He shirked away from her reaction to his little introduction, one of her hands shifting to her side. He nearly lurched forward at her on impulse, having to force himself to stop. As strange as she is, she's probably not going to try to kill you, he reminded himself, still unable to shake the unease that rose in him. He did his best to hide how agitated he had just been, swinging his arms just a little bit looser, removing his eyes from the back of her head before they bore a hole in it. "But you need to compose yourself. If we were on a city street, I'd be grabbing my coinpurse with one hand and clutching a dagger in the other."
Compose? Sounds like when she said to stop being a mess. He made a note to himself to ask her what that word meant later.
She visibly backed away from her weapon and Askeladden eased along with her, unclenching his left fist which was all knotted up in a fist. He hadn't even realised he was this... tense.
"Just take a deep breath, relax, and get someone to look at those bandages of yours. They look nasty. Oh, and don't bother me so much," she said to him. He nodded politely, beginning to understand their relationship. She certainly liked to talk. Not that he minded. He was more willing than most to listen to a story or much of any talking at all. Anything that would help him catch a few new words. "Especially if I'm working with my tools, don't bother me. My work concerns very delicate materials with potentially explosive or toxic consequences. You know, volatile stuff. I guess you're allowed so long as I'm not busying myself with something." She went on, now catching his interest. Volatile sounds dangerous. He was good at handling dangerous things. It got people to like him and more importantly, he might be able to get out of this favour with her if he lent a hand.
"Oh, and tell whomsoever thinks your name is hard to pronounce, Askeladden, that they're a slackjawed malcontent and should learn to speak with their mouth, not from between their buttocks." She continued on, unabated by the length of time she's been speaking or the lack of verbal response on Askeladden's end. He simply nodded along to her string of high-strung words, trying to make note of what she was saying. He already had a handful of words he wanted to ask her about, especially volatile and malcontent. The sound of the "l" was one of his favourite sounds. She seemed mostly displeased with the locals, seeing as the only thing she had to say about them were that they were slackjawed and that the area itself was backwater. Well, that would explain the way you talk. You're definitely not around here. Not many people talked as, well, well as she did and Askeladden knew the difference between the way she spoke and the way most people spoke. She was educated, more so than anyone he could remember off the top of his head. If she taught me how to read and write, she could take a dozen favours more.
She glanced over and shrieked something that nearly made him jump out of his skin. "Gabriella! My name. Gabriella. Call me Gabby if you're lazy." Askeladden tried to sound out her name in his head, it flowing like molasses as his tongue did oral gymnastics to sound it out. Grabella, Gabrella, Gabr- he frowned, wanting to use the alternative, but not at the cost of looking lazy. "I'm happy to meet you, Gabälla" he tried, the center part of her name coming out like "ae" instead of "rie". It sounded right to Askeladden though.
Mostly right.
A voice came from behind, that even with its gentle and soft manner, nearly made the former slave jump into the air like a startled cat. Sneaking up on him was much like spooking a sleeping dog. You'd be lucky to end up with a scar as minor as the one dead center across his face, which was from a very awake dog. "Excuse me, sir," the girl began, Gabälla to grin like it was some big joke. If it weren't for the short one's standoffish manner, he'd have suspected the two of them be up to something. Being called sir, in and of itself was a first however. He squinted and rose an eyebrow, the corner of his lip twitching.
He concluded he probably didn't like being called that.
"I'm sure there's a space for you in one of the wagons," the girl offered, Askeladden looking back at Gabälla who was having a grand time. He returned his eyes to the young woman, who looked just a touch younger than Gabälla and stood well above her. Huh. Odd. He nodded to her suggestion and looked back at the grouch, "Blame her if the guards find me." He glanced back at the girl before sloughing back to the wagon where he was originally hiding out and hoisted himself into the back, dropping onto his ragged cloak. Girl looked like she was crying. Maybe Gabälla will cheer her up.
He quietly went to work on himself, peeling off his boots which stuck to him like a second layer of skin before taking a crack at the bandages. They were wrapped around his feet going from his toes to just above his ankles. First job was picking off the dried blood that made the bandages stick together like freshly laid stone. Peeling the bandages was the worst part, the raw skin burning like a white-hot poker, worse so where the bandages were dug into open sores. He swung his feet over the side of the wagon and fished out the whiskey bottle from his potato-sack turned backpack and pulled the cork with his teeth. He poured the whiskey over his feet and dug his teeth into the cork. Sorry to everyone that has to see them, he grimaced, the wind particularly sharp against his drying feet that were on display for the world.
"Well, they're about as pretty as my face." He said, as if that would make him feel better about doing this. It had the opposite effect.
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