RP:Made Of Scars

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Part of the The Day I Tried To Live Arc

Summary: Khitti portals herself onto Brand's ship, after the attack at House Dragana, nearly dead. Brand and the Tranquility's new healer from the Healer's Guild, Lennier, help to save her as Khitti fights away memories of the past. Khitti finds out that she is connected to Lennier via the mindflayers, albeit indirectly.

The Tranquility, Somewhere Between Cenril And Chartsend

How long had it been since she’d left Cenril and gone to Vailkrin? A few hours? Five or six at the most? Khitti had waited until the very last moment to leave the Tranquility. Brand and Khitti would be separated for a week at the very least. She’d training to do in Vailkrin, cure-related things to research a bit more, and he, well he had his deliveries to make in Chartsend. They were fine apart, of course, as they always had been--except when -someone- got herself kidnapped anyway--and now was really no different, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t going to miss him and wondered if she’d ever see him again. There’d been a bit of sex most likely, and conversing about anything and everything like they’d always done--and certain topics avoided because shut up Lydia I’ll get to telling him about it eventually--but… she was still sad. That Cassandra Complex would’ve been there again, would she have voiced her worries to anyone, and so she kept them to herself, making the most of the time she had with Brand. She even kept them from Lydia.

Everything had been perfectly fine, and she worried for nothing, and had made it to House Dragana safely. She was even content, happy, to be in that house again, to learn the magic that she now called her own.

Everything was fine at least, until Emrith had showed up, had tried to kill Larewen, and Khitti stepped in to help the woman Khitti started to call ‘friend’.

Everything had been fine, until she’d taken over half of those attacks from the higher-ranking member of the Warrior’s Guild, from that magic-draining dagger.

Everything had been fine, until a shadow portal opened in whatever part of the ship Brand found himself in, and Khitti collapsed on the floor, face first, just before it closed. She hadn’t been wearing her dragonscale armor. Why would she need it just for a quiet night of chatting with Larewen? House Dragana was protected by strong magic; nothing could get through its defenses. The wounds from the dagger were many and once Khitti hit the floor, blood ever so quickly began to pool around her.

Everything had been fine. Better than fine, actually. The crew had just offloaded a particularly sensitive cargo for a wealthy Cenrilian politician and earned a hefty tip for their haste and discretion. (It was anyone’s guess what a public official needed with thirty hand-woven tapestries depicting vaguely lascivious centaur, but Brand didn’t judge if the money was good enough -- and it was.) The crew didn’t need to know what the cargo was, either -- all that mattered was, tonight, they were drinking the good stuff. The top shelf liquor. The stuff in the fancy glass bottles crafted to look like leviathans and skulls, quadruple-filtered and stored in barrels made from genuine Xalious cedar or… whatever.

Everything was fine. The lot of them were gathered in the crew’s lounge, with all the tables pushed together to make it one long dining hall of celebration. Even Onyx was letting loose a bit; Brand was sure he’d seen a smile when the not-child thought no one was looking. Two dwarves, a husband and wife, were standing on one of the tables and fencing with the legs of a chair that had broken not long before. They were reenacting… something. Some ancient dwarven duel between two famous figures Brand had never heard of before. Lionel would know, probably, were he here. The woman ducked and dodged, seemingly apparating to her partner’s backside, then made the final blow to look as if he’d been run through. The male dwarf staggered, a facade of shock on his features, and collapsed to play dead. The crowd erupted in cheers, and the wife beamed and bowed before helping her husband back to his feet and hopping off for another drink.

Everything was fine, and then it wasn’t. The portal opened and a Khitti poured out, all dressed in blood and lacerations. There’d been people standing not far from where that shadowy door had appeared, but they’d all scattered for the walls the instant that telltale ‘bamf’ had sounded, marking Khitti’s arrival. Now they gaped, and gawked, and a nervous silence took the place of what had been joviality only moments before. Even Brand seemed at a loss, if only for a second.

