"Death but not change, hm? Not sure that's the best approach, but it's not my empire."
Ro glances side-long when he hears that little hiss of discomfort. His fingers tighten around the scarf, winding it around his hand just to resist the urge to reach out. But he smiles when Caleb asks about Avandra.
"No, not exactly. She's the patroness of freedom. Travel, trade, adventure. Luck. She calls us to venture into the unknown... which doesn't always mean plunging into the wild or following the road away from home. But if you do, she's there. Also, just so I'm clear - you're not trying to entrap me, right? Like, if I talk about her more, you're not gonna sell me out for a lighter sentence right?"
Ro offers a little lopsided smile. He doesn't actually think that Caleb would do that. And he's in enough trouble as it is, so he's pretty sure just talking about the Changebringer isn't going to make much of a difference. Idol worship is idol worship, right?
Death but not change sounds about right, actually. Maybe one day. If he lives long enough, if he can gather enough power, then maybe--
It's a silly idea, bordering on absurd. It's even more ridiculous to think about it now, locked in a jail cell for trying to steal enough to feed himself and a goblin for a few days. What is he ever going to amount to other than this?
That voice sounds just like his old teacher.
The more Ro describes the Changebringer, the more Caleb understands why she isn't wanted here by those in power. He is thinking so hard about this that he almost misses Ro questioning him, catching up with the conversation only when he's alerted by that disarming smile. Startled, he shakes his head.
"Nein. I think it is a little too late for entrapment, anyway. You are here already." For the first time tonight, the corner of his mouth curls up with a ghost of a smile. "I am just a curious by nature. I like to learn, and do not get the opportunity often."
"Oh, good. Just checking." His smile grows and he looks down, almost shyly. "She tells us that luck favors the bold. That our fate is our own to take and to do so is to have her power behind us. Change is inevitable, and it's our duty to do the best we can to ensure that change is for the better."
Ro's expression softens and he runs his thumb over the edge of the scarf the same way he'd trace the symbol on his pendent. He glances at Caleb, then back down at the scarf. He adjusts the way he touches it, instead following the lines of the knit pattern.
"Avandra tells us that we must fight for our freedom and that of others when we can. And to inspire others when we cannot. Tyranny cannot bring freedom. It must be challenged."
And he's starting to think he understands why she might not be welcome in a place like this. But whether the Empire sanctions her worship or not, she is everywhere. Change is everywhere.
Perhaps Ro is not often asked to elaborate on his faith. This is the conclusion Caleb reaches on observing the way he softens, nearly shy. He's handsome, Caleb notes distantly, observing the way the warm light from the oil lamp gives depth to his big brown eyes and reflects on his dark hair. His gaze is drawn to his small fingers tracing his scarf while he talks. This more than anything so far serves to convince him of his genuineness. He's been kind and amusing, but this is real honesty; something he truly believes in.
Caleb shifts to draw his coat closer around himself against the cold, turning the collar up and pulling the lapels together. Chill air seeps through the stone. He can hear the wind whipping outside and feel the draft from the other end of the cell. He flexes his fingers several times, keeping the blood flowing, before curling them against his palms and tucking his hands under his arms beneath his coat, arms crossed over his chest. His fingers are his most valuable instrument, and also the part of his body most vulnerable to the cold. He can't take any risks with them.
"I am not one for the gods. Any of them," he admits finally. "But the people of this country could use many of these teachings, I think. Owning our lives, challenging tyranny--these are lofty goals, and far from easy, but worth pursuing. I suppose that is why Avandra blesses her followers in these endeavors."
"They don't need to be lofty," he says with a little smile. "Every day you choose to get up. Every day you choose to look at the world and see how it could be better. Every time you do some small kindness. Those are the pebbles that herald the rockslide. And maybe that's all some people will ever be able to do, but it's enough. Change can be small."
Ro runs his thumb along the edge of the scarf. He thinks of the time he spent learning, the time he spent coming to know the Changebringer, only to realize he already did. He glances up at where his pendent rests on the table. He knows he doesn't need it, but it'd be comforting to hold right now.
"But you're right, too. These things aren't always easy to do, even the small ones. But they are worth it. And that's why she's my patron. Small things matter as much as the big." He realizes he's been saying an awful lot and he laughs a little, soft and breathy. "And I just said I wasn't that kind of cleric. Way to make a liar of me."
Caleb's eyes soften a little, and that near smile returns. "I promise that it was unintentional."
