With A Little Help From My Friends

Title: With A Little Help From My Friends
Time Period: April 18, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: In the wake of a magical attack, Sorcha finds running errands particularly challenging.


Getting around Dornie with a broken leg is not one of the easiest things that anyone can do. Witha bedridden mother who can't exactly get up and get things, somewhat of a fierce independent nature and no husband as yet seen on the ships that come in, it's left the brunette who days before had the misfortune of a run in with a particularly vicious grove of tree's, to hobble along on crutches and try to gather what she'll need to tide over the two of them food wise.

The damnit is for the bag of food that slips from her fingers and it's contents go sprawling across the stone road. "Damnit, damnit, damnit" The seamstress nearly bellow, tears of frustration in her eyes. "Damnit" She should have jsut waited for Jorn or Beisidean or someone else to come by the shop. "I need a drink"

While the seamstress curses, a familiar figure comes from behind, stepping passed her to start picking up the food and shoving it back into the bag. Bridget doesn't say hello, exactly, but when she's got things back up off the stone, she straightens up, resting the bag against a hip. "Might have to join you in that drink. I'll trade you carrying got a pint, aye?"

She understands all too well the drive toward independence, and how much string it flares when things start to go wrong, so she avoids the condescension of offering to help, exactly. But leans on an exchange of favors. "I'm off duty for a few hours yet and haven't had a decent drink in days and days."

Bridget. Bridget will save her. Yes she will. Relief in Sorcha's eyes, grasping figuratively at the offer of salvaged pride for booze. "Done" Done. Bridget isn't a mage, she's normal, like Sorch and right now Sorcha'd rather someone normal than deal with magic so soon. "Biggest pint we can find" and at the nearest place for getting drunk. She figures that she deserves it. "Least I wasn't carrying any eggs" Just some bread, cheese, few fruits fresh from the boats. "Lead on"

Bridget chuckles at the idea of the biggest pint, but nods her head all the same, "Sounds perfect." The Albatross is a bit of a walk from here, being on the waterfront, but luckily, it isn't the only place to get a drink. The militia woman nods her head toward the other side of the market square, seeming to trust Sorcha can follow now that Bridget is handling the extra goods. "This way. And then we'll see about stumbling home." It's just a little place, a hole in the wall with a few tables set up outside, which is as far as Bridget makes Sorcha walk, for now.

The seats are welcome, regardless, allowing her to clumsily make her way, and prop her leg up on an adjacent chair. Things ache, hurt, lower lip split from a well placed branch and a myriad of other cuts that one of the towns few healers tended to. herbs can only do so much and alcohol is a good duller of pain.

"You know, that Jorn wartooth turns into a polar bear? And he's nto even a Mage" She's heard the rumors before, but she'd never seen him like that before.

"Yeah, of course I know," Bridget says, waving a hand for a couple of pints as she sits down, too, pulling an extra chair over and turning it backward to straddle. Instead of sitting like a lady. But when does she ever. "He looks after Cordy," she says, as if feeling the need to explain how she knows.

"He's got a pelt. But he's a good man," she assures the seamstress, aware of how the woman feels about magical things. "I've trusted him with my life more than once." It's a vote of confidence she doesn't actually give many people, despite being in the militia with a number of people she has to depend on similarly. Jorn just happens to be one she does without worry making the back of her mind itch.

That could potentially go a long way to deciding what has shifted in her thoughts about the foreign man. "Pelt makes him do it?" Quizzically. "How common is that?"

"Not terribly. At least around here. But he's not. You know. From around here." Bridget looks over at Sorcha, her head canting slightly. "You hear stories sometimes, about Selkie and the like. I never really quizzed him on how it works, but he has that fur with him most times. He's still him when he's the bear, too. So nothing to worry about with a rampaging wild animal or nothing."

"And here I thought we were the ones that spoke with funny accents" Sarcasm and a smile pulled from the injured woman as their pints are put on the table and Sorcha is digging into a pouch to pay for it like she had bargained. To Bridget, it's not unknown Sorcha's unease around mages and dislike for the familiars. Jorn's pelt places him in a whole different category that she hadn't really had to deal with.

