Mykola doesn't respond, which is in itself a sort of response: it's aware maybe now is when Seddum ought to speak. It's content simply to be present - with Seddum and Pretty Rin.
Sen folds Rin in his arms and lingers there a moment, comforting them as much as himself. It was, after all, quite a time ago, and really, it could have been much, much worse. He doesn't say this, however. Instead, he nods his agreement that yes, if it pleases Rin, they'll just have to find Rein and kill him. (He wonders, though, whether this abduction has anything to do with the vile shit.)
"I fucked up one or two. Truth be told, I did what I do best: I conversed my way ashore. Although I seem to recall two of my shipmates got it in their heads to take knives to each other's throats as I was doing so. Very odd day, that." Did he suggest to them that they ought to do it?
Maybe.
Their own damned fault for listening to him, though.
And/or engaging in child enslavement. Six of one.
"Poor fellows."
"You seem very torn up about it," Faolan remarks dryly.
Sen covers his heart with one hand in a somber, mournful gesture. "Oh, devastated. One of them owed me two gold from a recent game of liar's dice."
"You actually won?"
"Now listen here," Sen points one long finger at both Fae and Dima. "Just because you got yourselves well-fucked and full of the warm-fuzzies doesn't mean you need to be *rude* to us lesser mortals."
"That's a 'no', then." Faolan's mouth hints at burgeoning laughter.
<.>
It's lucky, Dima thinks - or it's something other than luck; it's an agreement among personalities, a shared agreement to find something beyond gloom in recounting wrenching pasts - that Faolan and Sen can egg each other on this way, companionably. (He's lucky for the both of them. Yes, including Sen, and Sen's quenchless capacity for chatter. Much as Dima may roll his eyes at the elf's slippery truths and loquaciousness, both have proven bolsters against the seethe of ire and dismay.)
He lifts an eyebrow, eyes steady-fixed on Sen. "I'd expect no less from our masterful bardlock." And, after a moment, "Best to repay some measure of the hell you've given, I think."
Meaning - maybe - a measure of approval. Knowing Sen requires nothing of the kind, may not want it, and so Dima adds, "I'd thank you kindly to keep further rock hurling to yourself, however."
There's another kiss for Fae's cheek, a nudge of forehead to jaw and a few moments' thought before he speaks again, "I'm familiar with the name - Rein's name - and with the purpose of his practice.
"I've never met the man. I'm sorry to hear you did."
A cant of his head, a sniff. "For what it's worth. If the bastard wasn't beaten for the entirely most certainly accidental slit throats that certainly weren't caused by his sale of present elves, the refund-seekers were likely decimated."
Rin's eyes track to Dmitri, thinking, thinking, then: "If that's the case, you'd better find their bones and bring them back, because I have some words for them.
"And some claws.
"And teeth."
They're still holding onto Sen, and they're just going to keep holding onto Sen. With a not-really-joking grin that turns into a ticked lip, a blinking of their eyes, another burrowed nestle at Sen's chest.
It's from Sen's chest that they add: "See, that's the good thing about traveling around with necromancers: We can kill them as many times as we want.”
Dima offers no arguments; Dima in fact has no arguments against this.
<.>
Sen snorts an appreciative laugh, giving no promises about either rock throwing or murder, no arguments against the latter.
Faolan, having indulged himself with another lingering nuzzle, comforting and half-pleased, now draws forward with a lift of his jaw to indicate they ought to get moving. As he leads, he contributes, "Less costly to just torture them a while. Necromancy's not cheap. Even for Voronins."
A squeeze of his hand and a sly glance back at Dima: he's teasing.
"Having a pair of dedicated larsonists helps with overhead," Sen drawls.
Faolan stifles a laugh before sobering and adding, "I've heard the name, too. Nothing to do with children. Or me. Slaver all the same, like Sen says. Mostly women, mostly up from the southlands, but only because they were 'exotics'. He's got brothels in Morovsk and Mysos. Maybe Loch Bien, though I never went inquiring."
A pensive look as he remembers something; turning to look back at Rin, he asks, "Some of the women I knew, though, would call him Vytantus Run. You ever hear that? You know. 'If you see Vytantus, Run.'"
Sen nods, even if the question wasn't directed at him. He's heard it. "Words to live by."
