Poison Pals 2 0109.24

Ythrien wakes to find you laying there in front of him, back to him, and he about jumps out of his skin, ready to yell at you. But the way you lay so pitifully, curled up and seeking the warmth of the fire, he sighs instead, sitting up. He then gets out from under his fur and wraps you up in it, gently picking you up so as not to wake you, and then walks you over to his bed, setting you down in it once more, covering you warmly. A hand comes up to brush your forehead, brushing away your bangs and feeling for a fever. Something makes him pause, feeling the softness of your skin, and he quickly jerks his hand away, scowling. Without a word, he goes back to his kitchen-ish area and begins some breakfast, pulling out the dry mix he uses to make morning porridge. He then goes to a small trap door in the floor and opens it, a small larder down in the cold ground where he keeps his perishables chilled, and pulls out some milk. He pours it over the porridge in the small pot and then hangs the porridge a bit away from the fire, just close enough to warm. As it hangs, he sprinkles some cinnamon and brown sugar, both rare commodities for him, and adds some dried fruit pieces, then puts all the ingredients away. He then pulls up his cooking stool and sits, stirring the pot slowly. His other hand reaches up and he gives a stretch, yawning as he scritches his back through his arming coat. He can't reach the itch, so takes off his sleeveless arming coat of leather and works at the itch from under his shirt, looking relieved.

Crowe stirs in his sleep, nestled in the soft warmth of the bed, and sighs. It's one of those dreams again. He is back home, Mom and Dad are asleep in their room downstairs, and his attic room is warm and cozy. The bed is soft, not the hard floor of the gang's hideout to make him sore and stiff for the morning kick awake from Bullet. He inhales and exhales deeply. What was that? Breakfast! Mom must be cooking already. He quickly sits up, "Mom?" he calls out just as he opens his eyes and rubs them, then stops short. He blinks, and in a panic, looks around to get his bearings. Quickly brushing his hair out of his face he swallows, heart pounding until it all comes slamming back to him, the events of the night before. He stands up, a bit unsure on his feet, still dizzy, "I... I gotta go...." he stammers, looking around for his boots once his feet hit the chilly floor.

Ythrien looks back, smirking at you. "What, and miss my amazing continental breakfast that comes free with your stay at Hotel Ythrien? You wound my very soul, my friend." He then looks out the window to see the snow beginning to fall in large, thick flakes, wind starting to pick up. "Nup. You're not going anywhere today, shnookums. A storm is coming, and if you go out there, you'll _die_." He then looks to the porridge and shrugs, saying, "It's ready if you want some, but don't go nuts on _my_ account. Go ahead and become an elfcicle. Just don't do it on my porch, OK? I don't need that kind of disgusting surprise come the first thaws of Spring."

:opens his mouth to protest at any one of the mild taunts you throw his way, but the smell of that wondrous stuff in the pot reaches his nose again. He sniffs at it, and slowly inches closer to you, then plops down on the hearth practically sitting in the fire to warm himself. "Yeah... I guess I will stay. But just for a LITTLE while, and have something to eat, THEN I gotta go." he says with about as much conviction as he has clothes. He does not look up at you, it's easier to do the tough thing when not getting laughed at. Then after a minute of warming his pale little feet, he says, "Crowe. My name's Crowe."

Crowe opens his mouth to protest at any one of the mild taunts you throw his way, but the smell of that wondrous stuff in the pot reaches his nose again. He sniffs at it, and slowly inches closer to you, then plops down on the hearth practically sitting in the fire to warm himself. "Yeah... I guess I will stay. But just for a LITTLE while, and have something to eat, THEN I gotta go." he says with about as much conviction as he has clothes. He does not look up at you, it's easier to do the tough thing when not getting laughed at. Then after a minute of warming his pale little feet, he says, "Crowe. My name's Crowe."

