Viator was, spectacularly, happy as he could be. Reveling in his soaked clothes and muddy boots, he wandered the campsite, saying his farewells to friendly nooks and corners that had held him at his best and worst. Hair darkened to a pale brown in the rainwater, he flipped it off his sticky skin, amused that for once it actually stayed out of is eyes.

He was actually prepared for the festival, thanks to Jerzy; he had gifts for Petra, for Tristaan and Jerzy, and especially for Wendy. It had eked out the very last of his savings, and he was skipping meals to pay for it but Petra seemed to always make sure he ate once a day at least. She was a good woman. Yet today was the feast; no one was going hungry! And Viator made sure to eat his fill at every table. He felt his stomach complain, even, that it was too much.

So now he was slinking past kints and festive children, waiting for someone he knew to find him. They usually did.

Wendy was holding her breath. It wasn't the smell, which was actually quite delightful. The rain made everything smell like earth and trees. It was wonderfully fresh. Wendy wasn't holding her breath because she had gotten herself into one of those contests where you had to hold your breath the longest (she usually lost those, anyway). The reason she was holding her breath was because she was trying not to throw up.

A small body like hers wasn't exactly made to hold as much food as she had inhaled in the matter of a few minutes. She leaned against one of the kints that was still there and shivered. The rain had made her quite cold and damp, although her forehead was hot to the touch. She was glaring at the ground with stern determination. Uh uh. No way. This was not going to happen.

She really shouldn't have been surprised. Years of eating crusty bread and water had suddenly been kicked aside by spicy wick foods that were heavy and acidic. Wendy hadn't yet learned the meaning of restraint and moderation, especially on a day when they were offering mountains of food for free.

For free. The thought still amazed her.

Wendy took a deep breath and then held it again as she felt food begin to rise up her throat. She swallowed and spat out a mouthful of spit that had begun to accumulate in her mind.

Oh nononono. It was too late. She hid in a corner and emptied about half of her stomach. The other half she miraculously managed to keep down.

Wendy's eyes watered and she coughed, wiping her hands on the grass and staring at the vomit.

"Eeeeeeew." She said, making a face and spitting into the ground again to get rid of the taste. She almost...felt hungry again.

Wendy groaned and leaned against the kint again, then swore when she slipped and got mud all over the back of her dress. Instead of getting up she sat down and stared at the sky blankly.

Her stomach was lurching really uncomfortably again. Wendy felt pretty sick.

He saw her before he smelled her, which was probably a good thing, because the smell of vomit was too familiar for comfort. Seasick lads at the bowsprit, or at the head, or anywhere. Illness was like home. Wendy being sick was, however, a totally different matter.

Loping over to her, he patted her back a few times, big eyes full of concern. "Oi, lassie, ye alright?" She was very warm and very pale, which could have to do with the weather. If she caught a cold now, just as they needed to get ready to travel... well, it could be uncomfortable.

((sfsp!))

"Hi." Wendy said, smiling vaguely at Via as he bent down next to her. "I'm fine. I feel much better, actually."

It wasn't exactly a lie. She did feel much better than she had a few moments prior, but her stomach was making odd noises and little water droplets flew down the corners of her face that might have been rain or might have been sweat. Wendy sniffed and tried to get up. The movement caused an immediate reaction.

"Excuse me." She said in a small voice, jumping nimbly over her old vomit and bending over to expel anything left. Wendy felt herself throwing up water before she forced herself to stop gagging. Instead she coughed, stumbling out of the little area she'd excused herself to and back to Viator.

She sniffed and tried not to look so miserable, although she felt far from happy. What she most wanted to do was lay on her side and sit there without moving. Instead she cleared her throat. There was still a sourness to her mouth that she didn't like and Wendy frowned slightly.

"I ate too much. I'm not sick."

She said it without meeting Via's eyes and while holding her arms to try and stop the shivering.

Wendy still looked pale through her affirmation, and Via was worried. It was continued as she expelled the last of the food she'd consumed, and with fatherly concern stepped forward, holding her hair out of her face and rubbing her back.

Really, if she hadn't been vomiting, Viator would have hugged her. So as she explained that she'd eaten too much, he wasn't quite sure he believed it, so he concerned himself with fussing over her. Wishing he had a jacket to lend her, he made do with wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah, beata, Oi've heard that'un afore. We're gettin ye t'a kint an' a blanket." He leaned in and planted a small peck on the crown of her head, but his grip was solid. "An' I don't intend t'take no fer an answer. Ye need rest, and summat t'eat that won't throw off yer innards." He already had plans for a stew in his minds eye, and the quicker he rescued his persnickety companion the better.