“Clear us a gorram table!” He slammed his tankard down, and that seemed to rid the crew of their collective stupor. Some grabbed their drinks and bottles and fled, intent on carrying on elsewhere. Whatever their opinion of Brand, the captain’s girl wasn’t -their- problem. Onyx slipped out of the room too, no doubt glad for an excuse to leave the party early. A handful of crewmates cleared the table nearest Khitti and lifted her to rest upon it. There were now more people trying to leave at once than could easily fit through the door, but more than a few clearly meant to linger. Brand pinpointed an elf out of the bunch, a young healer and fresh recruit.

“Grab your supplies. There are extra vials of blood in the far cabinet in the situation room if you don’t keep ‘em yourself. The rest of you, out with the others.” Brand shooed them off before pivoting to Khitti. “What in the seven frakkin’ hells happened, woman?”

Of course, no one would help Khitti. Why would they? They were probably terrified of her--and Onyx probably helped that along too--at least, that’s what Khitti thought. She wasn’t here for them though, and she was grateful that Brand shooed them off. Out of all the things they fought about, that always seemed to be a thing they agreed on; their wounds were their business and no one else’s. Lydia appeared, opposite of Brand, on the other side of the table, but only he would be able to see her. She’d stuck aboard the ship, it seemed, or maybe she -had- gone with Khitti, the ghost giving no indication to either.

“Emrith… He tried to murder Larewen. He’s still got zhat spider bitch in him.” Khitti sucked in a bit of unneeded air, her pain obvious. “Something about Larewen being tainted, but frak she’s always been a bit evil. I zhink zhat spider… I zhink she’s driven Emrith mad or something.” Emrith was always a pain in the ass, but now something was clearly different. “I have to--I have to tell Lionel...or Hildegarde. Shishi’s taking care of Larewen, but..” The redhead winced, tears forming in her eyes. The little bit of magic that Larewen had infused her with to get her moving was fading, and Khitti was looking weaker by the second.

“Her magic’s gone; the mana pool’s been completely depleted. It’s not gone for good, but she’s gonna be weak as hell for a day or so, even with that vampirism. If she hadn’t made that portal in advance for emergencies, she very well could be dead. Er. Deader. There’s some other kind of magic in her though, but it’s almost gone too. It’s very old and very dark.“ deduced Lydia as if she were some sort of medic. It’s not like she didn’t know the ins and outs of her sister, though, and had such a connection with Khitti via necromantic means. “If this guy had a magic-draining weapon, and went there for Larewen, he definitely meant business.”

“Larewen, she gave me zhe last of her magic before she told me to run...” When the elf healer were to get around to her wounds, amongst all of the lacerations, he’d find deep claw marks on Khitti’s shoulder, evidence of Larewen’s demand for her to leave.

“All right. Do me a favor n’ don’t worry about Larewen right now.” Sheesh. Nothing to sober a guy up like having your woman bleed all over you. Brand was surveying her wounds, stripping her clothing free of her where she’d bled through. It was all torn up anyway. But more importantly, no one could treat what they couldn’t get at. “Lydia, make yourself useful and find me a blanket.” Well, that was rude. The ghost’s diagnosis wasn’t -completely- unhelpful. But hey, give the man a break; the dude’s busy trying to save Khitti’s arse again. “Fresh or bottled, peach?” Brand was rolling up his sleeves, ready to present his wrist to her. That was certainly one upside of her vampirism: quicker healing. From most things, anyway. But some magic-draining dagger…? Who could say if that would be one of them? “Might wanna know I’ve got a glass of whiskey in me and a couple shots.” Which… really wasn’t -that- much, for a Catalian.

Another thing Khitti had been glad for when Brand got rid of his crew was that she didn’t have to listen to all those lovely hearts beating around her. Even now she could hear them, all scattered about the ship, taunting her with that blood that she so craved right now. Once upon a time, she’d’ve been fine with the bottled stuff, but since then she’s gotten herself a willing blood donor aka a Brand. It’s still funny to consider that he’d been entirely against it only a year ago. Funny how things change. Khitti was hesitant though, as she’d not really fed from him all that much these past few months. Something about her not wanting the Tranquility’s crew to think less of him for doing that for her--but, of course, she’d not told him that. She’d normally been avoiding the subject of late, except for when she fed before they went after the mermaids. The prospect of whiskey in his veins tipped that scale in the opposite direction, though, and she’d reach a hand up to grab at his arm gingerly, that hesitation still clearly there.