<.>
Oh, that's a thought; even before the press of Fae's hand, Dima's lip has ticked to a sharp smile, and he meets that sly glance with a lift of his eyebrows, an appreciative gaze that suggests he wouldn't be at all opposed to a bit of, mmm, malevolent encouragement applied to wayward parties, particularly with Faolan beside him.
Well. And if Dmitri were to expend the coin and energy in resurrection, they might as well take their time in re-mangling any offenders.
The smile doesn't last for long; as Fae talks, Dima's own solemnity returns, and he tries to think whether Rein might have anything to do with the matter of these disappearing children, and whether there might be a way of tracking the man down (of course there is a way; no one can remain hidden) (the question is whether Rein forms any part of the puzzle they currently face).
Rin is listening closely, their attention more attuned than usual, and they nod at Faolan's question. "I heard that. A lot, I think. 'If you see Vytantus, Run. Run, or it's your ruin.'" Maybe that's part of the reason they remember the name; there was a sort of sing-song chorus the chant was put to, and they start humming it absently before catching themself, shaking their head.
"There were a couple of kids—" They look up, then toward the river, then at Sen before continuing, "There were these two kids that thought it was all a big joke. Which I get, I guess; we all wanted to believe it was a joke, or that's the kind of vibe I got. And they worked it out that if they could prove the Sneak Thief - that's what we called him, for a while, the Sneak Thief - was just a stupid old man with back problems ad a bad attitude, they'd save everyone a lot of worry and would be kind of the heroes of the city, or whatever part we had in the city.
"So someone dropped a lead about where this Rein might be, and the kids went off to unveil the truth or whatever—
"We saw them, all of us did. A few days later, strung out below the docks.
"I dunno if that Sneak Thief had anything to do with it, but it was— There were things missing. And there was a message. An invitation? To come find Vytantus Rien if we ever had anything we wanted to donate."
There's silence for a moment, and though they move closer to Sen, though their tail twitches, they only add matter-of-factly, "It was all pretty fucked up."
Which is when Dmitri adds, throat cleared slightly, "He has a reputation in Novorometz, as well. Apart from the brothels, Rein is a known supplier of—" Odd and ends. 'Useful goods.' "Materials." And, "Remains."
<.>
Sen hums thoughtfully at this recounting, for the moment grateful his sojourn with Vytantus was limited at best. It seems to him he's lucky to have all his odds, ends, materials, remains, and useful goods.
It's the rhyme that stymies him; he knows he's heard it, but just as with the Nightmare Market, he can't for the life of him recall the words.
Just like then, Faolan is the one to recall. (Sen wonders about that. Why the druid knows so many songs and rhymes that others might forget.)
Faolan isn't surprised by either the story of the Sneak Thief of the admission of what he provided to the necromancers of Novorometz. A silence follows, broken only by the frustrated, hushed musings of the bard behind him. He gives Sen a moment, then another, clearing foliage to make passage easier for the others - then quietly recites over his shoulder:
“Th' ways ay dark for scrapers us Not tide shall wef' an' crews in If an' see Vytantus, run Run, or else s'ayn ruin.
Us heard it spake in tav'n late Ay hushes down th' lane Stray none the sideling ways t'night Where walk Vytantus Rein
List bairn, we not can guard Til morrow shines all dew'n. If an' see Vytantus, run Run, or else s'ayn ruin.”
He shrugs there and adds softly, "There's more to it, but that's the best I know. Everyone's got their own rhyme to add. And - way of speaking. You don't hear proper Common for that one in Lo'ben.”
<.>
in hasn't encountered this version, not quite, but it's a close match to songs heard hushed at midnight, voiced by urchins crowded safe within their mish-mash dwellings. Songs revised and built upon by those who knew well the nearness of hazard, and who might keep awake long through the night, too wary of shadows to sleep.
Yes, Fae's version is close enough that Rin hums beneath their breath as Faolan recites. Close enough that they know the meaning without gleaning the particularities of dialect—
They do like the sounds Fae gives the words, though, and here and there they echo his voice, testing out the syllables as if tracing fingers along the form of speech.
"We had a verse about eyes watching, or feeling like eyes were watching even though no one was around— Oh, oh. No, it was the shadows have eyes, that was it. The shadows have eyes and the shadows sing lies and the shadows all speak to Vyntantus."
They're ticking off something - numbers, words, images - on their fingers, humming again. The flicker of their tail less agitated as Rin lets memory run through them, then, "The shadows have eyes and slip back with the tide; that one, too.
"It's why Eliss never liked to go by the water at night.