"You never listen to me." Wendy mumbled resentfully. "I'm not sick." She barely resisted as he lead her to the kint. Her teeth were chattering although it wasn't really that cold out. She stumbled once or twice and glared down at her dress. It was streaked with mud and other unidentifiable substances. She felt terribly icky.

If she had been a galdor, she would have wished for a nice hot bath. Instead all she wanted were clean clothes and maybe to hide under a blanket for awhile.

"Via?" She appeared to be on the verge of saying something and then changed her mind. Instead she said, "This was a nice dress. I'm going to have to wash it. Will there be streams on the way to Vienda do you think?"

As they neared the kint she stopped. "Oh wait. No. I can't go in there. I'll get everything muddy." Her face set and she stared at Via with a small, determined frown.

Viator nodded goodnaturedly as he dragged the dark haired girl along, the entire time highly tempted to pull her into his arms and jog the rest of the way. The only thing that stopped him what the possibility she might get sick... and he actually liked this shirt.

"Haha, lassie, I'll warsh it fer ye, it's not summthin you should be doin' all sick as ye are. I still recall how we did things back at Brunnhold, I ent as forgetful as I seem."


He paused, exasperated. Well, she was a difficult girl. Always had been. How had he dealt with it back when they were servants? Oes, and with a burst of memory and inspiration, he grinned.

"Whatever ye say, lovey!" And with that he spun behind her, undoing buttons and waist sash, and without a pause whisked the dress right off of her frame. He knew she had a slip on, so it wasn't as if she were naked. But he was getting tired of her constant complaints, and actions got things done much faster than words. With that done, he lifted her at the waist, shouldered the door of her kint open and deposited her inside.

"Git yerself comfy, I'll be waitin' on ye today." He gave her a dour look, one that threatened try an' fight me on this an' I'll tickle you silly.

The blue haired passive had followed Via's movements with tired eyes and she only realized what he was doing when her dress was half off.

"Wait-- What are you--!"

It was too late. She was in her slip and he was carrying her into the kint. Carrying her. As she was placed on the floor she stared at Viator, her mouth open in a small o.

"I can take care of myself." She snapped, then sniffed, which rather ruined the effect of her anger. She got herself into bed, shivering even under the blankets.

"I'm c-cold." She murmured, trying to make herself into a small ball. Wendy needed more blankets...the added weight of her dress hadn't been keeping her warm, but her slip was certainly not enough to keep her warm. Her face was faintly red, and was hot to the touch. Her whole body felt achy and stretched.

And she was hungry again.

After seeing to it his inky companion was curled away in bed, Via got down to the business of raiding her food stores. It was as to be expected; nigh bare and very sad looking. Sighing, he pulled out a few potatoes Petra had gifted the girl with, picking off the viny growths. There was also jar of some unspecified vegetable matter, which Viator really didn't blame Wendy for leaving untouched. However, he picked it up too, along with a crust of brick-hard bread and one lonely dried out onion.

"Ye keep yerself as warm as possible now, I'ma make ye some fare ye can actually eat." He was smiling on the outside, but seeing his little Wendy shivering in her bunk made him worry. They were going to be traveling soon, and she had to be better. Whether this was just food as she said, or the start of some kind of illness, he needed to get her seaworthy.

Setting up the stew-pot under the awning, using rain water to fill the thing and then throwing everything save the bread in, he carefully started a small fire to heat it. Shivering at a sudden breeze, Viator hoped that it would be enough.

After triple checking that the damp fire wouldn't go out if he left it unattended for a moment, the passive reentered the kint, unbuttoning his soaked shirt and hanging it by the door, rolling up his pants legs. His chest bindings were also wet, but instead of compromising the integrity, the water made it stick against the skin. The less water he tracked inside, the better.

"Oi lassie, let's getcha all fixed up then." He pulled out his own sleeping things, a think blanket and water-slick, wrapping them around her, wishing he had more to offer. "Stews goin' outside, jus' try an' feel better luv."

Wendy sat inside, shivering as Viator went outside with...stuff? She wasn't sure. He came back in and took off his shirt. Wendy caught sight of the bindings and blinked. What? Oh yeah. Via. Adalare. Same person. Had she ever seen her bindings before? His...bindings?

