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Date Posted: 12:50:42 11/01/01 Thu
Author: Tristan and Laurel
Subject: Ahh, not so yummy
In reply to: Marz 's message, "Yummy dinner!" on 10:07:46 11/01/01 Thu

Tristan was too busy with his food to notice Marz’s whispered conversation with Jeremy, which was probably a good thing, for all parties considered. He glanced up when Jeremy bolted out of his chair for no apparent reason, his face flushed red. Marz was laughing like crazy, so Tristan smiled bemusedly at him, guessing that maybe he’d played a joke on the little idiot.

He paused again when Marz moved to sit next to him, before turning back to sawing the tough piece of steak. Marz was right; it was tough, and tasted odd, too, but Tristan didn’t care. He was hungry! It was hard enough as it was to even pay attention to what Marz was saying while eating.

“I think we should get ourselves another room for tonight, Tris.” He nodded his head at that. The only person he liked sharing a room with was Marz, which meant that if those people didn’t clear out by bedtime they were definitely nabbing another guestroom. Preferably one with a big, strong padlock, too. (Of course, he had no idea that nearly half the members of their group were accomplished thieves, either.)

He shook his head when Marz offered him java. “I’dun like java, Marz,” he replied, slurring the name into something like Marshhh. He blinked and stared at his friend, wondering what was wrong with him. His vision swirled momentarily before clearing up again, but it still left him feeling odd. He opened his mouth to repeat himself, but was surprised by a yawn. Guess I’m really tired. But that’s kind of weird…

He shrugged and attempted to chomp through another bite of camel steak. The fuzzy feeling in his head cleared momentarily, and he swallowed. “I think we should move, too,” he continued with a sleepy nod, “Unlike you, I don’t perform to an audience, anyway.” The somewhat cocky statement didn’t even register in his brain as being unlike him, as his head was starting to feel heavy again. To make matters worse, there was a strange, rumbling feeling in his stomach.

Opening his mouth to ask Marz if he felt okay didn’t work, since another yawn interrupted him. He blinked away tears and stared at the steak, suddenly turned off by its aroma. The rumbling in his stomach intensified, and he clutched it with one hand, beginning to feel a little sick.

“Don’ feel so good,” he mumbled, closing his eyes briefly. Abruptly, the muscles in his stomach cramped and he leapt out of his chair, his face gone ashen white. He almost tripped over his chair in his hasty attempt to make it to the privy, and when he got there, he didn’t even wonder what Jeremy was doing there, pushing the youth out of the way in his urgency.

He felt a little better after throwing up (and thank gods the queen had indoor privies!). He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, almost too tired to even get up. Finally, it registered that he wasn’t alone, that Jeremy was in here, too, for some reason.

“Get out,” he whispered, not even lifting his head or opening his eyes.



Granted, Laurel was somewhat thrown off by Ravin’s almost violent defense of Sarra. She knew the man to be a trusted friend of Erlic’s, so it was not likely that he was lying. Could he have possibly been deceived by the woman? Perhaps, she mused, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a studied look. Maybe it was some sort of ploy to work her way into their confidence. Who knew whom her real target may be? It was possible she was even willing to wait weeks, even months, before striking. Laurel had enough association with assassins to know that they were a patient breed.

She started slightly when Erlic touched her arm, asking to see her outside. He seemed equally confused, and perhaps a little embarrassed at having received such a dressing down from his friend. She stifled a smile and followed him, wondering what he could possibly want. It was starting to occur to her that maybe they ought not to have confronted Sarra immediately, but the thought was only a glimmer in her head right now.

“Tell me Laurel,” he said, once they were alone. “Just what exactly did the spirit say to you? Did it actually mention Sarra’s name?”

Right away, his callous reference to her mother’s ghost put her on the defensive, and she sucked in a breath, moving back a step and putting her hands on her hips.

“It was my mother, Erlic!” she said, keeping her voice low so the others could not hear, though it was still obvious she was a bit upset. Really, what right did the man have to drag her out here and question her judgment? “A mother whom I haven’t seen in seven years, so perhaps you’d do well to respect her memory and refer to her properly.”

Oh, sweet goddess, she was too sensitive about this! She had no right to attack him like that. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, removing her hands from her hips slowly. “As for what she said to me,” she continued carefully, unaware of how her teeth were slightly clenched, “Her concern was that we had an assassin in our midst---those words, no more, no less. Tell me, Erlic: to whom else could she possibly be referring to? I admit rushing in to accuse Sarra of deception may not have been the best possible idea, but may I remind that it was not my idea, but yours.”

“If not Sarra,” she said, taking a step closer and staring hard at him, “Then who? You? Me? The evidence seemed clear to me, sir, and I do not believe we were at all out of line to assume what we did. Unless someone within us is keeping a very, very dangerous secret.”

At that moment, a zombie approached them and handed her an envelope. She thanked the creature almost out of habit as she took it, opening it and reading the letter within.

“Ah,” she said, folding the piece of parchment and handing it to him, “It seems Kazabet will not be joining us for dinner, which is about to served. Shall we?”

With that, she began walking down the hall in the direction of the dining room, still uncertain as to whom exactly her anger was being directed at.

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