Ythrien grins and dishes you out some porridge, handing the bowl to you and a wooden spoon, most of his dish ware being wooden. "Here. Eat. Plenty more if you like it." He then asks, "Want some tea?", the pot on the cooking arm quite ready and steaming. He pours himself a mug of it in the meanwhile, sipping and closing his eyes to appreciate it.

Ythrien pages, "Sorry to hear about your cat. It happened to a teacher I once had in high school. She backed over her daughter's kitten, smushing it. She felt awful." to you.

:is already shoveling the porridge into his mouth like a machine before you have even started making your tea. "Harph?" he asks from around a mouthful of the porridge, then keeps shoveling it in. He reminds you of a stray dog, eating quickly before the food can be taken away from him. "Tea?" he manages after swallowing down a mouthful and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Uh huh.." he nods eagerly, then shovels down the rest of the porridge. Did he even taste it?"

Crowe is already shoveling the porridge into his mouth like a machine before you have even started making your tea. "Harph?" he asks from around a mouthful of the porridge, then keeps shoveling it in. He reminds you of a stray dog, eating quickly before the food can be taken away from him. "Tea?" he manages after swallowing down a mouthful and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Uh huh.." he nods eagerly, then shovels down the rest of the porridge. Did he even taste it?

Ythrien pours you a mug and bargains the full mug of tea for your empty bowl. Once he snatches the thing from you and you attack your tea, he fills it again with more porridge. He's not gotten himself a bowl yet, seemingly not even realizing this fact. "So, Red. What were you doing picking on a man twice your.. well, twice _everybody's_ size put _together_? Not real sharp for someone who doesn't seem.." He then tips your face to look at it, turning your cheek to him as he continues. "..born into it." He's appraising you and finds you far too pretty to be a real scalawag like himself. Bah. Pretty. What good does that get you?

Crowe jerks his face away from your touch, even though it was a slap or punch to the head, he narrows his bright green eyes, again putting on the tough facade. "I was gonna knife him, and steal his gold!" he says bravely. "Gut him like a big fish. Bullet said it would be easy." he says, then pauses, damn can't talk, there's food here again! He wolf's down the second bowl of porridge, and then sloshes down the tea, again sleeve wiping his mouth before talking again. "I would have had him too, no sweat, just those damn goons in the back..." he growls.

Ythrien sighs, shaking his head as he sips more tea. "Like a man like Lotti would _not_ have hired goons. Sheesh!" He gives a bit more of a grin than a smirk, though if you noticed, he'd change in a heartbeat. "Whoever told you it would be easy is full of shit, and should be knocked upside the head for setting you up like that, malicious bastard."

Crowe looks at you with the most curious of expressions, and then back down at his empty bowl and cup. He stifles a belch with his hand, and looks into the fire. It wasn't the first time Bullet has sent him out on a suicide mission. He thought it was funny, and somehow, he always had managed to survive before and bring SOMETHING back to keep himself from getting beaten. He closes his eyes and sighs. "I don't want to go back. Maybe I could just drop off the gold and run away, maybe they wouldn't find me this time maybe..." he pauses, realizing that everything he had just been thinking, he had been muttering aloud. "Oy.." he groans, placing his face in his hands and sighing.

Ythrien gives you a very appraising gaze, one meant just to scare you about what he might decide to do with you. "What can you do? Can you cook? Clean? Chop wood?" His hand scrubs at his bare chin, elves unable to grow facial hair, to speak of. He then finishes off his tea and takes your bowl, giving you the last of the porridge.

Crowe turns and look up at you, his face bright and expressive for the first time since you encountered the poor pathetic waif. "I can cook! I was studying to be a pastry chef when..." his voice trails off. "When things went bad." he finishes, then recalling the topic at hand, he looks up at you, hoping you like pastry because, gee, that was the same look Bullet always gave him. "Do you like puff pastries? Pie? Cakes? I can make them all!" he chirps eagerly, quickly standing up, then having to grab his ill fitting pants to keep them from falling down around his knees.