"Also there were crabs. So even if the shore was empty, you might get a snip."
no subject
Sen folds Rin in his arms and lingers there a moment, comforting them as much as himself. It was, after all, quite a time ago, and really, it could have been much, much worse. He doesn't say this, however. Instead, he nods his agreement that yes, if it pleases Rin, they'll just have to find Rein and kill him. (He wonders, though, whether this abduction has anything to do with the vile shit.)
"I fucked up one or two. Truth be told, I did what I do best: I conversed my way ashore. Although I seem to recall two of my shipmates got it in their heads to take knives to each other's throats as I was doing so. Very odd day, that." Did he suggest to them that they ought to do it?
Maybe.
Their own damned fault for listening to him, though.
And/or engaging in child enslavement. Six of one.
"Poor fellows."
"You seem very torn up about it," Faolan remarks dryly.
Sen covers his heart with one hand in a somber, mournful gesture. "Oh, devastated. One of them owed me two gold from a recent game of liar's dice."
"You actually won?"
"Now listen here," Sen points one long finger at both Fae and Dima. "Just because you got yourselves well-fucked and full of the warm-fuzzies doesn't mean you need to be *rude* to us lesser mortals."
"That's a 'no', then." Faolan's mouth hints at burgeoning laughter.
<.>
It's lucky, Dima thinks - or it's something other than luck; it's an agreement among personalities, a shared agreement to find something beyond gloom in recounting wrenching pasts - that Faolan and Sen can egg each other on this way, companionably. (He's lucky for the both of them. Yes, including Sen, and Sen's quenchless capacity for chatter. Much as Dima may roll his eyes at the elf's slippery truths and loquaciousness, both have proven bolsters against the seethe of ire and dismay.)
He lifts an eyebrow, eyes steady-fixed on Sen. "I'd expect no less from our masterful bardlock." And, after a moment, "Best to repay some measure of the hell you've given, I think."
Meaning - maybe - a measure of approval. Knowing Sen requires nothing of the kind, may not want it, and so Dima adds, "I'd thank you kindly to keep further rock hurling to yourself, however."
There's another kiss for Fae's cheek, a nudge of forehead to jaw and a few moments' thought before he speaks again, "I'm familiar with the name - Rein's name - and with the purpose of his practice.
"I've never met the man. I'm sorry to hear you did."
A cant of his head, a sniff. "For what it's worth. If the bastard wasn't beaten for the entirely most certainly accidental slit throats that certainly weren't caused by his sale of present elves, the refund-seekers were likely decimated."
Rin's eyes track to Dmitri, thinking, thinking, then: "If that's the case, you'd better find their bones and bring them back, because I have some words for them.
"And some claws.
"And teeth."
They're still holding onto Sen, and they're just going to keep holding onto Sen. With a not-really-joking grin that turns into a ticked lip, a blinking of their eyes, another burrowed nestle at Sen's chest.
It's from Sen's chest that they add: "See, that's the good thing about traveling around with necromancers: We can kill them as many times as we want.”
Dima offers no arguments; Dima in fact has no arguments against this.
<.>
Sen snorts an appreciative laugh, giving no promises about either rock throwing or murder, no arguments against the latter.
Faolan, having indulged himself with another lingering nuzzle, comforting and half-pleased, now draws forward with a lift of his jaw to indicate they ought to get moving. As he leads, he contributes, "Less costly to just torture them a while. Necromancy's not cheap. Even for Voronins."
A squeeze of his hand and a sly glance back at Dima: he's teasing.
"Having a pair of dedicated larsonists helps with overhead," Sen drawls.
Faolan stifles a laugh before sobering and adding, "I've heard the name, too. Nothing to do with children. Or me. Slaver all the same, like Sen says. Mostly women, mostly up from the southlands, but only because they were 'exotics'. He's got brothels in Morovsk and Mysos. Maybe Loch Bien, though I never went inquiring."
A pensive look as he remembers something; turning to look back at Rin, he asks, "Some of the women I knew, though, would call him Vytantus Run. You ever hear that? You know. 'If you see Vytantus, Run.'"
Sen nods, even if the question wasn't directed at him. He's heard it. "Words to live by."
<.>
Oh, that's a thought; even before the press of Fae's hand, Dima's lip has ticked to a sharp smile, and he meets that sly glance with a lift of his eyebrows, an appreciative gaze that suggests he wouldn't be at all opposed to a bit of, mmm, malevolent encouragement applied to wayward parties, particularly with Faolan beside him.
