Critical Role Drabbles || (M + F)

[Garnet]

Hello, friends. I've been delving into the newest campaign of Critical Role and enjoying it very much. All of the characters are my very favorite. As such, I imagine that I will... have mmmore than one thing to offer in this fandom/department before my interest peters out, so I'm starting a general drabbles thread. I'd like to get around to all of the characters eventually, but for right now let's start with Molly. 
 

---

 

Nott is already locked into full blown, shoulders-to-ears guilt by the time her worst fear arrives. It's anticipation that does it, really. For at least a day and a half since she's been on the mend herself, the little goblin has kept a weather and wary eye on the rest of the party. For any indications that that whole, miserable week (or at least made more miserable than most of their weeks) might be an unhappy fate that some other poor soul has to share. But so far, so good.

So when the first, flurrying sneeze erupts from the tail end of their ragtag band en route to the next village, her reaction is whipcrack horror. 

No one else seems to notice, not really, apart from the loud but careless blessing Beauregard shouts over her shoulder, without glancing back for the culprit. Maybe not caring. Nott cares very much, however, and falls out of step with Caleb, slowing to match Mollymauk's ebbing pace. She watches with a dread sort of resignation as the tiefling lets the blessing go ignored, in favor of closing his eyes and stealing a hand inside the lapels of his colorful coat. 

He doesn't quite make it to his intended prize in time -- not before his nose gives a sudden, twitching wrinkle and his fangs bare in the instant before he sneezes again. It nearly bends him in half as he aims it desperately towards the wagon ruts deeply carved into the road. 

"... --ahh'TSCHHHIEW!"

No one offers a blessing this time, perhaps owing to the fact that the party has trudged further ahead now. It's not so unusual. Sometimes they talk in pairs or threes, or altogether, or not at all. It depends on the weather, the mood, and everyone's current level of burgeoning exhaustion. Caleb gives Nott a slight glance, but doesn't wait more than a beat or two, to gauge if she'll need his company. 

She'll catch up.

In the meantime, her ears pan out and back as far as they'll go, as she falls in slower step beside Mollymauk. 

"... did I give you my cold?" She cringes to ask it at all, but it has to be done. She has to know the stakes.

Blinking, Molly lifts his head from the brightly patterned handkerchief he's been blowing his nose into. He sniffs, and offers her a muzzy smile. "Pardon?"

Nott fidgets, but keeps their hung-back stride no matter how tempting it is to blurt nevermind and bolt hastily, awkwardly back to her wizard's side. "It's just that we spent so long holed up in that cart a few days ago. I was practically in your lap, you know, and I was a sight." She doesn't look back on the memory proudly or fondly, except for the fact that they made it out of the skirmish alive at all. She's certainly had better moments than being curled up into a tiny, tight knot of anxiety under Mollymauk's pinned arm, stifling a surge of coughs hard back into her chest. That's the kind of worst case scenario she wouldn't wish on any of their new companions, is what she means.

"And now you're sneezing, so..." She finishes her dissertation with a weak, open-handed gesture to imply the last, unspoken obvious.

To her surprise, Molly only tilts his head back and laughs, before tucking the handkerchief back into a pocket. "And your concern is appreciated!" She's further surprised when he reaches down to give her shoulder a light squeeze. Once, that was a gesture that would have sent her skittering hastily away, baring her own teeth in defensive fright. Nott is starting to discover that from the right people, she enjoys a bit of friendly contact. She knows how well glued she is to Caleb, after all, but it's maybe a bit telling, relieving even, that her first impulse is to flash a sheepish smile at this touch. 

"Thank you, Nott, but I'm alright. I felt a tickle," he says, scrunching his nose with purpose this time. "But now it's gone. So we'd best catch up, hmm?" He gives a slight, indicative nod of his horns to where the rest of their group has further separated. Oops. 

In lieu of any hounding, Nott has to cut her losses and agree. It's better to pick up the pace than to get left behind. 

 

---

The conversation, such as it was, hasn't entirely left her mind. However, it's easy to find distraction when they finally reach the day's end on this leg of their journey. To seemingly everyone's relief, the village is more a small town than a handful of mud and thatch huts erected against the worries of the wild. Indeed, it seems to be a waypoint for several traveling merchant families, and so they're all afforded an opportunity to stock up on supplies sooner than anticipated, as well as a warm bed and full bellies. The local inn has space enough for two entire rooms, a real luxury.