With some amount of apprehension, Wendy realized she'd started to think of Viator as a man. What did that mean?

Too cold to deal with it. As he put on another blanket she made a grateful noise, but she was still shivering.

"There was this s-spicy sausage that I was eating. And then there was this bread and s-some sort of meat on a stick..." she trailed off, her teeth chattering. Cold. Cold cold cold.

Brrr. COLD.

Wendy made a whimpering noise and sniffed.

His brow knitted with worry. Shipside he let the lads get over their illness themselves, without the least bit of mothering instinct. With Wendy he wanted to find whoever had let her eat so much and throttle them until the dust they had instead of brains came out their ears. He was fretting and damp and only now was the cold of the rain getting to him. Fighting back his own shivers, he forced a smile, at a loss for words.

After a moment just staring at her uselessly, he went back outside to check the stew. It was getting warmer, but it would take awhile before it was done. Yet he took the moment to sit down on a semi-dry space think. Hard.

What if this was more than just a random case of bad food? What is she was really sick? Would he be able to take care of her? He'd always managed fine on his own, scraping by on scraps and physical labor when land-bound. But what if she needed to be taken care of? He couldn't live with her starving, and there was no way he could take her to sea. He promised to care for her and gods if he would be forsworn.

Hanging his head, he stared at the ground. Vienda'll have jobs. Harbrooke too. Numbrey's a port, I don't wanna go there, but I guess if they'll take on some land-fellow at one of the taverns... I could keep the blokes in line... the fire at the pot began to gutter, so Viator quickly gathered for tinder and threw the damp sticks in, happy for the distraction.

Once it was taken care of, he began to pace. On m'own though... I don't think I have the skills to care for someone else. Two takin' care of one, though, that's better odds... he'd go with Jerzy. Convince Wendy it was the best idea. Yeah, thas it. I'll get her t'go wiv Jerzy, his folk an' me. We'll go by Vienda at some point, and she'n I'll go. The stew smelled done enough for the barest amount of consumption, and without much thought he took it off the fire and allowed the rain to put it out the rest of the way.

Going back into the kint, he served up the cooling stew into whatever vessels he could find, his own in a tin cup, Wendy's in what looked to be some kind of skillet. He had no idea where she kept her bowls, after all.

"Oi, gel, eat up. It won't be as righ as th'vittles at th'feast, but it hearty fare an' I hope it'll be enough t'fill ye up roight." He grinned and shoved the thing in front of her face. If she was too ill to eat it, well... he'd spoon feed it to her.

((Mind if Petra comes in?))

[It's okay with me!! ]

Wendy took the warm skillet from Viator's hands gratefully and sipped from the bowl. Now that food was in front of her she felt...considerably less hungry. But she forced herself to eat it, picking out the larger vegetable chunks with her fingers and munching on them. She tried not to make faces, but those vegetables had been untouched for a reason. They still had an odd metallic tang to them.

She was glad for anything warm, though. The liquid fell down to her stomach and she could trail its path by the heat. She made a groaning noise and hid herself under the blankets.

It occurred to her that she was being a little rude and she popped her head out of the blankets.

"Thanks." She mumbled, still shivering. "I think I gotta get my hair black and cut. For when we got to V-vienda."

Petra entered her kint fairly loudly, feet stomping as she tried to knock the damp off. She mumbled under her breath about stupid damp and wanting to be stupid home with her petal. She stopped when she saw Wendy looking rather sick.

"Hey, gel, what's the matter with you then?" She said, sounding a bit choked up. The fact that Wendy was leaving had been weighing on her. She wasn't sure quite what to do about it. She wasn't used to feeling all sappy.

"Hesta, Via, you keeping an eye on her then?" It was part compliment, part plea.

Viator was just about to offer to cut her hair himself, scrambling for something, anything to make him more than a walking talking bit of flotsam when Petra came in. He'd known her to be somewhat upset about their departure, but... the poor thing looked wrung out. He knew something of their time together, and the escape, bu tit was with a jolt that he saw that Petra really, deeply cared about Wendy.

Brilliant eyes flitting between sick passive and deject witch, he saw a way to make them both happy, at the expense of his own usefulness. "Oi! I was, but I'm rather stumped. I ent got any real experience wit illnesses, so... Hows about ye take over?" He stepped backwards, giving her plenty of room. Petra would baby Wendy better anyway, she was more mature and probably more skilled with sicknesses. Even if it meant getting out of the kint so she could work.

