RP:Mr. Hero

Ernest had decided, after a long night, that he needed a new scene. It was obvious his target wasn't in that little village, and despite it supposedly being relatively calm he'd run into a decent amount of trouble there. So, off he went, marching tirelessly, without rest, occasionally hitchhiking (read: stagecoachjacking) his way across the world. He'd spent a night in Kelay, then continued here to Cenril on his way south to Gualon, and was currently sitting on the pier twirling a crossbow bolt in his fingers. The atmosphere wasn't right here for a cursing ceremony, but he could still contemplate his eventual victory over his target.

Sargaso drifts shorebound on his kayak after doing the rounds on the fisheries, scraping the cages, aka grunt work. He drew the short straw this week. His mates all wrapped up over an hour ago and were knocking back beers at Whaler’s. The plan is to join them. That’s always the plan. The kayak’s bow slides alongside the warf’s barnacle-encrusted support beams. The sky’s the steely gray of late autumn. The wind whips cold against the seaspray on Sarge’s body. He steps lightly onto the sand then carries the kayak over a shoulder and climbs up onto the wharf. That’s when he sees the undead thing. Cenril’s a multi-racial city, but undead? Rare sight, possibly something to do with the Cathedral of the Divine Three, but Sarge wouldn’t know specifics. He stays out of politics and religion. He gives the undead thing a wide berth, but feels the need to perform something akin to civic duty. At the opposite end of the wharf he finds a Cenrili guard. He informs the guard that, hey, psst, there’s an undead. He points at Ernest’s back then stands back to watch the drama unfold. The guards, two of them, walk down the oaken planks to Ernest. “You owned?” They mean a necromancer.

Penelope had been sitting on the edge of the pier, as well. Somewhere near Ernest and his crossbow, but still at a distance. A small bucket had been sitting next to her with a screen over the top. There was a pile of mud on top of the screen, the water oozing from the mud and dripping into the bucket. Her hair was in French braided chestnut pigtails, mud smudged her freckle-dusted face, and mud soaked her black boots. She had gotten down to work today, and now patience was a current virtue. She sat idly with a fishing pole, a tackle box, one dead fish and that bucket. Moss eyes then glance over at the overly interested guards who stomp down and make their way to pester the undead. She was going to eavesdrop for now – she was low key nosy.

Ernest eased his hat up with a bony thumb and half-turned, giving the guards a squint that any director of Western films would point to and go "someone please find this man and hire him that is the perfect expression," and follow up with "yes," while leaning back and steepling their fingers and chortling about how much money they're about to make. "Am I... oooowned," he repeated, groaning out the last word with a dry, dusty voice that made one want to grab a drink of water just by listening to it. "I 'spect I'mmmm ffffreer than yyyyouuu." He slipped the crossbow bolt back into his longcoat and looked out over the ocean. "Yyyou boys, paaaaid by the llllaaaawww. Gaaaave up ffffreeeedommmm. Tied your fffamiliesss up in... wages," he spat the word out like it was a curse. "Even telllll yoursssellllves--yyyou're jus' protecting 'em. Y'ain't. Yyyou're jus' too yyyellllow to mmmaaaake it on your oooowwnnn, so you gave yourselllvesss to th' laaaaw." Huh. Someone has issues, apparently.

Sargaso recognizes Penelope under all that mud. Judging by the way the guards look at each other, broaden their shoulders to adjust their belts like their balls hanging too low, things are about to get ugly. This pretty little lady may be a damsel distressed by this western Ernest fancies himself in. He calls to her just like the first time he met her. “Hey, psst. Hey, girl, hey hey hey.” Then, finally, remembering her name, uses it, “Psst, Penelope.” He waves her over, mud and dead fish and all. As for Ernest, he’d do well to know his rights. Being an undead, owned or free, is no crime on the books, but crime doesn’t factor into the equation when you insult officers, especially when you’re undead and immediately suspect for it. “Alright, get up,” says the burlier guard, waving a hand upwards. Time for a Cenrili stop-and-frisk. Undead profiling, it’s a real problem, and Ernest about to become a statistic.