Most of the time, their company is accustomed to catching as catch can, when it comes to lodgings. If there's space and funds enough to break apart and glean a bit of rare privacy, they will. If they're all forced via necessity to share a tiny room, well. Nott is conveniently stack-able, and has by now discovered that both Caleb and Fjord's chests alike make a comfortable place to bunker down. 

Those are arrangements for later, however. For now, the tavern of the inn is bustling with evening activity. Most of the current patrons won't stay on through the night, but even the transient drinking crowd makes for a reassuring bubble of warmth, safety, and company after a long few days lugging along a quiet road. Civilization, at times, can be its own reward.

Nott is nestled in against Jester, enjoying the sunny tiefling's exuberant tale to the rest of the table, when she catches a flicker of color and motion from the corner of her eye.

To be fair, Mollymauk and stealth don't often belong in the same sentence together. In the mostly-human crowd of the tavern, a tiefling will stand out -- an unapologetic one even moreso. A goblin definitely will, so it's quietly that Nott adjusts her mask, and watches Molly head for the stairs. He'd been sequestered and speaking quietly with Fjord a few tables over, to the last of her knowledge, but it's a bit early to be turning in. Even if they're all of them tired, they don't always get the luxury of hot food and good drink.

Come to think of it, was he even taking drink with Fjord, or just talking?

Nott sips silently from her own potent, scorching cup, watching and waiting from the edge of her consciousness for an eventual return. When it doesn't come, after nearly an hour, she squirms out from Jester's arm. She pulls the mask down just between them, in the shadow of Jester's cloak, to offer an apology and a sharp-toothed smile. The tiefling is the only person in the world that Nott can think of who would beam at a goblin's chompers and pinch her cheek. But she does just that, and lets her go. 

The mask and hood and bindings are securely in place by the time that Nott floats shyly up to a barmaid to put in a very different kind of drink order. The woman eyes her cautiously a moment, obviously trying to sort out the various trappings that Nott has taken to disguise herself. Once she meekly offers up a bit of visible coin, the barmaid seems to forget about the logistics of a Very Ugly Halfling, and doesn't linger long in retrieving her order.

Ten minutes later, Nott is knocking carefully at the door she knows Molly has claimed for his own (and for Beau and for Jester, but they're still downstairs), using a boot toe. Both of her hands are still very, very carefully balancing the full mug of hot liquid in her hands.

"Enter," comes Mollymauk's voice from within. Nott cringes to herself, but performs a little sleight-of-elbow with the door handle, and somehow manages to both slip inside and heel the thing shut without scalding herself on hot tea. So as not to tempt fate, she sets it carefully down on the first stable surface she sees. A small table, beside one of the beds, already scattered with a few of Jester's things.

The room is tiny, of course, and they don't allow for such luxuries as a fireplace. As such, Molly is curled up under a heavy wool blanket, shivering lightly in a nearby chair but not yet committed to sleeping in one of the two beds proper. Nott doesn't bother thinking about those sleeping arrangements, as she carefully removes her porcelain mask.

Despite that they can see one another perfectly well in just the moon's cold wash over the silhouetted room, Mollymauk gathers up from the chair in his makeshift shroud and makes to immediately light a candle or two.

"Nott," he greets softly in what she assumes is his pass at a pleasant tone. Unfortunately, it falls short somewhere around the realm of crackling and tired, and just makes her claws twist regretfully in her shirt. 

But Molly has a couple of candles to light by now.The effective is psychologic, yes, and before long the dark repose of Molly's solitude is replaced by a welcoming, if flickering kind of displaced glow. The flame illuminates all of the delicate, reflective gold stitching upon Molly's signature coat, now draped across a chair opposite and leaving the tiefling in only his bousy, billowing shirt, tall boots, tight trousers,  and the furls of the blanket shawl. 

"Is something the matter?" Molly prompts, having composed himself after this short ritual. Even then, Nott can see the edge of his handkerchief sloppily tucked under his borrowed blanket, and the glaze of general unwellness across his every feature. The man is miserable, but probably won't admit it.

No worries. Nott here, ready and willing to save the day through the most subversive means. 