Ythrien laughs outright at your pants slipping down and says, "I might just keep you around for the _humor_ value!" After getting himself calmed, he then shakes his head, saying, "It's very expensive to buy the kind of ingredients you're likely used to using." My. That body, thin as it is, sure has nice defini ..NO! ARGH! Bad elf! He's _male_! EW, EW, EW!! He quickly tries to erase that thought, and you can sense something going on in his head by the way he scowls at himself and then says gruffly, "You can cook bread, right? Simple, inexpensive bread."

Crowe nods eagerly. The silly grin crossing his face once again, "Yes! I can do bread! French Bread, Sweet Bread, Brioche, Cinnamon, nut bread! I can make any of that!" he says in a happy sounding voice. He is almost bouncing now. "Just show me to the pantry, and I will get started!" he says, then pauses, and gives your a scrutinizing look, "You DO have a pantry, right?" he says, looking up at you with wide, expectant eyes.

Ythrien looks over to the trap door and points at it. "Mn. That's my larder where I keep my perishables." He then points to a bunch of shelves where he has non-perishables and dry goods. "That's it for a pantry. Ya gotta remember I'm not rich, ya know." Then his eyes pop. "Riiich... Hey!", he barks. "I'm going back to the caravan to see what else can be salvaged, OK?" By now the snow has begun to really get deep, the wind kicking it up, as well. He rises from his stool and looks around for his winter boots, kicked off by the door, and starts to put them on, as he's still got on his fur pants.

Crowe watches you, and clears his throat as he stands up, still gripping his pants, "Hey... I got some stuff... before I fainted.." he says then begins to empty his pockets, and vest on the floor of the cabin. Small leather bags that go "chink" when they hit the floor, several of them actually. Some silken scarves, a knife or two, some jewelry, and other such bootie hits the floor in a glimmering heap. He looks up at you shyly. "This was all I was able to get..." he says apologetically. In actuality, it is quite a haul considering.

Ythrien looks back and looks it over appreciatively. He then looks up to you with a shrug and says, "S'yours. You stole it, you keep it. I'm gonna go see if there's anything else back there." His boots now on, he looks for a large knapsack and drops it by the door, then grabs his arming coat and his winter fur coat, putting them both on. He then turns to you as he lifts the hood and starts to poke his ear points through the special holes made in the hood. "I shouldn't be too long. It's not frighteningly far." He then looks around the cabin appraisingly and back to you, shrugging once more. "If I freeze to death, the place is yours. Won't do a corpse any good." He then turns back to the door, grabbing the empty sack and readying to go.

Crowe dashes over to you, and you feel a tug on your sleeve, "Don't go out there in THAT! You'll freeze! You can have all of it, I don't need it..." he says with a new expression in his wide eyes. Fear. "If something happens to you, I don't think I could help much..." He says blinking slowly. "Isn't this enough?" he asks pointing to the pile, then back to you. He sighs, and lowers his head. "On second thought, no, it isn't. It wouldn't pay the ransom on a sick whore..." he says sadly.

Ythrien turns and ruffles his hand through your thick mane of crimson. "Now, now, Red. Your booty is fine." He suddenly coughs at that double entendre'. Oh, that was good. :P "Um, I mean your loot is decent. But that's _your_ loot. _Got_it_? You need that to fob off those bastards that keep fucking with you. And I'm going to help you _do_ that. But to do that, I need to be sure to empty that caravan. And I think the horse might still have been hitched to it, and I've got to free it or it'll _die_. Understand? I can't let that happen." So he _does_ have a heart, but only for animals? Odd elf.

Crowe nods, and looks around the cabin, spotting the coat from the slain guard, and he put it on, tying it around his slim waist as best he can, and rejoins you at the door. "I will go too. You might need backup." he says in as self assertive a voice he can muster. He looks around realizing he is still barefoot, and pulls his boots back on. "Ready." he announces, looking up at you like a dog expecting to go 'bye-bye'.