Lydia did as she was told, but not without a smirk to Brand’s commanding tone, a blanket found and draped over Khitti. “I don’t know if blood’s gonna heal all of those immediately, but it’ll certainly help.” Some of the lacerations were superficial, and would definitely heal when Khitti started feeding, but others… well they ran a bit deep. Emrith was so much more skilled in close-quarters combat than Khitti, and he was a vampire to boot, so that only made things worse.

The elf came back while Khitti’s fangs were still embedded in Brand’s arm. “Not a word, Lennier,” said Brand, not even looking up from his ward. “Just c’mere and take care of this. And please tell me you’ve got somethin’ that doesn’t use holy magic.” Gently, Brand pulled away, and a shaven-headed elf took his place, fussing with several bottles of salves and herbs as if trying to decide which one might be most effective. Eventually, he seemed to settle on an answer, and coated a rag with a mix of some lumpy, greenish lotion that smelled vaguely of honey.

“Prepare yourself. This will sting. Better than your limbs contracting infection and rotting off, however.” It was a joke, or perhaps not -- because despite his tone, the elf wasn’t smiling. He pulled back a corner of the blanket and began his work, massaging the salve deep into her wounds as much as the vampiress would allow. ‘Sting’ was an understatement.

Khitti looked wholly unsure about this--especially as she’s being warned about the pain--and looked to Brand as if to say ‘are you sure about this?’, the look in her eyes not unlike that of a frightened animal. It was drastically different than that day in Sage Forest when he took her to the healer--the very first day they met, and the first time he saved her ass.

The vulnerability she’d thought would fade once she was with Brand again hadn’t left her. No, it was even worse now because she had to depend on some kid to take care of her, some kid that she didn’t even know. Some kid out of a crew that didn’t like her at all. Great. This was probably going to end badly. A hand started to reach out towards Brand, hoping that he might take it, but… she ultimately retracted it, frowning as she chose to keep that sort of PDA to a non-existent level in front of the elf. Instead, as the healer started applying the salve, she closed her eyes and bit back the screams that threatened to surface. Don’t do it. Don’t make things worse with them, worse for Brand. Don’t be anymore of a burden to them than you already are.

Telling herself this didn’t stop the tears, though, unfortunately. And Lydia looked incredibly uncomfortable, as if she could feel the pain radiating from her sister. She took to pacing (does a ghost really need to pace?) on the far side of the room away from the three.

The Catalian had been surveying Khitti’s treatment from some distance away, leaning on the back of a chair and idly toying with a ring the vampiress had given him. Something of her father’s, she’d said. Something to keep on him in case she needed to find her way back to him. Something for emergencies. And Brand supposed this was exactly the sort of thing she’d feared happening. There was certainly no shortage of people who wished ill upon her, whether it was because of her status as a vampire, or as a necromancer, or because of her place in various Shadow Plane prophecies. This, though -- Emrith? A fellow vampire and a guildmate of hers? Mind-meddling spiders or no, Brand felt a morbid sort of appreciation for this twist of events. Because go frakkin’ figure that everyone who’d talked a big game about Amarrah being a threat had proven to be quite the danger themselves. It seemed that everyone who’d pointed the finger at Khitti -- as if it were -her- fault the butterfly was mad -- had succumbed to madness of one sort or another. First Eirik, now Emrith. Were there yet more to come?

Khitti’s hand twitched closer, drawing Brand out of his thoughts. Was she…? She was. Khitti was reaching towards him, for however short a time. He didn’t need their fresh mindlink to know the pain she was in, the pain she was trying to suffer quietly. The healer had a professional demeanor, and he was quick enough at his business, but these were no superficial wounds -- and that wasn’t even factoring in the effects of the blade’s enchantment or the shock of having been betrayed by an ally.