"No, no, not at all," she starts, ears already pointed back. She kicks a toe softly across the wood floor, mindful of its creaks, then peeps Molly a semi-apologetic glance. "I just ahhh... noticed you hadn't eaten, and I thought that you ought to drink something anyway, so." She gestures to the still-steaming mug, as Molly slowly gains on his visitor. "Tea!"

The cocooned tiefling is close now, towering over her as he bends slightly into the curling steam that wafts off the drink. Belatedly, Nott comes to the conclusion that Mollymauk no doubt has better blends kicking around in his bags, and probably the means to heat water enough to indulge in them. A cheap farmhouse blend of floor sweepings, then, probably isn't... isn't?

Molly has straightened by this point, his blood-red gaze distant and lids heavy. Nott doesn't know a lick what to make of it until his features abruptly contort, and he whirls from her with a fluttering inhale and a flash of the blanket's hem. Oh.

She lets him get on with it, hitching through a weak series of gaining breaths as her index claws poke guiltily together. It's only when the tiefling finally doubles over with a wrenching sneeze that her expression nearly grimaces to match.

"... --aah'YZSSHH-iew!" 

"Oh," Nott gets out. A small, weak, and slightly sad little sound, but it's all she can manage before Mollymauk is gathering back with another crippled breath.

"IZSSCHH-iEW!" 

It's not especially loud, his sound, but still hard enough to thrust him into some desperate angles when it strikes. The blanket sloughs half off of one shoulder and, to Nott's surprise, his tail catches her clear across the chest when he lets it out.  

It doesn't hurt, exactly, apart from the stinging shock of impact. Nott is still rubbing the spot on her breast when he straightens, through groggy measures, and finally catches her a sorry look. "... excuse me. Alright there?"

"Quite," Nott exhales, with enough of an unfortunate wheeze that Molly immediately surmises what's happened, in spite of the fog that is moving in on his senses.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry," he soothes, dropping down and reaching for her arm. "Are you well?"

Nott pats his hand impatiently away, this time, and with a frown. This isn't about her. "I could ask you the same thing! I did get you sick, didn't I?"

Mollymauk hesitates, the tips of his eyeteeth visible past parted lips, and his eyes searching left to right. It's so obvious that he wants to lie. That Nott -- despite being a sneaking charlatan herself -- can spy it is all too telling. Molly seems to come to the same conclusion, as he finally leans out of his crouch and onto his backside, knees rucked up and his head ducked ruefully down.

"Hm," he rasps softly, gathering his thoughts and words. "... after a short period of evaluation and data assessment..." He sniffs, hard, his eyes and brows crinkling with the effort, before letting it out in a sigh. "... yes, perhaps."

It's the worst reality she has imagined. She barely even knows Molly, at least by comparison to some of the other group members. The tiefling is hard to read on a good day, and Nott admittedly hasn't put much into this relationship beyond what she's offered tonight. All the same, she feels strangled by a tide of misery as she puts her head down as well and digs her fingers into her trousers. "I... I'm sorry."

Before she can process it, Mollymauk's hand and mouth passes over her brow in a fleeting, unexpected stroke and kiss. Platonic, but fond. "Dear Nott," he croaks softly, then pauses ti sniffle in a breath and steal a quick, working scrub of his sharp nose against one shrouded shoulder. It looks thoroughly irritated now, that she's thought about it, flushed to a dark aubergine against his otherwise soft-colored palette. She picks at her seams worriedly.

"Don't worry so," Molly concludes, after he's worked his nose into some kind of fuzzy submission. Nott can still read a slight itch behind his eyes, with the crinkle of his expression, but it isn't too bad just yet. "Take it from me," he goes on, with a slight yet intentional flourish of the blanket as he goes to retrieve his already well-used handkerchief. The tiefling furls a clean corner of it to his nose for a moment of rueful rocking and scrubbing, but sniffs briskly afterwards. "Stay too long with any traveling band, and the same bug will work its way through the ranks. It's expected, and nobody is ever at fault."

Nott's ears still pan out sadly. "You mean that everyone else might get it, too?"

Perhaps sensing the root of her dismay, Mollymauk sniffs hard, then leans forward to bump his brow off of hers. With his horns and all, it could hurt, but he's gentle about the whole thing, and Nott feels a little bloom of warmth for it. It's so nice to meet a new friend who will stick with her, through thick and thin, in the way that Caleb has.