Well. And if Dmitri were to expend the coin and energy in resurrection, they might as well take their time in re-mangling any offenders.
The smile doesn't last for long; as Fae talks, Dima's own solemnity returns, and he tries to think whether Rein might have anything to do with the matter of these disappearing children, and whether there might be a way of tracking the man down (of course there is a way; no one can remain hidden) (the question is whether Rein forms any part of the puzzle they currently face).
Rin is listening closely, their attention more attuned than usual, and they nod at Faolan's question. "I heard that. A lot, I think. 'If you see Vytantus, Run. Run, or it's your ruin.'" Maybe that's part of the reason they remember the name; there was a sort of sing-song chorus the chant was put to, and they start humming it absently before catching themself, shaking their head.
"There were a couple of kids—" They look up, then toward the river, then at Sen before continuing, "There were these two kids that thought it was all a big joke. Which I get, I guess; we all wanted to believe it was a joke, or that's the kind of vibe I got. And they worked it out that if they could prove the Sneak Thief - that's what we called him, for a while, the Sneak Thief - was just a stupid old man with back problems ad a bad attitude, they'd save everyone a lot of worry and would be kind of the heroes of the city, or whatever part we had in the city.
"So someone dropped a lead about where this Rein might be, and the kids went off to unveil the truth or whatever—
"We saw them, all of us did. A few days later, strung out below the docks.
"I dunno if that Sneak Thief had anything to do with it, but it was— There were things missing. And there was a message. An invitation? To come find Vytantus Rien if we ever had anything we wanted to donate."
There's silence for a moment, and though they move closer to Sen, though their tail twitches, they only add matter-of-factly, "It was all pretty fucked up."
Which is when Dmitri adds, throat cleared slightly, "He has a reputation in Novorometz, as well. Apart from the brothels, Rein is a known supplier of—" Odd and ends. 'Useful goods.' "Materials." And, "Remains."
<.>
Sen hums thoughtfully at this recounting, for the moment grateful his sojourn with Vytantus was limited at best. It seems to him he's lucky to have all his odds, ends, materials, remains, and useful goods.
It's the rhyme that stymies him; he knows he's heard it, but just as with the Nightmare Market, he can't for the life of him recall the words.
Just like then, Faolan is the one to recall. (Sen wonders about that. Why the druid knows so many songs and rhymes that others might forget.)
Faolan isn't surprised by either the story of the Sneak Thief of the admission of what he provided to the necromancers of Novorometz. A silence follows, broken only by the frustrated, hushed musings of the bard behind him. He gives Sen a moment, then another, clearing foliage to make passage easier for the others - then quietly recites over his shoulder:
“Th' ways ay dark for scrapers us
Not tide shall wef' an' crews in
If an' see Vytantus, run
Run, or else s'ayn ruin.
Us heard it spake in tav'n late
Ay hushes down th' lane
Stray none the sideling ways t'night
Where walk Vytantus Rein
List bairn, we not can guard
Til morrow shines all dew'n.
If an' see Vytantus, run
Run, or else s'ayn ruin.”
He shrugs there and adds softly, "There's more to it, but that's the best I know. Everyone's got their own rhyme to add. And - way of speaking. You don't hear proper Common for that one in Lo'ben.”
<.>
in hasn't encountered this version, not quite, but it's a close match to songs heard hushed at midnight, voiced by urchins crowded safe within their mish-mash dwellings. Songs revised and built upon by those who knew well the nearness of hazard, and who might keep awake long through the night, too wary of shadows to sleep.
Yes, Fae's version is close enough that Rin hums beneath their breath as Faolan recites. Close enough that they know the meaning without gleaning the particularities of dialect—
They do like the sounds Fae gives the words, though, and here and there they echo his voice, testing out the syllables as if tracing fingers along the form of speech.
"We had a verse about eyes watching, or feeling like eyes were watching even though no one was around— Oh, oh. No, it was the shadows have eyes, that was it. The shadows have eyes and the shadows sing lies and the shadows all speak to Vyntantus."
They're ticking off something - numbers, words, images - on their fingers, humming again. The flicker of their tail less agitated as Rin lets memory run through them, then, "The shadows have eyes and slip back with the tide; that one, too.
"It's why Eliss never liked to go by the water at night.
"Also there were crabs. So even if the shore was empty, you might get a snip."
<.>