Brand shoved the ring back into his pocket and took Khitti’s hand in his, stretching over the table so as to be sufficiently out of the elf’s way. She was going through enough already. The least he could do was remind her she didn't suffer alone.

The redhead blinked open her eyes as she felt Brand’s hand take hold of her own. She didn’t think he’d seen it and if he had, part of her wondered if he cared. Or maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but rather that he had an image to uphold with his new title as captain. Don’t want the crew thinking he’s soft and whatnot, you know. But, he still held her hand regardless and all she could do was stare at him in silence--or as silent as she could be anyway--as the elf continued to work and her tears continued to flow. [I’m sorry I ruined your party.] The thought was sincere, guilt washing across their link. [I’m sorry…] Her line of sight was cut away as she winced, Lennier unfortunately hitting a rather tender spot--though what part of her wasn’t sore right now?

Tiny snippets of those memories of hers, from the time just before Amarrah had been implanted into her, flickered across the link; between Emrith and that dagger, and now the elf and his poking and prodding with that salve and the rest of his tools, it was enough to trigger those thoughts to come pouring back. No matter how hard she tried to fight them off, the memories stayed and Khitti wept a little more openly. This was it, this was the reason why she didn’t like healers near her when she was injured. It was too similar, too much to bear. And despite the fact that Brand was holding her hand, and doing his best to comfort her, it almost didn’t matter.

Khitti soon started getting angry. Angry with herself for letting this show, angry with Emrith for betraying not only Larewen, but Khitti as well. [I’m going to kill him, Brand. If Lionel o-or Hildegarde doesn’t do it… I’m going to kill him. Him and whoever the hell gave him that dagger.] Out of all the times she’d fought alongside Emrith, he’d never once had that thing. His swords, Heleg and Nahr, or some other small objects like the runes to keep in contact with one another during a fight or that magical cloak of his--out of all of these things and others unnamed, she’d never once seen that dagger. The vampiress was definitely seriously in her promise, though. Enough to the point where she considered to not even tell Lionel or Hildegarde and to deal with the issue herself.

Brand continued massaging his thumbs into Khitti’s hand, his attention occasionally straying from the vampiress and onto the healer. The elf said nothing but seemed hyperfocused on the task at hand. It was entirely possible they could speak aloud and he’d not even notice -- but with this subject matter, better safe than sorry. [And what purpose does that serve, if he’s under the control of something else?] This was just anger, Brand told himself. Anger and pain. She couldn’t seriously think killing Emrith was a good idea -- not so soon after others had wished death upon her for what Amarrah did. [Go to Hildegarde and go to Lionel and then wash your hands of the whole gorram thing. Let it be their problem. You have a cure to find. Bigger fish to fry.] And she certainly didn’t need to make any more enemies.

Brand, of course, was right and despite her anger, Khitti knew this. The rage subsided as Brand managed to tip her thoughts back to the side of light, rather than allowing her to linger in the darkness that’d been building as of late. [Alright.] The sadness and guilt returned, but she was quieter about it now, leaving the Catalian to his own thoughts again, instead of bombarding his mind with her own.

Lydia surveyed that silent exchange between the two, the change of moods that the vampiress went through rather quickly. Brand was definitely good for her, this much was true, but she didn’t know how long that would last. She finally left her spot on the far side of the room and moved to join Khitti, standing next to Brand, and still going unseen by the elf. Much like with Khitti and Brand’s conversation, he likely wouldn’t have even noticed her anyway if she did make herself visible to everyone. The spectral redhead would remain silent, but it was obvious that the gears were turning in her head.

After a bit longer of merely contenting herself with staring up at Brand--what? He’s hot okay?--Khitti shifted her attention towards her sister and saw that look of contemplation on her mirror’s face, and then suddenly she realized what her sister meant to do. No, please don’t tell him. Not now. This isn’t the time. But… Khitti made no indication of her thoughts besides the deadpan stare she gave Lydia.

The elf had worked in near silence, singularly fixated on his task. But now he stepped back, surveying his work -- and he wasn’t satisfied with what he saw. “Some of these need stitches. Herbs and poultices can only go so far, even for the best healer.” Indeed, it was a wonder his salve had slowed her bleeding at all. Some of the wounds went almost down to the bone, leaving flesh flayed open and exposing a ghastly amount of muscle and fibrous tissue. Khitti’s flashbacks were hardly surprising, considering.