"Maybe! Hopefully not, but I'll catch this next round if they..." His eyelids flutter and posture creaks back. Nott has an idea of what's coming, but still watches with wide, golden eyes as his squeeze shut and the ornamental bands and jewels of his horns catch the firelight, glittering in all of the gleaming ways that her secret heart adores. He is so pretty and shining, even about to sneeze. She'd steal the rubies right from his face, in a better scenario. "If they..."

His voice is a weak tremor, and Nott reflexively battens down. Even if Molly's sneeze is not as room-shaking as, say, Fjord or Yasha's, it feels beneficial to hold on tight before the tiefling spasms into blessed relief.

"Heh-IZSSCHH--iew!!"

Just the once, this time, although it's obvious that Molly's nose is dripping as he squints and sniffs into the recovery.

"Excuse me, goodness." 

"Bless you!" Nott has no idea what else to say beyond this urgent and sad rejoinder. 

"Mmm," Molly sighs, sniffs, but eventually reaches for the tea she's brought up. Maybe it is cheap floor sweepings, but she paid for honey as well, and Molly's expression is of sweetened relief as he swallows back a long sip. "It's wonderful, good work. Anyhow, I don't think we'll all get it." He sniffs, and lowers the mug with a passive smile. "But if so, it's no matter."

"I didn't want to saddle anyone else with this misery," Nott cringes, even as she scoots in close and leans her temple against Molly's knee. He chuffs a short, congested laugh and pulls the blanket over them both, like a fort held up by his horns and shoulders. Nott feels his tail whip around and bind them gently into this space. A spot that she's still getting used to, but might secretly enjoy. Just a bit. 

"We can all saddle it together, can't we?"

"You say that before Beau has got it," Nott at last ventures, bashful but sarcastic, and is rewarded with Molly's sharp-toothed but tired grin.

"There's the spirit."

[RiversD]

GARNET. You absolute gift from heaven. I have been craving Molly content for WEEKS. I love you. Unfiltered loving keysmashes to follow.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

Nott is already locked into full blown, shoulders-to-ears guilt by the time her worst fear arrives. It's anticipation that does it, really. For at least a day and a half since she's been on the mend herself, the little goblin has kept a weather and wary eye on the rest of the party. For any indications that that whole, miserable week (or at least made more miserable than most of their weeks) might be an unhappy fate that some other poor soul has to share. But so far, so good.

First of all how dare you. We are one paragraph in and I am Alight with feelings. My stomach is one tight ball of anticipation because a- I love these characters and I'm so excited and WE'RE JUST GETTING STRAIGHT INTO IT, HUH? Woo, not even a run up. Hoo. And b- the implications of Nott having a cold/similar illness and being miserable but also being super paranoid about causing misery for others even while that's going on? Hoo. I already need a minute. Wow.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

So when the first, flurrying sneeze erupts from the tail end of their ragtag band en route to the next village, her reaction is whipcrack horror. 

perfect sentence is perfect

As are the responses of the rest of the group to a random sneeze from another of the gang. Excellent character-scanning you got there.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

It nearly bends him in half as he aims it desperately towards the wagon ruts deeply carved into the road. 

hnnngh. hooooo, Garnet. You sure do know how to whip the rug out from under my composure, don't you? Yes, please.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

Caleb gives Nott a slight glance, but doesn't wait more than a beat or two, to gauge if she'll need his company.

Quoting to point out the continued in-character nature of all the things here.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

no matter how tempting it is to blurt nevermind and bolt hastily, awkwardly back to her wizard's side

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

NOTT.

I feel you, kiddo.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

Nott is conveniently stack-able, and has by now discovered that both Caleb and Fjord's chests alike make a comfortable place to bunker down. 

THAT IS JUST ABOUT THE MOST PRECIOUS IMAGE MY MIND HAS EVER BEEN INVITED TO CONJURE. Just the idea of Nott curled up like a cat to sleep on either of their chests is.... is the cutest thing in the world. Thank you, sincerely.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

Nott is nestled in against Jester, enjoying the sunny tiefling's exuberant tale to the rest of the table,

Did I mention how well you have these character dynamics down? No? Because this is both a key example and adorable.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

a little sleight-of-elbow

ayyyyyyyyyy. Nice one.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

Even then, Nott can see the edge of his handkerchief sloppily tucked under his borrowed blanket, and the glaze of general unwellness across his every feature.