Penelope is staring intently at the interaction. The woman raises her brows at the undead. Well, this was painful. Confrontation was always painful to hear. There were prickles on the back of her neck, she could not tell if they were from nervousness, or amusement. ‘Hey, psst. Hey, girl, hey, hey, hey’. Her vision snaps immediately at the annoyance, her eyes are like daggers after the last ‘psst’, but he eventually says her name. He was like a fly that kept landing on her – bzz, bzz, bzz. Her eyes soften, but her lips are still tight. He is waving her over. For what? ‘Why?’ she mouths, and then she glances as the guards begin to try to take charge. Immediately, she reels in the fishing line and lifts the strainer to stick the dead fish in the bucket. She tries to balance the strainer on top of the bucket, tackle box, and pole and shuffles near Sargaso. Automatically, she shoves the pole and tackle box into his chest. “Hold this,” no hesitation. She then kneels to get situated to take the fish out, dump the bucket, and scrape the clay into the bucket. Eyes still glancing at the situation before the two, she was eager.

Ernest nodded with a terrible snarling grin as he slowly climbed to his feet. "There it issss. You ssseeee it, don't youuu? Free mmmennn would laaaaugh me off." He turned around to face them, hands out by his sides, head tilted down, face hidden by the brim of his hat. "But youuu--alwaysss behollldennn--feel th' need to defffennnd your chains." He glanced sidelong at the muddy woman. "Touch me annnd I put a quarrel in her spine." One hand slowly drew back his coat and buttoned it, and very much like the gunslinger he seemed to be pretending to be, there was a small crossbow on his hip. "Thinnnk you're fffasterrr?" Aw crap. Aw crap. Ernest. You are a mummy. You're supposed to be crispy. Stop relying on your quick-draw. You're gonna make your arm drop off that way eventually.

Sargaso is accustomed to having women demand he do things for them, but normally it’s women he’s at least kissed once. He lifts both brows in surprise at Penelope, but doesn’t complain as he’s left carrying her muddy stuff, and in turn gets muddy himself, not that he was squeaky clean after a hard day’s work anyway. Heck, maybe she likes to reverse the order of operations: hold my crap first, kiss me later. Not that he’s angling for any of that now. There’s a Western on. He watches attentively, just like Penny, but can’t resist glancing down once at the hot chick, (who has somehow succeeded in making mud work for her), but he quickly looks away. Wouldn’t want to get caught. “Undead give me the creeps,” he says as the undead splays his arms and tips his cowboy hat. He squints as the undead reach for something in his coat. He can’t quite make out the weapon or words. Ernest’s thirsty-as-hell rasping Clint Eastwood growl doesn’t travel very far. “This guy is about to get his ass kicked.” The guards are thinking the same thing. The shorter one grins like it’s his birthday and Ernest, by way of his threat, jus granted his birthday wish. “Ted, is he threatening the safety of a resident of this great city?” Ted, the burlier one, replies with, “Yep, sure did Toni.” Ted, no slouch despite his bulk, quickly withdraws his sword and slides the tip to press it against Ernest’s throat, that is, if Ernest bolt fails to be as quick as his tongue.

Penelope is too oblivious to even notice the kayaker ogling her. “I’ve never seen one until now,” which explains her nosy behavior and her small fascination. She then stands up with the bucket still full of water. She then raises her brow at Sargaso. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’re a child,” though, she was a hypocrite. A teasing smirk plays on her lips quietly. She found the interaction just as thrilling. Ernest announces that he will… do what to her ‘spine’? Scratch the record. Why do these things happen to her? Either way, she does not hear this and her back is now facing Ernest and the guards as she moves to dump the leftover water out. She is now caught up into her own work. How convenient.

Ernest was not making idle threats. A half-step to the side put him away from the two guards, with Ted between Ernest and Toni. One hand went up to parry the point, gently guiding the blade to one side, while the other snapped a small repeating crossbow into his hand so fast one could barely even track the motion with the eyes. It was aimed squarely at Penelope. "Yyyyou drew firrrsssst," he hissed at them, in a reminder, and then (sorry Penelope!) he pulled the trigger. Gotta make a point to these lawmen that when he makes a statement, he stands by it. Now, if they were willing to back off, he'd immediately reholster the crossbow and go to make sure he hadn't hit anything vital--being a crack shot, he had no intention of killing her (or even actually putting it in her spine, in fact he was aiming for a spot as densely packed with just muscle as possible so that nothing serious was injured)--but accidents could happen, and she might need a healer afterward regardless. If they weren't--which was the far more likely scenario--the weapon would swing around, almost as fast as it had been drawn, and his other hand cocked it and was held nearby for fanning purposes. "Now waaaalk away," he said, keeping it aimed steadily on Ted's face.