“Well?” Brand twisted to look back at the elf. “You know what needs doing. Why the hesitation?”

The healer was wringing his hands. He peered, lips parted, from Khat to Catalian and back. The blanket was still pulled back, leaving the vampiress partially exposed. A draft seeped in from nowhere.

“Your scars, I… I must ask their origin.” The elf’s lips twitched into a half-frown. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

Khitti’d still been fixed on Lydia as the elf and Brand spoke. The word ‘ma’am’ brought her back from that silent staring match with her sister. Ma’am? Right. Yes. That was her. Wait, why was she being questioned? Why wasn’t her wounds stitched up yet? Why were they still there? Why was this taking forever? “Scars?” Yeah. Those. You know. Those things you got before Amarrah came along. That time before Lithrydel, the time you were trying so hard not to remember right now.

A shiver ran along the length of Khitti’s spine as she pushed the memories away again, putting up weak barriers in her mind against them like someone trying to bar a door against a legion of undead with nothing more than those foam pool noodles, a few bent nails, and a squeaky toy hammer. She jerked her hand out of Brand’s own, fingers twitching like they ached to start a fire, but she couldn’t even conjure up a puff of black smoke. “Vhy does it matter? Zhey’re so old. Zhey’ve nothing to do vith zhis.” Khitti tried to sit up, tried to pull the blanket up over her again, tried to hide everything as she started to panic--sitting up was a bad idea though, for the blood started to flow again. “I-I s-shouldn’t have come here. S-should’ve stayed in Vailkrin.” The pain was immense, but still she attempted to get up, and even get off of the table.

Brand wasn’t about to let that happen. Because duh. A hand went to Khitti’s shoulder, staying her. Did she really think she’d be able to go anywhere in that condition? Stubborn as always. “Is that really a question you need to be askin’ right now?” was asked of the healer, who seemed equal parts eager to stop Khitti and eager to flee the scene, himself.

“I, er, I offer my sincerest apologies. Please, I know the question is an intrusive one. I only ask because…” The poor elf. He was panicking nearly as badly as Khitti was, stammering and pale and holding out his hands in a show of repentance. “Most of them, th-they’re too precise to be from battle. Too straight and even and far too many. And, I, well…”

“Get to the gorram point, Lennier.” Brand could sense Khitti’s reaction, and he was none too happy about the elf stirring things up.

Lennier took to hand-wringing again, the motions only intensified. “The pattern. I’ve seen something like it before.” The healer’s eyes flit nervously from his captain to his charge. “You had a running-in with mindflayers, did you not? How was it you survived?”

As Brand pushed her back down onto the table, she was suddenly no longer on the Tranquility. Firm hands held her shoulders down against a cold, metal slab as several figures loomed over her in the darkness, all with various tools to aid them in their poking and prodding. Just before they could make new incisions, Khitti was back on the ship, with Brand and Lennier hovering over her, and Lydia too. Whatever Lydia had been deciding to tell Brand was silenced for now as she too listened to the elf--it was a bittersweet victory for Khitti.

“Just--just one,” was uttered by the redhead after a few moments of composing herself enough to think, but not enough to hide the fresh tears that’d formed. “Because he vanted me to.” Because I have things I’m supposed to do. People I’m supposed to disappoint, others I’m supposed to kill. “He’s dead now. I killed him… And before him, zhe necromancers zhat helped him.” The mindflayer’s bones, she’d see them again soon. Too soon even. She’d find them when they’d go to get Lydia’s own remnants. Khitti seemed distant now, her mind hellbent on remembering things she’d rather have gone forever.