Gooooooooooooood sentence. Love 'the glaze of general unwellness', it's giving me a super clear picture.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

She lets him get on with it, hitching through a weak series of gaining breaths as her index claws poke guiltily together. It's only when the tiefling finally doubles over with a wrenching sneeze that her expression nearly grimaces to match.

ohhhhhhhh, Molly. I've gone all heated. Oooohhh, that slow build  that's probably just as hard to wait through for both of them, and certainly causes me a certain kind of tension. And Nott sympathy-wincing squeezes my heart in all the right ways.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

It's not especially loud, his sound, but still hard enough to thrust him into some desperate angles when it strikes

'desperate angles' is a killer phrase. Please feel free to use it again.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry," he soothes,

oh, you're cruel and I love you for it. I also love Molly being totally focused away from his own struggles and Nott shifting from pure concern to concerned annoyance and into contrition.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

out of his crouch and onto his backside, knees rucked up and his head ducked ruefully down.

good position to visualise him in, fyi.

1 hour ago, Garblin said:

"Don't worry so," Molly concludes, after he's worked his nose into some kind of fuzzy submission. Nott can still read a slight itch behind his eyes, with the crinkle of his expression, but it isn't too bad just yet

ahhhhhhh!?! okay, first of all his gentle comforting is already too much for my fragile heart. Secondly, 'fuzzy submission'? I am but mortal, Garnet. That with 'a slight itch behind his eyes' could well destroy me.

2 hours ago, Garblin said:

Nott has an idea of what's coming, but still watches with wide, golden eyes as his squeeze shut and the ornamental bands and jewels of his horns catch the firelight, glittering in all of the gleaming ways that her secret heart adores. He is so pretty and shining, even about to sneeze. She'd steal the rubies right from his face, in a better scenario. "If they..."

Aaaand this is where I burst into flame. Total mental incoherence achieved. Perfect perfect moment, I die, I die. (just assume I keysmashed for about 3 days at this point. So good, so few words available to explain why)

2 hours ago, Garblin said:

His voice is a weak tremor

Annnd there's the killer blow. Coup de grace me when I'm at my weakest, why don't you?

2 hours ago, Garblin said:

A spot that she's still getting used to, but might secretly enjoy. Just a bit. 

My hearrrrrt. It has melted.

I love this. I love YOU. I love everybody in this CritRole lovin' bar.

I'm going to go be happy about this now. Thanks.

[Winged]

So I've done the thing where it took me forever and a half to read this because I kept reading a phrase, appreciating it, and then going back to reread again, and repeating as such throughout the whole lovely thing. 

Rivers has done the best justice to many of my favorite parts, heh. I'm such a fan of the way you've explored the physicality of these two -- Molly's fangs and horns and tail are so beautifully sprinkled in, and the expressiveness of Nott's ears slays me.

such a good sound for him too! And gosh Nott, been there done that. Your narrative voice for her is impeccable as well. 

And man...all this foreshadowing... 👀

I love this and feel so spoiled. Thanks for the great read! 

[MeForever]

You my friend, are amazing! I love this so much! Nott <3

[Garnet]

@RiversD - Hey, have I mentioned how I love your breakdowns? Because wow, I really love them. I'm so into this fandom and was over the moon to get your insider's running commentary. I reread it several times, it makes me so glee. Thank you <333

@Winged - (IDK why your name doesn't highlight) BUT SEE ABOVE. Seriously, thank you. I'm a big sucker for fantastical morphology and how it might affect a snez (... tail.... fangs) so... you know. Very thrilled to get into the new campaign with you <3

@MeForever - Ahh, thank you! Nott is such a special character and as fun to write as she is to listen to.

And now, the sort of unofficial but logical continuation of the previous scene! All female sneezing here. I'd originally intended to hit Beau, Yasha, and Jester all in one fell swoop, but that's not how the writing ended up going, so this chapter is mostly Beau's reluctantly caring thoughts, lurking lesbianism, and Jester-focused sneezing. Uh... enjoy?

