When Crimson Met Crimson (Closed)

[FennWenn]

Wandering through Radasanth in the most ungodly hour of the night, Fenn felt as if he were sleepwalking.

Candlelight huddled in few buildings. It shrank back from the purple gloom of the night. Only the lascivious, the suspicious, and the restless wandered these winding streets this late. He fell into the latter category. It wasn’t his bed — nor lack thereof — that led the young puck to pad aimlessly through the streets, rubbing at baggy eyelids, his ears pricking up at every stray noise. Fenn was used to rough napping spots. A bed of leaves? Sure. A dry riverbed? Happened before. Rough cobblestones? His back was going to be stiff in the morning, but it worked. The branches of a sturdy oak? He’d sleep the shit outta that cozy nook.

No, he wished it was something so mundane as missed comfort; another bad dream had visited his sleep. One bad enough to catapult him back to reality. Though disturbing in and of themselves, those also lead to fights with his dreamwalking… boss, Banrion. This one wasn’t as awful as they sometimes got, and Banri hadn’t caught wind of it, thank his lucky stars. But it still left him feeling a tinge hollow and alone on the inside.

Not that he would admit it.

Daugi was out on one of her moody time-to-herself hunting nights. Radasanth wasn’t a place for her to be anyway, not for long. As for Banrion… yeah, he wasn’t going to go to her for this.

He did know someone (probably still) in town who might be good company while he waited for the shaky feelings inside to go away though.

The door to this version of Nevin’s shop didn’t have the same comforting door chimes as the one in Stonevale. But the inside felt familiar. Colorful brews rested on the shelves, and the alchemist himself sat at the counter, scribbling to distraction at a beaten journal. He regarded Fenn with a tired almost-amusement, which softened as his gaze met the bags under the boy’s eyes. “Ah. Fenn. What brings you here this time? Is all well?”

Fenn gave a wavering “so-so” wobble of his hand and made an effort to smile at his friend. Friend? Sure, friend. The redhaired alchemist had been someone frequently visited — perhaps more than Nevin liked, considering Fenn’s troublesome nature. Definitely enough the be considered “friend” in the little fae’s book. The chipped counter frosted over under a light touch of his hand. IS FINE. WANT QUIET PLACE TO STAY, PERSON NEARBY. IS OKAY?

Nevin thought for a moment, chin resting on steepled hands. He nodded. “Be my guest.”