It isn't often that he gets the opportunity to talk to anyone but Nott for quite so long these days, let alone in depth. That is mostly intentional, but he is finding over the course of this conversation that he almost misses it. Perhaps he's just gotten lucky this time.
"You could be that kind of cleric, if you wanted. You speak with conviction." His voice lowers conspiratorially as he adds, "Just not here."
"Maybe. But I'm too pretty and too small to keep getting thrown into jail cells," he quips in answer to Caleb's rough whisper. "And I think being that kind of cleric requires being willing to take the message where it's not often heard."
So, to a place like the Empire. Ro grins and looks down, and maybe there's just a bit of charmed warmth in his cheeks. Better than being cold, anyway. He shuffles the scarf around him, making sure it's entirely unfolded so he's wrapped in the full width of it.
"Thanks for talking to me. This could've been a really cold night otherwise."
Well, Caleb isn't going to deny that Ro is both pretty and small. In fact, he is wisely going to say nothing about that at all, beyond a general hum of acknowledgement. He might notice these things, just as he notices that Ro has a nice smile and a flush looks fetching on him, but it certainly isn't his place to think on it any more than that.
"Ja, for both of us," he agrees, though he should be the one thanking Ro. He is the one who'd made an effort to talk with the shifty, dirty drifter.
He decides two things, then. One is that Ro is probably not an agent of the Assembly sent to hunt him down. The second is that he is going to tell him about Nott. But first--
"Is the scarf enough for you?" he asks softly, brow knitting. "My coat is much warmer, and I have gotten through worse nights without it."
"Oh, I can't take your coat." Ro frowns and looks up at the man beside him. He doesn't even doubt that Caleb might be okay without it, but he'd rather not test that. The scarf covers him enough and it's trapping body heat nicely where it covers. It might not be ideal, but it'll do in a pinch.
Ro glances at Caleb again, debating the words on the tip of his tongue. Caleb hadn't wanted to be touched earlier, he hasn't forgotten that. But--well. It's worth suggesting.
"We could share it," he suggests. "If I sit closer. If you'd be okay with that."
Caleb has considered this possibility as well, though he didn't want to be the one to voice it, even if it was him who reacted badly to the idea of being touched earlier. But it isn't touching that makes him nervous; it's people, strangers, unknown variables, the risks involved in getting close, physically or otherwise. Touch itself is something he loves, something he misses, something he craves with such a frightening intensity that it can't be a good idea. Something he doesn't deserve.
But he knows the cold, and how easily it can creep into a body. How insidious it can be, how deceptive; how going numb can feel like relief, when really it means that if you are alone, it is already too late. He knows intimately that touch can be the difference between life and death. He has no idea how much colder it will get tonight, only that it will, and Ro is so small. It will be twice as bad for him, and they will be in this drafty stone box for hours yet.
This goes beyond his discomfort. If Ro doesn't mind sharing space, sharing heat, that is what they should do. Caleb nervously licks his chapped lips again, split and all, and nods, gaze trained on the floor between them. "Ja," he agrees hoarsely. "That would be okay."
For this to be useful to either of them, Ro will have to sit very close. It won't be only Caleb's coat keeping them warm, but each other. But Caleb offers no specific instruction, merely sits up cross-legged and grips his lapel to swing his coat open, making space for Ro to tuck himself close.
Ro nods and murmurs a quiet thanks when Caleb consents to sitting close. He goes a bit beyond that, holding his coat open in a clear invitation. Given how concerned the other man was about being touched earlier, he has to imagine this takes something to offer. It's a kindness, and after he takes a breath, Ro closes the distance between them. He tucks against Caleb's side, very aware that the man and the coat are both warm.
It takes a moment for the tension to ease from his shoulders, but soon enough he leans against Caleb's side. There's no point in being worried.
Up close, the man smells faintly of sweat and smoke and earth. It isn't overpowering or unpleasant, and Ro catches the scent of soap beneath it all. He draws his legs up, making himself a ball beneath Caleb's coat. He could probably hide there without much trouble.
Warmth seeps into him and Ro realizes how chilly he'd been feeling, even with the scarf. Sharing body heat makes all the difference. He peers up from Caleb's side, his eyes large and dark. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Ro fits nicely against his side. He can close his coat around both of them, and when he leans against him, Caleb takes it as implicit permission to lower the arm he'd lifted to make room for him, draping it loosely around him. He doesn't relax, exactly, but he's actually less tense this way than he would be if Ro had tried not to touch him.