In fact, he needed to find Jerzy at some point and talk to him. Emotional... delusions aside, Jerzy was their best chance. It gave them more protection than two (he had to admit women) alone, and he was upstanding and kind. It could wait, but if Petra wanted alone time with her Venadi, then Viator would not make himself an annoyance.

"Nothin's the matter." Wendy mumbled obstinately, pouting a little. She sniffed loudly and shivered. The soup had helped but she was still cold. She hid her head completely under the covers and curled up, trying to tell herself that this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

At Via's statement a muffled, "N-n-n-not sick!" came out from underneath the blanket. And to think awhile ago she'd been stuffing her face. Well she was damn well paying for it. Wendy sniffed loudly and sneezed three times in a row.

"Gods curse it..." she mumbled tiredly.

"Oes, probably not a bad idea." Petra said, rolling up her sleeves. "Why don't you take a load off, Vi? I imagine you've had your hands full with this one."



"Oes, you are." Petra replied dryly.

Petra put her hand to Wendy's head. She was burning up a bit. She was going to need some rest, food and to keep her temperature down. Couldn't do much else with fever.

"Ye got a fever, ye daft chip." Petra said chidingly. "No travelling until it's run its course. Not that I want ye running out the door..."

Petra sat down by the bed, looking glum.

As Petra reached under the covers Wendy's arms snaked out and clamped themselves around the older woman's waist.

"I d-didn't get you a gift." She mumbled, pressing her head into Petra's side. "After all you've done for me and I didn't even get you anything."

I'm a terrible, terrible person.

"Sorry." She whispered.

Her small frame seemed to still its shivering with the presence of another body nearby to warm it. Wendy looked very much like a cat-- and if she had had the ability, she probably would have purred.

"I have to go to Vienda...can't go back to Brunhold...mmgh..." she trailed off, unsure of what to say.

[sfsp]

Petra smiled, an expression that softened her normally tough exterior considerably. She wrapped her arms around Wendy, skirting her chair a bit closer so the hug was comfortable.

"Oh, nanabo, you didn't have to get me anything, yer gift enough." Petra petted Wendy's head, running her hand through the short locks that were beginning to sprout behind her bangs. "I'm very proud of you, ye'v come a long way."

Petra found this display of emotion quite difficult. She normally tried to keep on a strong front but she let it down because Wendy needed to know. Petra loved her like a daughter, though she'd never had children of her own. They seemed to share a certain amount of misanthropy not found in normal people.

"I know ye'v got to go, 'n I feel like I can let you now 'n not worry too much." Petra said honestly. "I sure am going to miss you though, I hope ye'll write."

She shot Viator a look that implied she would be grateful for all eternity if the man never let on that she had tender feelings.

It was with pang of deep sadness that the sailor oversaw the tender scene, the love and affection between the girl and the witch. Wendy hadn't really opened up to him, maybe because he was Viator, but maybe because it didn't occur to her to be affectionate with a 'man.' Although he smiled, and though he'd never tell a soul, these moments were a private battle that seemed to find no end. He wanted to share in them, to posess a love that sweet, yet even as he raised his hands to show Petra he'd keep his silence, he knew that he'd never withstand it.

Love meant trust. Trust was, for him, a breaking thing. Oh yes he trusted Wendy... but only because she already knew. For her, she saw the underneath hurt when it was fresh, helped piece together the current creature. No one else had that, everyone else would have to be told.

Which was out of the question.

Smiling at the pair, he drifted towards the door of the kint. "I'll leave ye two t'yer docorins, ye prolly don't need a fumble-fuss loike me in here..." Really, he had no where else to go. Jerzy would be with his family, Tristaan with Sarinah where ever they where, all making similar scenes of happiness and affection. Always an outsider, never a participant. He'd been fooling himself thinking he and Wendy were still family.

It was with a stark realization that he recalled he wasn't wearing a shirt; he'd been walking about in his bindings! Oh gods above-- he quickly grabbed the still mostly wet shirt and threw it on, trying to bring as little attention to the motion as possible. However, exposed was not too strong a word for his emotions. The need to flee struck him, however... for once he fought it. See if they wanted him around at all first. He'd brave the hurt for Wendy's benefit.