 

---

"Listen, Fancypants," Beau retorts Mollymauk's latest jab with a slight, menacing wave of her staff in his simpering direction. Usually she has it strapped to her back, but the recent, sluicing onset of autumn rains has both blown a breezy chill through the air, and also worn the travel roads down into a thick, unpleasant morass of mud and wet. A walking stick is handy, when she can't talk her way onto riding in the cart.

"If you don't cut the crap this is going up your ass next."

"Knock it off, you two," Fjord sighs from the head of the cart, but without any real, booming menace as opposed to tired resignation. Beauregard is self-aware enough to know that she and Molly's bickering has become an accepted background noise to the various legs of their adventuring. It is, if nothing else, a decent distraction from the occasional boredome of travel, trying to pick under the flamboyant tiefling's skin. 

Except for today, when he is so far off his game that it doesn't even feel good to wrest the small victories of banter back into her clutches. Beau tells herself that it was pity for this that earns her mercy, and not for the small, pathetic sniffles and occasional drop-backs to wrench into a patterned handkerchief. That is disgusting, and both he and the goblin kid can just keep their germs to their damned self, thanks.

In fact, the only thing Molly is good foris to kill time on the road, and maybe, say, to put in a good word for her to Yasha? That would be nice, but Beauregard hasn't yet worked up the nerve or the patience to deal with the double-down on teasing it would earn her to mention it. Even the thought earns a sneer, as she shoots him a sidelong look.

"Now what are you smirking about," she grumbles, unable to leave it alone. How the fuck is he even in such a good mood to begin with? He sounds completely wretched. Not that Beau is an idiot. She could see where a fine layer of panache was purposefully concealing some deeper ills. There's no hiding the low slope of his tail or exhausted slump of shoulders, but if he wants to cover it up with his usual sass and tall tales, that's none of her business.

"Oh, just thinking," Molly sniffs, holding the balled handkerchief to his nose. Again, disgusting. "It's a bit cruel to threaten me with a good time, you and that little stick, when I'm not feeling well enough to cash in."

"Ugh," Beau drags out with exasperation, and this time really does give the tiefling a good prod in the arm with the end of her staff. She uses the unmuddied tip, but can't say that she'll feel too sorry if Molly ends up unbalanced enough to fall into the muck.

He doesn't, a pity, and even takes the shove with a laugh. However, Beau does get some fleeting satisfaction that turns quickly to the curl of a different emotion, when he begins to cough. Muffled at first, with a dragging irritation, but soon more deeply into a hard, awful pulse that bends the tiefling nearly in half and leaves him breathless and flushed bright purple in the aftermath. The little twist that puts in Beauregard's gut is more certainly a deepening revulsion for the state of him, and not a flicker of actual concern with the way his breath wheezes and chest rattles when he finally comes up for air.

It also seems to have broken his character, because he's openly frowning now, looking disconcerted at himself, and neither of them have a snarky quip ready to break that sudden drop in mood. 

Jester to the rescue, though. The other tiefling bustles her pace forward a little, and crowds in on Molly's side between he and Beau.

"Jeez, you sound pretty bad," she clucks in her lilting accent, and takes his free arm in both of her hands. "I'm going to hold you up like this so you don't fall over, okay? I can't deal with any more stinky smelly men in this party." 

Caleb opts not to comment. Beau rolls her eyes, but falls back a few steps to walk in closer pace with Yasha, stoically bringing up their rear as usual. She doesn't seek conversation with the big barbarian the way that Jester starts cheerfully chattering at Molly, but Yasha acknowledges her with a short nod, and that is more than enough for Beauregard. 

---

They make the next town by nightfall, but not without escaping another downpour for their troubles. Nobody is really in the mood for any drinking or carousing tonight, and most of their party wastes little time in either sulking over to the fire in the great room, in an effort to dry themselves, or slinking up to their rented rooms for the night. It could be worse, and it could be another night spend camping on the cold, hard ground. Beau doesn't mind that too much, either, but like hell she's going to turn down a dry bed even if she has to share it with Jester. 

She doesn't see where Molly gets off to. Even though he drives her up a wall, they often all of them room together, when Yasha isn't around. But... well, she is now, and so that's probably where he's gone to lick his wounds. 