The other man feels cool against him rather than warm, which makes him glad he'd spoken up now, before it could get worse. He can warm him up now, and they will both be happier for the rest of the night. Ro's upturned face peeks out from the collar of his coat, and Caleb is again forced to acknowledge that he likes his eyes. And his smile.
Caleb swallows audibly. "It is..." He is about to say nothing, but that lie would be far too obvious at this point. He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and doesn't quite smile, but his grimace is at least a little softer. "Well, we have only just met, but I would not like to see you shivering all night. The cold this far north is not kind if you are not dressed for it."
And often even if you are.
"You are chilly already. May I see your hands?" He offers his own hands out open and flat, presumably for Ro to place his in.
There is a weight in Caleb that Ro can't quite measure, but he can see it there in the way the other man looks at him, can hear it in the way he talks. Whatever it is, Ro is grateful Caleb has shifted its burden enough to allow this.
"I grew up almost this far north," he admits with a wry smile. The coastline north of Emon isn't on the same latitude, and is farther south than they are now. But not by enough to say Ro's never experienced a deep winter. His mother would have a look for him if she knew.
After all of this, he doesn't hesitate to give Caleb his hands. His fingertips are cold and he'd been keeping them under the scarf as much as he could. Ro laughs, though there's little real humor in it.
"I have gloves in my pack, too. I really was prepared for the weather here." But no one saw fit to give him any of his cold weather gear before tossing him in here. He casts a glance toward the open room outside the cell where he knows his things are sitting, useless.
Ro's hands are very small. This is not a surprise; he is a halfling. Nor is it particularly novel to Caleb after spending several months with Nott. It is simply something he takes notice of, seeing how big his own hands look in comparison when he takes Ro's between them to begin rubbing some warmth back into them. They are calloused, too, in a different way than his own. He wonders what work these small hands have done.
It also takes a great deal of trust, Caleb thinks, for a caster to offer up his hands so readily, even if somatics for clerics tend not to be so nuanced or precise as those for wizards.
He glances out past the bars, following the other man's gaze. If only he knew more spells--Mage Hand would be useful--he could get Ro his things. His hands nearly twitch away from Ro's to reach for his spellbook, but it is currently half sandwiched between their bodies, and he knows very well that it contains nothing to help them here. He is glad Ro hasn't mentioned it, and even more glad he hadn't sat on his other side.
"Almost this far north...in Tal'Dorei?" he guesses. And then, quieter, "We will get your things back."
Ro relaxes more against Caleb as the other man gently rubs warmth back into his fingertips. His mother and father in equal measures have done the same in the past, often while gently chiding a very small child for doing something stupid or reckless. He has to trust that Caleb won't try to hurt him now that they're close. Ro wants to believe this is just kindness from a stranger in a similar situation.
He can feel the shape of a book pressing against him, and he is both impressed that the guards didn't strip it off Caleb before throwing him in here and curious if it means what he thinks it does.
His smile flickers back to life and he tries to sit up more to look past Caleb and his coat to see the bars.
"Yes we will, one way or another," he says. "And yes, we lived off the coast, north of Emon on the far western side of the continent. Cold winters and cold waters."
"Emon," Caleb murmurs, and then nods decisively, as though confirming something. In his head, he is. On his mental map of Exandria, this region of Wynandir does indeed correspond longitudinally more or less with Tal'Dorei's great city and the surrounding area. "That is a long way to travel on your own."
As he says it, he realizes he doesn't actually know for sure if Ro is by himself. He hasn't mentioned anyone else, but that means little; after all, Caleb hasn't either. Not yet, anyway.
He can feel the dry friction of his hands beginning to restore a little warmth to Ro's cold fingertips, so as Ro has not asked for him to stop, he briskly continues. He does this for Nott as well, but Ro's hands feel different in his than hers do, despite being roughly the same size. Nott's fingers are longer and thinner, tipped with goblinoid claws, and she has tough leathery-feeling palms. Ro's hands are more like his own, but proportionally smaller.
"I've never been to Wildemount before," he says as Caleb works. The attention is actually rather soothing and he finds comfort in it, so he is reluctant to ask the other man to stop, even when warmth seeps back into his fingertips.
"I found a ship bound for Nicodranas and signed on. Some of the crew were bound some of the cargo we brought over, so I went with them. Thought I could at least see it to where it was going, and see more of the continent while I was at it. We split when they headed back south. They had places to be, I didn't."
So he'd decided to stay for a little while and see what he could see. It hasn't been too difficult to find charity here and there, especially when he's able to happen upon anyone who recognizes his holy symbols. Barring that, he's worked to make his way.