Ythrien puts a hand to your forehead and pushes you back slowly to arm's length. "Oooh no you don't. You're still under the weather. You could be sick and if you went out, you most _certainly_ would die. And that would upset me." He looks at you, and something in his eyes says this cold bastard who had been calling you names, would genuinely be hurt by your death. He then shakes it off, such that maybe you only imagined that. "I'd have to clean up your fetid corpse so it didn't stink up my clearing."

Crowe sighs, and looks up at you, he knows he is outmatched, and nods. "I will stay." he says slowly. His small shoulders slouch down, and he looks quite dejected, then suddenly he looks up at you, smile back. "Don't be late for dinner!" he says, then gives your arm a sock with his smaller fist, and turns, clumping his way to the trap door, and popping down it like a rabbit. "Don't be laaaaate.." he calls back up at you from the cellar.

Ythrien looks down where you socked him, smirking, and the fuzzles your hair again. He then pulls his hand back, going, "Ewww! When I get back, first thing we're doing is getting you washed! What a mess!" He then turns toward the door and puts his hand on the handle. "Get around the other side. It's gonna blow in cold and snow something _fierce_ and I don't want you in that path." He seems to consider you a good bit, despite his attitude. Then he opens the door, indeed a gust of frigid air and cloud of snow blowing in before he leaps out into the fray. The snow is now nearly waist deep, slow going for the elf. Will he be OK? The door then closes.

Crowe :watches you go with large sad eyes from his vantage point looking out of the cellar, he winces against the cold, and disappears into the larder, looking for things to cook with. A while later, two loaves of bread are rising near the hearth. Plain bread was just too plain, so he added some herbs, and spices to the dough, and while that rises, he finds the ingredients for a hearty game stew. He pauses in his cutting up of the vegetables, chewing on a carrot to look up at the storm as it beats against the windows. He shivers, and gets up to put another log on the fire, then goes to look out the window. It is frosted over, and once cleared, all he can see is white. He blinks, trying to see some sign of you, with no luck. "Where ARE you?" he whimpers.

It's far too long, the day wearing on, the snow getting deeper, and you _know_ it's getting colder out there. Then you hear it. A dull thumping, strangely enough, on the top of the door.

Crowe scrambles up from his seat by the fire, where he has been tending the stew and the break, and trips on his loose fitting boots, falling flat on his face. "Dammit..." he curses, then kicking the boots off, he gets up and rushes to the door. "Hey! I'm here! I'm here!" he calls out as he grips the door, and tries to pull it open. The lock seems stuck, most likely frozen. "Oy! The lock! It's stuck!" he yells out to the door as loud as he can. "Help!" he calls out frantically, and continues to try and get the latch to loosen.

Ythrien calls out through the door, "The snow... It's.. It's deep." His voice sounds off, slow and sluggish. "I can't.. get to the door.. handle. You have to.. have to get the door. Freeze... Freezing... Too tired to dig." It then goes silent save for the cutting wind outside.

Crowe lets out a fearful shriek, and with all his might, pulls on the door until at last it creaks open. He looses his grip on the handle and falls back on his ass with a loud "Thump"!! Quickly he gets to his feet, and looks at the door, it is almost completely covered in snow. "Hey!! Ythrien!" he screams as he jumps up toward the top of the snowed in door, and grabs at your snow covered hand. "Come... here.... come in!" he grunts as he pulls and pulls. He stops, wiping his brow as he breaks out in a sweat from the exertion, then resumes, using all the strength he has to pull you down into the warmth of the cabin.

The snow tumbles in as you tug on Ythrien, the frozen elf sliding down the snowy slope now inside the cabin. Tied to his belt by the drawstring is the loot sack, since he knew he might drop it if his hands got too cold. It sounds full of all kinds of things, and looks fairly hefty. As he lands, you see his ear tips are white with cold, potentially frostbitten, the rest of his body caked in snow over his winter clothes. He winces as he lands at the bottom, loot sliding into him with a light crash, and you see how hard he's shivering, jaw clenched tight to stop his chattering teeth. He looks frozen to the bone. "I emptied the.. the caravan. You'll live fat and happy...", he murmurs, eyes closing. He's too exhausted to move, so just lays there, shivering.