'Wasn't for him, I'd be tree fodder"

"Oh, we are," Bridget says with a dry chuckle. "I mean, listen to Niall's." Yes. Indeed. "Or Aislinn." Added as an afterthought. She picks up her pint as it arrives, taking a long drink before setting it back down again. "I said. He's good." She's not surprised to hear the man would go after an injured woman, or well, anyone, probably. "You know, he likes to knit." It's less adding to the man's oddities and more lending ideas for a thank you, but in a subtle way; it's easy to miss her real purpose. She's never been good at that sort of thing.

"He's come in and seen the wool. He's commissioned some clothing as well that I am soon to be done, if slightly delayed. He comes in often enough to the shop" She stops talking enough to drain half the alcohol down her gullet. "Maybe I should give him two of my sheep or rabbits. he can make his own wool from them, as gift"

"I'd offer to come help, but your trade makes me feel clumsy." She could fire a crossbow through the eye of a needle before she could sew straight. Bridget nods to the idea, though, her smile friendly, if rough. "Not a bad idea. He might knit more, if he had something like that. Then we all benefit, aye?" She, for one, likes his gifts, when he's inclined to make people some. "I didn't know you could get wool from rabbits, though." Her brow furrows there, like she can't quite figure how that works.

"Special rabbits. Not just any rabbits. They're out at Mairi's farm with my others. They look like uneven balls of cotton fluff" If one can imagine that. "Wispy ears" Sorcha looks away from Bridget and over the town, to the woods just seen beyond. "All Patricks faut. If his boat would just come in, I wouldn't be watching for it and then get caught out late"

"Oh. Might have to go see that." Bridget doesn't head out to that farm often. There's another militia man that tends to. Makes it a bit. Awkward. She looks out, too, as Sorcha does, her smiles dimming into a more subdued look at the mention of the sailor. She has a love-hate relationship with the ocean; it makes it hard for her to but uplifting about the subject. "When he gets back, we'll have to scold him, aye? For getting your leg broken."

"Have to make him treat me like a queen" Will have to be angry with him that he is away so long, but then eventually overjoyed that he is back. But enough about the water, rabbits and polar bears. "How is it out at Ross Manor?" Quietly asked, not really expecting an answer from her friend. Sorcha's allegiances have ever been neutral, swayed neither way. There is no Team Ross or Team Rowentree in Pins & Needles.

"I hope he remembers to bring me those knives we talked about. Or I'll have to scold him, too, aye. We'll start a line." Bridget's only teasing, though. As difficult as it might be to tell, given her tone barely changes.

When her family is brought up, she sits back, a glance sent around at the tables near them, always aware of the ears. "The same. I'll be on night watch tonight." As much as she might want to fret about her aunt, she knows how important her family's secrets are. But there's worry in that gaze all the same; the only mother she's ever known lies bedridden in the manor and she can't really speak of it.

She could press, attempt to pry further. But sorcha at the moment is disinclined and not willing to upset her friend - and risk having to carry her bag back on her own - so she nods. Between the night watches at Ross Manor and the Militia, she see's the other woman less than she did before. 'Well, if there's aught I can do to help, you know what to do" Come and ask. Sorcha drains through the second half of her drink and lets the cup thump noisly to the table. No move made for a second, just sitting and watching the people.

"I'll let you know if something comes up. But I think we're handling it in house," Bridget says, brows lifting for a moment, as if she doesn't quite agree, but is going along with it anyway. She takes a moment to finish her drink off, too, before standing up to her feet. "Come on, lets get you and your goods home, aye? You can tell me all about these wicked trees on the way."

'Tree's" Sorcha shakes her head in disgust as she attempt to maneuver back to standing with one immobilized leg. She uses Bridget even at one point in the game of getting upright. "I thought it was the Farren twins, playing jokes" Naming one of the pair of more mischievous adolescents in the town." She'll spend the trip back to the shop and her home laying out what happened and the presence of someone else who was there, with a horse. A ghastly tale if just for the fact that she could very well have become mulch, if Jorn had not blustered along that will be finished in time to send Bridget out to enjoy what's left of her free time before duty strikes.