Brand didn’t seem to know what to say or what to do, and so the conversation unfolded with him merely an observer. Lennier, too, was silent a long while, processing Khitti’s response. His brows furrowed and his gaze turned far away. She wasn’t the only one lost in a memory. “I thought as much,” the elf said at last. He drew a sterile needle and thread from amongst his belongings and, haltingly, approached the vampiress once more. “My brother, he… he was not so lucky as you. He didn’t live, I mean to say, though I imagine that’s a nightmare all its own. It was forever and an age ago, but one couldn’t forget the look of him, cut up and restitched again and again like some kind of foul doll.” Lennier shook his head, eyes falling to the objects in his hands. “I’m sorry for what I must do now. I’m sorry for what it surely brings to the surface, for both of us. But for whatever it’s worth, you aren’t the only one to know something of such pain.” Gingerly, he took her arm. He’d begin the first of his stitches, if she’d allow him, his gaze periodically shifting from his work to look his ward in her tear-filled eyes. “You may, however, be the only one stronger for having experienced it. You have my respect -- and my confidence, should you need it.”

Khitti just stared at the elf, brows furrowed with vague confusion. Stitched up? Like a doll? “Zhat sounds like Lydia…” The mindflayers...they went elsewhere? How many other places did they go to try to find Khitti or someone that might fit the prophecies? Her mind wandered again as he took up her arm, to which she’d give a half-hearted nod. “Zhey veren’t as kind as you, zhough. Zhey didn’t bother to stitch me up. Zhey just… left me.”

It hadn’t -really- been a kindness, though, the way the necromancers had used and abused those parts of her family and friends--but at least they’d been made whole again, somehow. Khitti hadn’t been so lucky, despite what Lennier thought. They’d made a void inside of her, a blackness that she just couldn’t shake. And now the void was widening again, becoming worse by the day. But, she couldn’t give up, right? Not when she was so close to getting that cure? Of course, that’d mean doing the unthinkable. “Lydia.” Khitti turned her head to eye her sister, finding her mirror to be peering back at her with a grave stare. It was almost as if Lydia knew what Khitti meant to do, even if Khitti’d not even voiced it yet.

As the needle was finally pressed into her skin and drawn back out, over and over again, Khitti reached over with her other arm, fingers carefully gripping the hem of Brand’s shirt. There was a bit of wincing and gritting of teeth as Lennier went about his work, but for the most part, her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that the others had been lucky, even Lydia--at least they were already dead by time they were getting sewn up. She was still alive, as much as she could be; she still mattered, even if she didn’t draw breath.

Lennier nodded, acknowledging Khitti’s words, but concentration on his work all but necessitated his silence. Brand’s hand returned to Khitti’s, seeking to massage the tension out of her. Maybe he sensed what she was thinking, because he looked everywhere but Lydia.

“Not everyone here holds scorn for you.” These were Lennier’s words to the vampiress once he had finished. “Catch them as individuals instead of as a mob, and I think you’d find more of them do not, in fact. The expectations of one’s peers are a powerful influence, but not impossible to overcome.” The elf was gathering his things, and now bowed to both captain and Khitti. “Should you need further treatment, my quarters are four doors down the starboard side of this deck, marked by a silver star.” He bowed once more and exited.

Brand spoke up again at last. “Well, that certainly wasn’t the excitement I’d expected for the night.”

The redhead’s brows furrowed again in confusion at Lennier’s words, before he left. They...didn’t hate her? Well, besides Onyx anyway. Taken a bit off guard by this, she’d nod to those thoughts and his instructions to find him should she need it, before setting her line of sight on Brand.

“C’mere.” Khitti’d stare up at Brand pleadingly, now that they were alone--for Lydia had made her exit sometime ago during the last half of the healer’s work--tears starting to line those eyes of hers again, “Please…?” It was clear she missed him, even after having only been gone a few hours. Another near death experience would do that to a person, you know. Khitti even tried to sit up again, albeit a bit more slowly now so as not to disturb the stitches or the bandages that was wrapped around her arms and torso. She really wanted to hug him, despite the pain it might cause her physically, or at least, have him hold her. Something. Anything. Anything besides just lying on that cold table any longer.