Crowe lets out another scream of fright, and actually runs in circles for a moment until he figures out what to do. First he unties the loot sack, and pulls it off of you. "Oy! This weighs as much as me!" he groans, then once that is gone, he drags you away from the open door. His own teeth begin to chatter now, and his small frame shivers from the cold coming in the open door. Once you are clear of the doorway, he shoves and shoves at the door until he manages to get it closed once again. After setting the bolt with shivering hands, he turns to you, and flops you onto your back. Crowe climbs on top of you, straddling you, and grabbing your coat in his small hands, he shakes you. "Ythrien! Ythrien! You've... got... to .. wake... UP!"

Ythrien is still along moment, then a small, trademark smirk curls on his blue lips and he murmurs, "Greed. Always.. gets the better of me." He still doesn't move, however, eyes remaining closed.

Crowe continue to shake you, then notices how wet the clothes are you are wearing, and he begins to work the closures on the soaked clothing. "Got to get you out of these wet things.." he grunts as he pulls on the clothes, and strips them from your chilled body. "You can't die..." he says, voice cracking. "I made herb bread and stew!" he wails.

Indeed, the cabin, with the door now closed, smells wonderful.

Ythrien tries to protest, wanting to remove his clothes himself. He knows your wisdom is right on this, and shows no modesty. He's simply too weak to do it, and lets you. As you disrobe him, you see he has a large tattoo on his back of a black dragon, wings spread spitting flame. On his shoulder is another tattoo in Elven, reading, "Rolling Thunder", with crossed daggers. The rest of his body is white as snow and hairless, some scars and scratches from fights on various parts of him. He wears no underwear, it seems, preferring to go au natural, and though the poor thing is hidden from cold, he looks like he might have a decent endowment.

Crowe rolls you back and forth, stripping the clothes from you, and setting them in a basket near the door to sit for now, once he has you naked, he pauses to briefly look at the tattoos adorning your body. Gently, he traces his fingers over the detailed artwork on your back, then tries to lift your arm over his shoulder and stand with you. "Come... on....Get ..up..." he grunts, half dragging you to the fireside. "Come... get warm... then I will feed... you!" he says dragging you to the warmth of the rugs before the fire.

Ythrien tries to walk, but just manages to stumble along, falling in a frigid heap before the fire, curling up as tightly as his tired, aching muscles can. "Don't worry.. about me, Red...", he wheezes. "Look.. Look after yourself." Why's he saying that? He's showing more regard for you than himself, though he's doing what he can to care for himself. He has no death wish. He's just acting odd.

Crowe is about as clueless as they come. A man child at best. He looks around the cabin, and races to the bed, pulling off the softest and warmest covers. He returns with them and bundles you up in them, taking care to keep them well enough away from the fire. Once you are bundled up like a babe, he makes a mug of the tea he has been brewing, and helps you to sit up. Pausing, he wipes at his brown again, and offers the tea up to your lips. "Here, sip..." he pleads. "It will warm you up..."

Ythrien never opens his frost-crusted eyes, the frost now slowly melting from his long lashes. He sips, however, not fighting you a bit. "Don't forget to feed _yourself_, Red.", he chides. He had no breakfast this morning, you might realize. He actually gave it all to you.

Crowe nods. "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." he agrees, not hearing a word really, and once you have drank the tea, he scurries to the cooking area, and scoops out a bowl of the soup. His long tattered sleeves start to get in the way, so he quickly shrugs out of it, and tosses it aside, leaving him in just his ill fitting pants now. He is just as pale as you are, and his young body shows it's own history of abuse and wear. He has no tattoos, yet. He gathers up a loaf of the newly baked bread and brings it too. Once he reaches you, he is shivering, and settles next to you, then nudges you. "Wake up.... I have dinner.... Here. Smell." he says holding a spoon up to your lips.