It's the last fuzzy thought she gives to the whole round-robin illness, before she sinks low into an exhausted and well-needed rest. 

Unfortunately, those same thoughts come bubbling right back to the surface when she jolts awake some time in the early morning, to the bed shuddering beneath her and Jester's shoulders bumping into hers. It's not time to be up yet -- Beau has always had a reliable internal clock that eschews the need for alarms. 

If Jester has any kind of similar settings in place, it's ruined by the rival of what Beau finally, fuzzily recognizes as another in a series of sneezes. She groans, both mentally and right out loud, as Jester shivers into another reflexive "--ISSHIEW!" 

"Not you too," Beauregard sighs. But of course it is, and of course she's spent all night huddled up in bed with someone who's contagious before they even realize it. Greeeat.

"Ughk," Jester complains softly as she sits up, still dressed down into only her tunic and a snug, soft pair of leggings. Slender blue fingers dig into her eyes as Beauregard rolls over and processes the hour. Through the single, tiny window their inn room is afforded, the light is dim and velveted. It's the soft and still hours just before dawn, although one could argue the soft and still parts as Jester emits a low, slightly hoarsened whine. "M'by head feels like it is full of wet sand." She sniffed for emphasis. 

"That's what you get for getting all clingy with the shambling, sick lepers," Beau says, with dry exaggeration. Jester, however, screws her features into a scolding frown as she looks back. It seems to be an expression that hurts a bit, judging from the tension around her eyes and wrinkled nose that Beau can't chalk up to real anger. Jester is annoyed for spats, but has a temper that flees more quickly than a cloud might pass over the sun. 

"I was being nice," she insists after a snuff, and a thoughtless pass of one hand under her nose. Her blue skin comes away sheening slightly, which Beau oddly doesn't find herself minding as much as Molly's insistent urge to sniffle. Go figure. "That's what you are supposed to do for sick people! See, you would be a very bad healer."

"No shit," Beau snorts, but Jester has already hmmph'd at her and gone back into a pout, as she curls over her own lap and tries to get her sinuses in order through a series of short, wet noises. It lasts about until she has to sneeze again, which is imminent. A short, shuddery breath, the hasty press of two steepled hands over her mouth and nose, and the bed sets to shaking again.

Not that Jester goes off like a firework (or... she does, but in a different way), just that the bed is old and rickety and already holding more than its recommended capacity. Beau holds her breath as the tiefling sneezes once, twice, three times in a ratcheting succession.

"Hd-... Tshiew! ... heh-ISSHIEW!" She gasps, and ducks double into her lap. "Heh-ISHIEWWW!" 

The perpetually cheerful cleric sounds so sniffly and sad afterwards that Beau takes pity, sits up and forward, and rubs a hand between Jester's sharp shoulderblades. It is a bit gross, but Jester is pretty cute, and it's hard to be mad at her. 

"Bless you. Sorry. I just don't wanna get it," she sighs, truthfully. 

Jester clears her throat with a soft, sticky sound and offers back an apologetic smile. "Yeah I know. But you are already umm... hmm... what do they say... screwed?" She pronounces it carefully, but the slowly gaining, fanged white of her smile suggests that she knows exactly what she's talking about. "Don't worry. You can be a bit mean, but I will take care of your shambling and sick and leper self too." 

Beau's brows flatten with disinterest. "Yay. Can't wait." 

[queenie]

IT IS EVERYTHING. 

your handle on the character voices is SO GOOD, each of them perfect, and I like the fragile dynamics building up between them. 

[*Dark_Side*]

Garblin, you are totally and completely killing me. These are so good. I'm utterly in love with the story you wrote about Molly and Nott. It was perfect. I'm dying to see what you write next.

[MeForever]

On 18-3-2018 at 4:33 PM, Garblin said:

"Jeez, you sound pretty bad," she clucks in her lilting accent, and takes his free arm in both of her hands. "I'm going to hold you up like this so you don't fall over, okay? I can't deal with any more stinky smelly men in this party." 

Haha, this roast is so Jester it almost hurts!

On 18-3-2018 at 4:33 PM, Garblin said:

"That's what you get for getting all clingy with the shambling, sick lepers," Beau says, with dry exaggeration.

You really know how to write these characters don't you?

 

I LOVE THIS!