesting, but…" Jorn wouldn't be the first to say that he thought it was strange news, but didn't think of it again. Until now, when Beisdean mentions that something about this happening somewhere in England, and he is reminded again of the strangeness.

"Have you told the militia, Beisdean?"

Beisdean's eyes flicker from the dead girl's face to Jorn's and back. "What do you mean, 'til they were done?' What does 'done' mean?" he asks the girl, then turns back to the older man.

"No, I haven't. Been a little under the weather, and all," the medium says a little dryly. "I might have done the day the dragons hit if I weren't trying to drown out the weeping of brand new ghosts before going stark mad." The words grow sharp on the edges, and he juts his chin toward Jorn.

"You can go ahead and do that for me, aye?" The smile that accompanies the request is forced.

"Well, I didn't exactly ask them what they wanted, you know. But they attacked constantly for months and then done one day. Moved on. Poof. Sort of followed those trolls about for a while. Until… you know… now, obviously. Sort of boring, trolls. Not exactly prime entertainment there." The ghost walks over toward Jorn, to lean over a bit to peer at his cloak and furs. "This one turns into a bear, did you know that? Handy. Handy that. Swords, also handy. Guns, since you all seem to have those about. But they'll keep coming anyway. Whatever you hit them with." She straightens when he mentions the new ghosts, her hands going back to her hips. "Yeah, got a bit crowded around here! It's as bad for me as it is for you, let me tell you."

Mariah, meanwhile, looks between Jorn and Beisdean and sometimes to the empty space Beisdean talks to. But she lifts her hands a bit, "Now, there's no reason to start getting paranoid. It's perfectly normal for dragons to go on the attack from time to time. We don't need to attribute everything to… whatever this is that's going on." She glances around them a bit, gauging how many might be listening.

Jorn hasn't a clue as to how Beisdean's ability works, even though he has heard the basics. Talk to ghosts, sure- he didn't know it was literally. He glances around at first, then back to the younger man. "You will live, even if they don't." His humor grates on the side of crossing a line, though somehow it barely doesn't. It may still be a bit off-putting. "I can, but you know they will still come to see you for questioning?" Jorn crosses his arms when he says this, eyebrows knitting deeply on his head.

"We will know for sure, if it keeps coming. If it does, let us hope that the various mages and sundry around here may know what to do."

"Seems they had the same thing. Trolls and dragons, anyway," Beisdean murmurs to Mariah. "She says it doesn't matter how hard we hit them, that they'll keep attacking and then stop whenever it's done. Don't know what done means to them."

The reiteration is flat, and he doesn't smile at the other man's joke. "Of course they will, though 'I that do bring the news made not the match,'" he says, and there's no smile at that allusion either, his face literally darkening as the sun dips back behind the clouds to cast a shadow upon them all.

Beisdean looks up, scanning the sky. "I should get this back to Mrs. Fairbairn before the rain picks up again. Stay safe, both of you."

He turns to let his long legged strides take him swiftly into the square and away from the pair.

Mariah frowns as she watches Beisdean, something that might be worry creasing her brow for a moment. As he starts to walk away, she turns to watch. A wave is almost the entirety of her goodbye, but she pipes up before he gets too distant.

"You tell that ghost to stop coming around if it's just going to sour your mood," she calls, her tone gently teasing and her smile more sympathetic. The ghost, as it moves to follow Beisdean, sticks her tongue out at the prostitute and hurries off after him. It's something of a blessing, though, that she opts to be quiet as they go.

Jorn is silent as Beisdean leaves, letting his own farewell stay silent. Even his lingering thought about messages to Mairi goes unsaid. He has something new to consider, and it looks to be putting him into a dark, damp mood. The northman gives a heavy grunt, tilting his face towards Mariah.

"I, apparently, have some messages to deliver. It was good seeing you." Any other time, Jorn might have offered to walk her somewhere. But this time, he does not. This time, he simply turns heel and starts off after saying his goodbye to the young Larke.