Sargaso takes Penny’s quip in stride, and is about to reply in kind when bodies tense like a viper about to strike. He has no idea Penelope is the target, but instinctively knows things are about to go south, and brave, male bodies are meant to come between women and danger (he isn’t progressive when it comes to women in battle, sorry). Thinking he has more than a second before things fall apart, he balances all her stuff in the crook of one arm and with his free hand grabs her elbow, and jerks her in a quick circle around the other side of him. It’s possible the bucket of water rocks enough so the water spills on her top. Nice. Not that he’ll be able to steal a look as all he’s seeing stars as the bolt embeds itself just inside his shoulder blade, the wound site quickly erupting with blood. “Shhhiii----!!” He hisses through clenched teeth. Had he known the undead was about the fire a missile weapon, he may have been more prepared, but as it stands, he took the bolt meant for Penelope and tripped his way into accidental chivalry. Ted and Toni both try to tackle Ernest from opposite sides, but Sargaso’s done with the show. He drops Penelope’s stuff with a clatter and grips one hand heavily on her arm for balance. It hurts. It effing hurts. His teeth grind from the pain, and he parts them long enough to say “Doc.” Get him there, Penny.

Penelope was just about to dump the water out of the bucket into the sea. The girl was too oblivoius for her own good sometimes. As he grips her elbow and yanks her, she shouts and startled, "Hey!" She was not fond of being handled by men, especially by strangers, that were men. The bucket tilts and actually splatters against her grey shirt that is covered by a fleece-lined denim coat. Mud and icy water. Her face glows red - with fire. "What the bloody hell, Sargas--" Her small accent she had now grows thick and heavy in that moment before she cuts off. She realizes he is hissing in pain. Eyes dart towards the bolt that is now lodged into his shoulder blade. "W-wha--" eyes shift over to the guards who are now colliding into Ernest. Then the firm hand clasps onto her arm and she grasps his hand to move it to around her shoulder to carry his weight a little. The druid automatically nods as Sargaso tries to speak while he is in clear pain. "Okay, okay," her voice switches into a soothing tone, she clenches her teeth and makes a soft 'shh' noise to console him, she knew what he needed. She has no time to react to what just happened. All she knows is that she is going into full nurture mode and begins to wrap an arm around his lower back. She then pivots and guides him with her forward away from the chaos that had just taken place. To the clinic they would go. All the while, she would be automatically digging in her satchel that had always been wrapped around her. She would pull out a jar full of leaves, yellow waxy leaves. It was going to take a walk to the clinic, and she needed to soothe him a little now. She opens the jar, all while his balance is on her, and pulls out a leaf. She will near it towards his mouth. "Open, chew. It'll help, not a lot, but somewhat with easing the pain."

Sargaso breathes in hisses, in and out, as he walks alongside Penny. The pain clouds over the flirting and contact. He really didn't think he'd get shot today. Why'd that undead aim at Penny anyway? He doesn't bother figuring it out. Need to manage the pain first. He narrows his eyes at the yellow leaves, but takes it without fquestion. Instinctively, he trusts her. Maybe it's the doe-eyed girl thing, or maybe she just has a soft edge about her, no matter the denim and mud says. Still, trustworthy or not, these leaves taste like dung, literally. He screws up his face in distaste but doesn't protest. He's afraid to open his mouth, is the truth. He's too old and too experienced to cry from pain, but when pain hits your gut, even grown men vom. He finds a new mantra to deal with the pain: Don't vom, don't vom, don't vom. He also tries not to put too much weight on Penny. He's isn't expecially heavy, but he's taller than her and while his muscles may not be hyper-inflated, they're definitely strong with a little bulk due to his life on the sea. When they get to the clinic, he leans on a wall as he walks inside. He glances at Penelope to see if she'll stay or go, hoping for the former, expecting the latter. A nurse waves them both over to a curtained off bed. The nurse asks Penelope what happened.

