Chapter Text
Thankfully, the only other person present was the attendant behind the desk. A girl, bored, blonde, and teetering on the verge of falling asleep. She couldn't have been much older than either of them, but all the stress lines on her face made it hard to tell.
And they certainly didn't get any lighter the second she spotted the two of them walk through the door.
Maribelle felt for the girl, she really did. As a member of the Shepherds, she had to deal with all sorts of crazy people every day, and it took a tremendous effort not to snap after the thirtieth time someone put the heal staves in the wrong box. This girl probably had to deal with much of the same, so Maribelle understood that having to talk to what she must have thought was another pair of unstable idiots was the last thing she wanted to do.
That being said, she needed somewhere to lie down, and whether she liked it or not, this girl was in the only place they could get a room in.
The man opened his mouth to speak, but the girl cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't tell me," she said. "If you're about to tell me you two are married and are here for the discount that expired a year ago, the brothel is down the road and out of the city."
"I–No, that's not what I was about to–" The man paused, taking a full minute for the right words to come to his head. "What made you think I was going to do that?"
"You can never be too safe. Not today, at least. Anyway," the receptionist sighed, "if you're not here for that, what can I do for you?"
"I'd like a room for me and my..." The man glanced down at her. "Daughter."
"What?" Maribelle hissed, up in his face in an instant. "That wasn't what we said before!"
"It wasn't?"
"If she's not your daughter, what is she?" the receptionist droned, fiddling with a key ring she'd pulled out from her desk.
Maribelle huffed indignantly. "I'm his older sister."
"I don't believe that was it either."
"Well, it's a small difference, isn't it?"
"Oh yes." The receptionist rolled her eyes. "I can see the family resemblance."
Shooting a glare at the man, Maribelle cursed. "Gods dammit. You should have dyed your hair blonde!"
"And just where would I find something to dye my hair blonde, sweetheart?" the man said, and he folded his arms.
"I don't know! You should have thought this through!"
"I should have thought this through? I don't know what else I was supposed to do back there. You wouldn't prefer I let you pass out on the street, would you?"
Beside them, the receptionist pinched the bridge of her nose. "I see I shouldn't have said that. Look," she said, "I'm not going to ask any questions. You can continue arguing about whatever this is, so long as you do it outside my earshot. Please, just get a room and get out."
After a few gold coins over the counter, the receptionist handed them a key and pointed them to their room. Maribelle didn't relax until the door was firmly shut behind them.
"Family resemblance! Why didn't I think of that?" She threw her hands up in frustration. Beneath her, the straw mattress crinkled.
"Hey now, you can't exactly blame yourself for that," the man said, leaning up against a wall. "Your head's got to be a little fuzzy from all that blood loss. Trust me, I've been there."
"You?" Maribelle looked him up and down. "I'd never have imagined."
"Trust me, sunflower, I've had my fair share of grievous injuries."
"That doesn't sound like something you should brag about."
"Oh, I'm not bragging. This one time, I had a stab wound that reached all the way through my stomach."
"That must have taken a very good cleric to fix that up for you. A wound as big as that isn't easy to fix."
"And how would you know?"
"I happen to be a cleric myself, thank you, and a very good one at that!" Then Maribelle frowned. "You're not just making this up, are you?"
"Come on, I'd never lie to someone like you!"
Maribelle groaned. "Gah! Nevermind. All this talk of bleeding out hasn't helped this wound heal any faster!" Digging a hand into her dwindling supply of gold, Maribelle piled a bunch into the palm of her hand and held them out for the man to take. "Make yourself useful and go into town. See if you can find a shop with any vulenaries in stock."
"You..." The man frowned, and he sifted the gold through his fingers. "Alright. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I won't run off with this, you have my word."
"Ah!" Maribelle straightened. "And just in case you get any ideas about running off–"
"I said I wouldn't."
"I heard you, but just in case," she said, "I'll have you know that I am a noblewoman of considerable wealth. If I make it out alive, I shall reward you handsomely."
The man blinked. "Okay," was all he had to say.
Maribelle felt like something like that deserved a little more response. Perhaps he was starstruck? Too dazed by the revelation that he had nothing to say?
The man walked back to the door, and as he pulled it open, he stopped. "What am I supposed to say if people ask questions? About you and me, I mean."
"What? Oh, tell them you are my betrothed."
The man choked. Maribelle let him, only the tiniest bit amused as she watched him stutter out, "I–I can't say that!"
"Of course you can. It's not as if it matters."
"But how am I supposed to act?"
"No different than you already are. You're already a shameless flirt, I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own."
"Well–I mean..." The man sighed. As he ran a hand through his hair, he said, "You know, all this reminds me a lot of the love stories my mother used to tell me."
"Your mother was a storyteller?"
"The best in the kingdom. She could tell all kinds of stories, but love stories were her favorite. You know, the ones where a dashing man saves a damsel in distress, they travel the world together, and by the end, they fall in love."
"Well, we're not characters in a love story, so don't get any ideas," Maribelle huffed. "I'm here because I'm wounded, and I need someone to help me get back on my feet. You're here because I'm paying you to stay."
"Oh come now, buttercup. Thinking like that's no fun. I saved you from distress, haven't I? And we've already done a bit of traveling together." He motioned around them. "We've even got ourselves a cramped room in a run-down inn that'll force us to sleep in uncomfortable proximity–a staple in my mother's love stories."
"What are you talking about?" Maribelle asked. She glanced around, and that's when she noticed that the room they were in was, in fact, rather small. They wouldn't be able to stand more than ten feet apart, no matter where they moved, and that wasn't counting for the one bed that Maribelle was sitting on.
"Oh, you did not just–"
But the man had already shut the door behind him, leaving Maribelle to boil in her anger alone.