Ythrien makes no effort to smell it, just engulfing the spoon with his mouth. "Mnf.", he murmurs, then swallows, adding, "S'food. Who cares how it smells?" He then says more quietly, "But it sure tastes good.", voice softer than usual. His mind is reeling, so confused and upset at what seems to be going around in his head. What are you doing to him? Why does he worry about you? What the hell is going on? All these questions and more race through his mind, and his own homophobia he'd harbored for years now rises to the fore protectively, the gruff elf trying to wiggle out of your grasp. "Not so close, ya fruitcake. I'm not like that. Yeugh!"

Crowe looks up at you, a bit of hurt in his eyes as you scoff at his cooking, then brush him aside. He looks down, blinking several times to clear his eyes, "Right." he says in a forced, stern tone of voice. He was used to this sort of thing. Bullet and his gang dished it out on an hourly basis. He was stupid, he was slow, he was ugly, he was weak. It had just taken longer for this guy to start in on him. Why should things be any different? After scooting farther away from you, he offers you more of the soup, then a hunk of the warm bread, keeping his eyes down on the floor. "Let me know if you want more..." he says softly, his teeth starting to chatter again.

Ythrien lays still a moment, eyes closed, then slowly sits up with an extreme sigh, voice beginning to sound raspy. "C'mere, Red. Don't argue with me and just c'mere." He then adds, "And bring that food. S'really good stuff." He now arranges his fur covers like a cape, one side wrapped around himself, the other held out like a wing by his outstretched arm. He's signaling for you to get under the furs with him by the fire.

Crowe nods and silently gets up, and retrieves the pot of stew, and all of the first loaf of bread, and the second and returns to your side. He sets the pot down on the hearth in front of the fire, and the bread nearby. Once that is done, he sets down near you, but not TOO close, definitely not touching you. Uh uh, no way. He stares into the fire, and tears off a hunk of the bread, and starts to chew it slowly. "Is the bread OK?" he asks after swallowing it.

Ythrien sighs and scoots a bit closer, dropping the fur blanket around your shoulder so that you both share it in front of the fire, bodies just barely touching. He doesn't seem to care that he's naked, really. "The stew's delicious. Definitely better than my cheap stuff. I'll try the bread now. Hope you don't mind, but I like dipping mine in my stew." He then tears off a hunk of bread, body still shivering heavily, and tries it before dipping it. "Mmmm...", he says after swallowing. "Haven't had fresh bread in.. Well.. I don't remember." He now gives a harsh sneeze, curling tight with the force. He then tugs his side of the furs around himself better, eyes closed as he gives a full body shiver.

Crowe catches your shiver from you, and does likewise, he leans a bit closer to you, and dips his hunk of bread in the pot of remaining stew, and eats it. "Thanks..." he says after a bit. "Bullet knew I could cook, but wouldn't let me. He said I would try to poison him...." he sighs. He reaches up and brushes his long hair out of his face as he looks around the cabin. "I can straighten up in here if you like..." he says idly, not sure if you want conversation or not.

Ythrien drags his bread through the stew, savoring the taste. The place is actually surprisingly tidy. You can't be a good rogue if you can't stay organized. "Nah. Don't trouble over that." He then stares into the fire, eyes lost in it. "I haven't had food this good since Mara left me." He makes no motion when he feels you closer, mind locked on old thoughts.

Crowe looks up at you, and wonders if he should ask who Mara is, but guessing that will get him a punch to the head, he decides not to. "I... I like to cook. So maybe.... I could cook for you, and I could sleep here by the fire until I can go out... You know... back on my own." he says with a brave tone in his voice.

Ythrien shrugs, sighing softly. "Yeah. You can cook to earn your way. When the storm subsides, I'll go out and chop more wood and see about making an extra bed. But for now, we'll have to share mine. The floor is _killing_ my back,a and I can't have _you_ sleeping on it." He now uses the last of his bread to wipe his bowl clean, washing it all down with the last of his tea.

