The Inn was loud. Raucous laughter and curses mingled with dizzying movement as the crowd swelled. Dragons, fae, humans and creatures from varying points of the Multiverse clustered around the bar, clamoring for attention. One of those creatures, a Norskmann called Guthorm Othinsson, frantically scratched his back against a wall near the window, then vigorously shook himself before dropping down into his usual seat.

As Guthorm sat, a sleek shadow took shape in the rafters above his table; glowing red eyes, curves and silver hair were defined in the overhead gloom by a hint of firelight. It was just a whisper of noise up there, over his head, and leaning the chair back to balance on its back two legs, he looked upwards. He didn't see much up there. . .but. . . there was something. He chuckled, overhearing a comment, then resumed his squinting. Two small somethings were aglow above, but he gave it no more mind as he dug his back into the chair to scratch at the terrible sensations that seemed to be getting worse.

There were fire ants swarming across his back, little did he know it.

Before the shadowy form resolved further, the elfess Elessaria looked past Guthorm, offering the slightest nod of a ?hello? to the demoness lurking in the rafters, who leaned forward and down somewhat to respond with a greeting.

?Eless?,? came a smooth contralto from the rafters. ?Well met.?

?And as always with thee, Alysia,? answered Elessaria, canting her head in Guthorm?s direction. The elegant elfess then added, rather sardonically, ?Methinks that is a rather suitable, if large, target for practicing dagger throwing if necessary?

Noting this exchange, Guthorm recognized the voice from above. It was Alysia up there. Another majick-user. He got to his feet and helplessly looked behind him for the source of the crawling itch upon his back. ?Ouch, ouch...? He groused. The savage itching across his back intensified. ?Ehhhhh...?

Eless sighed softly with disappointment, knowing that if Guthorm were allergic, he would have already started to show signs, and Chryrie, kin to the demoness lurking in the rafters, just smiled wickedly. The wonderful thing about fire ants was, even after they were squashed, the effects of their bites lasted for days if constantly itched at.

Suddenly, the Norskeman ended up covered head to toe in multicolored ribbons. This was not Guthorm?s night. It was clear to him that the inn held those who would play their tricks of magick . . .ribbons??? He was tangled in ribbons too? By the gods!

Alysia settled back down, watching Guthorm with an unblinking stare. The man was squirming, festooned with ribbons. Bizarre. She just shook her head.

Guthorm pulled the ribbons off and not gently either, tossing them all around him on the floor while wishing he had cold water to pour on the itchings that were driving him crazy. ?Stop it!? Even in his torment, he had to move. Aiming for the stairs post to use, his steps did not go as planned; fettered and halting, he stumbled, nearly tripped and fell.

Booted feet swung up to the nearest unoccupied chair, Alysia slouched in a display of languid carelessness, holding up both hands, palms open and facing Guthorm. It was a gesture signifying truce and honesty, lacking in guile. ?I will endeavor to be brief.?

The characteristic tilt of his head brought him to his null point, and all Guthorm?s attention was on her then.

I...I know what I've seen with my own eyes. I know what I've heard from people I trust. But I'm having a hard time accepting the Captain's betrayal.

?Lucien trusts you, for some reason. And I must trust that his instincts are true, so -- so, I will not war with you.? She took a deep breath and continued. ?Trust would be too much, I think. But I would buy my peace with you.?

Well... Guthorm was certainly not expecting that, ?Buy? your peace?? That made him grin a little, memories of England and Danegeld coming from years before here.

?Have you a price, Othinsson?? Alysia asked quietly, a bitter edge creeping into her smooth contralto. She recalled her angry retort to Howe. Perhaps I?ve become so petty and spiteful that I?d as soon see what I love destroyed as put a price upon it.

He did not answer right away, but regarded her as if he could pull her thoughts from her head...which he could not. After a few minutes, he said, ?It seems, lady, that it is you who should make an offer. What can you pay that would buy the peace between us??

?I don't know your price, Othinsson.? She lowered her hands, resting them on her thighs. ?I'm not the one in the employ of men who've sought to kill a friend - and these men, they must know your price.? This was said softly and with a faint, weighted smirk, for the Norskman was openly employed by DCH, who were just as openly trying to kill Lucien.

Either you want us to leave him alive, or we kill him. Period. He?s mortal. Sooner or later? He will run out of lives and we will keep trying until he?s dead. We at DCH never fail.

?Regardless.? Alysia spoke into the ensuing, thoughful silence. ?I will offer to vow not to harm you, or one of your choosing - unless you have something more appropriate in mind.?

Guthorm leaned in closer to the woman with the pointed canine teeth. Voice low, he began, ?You know nothing. Lucky...? He stopped. He could not say the rest, not here, not now. ? I would accept your offer...for Taneth. You will not give her harm, no matter what happens.?

Her delicate brows shadowed with a frown. The wording of that . . . ?Do you expect I will have cause to harm her??

Guthorm frowned in his beard, an echo of hers. ?I cannot say. She is so...? He paused to weigh the possibilities. ?Ja. You may.? He shook his head, then added, ?They are Magick.? As if that explained the weight of the whole situation.

A glimmer of something - some bitter suspicion, then regret - burned in her eyes. ?Never mind. It matters not. If Lucien trusts you, then so shall I. I will not harm her, not unless it is necessary to defend one of my bloodline. Is that sufficient, Othinsson??

?It is.? He saw it, that changeable look, and could not blame her for it. Guthorm changed course, then. It was her words in Howe's office that still bothered him greatly. He had to hear her answer. ?Tell me. Would you defend Lucien, if he came to harm again??

Alysia sighed, searching for the appropriate words, ones that would not reveal weakness. She finally said, in somewhat exasperated honesty, ?Gods and demons, Othinsson, we're blood-bonded. If he feels pain, I feel it. So -- yes, though it would destroy what little we have. . .? She glared at him for a moment, accusation weighted in crimson eyes. ?Would you care to live sheltered by your woman? What would that do to you -- in here?? She tapped her forehead, then her chest, over her heart.

?Mmm.? Her words sank in deep, and Guthorm understood what she spoke very clearly. ?Alysia....? Words seemed poised on the tip of his tongue. He glanced around. Faces he knew, faces, ears... he could not get the words out now, after this last from here to ask for favour from the woman of his Staersmann, not in his desperation, nei...and so he said nothing.

Largely unaware of Guthorm?s internal struggle, Alysia regarded him stonily, then nodded at his continuing silence. She kept her face neutral, emotionless, guarded, though inwardly she was seething. ?No more questions, I take it.?

?I must go,? the Norskmann finally said.

?Not only you.? Alysia pushed to her feet. ?Fare thee well, Othinsson.?