“I’m already here,” said Brand, a smirk playing at one corner of his mouth. (Okay, smartass. You knew what she meant.) Khitti’s words got him to shuffle a little closer, however. One hand supported her back as she sat up -- she’d have to engage less of her torn-up muscles that way. “You definitely know how to make an entrance, peach. Credit where credit’s due.” Now that she was more or less patched up, Brand was content to crack his stupid jokes. Well, it couldn’t hurt to try to lighten the mood, could it? And fretting overly about her condition wasn’t his style, anyway. “They’ll be talkin’ about this tomorrow. What do you want me to say to them?”

Khitti scrunched her nose up at him and pursed her lips together in that typical way of hers that usually meant ‘I’m going to probably hit you’, but of course she didn’t. Okay, I lied. She punched him a little in the stomach. It’s nothing major. It’s kind of cute, really. Almost like she’s flirting with him or something. Ew, right? The redhead leaned over against him, a frown forming on what had been pouty lips only moments ago. Say to them? What -was- she going to have him say? The crew hardly left the ship unless they went on leave, so it’s not like she’d need to issue a warning about Emrith. He’d only had one target anyway and it hadn’t even been Khitti. “Tell zhem…” She paused, thinking on Lennier’s words again with regards to the crew, “Tell zhem I’m sorry.” Khitti’d not only frightened them, but ruined their night as well, including Brand’s, and she certainly felt awful about it, even if it hadn’t been her fault. “I’m going to stay here, a little vhile longer. Is zhat okay?” An arm snaked around his waist, pulling him a bit closer so that she could hug him--whether he liked it or not, damn it.

“You’ve got nothin’ to -be- sorry for,” replied Brand, shaking Khitti somewhat. Damned woman and her apologies. It called to mind a certain stammering young Catalian he’d once had mucking about in his head. “It wasn’t your gorram fault and I’ll not have you take the blame like it was. I meant more, did you want me to say anything about Larewen? Emrith? Any explanation you want me to give for those who ask? I dunno how much or how little you want me to tell ‘em. It’s none of their business, but they’ll of course be curious anyhow.” He didn’t even answer her question, because… duh. She could stay as long as she needed to. He picked her up off the table, even, intent on carrying her to her room.

“I knew vhat you meant, Brand. Geez.” A bit of a grin would surface as she’s shaken, and maybe even the barest hints of giggling would be heard. “I don’t know.” Khitti blinked a few times as he picked her up, but there’d be no struggling like he often did when she carried him. “Tell zhem zhe truth, I guess. Emrith tried to kill Larewen and your voman’s a frakking moron zhat vent and got herself stabbed too.” Yeah, she said it. -His- woman. She shrugged, giving him the tiniest peck on the check before they left the room and headed to where her room was, likely as thanks for carrying her. “Look at you, saving my ass again. My hero.” She was teasing him, of course, but it did hold truth in it. Was he ever not going to save her ass? Surely he was getting too old for this.

There were a lot of things Brand was getting too old for -- such as heeding a stranger’s opinions on his lifestyle, eating pasta without getting acid reflux after, dating women young enough that he could have conceived them... saving Khitti’s ass was none of these things, and thank goodness for that. “Yeah, yeah. Like I was gonna do anything else.” This was said with a playful swat at her arm, in one of the few spots where she -hadn’t- been sliced open. “Get some rest. I’ve got nowhere to be ‘til tomorrow evening. You won’t miss a thing but some curious crew, and I’ll handle ‘em.” Not that he’d actually say that bit about her being a ‘frakking moron’.

“No. Vait--” Despite the pain it caused, Khitti’d reach out and grab his hand before he could get too far away. “Stay vith me? For a little vhile. Until zhe morning? O-or until I fall asleep?” -If- she could fall asleep after all of that, that is. “Please?” Unfortunately for Brand, Khitti really did not want to be alone. She knew he’d probably want to go back to his whiskey, though, and she’d certainly let him go if he wanted to. Letting go of his hand finally, she pulled the covers over herself, and practically hid beneath them.

Brand looked at Khitti for a long while, gears clearly turning in his head. But whatever it was he was thinking, he didn’t give voice to it, through their link or otherwise. Only his conclusion made its way to his lips: “Alright. ‘Til the mornin’, then.”