"'Course I'll write." Wendy said snappishly, glaring at the ground. "Gotta make sure you're not doing anything stupid. Dunno how you're gonna get on without me to drag your drunk ass home every night."

She sniffed and tried to still the trembling of her lips. She couldn't cry...she usually found it too hard to stop.

Via almost left in his...her...bindings. Wendy sighed in confusion and snuggled closer to Petra for the warmth she provided. She was solid and she wasn't subtle or crazy or messed up like Wendy and Via were.

Or...not as messed up. At least she'd be fine once she was with Rosie again.

"Stop that, Via." She mumbled tiredly. Wendy still felt quite achy and sick. "You can't put that wet shirt back on and it's still raining outside. D'you want to get sick too or what?" The question was asked in an irritated voice although there was underlying concern.

She wasn't sure how to deal with her emotions right now. She wanted to stay with Petra...she missed Rosie...she missed Pascual so...so much...Via was here now but she...was a he?

It was too much. All she wanted was for things to be simple. Wendy was a simple sort of person, happy with little. The little that had been denied to her since her birth.

Maybe freedom wasn't such a little thing...

"Petra's got shirts in there." She pointed and then glanced up at Petra almost adoringly. "You'll let her use one of your shirts right? I don't want Via to get sick..."

Wendy didn't even realize she'd said 'her'.

Petra caught the pronoun and gave Viator's chest another a look. She'd noticed the bandages, though she'd given them no thought. She had assumed Via had gotten a tattoo recently. She'd obviously been incorrect.

"In retr'spect this explains a lot." She said voice light with the realisation. It was like a light coming on. "Oes, Via can borrow a shirt. Mind your he's and she's Venadi, Via wants to like as a kov then you treat him like one."

Petra waved for Viator to sit as well.

"No need to go rushing out, man. You're in wick company, you can be who you want to be." She gave Wendy a blistering look. "And I ent a drunk."

"Uh...what?" Wendy asked blankly, staring at Petra like the woman had recently decided to grow a second pair of breasts. It was a very specific sort of confused look.

What the clock is she on about? Did I say something odd?

She tried to remember and decided there had been nothing wrong with her request. Wendy's face possibly became more confused as Petra went on.

A second pair of breasts and a new pair of arms.



That put her on more familiar territory. Arguing offered Wendy a very deep level of comfort that she couldn't fully explain.

"Yes you are." She replied smugly. "I can tell because you just said you weren't."

It was with a strained look that Via took the accidental utterance. Freezing to the spot, shirt half on, he tried to process the betrayal in some way that didn't end up in him running out the so close door, hiring onto a leaving caravan and never looking back. He said he was done with running, hadn't he? Yet the urge to disappear was so strong, so ingrained, as to make the muscles in his body twitch.

How could she?

He followed Petra's direction, going towards the trunk in the back of the kint. He hung his rain dark shirt... somewhere, moving as though clockwork. His hands shook minutely as he grabbed at the bright fabric, pulling it on one sleeve and at a time, fumbling with the buttons. He couldn't manage them; everytime he got the little disc nearly through the slit, he's shake or shiver. With a frustrated exhalation and a furrowed brow he gave up. Yet he still refused to turn around and look at them.

She didn't even realize it. That... hurt the worst, because he couldn't even be angry at her. She'd slipped up. He took a breath, trying to steady himself, awkwardly on the kint wall to stop himself from hitting it. His arm still twitched, and he scraped his foot along the floor. It was all so horrid. Even with Petra's invitation to a seat, he didn't want to. He wanted to take back Wendy's words.

Fidgeting, he forced himself to turn to the two women and wit a silent stiffness sank to the floor.

"She ent drunk, Wendy, but better you were." Although his eyes were vaguely averted, his voice held the glare and betrayal he tried to hide.

"Better I--" She heard the accusation in his voice and sat up. She didn't understand what was going on.

"What's got you so moody?" She snapped, her eyes wide and her position defensive. She didn't think she'd ever heard him use that tone of voice before. It distressed Wendy to hear it directed at her. Frankly, it upset her that he was acting like this out of the blue. Was it because she was hugging Petra? Surely not!

Viator had never been prone to bouts of jealousy before. Wendy would have been the first to admit there were things about her old friend that she didn't know, but whatever feeling had caused him to lash out at her like that she felt was undeserved.

What did I say? Petra had said something odd earlier as well... she hadn't understood it then, either.