Crowe nods. "Aye..." he says quietly. That does make sense. He has no trouble sharing a bed, he is happy to not be sleeping in the corner of a dark room. Sharing blankets will be a pleasure compared to that. He collects the empty dishes from the floor and takes them over to the basin to rinse them off a bit. He actually chuckles a bit, mostly to himself. "We sure don't need a dog around here to clean up..." he says, noting the stew and bread are all gone now. He looks back over at you, brushing his hair back out of his face again. "Bed, now?" he asks, wiping his nose on the back of his skinny arm.

Ythrien nods, getting up slowly. He's very wobbly, having to grab onto the mantle so he doesn't topple, and wraps the furs about himself. "I think I'm coming down with something. I better get warm fast or I'll make it worse." He then makes his way over to the bed, resettling the furs about him back onto it, and climbs under, shiveringly tucking the fur about him. "It's too cold to be out of bed, now. C'mon, Red. Can't have you sick, too." Bullet likely never cared if you were warm or cold, sick or well. This elf does.

Crowe dives under the covers, his underweight frame already chilled in the room, and he snuggles back against you, just like a pup. "Oh!" he says, then gets out of bed and takes a tin pan and sets it near the fire. He also adds a log to the fire to stoke it up again, then returns, diving under the covers, backing his body up to yours. He pulls the furs up to his nose, and looks out over the dark room and the flickering light of the fire. "I had to set the milk out for my brioche...." he says with a chatter to his voice.

Ythrien's eyes widen as you curl up into him, and gingerly, most nervously, his arm lifts, slowly going over to your shoulder. You feel the hand touch and lift off quickly, then touch again more gingerly and set down, hand only resting on your shoulder. He's quiet now, just trying to sort himself out with you so close, his body so hungry to be warm.

Crowe sighs softly, he seems not to notice anything out of the ordinary. He is so clueless. "Do you have enough room and blankets?" he asks quietly, then yawns wide and long. He stares into the fire and daydreams of... the sea. He was on a ship once, and liked it a great deal. He wishes he was there now. He wouldn't mind you coming along too. From what he could tell, you would make a right good captain. Slowly he smiles. If that were to happen, he could be your cabin boy. That would be grand.

Ythrien nods, murmuring, "Mn-hm." His eyes close and he says, "We won't wash you yet. We can't get you wet in this weather. You'll come down with something, too." You don't exactly stink. Elves don't truly stink. You just seem to reek of a sweet scent, warm and musky, like pheromones, almost. As he breaths in your scent, he can't help but be entranced by it, despite trying to ignore it. That's just Elven scent for you. Other elves find it special. Without realizing it, he murmurs, "Smell good..." Part of the reason elves bathe so frequently is the pheromone-like qualities their scent has. To allow it to overpower is the height of rudeness in Elven society, taken as an unfair advantage on others. Ythrien simply bathes out of habit, but you can catch the tiniest hint of his own Elven musk, him being far cleaner than you.

Crowe nods, and snuggles against you, shifting his position a bit, getting nested down in the soft bed, and covers. "I must reek... I'm sorry", he says softly. "Bathing was never a priority with Bullet and the rest. At least, _I_ never got to very often..." he says, flashes of getting buckets of water tossed on him as he walked under a window or while he was sleeping comes to mind. He inhales and smiles softly, "Yeah, the brioche DOES smell good. It's the cinnamon in the dough. Just wait until morning..." he grins. Oblivious. Oh you bet.

Ythrien closes his eyes now and drifts off to sleep, murmuring to himself. Many things trouble him through the night, a nightmare making him murmur unintelligibly in a gruff tone, but it calms itself. By morning, you will likely waken first, and as you do so, you feel toasty warm. And no wonder, too. Ythrien is wrapped about you in a lover's embrace, arms holding you protectively against his now warm skin, lips resting against your shoulder as if he might kiss, though he's quite assuredly asleep. One leg even twines around yours gently. He's thoroughly twined about you.