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[It's late at night, a time where few else are awake, or at least few are out on the streets. This would be because it's reaching dangerously close to the curfew imposed when the town—and the country as a whole—was invaded not long ago, meaning few dare to step out now (so what are you doing out here, huh?).

Clearly, this is the best time to find dead bodies.

... Two dead bodies, to be exact, and those of soldiers. And look, you even caught the assailant at the scene of the crime: a young man holding a bloody sword (though no sheath—the only ones with such a thing are the corpses, indicating where the weapon may have come from), spare hand pressed to his side where red spreads. It's fairly obvious that he's injured, from the way he's bent over, expression tense in pain. He's also bleeding badly; it could very well be a fatal wound.

Do you help the person who, for all you know, is some psycho serial killer, or do you run away (or none of the above)??]

B-i:

[Who even knows what's going on, but you're sick??? And you should be in bed, but you're not for whatever reason, you crazy person, which happens to be the point where your handy caretaker Jiros walks into the room, holding a bowl of soup.

Pausing, he stares, before blandly:]

I would advise against your current action of choice. A lack of proper rest will only delay your illness further.

B-ii:

[Alternatively, Jiros is sick and you're the one looking after him, and he's apparently a massive hypocrite because guess who's not resting??? Instead, despite being pale(r than usual) and looking unsteady on his feet, he's picking up his bow, suggesting that he's about go out and shoot things.

... For training, okay!! Nothing questionable!!! But either way, he's... not resting...]

WILDCARD:

[idk do whatever]

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[ Amalia may be the world's best sister when it comes to keeping her younger siblings in bed when sickness struck, but she herself... pretty much sucks at behaving when she gets frustrated. Her usual hummingbird companion is still zooming around her in pompous concern-- maybe justified when her head is swimming so much that she's tilting a little to one side when Jiros walks in. But no... no, this is fine. Probably. ]

I'm feeling just fine, so--

[ No she's not. ]

[Jiros pauses, as this isn't a matter of life and death, and thus he's not entirely sure how to be forceful—if there's a point where he's outright rude, which he's trying to avoid. Also, he can't actually manhandle her into going back in bed, because that's definitely inappropriate, so hmm.]

... I would like for you to define "fine" and confirm that your current state aligns with it. Is that an acceptable course of action?

... Sure, I can do that. If you can repeat that in a way that wasn't super fussy and formal.

[ Seriously. Even if she didn't have a fever (and she doesn't, probably, it's just hot in here), Ama's pretty certain that she'd still be trying to figure out what he just requested.

Formality, what's that? According to Huitzi, it's still a trait she's sorely lacking. ]

[ Licyn looks up from where he's sitting outside the tent, watching Jiros attempt to walk off with his bow and contemplating if he still gets paid at the other end if he hauls him in sick. His own constitution was robust, and he had to admit his experience with illness, such as it was, meant sleep it off and eat once you felt like eating. Let the fever burn through unless it stuck around long enough that the body started smelling wrong.

... He sighs inwardly, rising to his feet with a quick grin and quietly moving behind his charge of the moment to sweep him up in his arms, if he can get away with it. ]

Not that I don't admire a man's willingness to beat his head against a stone wall, but it's back to bed with you.

[Jiros catches his presence before he does anything, but he assumes that the guy isn't going to harm him or do anything ridiculous, and so he pays him no heed... which apparently was his mistake, because !@#$%!?]

W-What are you—put me down, you—!

[... Cutting himself off there before he says anything that he'll regret, but before then, he can't help but instinctively blurt out his surprise, especially with his head swimming.]

[ He finds himself amused by the reaction, particularly when the ill man had managed nothing noteworthy in evasion. Saves him on the trouble as he carries him back toward the tent, eyes flicking over the area for any unexpected extra movement. His smile turns into something more of a smirk as he looks back to Jiros' face. ]

You...? Don't leave me hanging like that, Fletching. I'll start filling in flattering blanks.

[...]

My name is not Fletching.

[He sounds a mixture of confused and restrained annoyance, as if he's not sure whether Licyn genuinely thinks that's his name or not.]