Penelope scrunches her nose as she glances at his face for a brief moment and nods her head. She knows how bitter they taste. She used them quite often on her journeys. As much as she hiked, she was rather clumsy, but she had always been somewhat of a trooper. “I know, huh? I have yet to find out what they’re called… I found them in Sage.” Well, the parts in Sage that were not burnt. She knows he is hurting, so she continues to speak whatever comes to mind. “I ran into a foxkin - rather strange… I've never seen a human fox before in my life. She sang the most lovely tune – almost like a bird,” she continues on until they reach the clinic. The day she met Chekhu and discovered the leaves. She hides her weariness from his weight, she was petite, her shoulders bony. The over exercise and lack of coin did not balance well. She had left her dinner behind, and her money maker for the meantime, but she knew Ruari was there. Once they reach the clinic, she does not leave him. Instead, she faces her back towards him to catch her breath as he leans against the wall. She was all sorts of grimy today – cold sweat, sea water, and dried mud. As the nurse waves them over, she gently places her hand on Sargaso’s back again to guide him. She begins to talk to the nurse, but her gaze steadily lingers on Sargaso in his painful state, she was going to try to get the story right. Her voice was light in her small accent. Sounding close to Catalian but fainter. “There was a man on the wharf, he was not very fond of the law – he was being harassed by some guards because the undead folk aren’t very welcoming people, but he was just minding his own,” she waits a beat and shakes her head. “Either way, things got hostile, I guess he was trying to aim for me?" She questions. "Sargaso,” she looks to the nurse now, “pulled me out of the way just in time, but unfortunately, not quick enough for his own safety.” She breathes out an awkward chuckle at her words and for the situation at hand.

Sargaso looks at Penelope when she guides him. She's sticking around. That's sweet. Sargaso doesn't encounter sweet much, not in the Southern ghettos of Cenril. Once in the bed, he begins to reach the stage of pain where you start to accept this is just how it will be for a little while, and having accepted that, you can do other things like talk. The yellow leaves help too. He agrees with Penelope's account then asks what all patients ask, "How bad is it?" The nurse says it's a clean wound, but will take time to heal. Same old same old. The nurse cuts off Sargaso's blood-soaked shirt, then carefully removed the bolt, cleans the wound, stitches, and bandages him. She offers something for the pain, but Sarge says he's got that handled and shoots Penelope a small smile over the nurse's shoulders. Once the nurse leaves to tend to another patient, he sits up in bed and looks to Penelope. "Thanks, for sticking around I mean. You didn't have to. It's nice." He shrugs and winces as he pulls at his own stitches. He laughs low and sarcastic deep in his throat. "This will dock me a week's pay..." he murmurs. He's broke too.

Penelope eases her shoulders when the nurse explains how the wound was a clean shot. She was tense the whole time? Who knew? As the shirt was cut, she might have stared for too long at his frame. He was charming, and realizing this, she then focuses her gaze on anything in the room but him until she begins to move forward. She looks at the nurse stitching him up. She would learn a few tricks today. The small smile that is cast her way makes her head cant and she reflects his smile. “You’re quite welcome,” she smirks. “You didn’t have to pull me out of the way, but you did. So thank you. I’m sure you’d do the same for me,” eyes scan over him briefly before she smiles again. “Heh, let me know if you… need help cutting the costs. We both know you didn’t ask for this,” she lets out a hesitant smirk. "If you need anything, you can reach me at Mrs. Mallard's. Leave note with a waiter named Ruari..." Her face then lights up. “Oh!” She then digs into her satchel and pulls out the jar of leaves. “They’re terrible, I know. But I know you’ll be sore for a while, so take them. They’re better brewed. You need them more than I do,” she does not take no for an answer and places them next to him at the end of the bed. She then steps back. “I best get going, I have to see if my things are still at the wharf,” she says this sheepishly. She then glances around the room before mossy doe eyes land on him again, full pale lips curving into a small toothy smile. “Take care, Sargaso.”

Sargaso notices Penelope staring at his shirtless torso and can't help but grin a little. He looks away to save her the embarassment of being caught. He's been on the otherside of that, so he knows how it goes. He nods when she thanks him. "Better me than you," he says though he isn't sure why. It felt like the right thing to say. He accepts the herb without complaint. He turns over the jar a few times in his hand and examines the yellow waxy leaves. "Thanks. Brew them, got it." He won't fess up now that he'll probably medicate the pain with alcohol. Tastes a hell of a lot better, and fun too. He looks up when Penny starts to say her goodbye. "Hey, be careful at the wharf. Maybe that guy had friends." He holds her gaze for a minute as though he has something else to say, but asking a chick out while stitched up in a hospital isn't a great look, so he lets it go. "Take care. See ya around." Sargaso has a feeling he'll be needing in the near future a cake or something, whatever they sell at Mrs. Mallard's.

Penelope smirks. “Will do,” she had been through her fair share of encounters. She had plenty of hidden scars with stories that rested behind them, though she was not an open book anyone could just rifle through. She waits for him to say anything, he holds her gaze for too long. Her brow almost raises until he finally says goodbye, and her chest falls in ease. “Bye,” she grins, and without a second glance, she pivots, brushes the curtain back and disappears.