... Kindly put me down. This is unnecessary and inappropriate conduct.

[ He doesn't comply right away, since until they're back in the tent there's no point. Licyn's fairly sure he'll just try to go running off again, which while he generally doesn't care, he's being paid to care.

Besides, he doesn't have his usual backup, and he doesn't know how else he's getting the funds to track Rillin down, and he has to do that. His smirk doesn't waver, eyes narrowing in personal amusement as he carts the young noble right back into the tent. ]

Walking out armed and ill is unnecessary and inappropriate conduct when we're lying low and moving through enemy territory. I'm following the lead of my betters, you could say.

[ Almost sing song toward the end there, but kneeling, he unceremoniously plops Jiros back on his sleeping blankets. ]

Be a good welp and stay, will you?

[ Reaching out to ruffle his hair with one hand, it's a distraction tactic while taking firm hold of his bow and jiggling it to draw attention to what he shouldn't be doing. ]

[He's sick, but he's not sick enough to a) not glare when Licyn ruffles his hair (... this is rude, he's vaguely aware of, but surely this is a situation where that's not so bad??) or b) let go of his bow as Licyn jiggles it, which is also very much unappreciated.]

It is necessary to maintain my skills, particularly in the event that we are attacked. Furthermore, your behaviour is becoming increasingly inappropriate. I would appreciate it if you were to refrain from further contact.

[ Juuust going to gently lower that bow to the ground and nonchalantly plant his knee on it. He's no nursemaid, won't try other than making sure Jiros keeps breathing, but that's neither here nor there. ]

Make my work easy, and I'll work easily with you. Lay low, rest, beat yourself up 'maintaining your skills' when we're back traveling again tomorrow. Wearing yourself out right now is a liability to both of us, and we'll both pay. Which you might be into - [ who knows, some nobles are, and Licyn reaches out to gently chuck under Jiros' chin ] - but I'm not, unless you ask really nicely and are a particularly good lay. No offense, but I'd be surprised if you even knew how to unhitch your bitches for long enough to be any fun in the sack.

[ In other words, he's not planning on having it taken out of his hide for Jiros being a stubborn horse's ass over all this. ]

[Towards the end, even Jiros, as thick-headed as he is about this sort of thing, begins to pick up on the innuendo; in the process, he looks increasingly horrified, because that's so inappropriate, Licyn. Though it's true that aside from being engaged to some woman he's met, like, once in his life, because the politics of nobles and marriages and all that, he's about as virginal as it gets.]

You—!

[oh my god shut up please—except that's rude, and so Jiros is desperately trying to hold onto his need to be formal and polite. It's an uphill struggle, as might be evident from the way he raises his voice.]

... I do not intend to be a liability, but please refrain from further vulgarity.

[ There it is. The moment Licyn knows he's getting under someone's skin. It's not with any malice at this point, considering his lack of personal feeling toward Jiros either which way, but it does make the curl of his lips up into a smile a little more sharp than it had been earlier. ]

It's frank speak, little Arrow. Nothing to turn red eared over.

[His expression tightens when he sees that sharpness (or as much as he can when his vision doesn't blur in his illness), as he mentally debates how to carry himself in this situation.]

My name is not "little Arrow" either, and I would prefer a sense of decorum.

Decorum serves as long as we survive, but if you insist...

[ He reaches out, taking one of Jiros' hands in his and lifting it up to his lowered head. Licyn brushes his lips against the back of his hand, eyes fixed on Jiros' face. ]

As you wish, my lord. Now rest. I promise it'll be far more tolerable than remaining awake and in my company.

[ For which he shoots Jiros a winning grin, having either let him reclaim his hand or settled it back on his chest without so much as a nod to the doing. ]

[He freezes and stares blankly when Licyn kisses his hand, because he... supposes that's proper, but only under the right situation and this is not it???? Also he's not used to people flirting with him, since he's technically engaged and thus off the market and all.

You know what, he's just. Going to ignore that. Yeah.]

... Will you leave the tent if I comply?

[ A decent portion of the population would point out if no heirs were being generated, really, it wasn't much "off the market." (That and Licyn calls himself "Mansbane" for both his purported tendencies to cuckold and to entice.

What can he say? No reason to turn away from the comforts of the flesh when they were mutual. Regardless? Terms like these? ]

Lightning strike me where I stand if not.

[ Leaving doesn't mean staying out, but he's not intent on tormenting a sick man. Holds them all up in the end, and if the threat of his presence will work to keep him complacent?

Sear it all, he'll use it! ]

[Yes, but messy and fragile internal politics within his country (the joys of the decade following a civil war) mean that when he's engaged and not yet officially married, nobody really tries to openly flirt with him lest it look like they're ignorant of his arrangement or attempting to subvert it (after he's married will be a whole 'nother story, probably).

... Also it's no secret how stiff and emotionless he acts, so really, why bother?]

No need to be that drastic.

[But yes, please leave, Licyn. He can go and sharpen his sword if you're not around...]

Good. I'd hate to tempt your stomach. Fair warning, on the other hand. If my wolf heads back into camp soon, I'll be sending him in there with you.

[ He moves his knee, freeing the bow, and stands in a smooth motion. He grin is the same as it has been, and he gives Jiros a jaunty, two fingered salute from the level of his heart. ]

If he's not sopping wet, that is.

[ Subsequently he strides right on out, tying off the door after he leaves. ]

[ just then, one of the dead bodies expirates blood.

the droplets come spraying out the way a whale might furtively exhale water spouts for every whaler within fifty miles to see-- with the knowledge that doing it means damning itself but dammit it needs to breathe. what follows the blood is a gurgled moan, and then more blood, and then finally, when the subject has at long last run out of blood in his throat, he begins to groan.

wet, slopping sounds. the creak of bone. and what had been most certainly a dead body (skewered right through, major organ damage, death pretty much imminent) suddenly stops being a dead body. signe sits up as his stomach lethargically knits itself back together the way a particularly blind grandmother might crochet her favourite nephew a sweater: slowly, carefully, and with all the preciseness of a bat doing ballet. he swears as he digs out the tip of the sword that had snapped off in his ribcage before said ribs can knit back together and turn said sword tip into a part of him, and then turns his recently not-dead gaze over to jiros in a very good imitation of a person who's just risen from the grave, and kind of wishes he hadn't. ]

Okay, [ he breathes, sounding tired, ] you're right. 'I'll hold him down while you skewer him' is an awful idea, and we're never going to do this again.

[ just because you know he's immortal doesn't mean he likes being bisected??? jiros???? that being said, however, the plaintive whine in his gaze drops to something perhaps more appropriate for the situation as he takes in jiros' blood-soaked side. damn, so that guy got in a hit after all. forcing the lower half of his body to cooperate, he drags himself over to where jiros is, fingers clawed into the dirt, until he can get a better view of the damage. ]

Hey, [ damn it looks bad, he tugs his blood-stained cloak loose and shoves it at jiros. balled up and filthy as it is, it'll have to do. ] -- press this against your wound. And sit down.

[and yeah you know what he doesn't like being arrested by guards who might do research into his background and learn about his identity???? being jiros verslan sucks when the country that's invaded yours is out to kill you...

When they'd tried to take him in—which was his mistake, he shouldn't have been out at this time—he'd done the only thing he knew how to do. He doesn't have the skills to talk himself out of a situation, and so, taking them by surprise, he'd struck (and stole one of their weapons, for a lack of his own. He's not going to walk around with his fancy sword out in public; that's like painting a label over himself).

As the man (who, to his alarm, has inexplicably come back from the dead) approaches him, he backs away to the best of his ability, eyes wide and his hand holding onto the sword tightening its grip. Even wounded like this, he's ready to keep fighting if he has to.

He won't die here. He can't: he won't leave Iwan alone like that. More importantly, he can't leave Valis alone, wherever he is in the world. He has to find him.]

... I am not inclined to listen to the words of an enemy.

[Says the guy who technically attacked first, but details.]

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ew who are you!!!