"Ah, you are a sailor." Despite himself, Caleb is interested. He doesn't think he's ever met someone from quite so far away. "I understand if this experience has left you with a...negative impression of the Empire, but there are many places in this country with kind people that are worth seeing."
Ro's fingers are nearly as warm as his now. He hasn't brought it up yet, but it would be strange to continue if it serves no purpose, wouldn't it? He lets it go on for another twelve seconds entirely unnecessarily before he releases Ro's hands with a light parting squeeze.
"There. Just, ah...tell me if you get cold again. I will be here all night." His mouth slants up at one corner in an awkward little half-smile.
"Oh, I've no doubt. I've met good people, more than I've met bad ones or--well. Ones willing to arrest a cleric for helping others." He supposes it isn't bad to follow the law, though when the law itself seems wrong it might take a better person to ignore it than to follow it.
But he isn't from here. Ro sighs softly when Caleb lets his hands go with a gentle squeeze. He settles against the other man and keeps his hands close to his body, curled in his lap. Caleb's promise that he'll be here all night earns an exhaled laugh.
"I will, thank you. Is the part where I ask if you come here often? Oh, or what's a fellow like you doing in a place like this?" He grins up at Caleb, maybe a bit flirtatious. Mostly he just wants to make sure both of them can keep smiling in the face of this stupidity.
It has been a while, but Caleb still recognizes flirting when he hears it. What's difficult to understand is that it's directed at him. A joke, probably. Just Ro trying to lighten the mood, as he had. He can appreciate that.
Still, he feels his face take on a little color, especially noticeable when he is otherwise so cold. He gives a soft huff, which is near enough to a laugh, and glances away rather than look directly at Ro's smile.
"Too often, actually," he says. He tucks his hands back beneath his coat. "Well, this is only the second time, but I am trying not to make a habit of it."
"Probably for the best," he admits solemnly. "It's definitely one of the more expensive habits I've ever had and I've only just started."
He's trying to keep a smile at bay, but it hides in his voice. Ro shifts a bit, just trying to be comfortable without being a complete lump against Caleb's side. He doesn't want to make him uncomfortable, either.
The smile creeps across his face eventually. Ro adjusts Caleb's scarf around him, wrapping more of it around his neck now that the rest of him is safer beneath the other man's coat.
"Don't feel like you have to answer, but... is that a spellbook jammed into my side or are you just happy to see me?"
It's a stupid innuendo that doesn't even work given that he's not on top of Caleb and he knows it but he's going for it anyway.
When eventually Caleb does look down again, he finds Ro smiling. He's noticed this already, but his smile really makes his face light up. And while he might be sitting a little stiffly still, he doesn't move away when the halfling leans into him.
The nonsensical innuendo startles Caleb into a wide-eyed blink before he gives another little almost-chuckle under his breath. "Or maybe I just like books," he suggests with a raised brow.
Usually, he tries to avoid sharing this information. Wizards are not so common, and many of his and Nott's cons only work if he keeps his arcane abilities hidden. But if his goblin friend is going to break the two of them out of here tonight, there is probably no avoiding Ro witnessing him doing at least a little bit of magic.
"It is. A, um, a spellbook. My spellbook. I have more knowledge of theory than practical skill at this point," he relents after a moment, again glancing away. Not out of embarassment, but more because he finds it difficult to look directly at Ro for so long while he is looking back. "I try not to draw attention to it. Sorry, I can move it if it is too uncomfortable."
"No, it's fine. I was just curious. And both surprised and impressed you hid it well enough they didn't take it."
Or maybe it had just been much easier to take things from Ro, who is more than two feet shorter than Caleb (he's guessing). Ro looks down, absently running his fingers along the embroidered hem of his shirt. It's one of his nicer ones, go figure. There's another question on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't really want to invade Caleb's privacy. The man is already sharing personal space he clearly wasn't entirely comfortable giving up in the first place.
"I've got a little book in my pack," he says with a faint smile. "I know a few ritual spells I keep in there. Just in case."
Caleb shakes his head. It really isn't so renarkable. "Most people do not usually think to search for something so valuable on a man who looks like I do." Just his disguise (nearly indistinguishable from his actual identity--so can it really be called a disguise still?) working as intended.
His expression softens as Ro mentions keeping his own little book. "That is always useful," he murmurs. "Do you use divine magic to access them? Or are they recorded with the arcane formulas, the way I would?"
Admittedly, he's always been curious about how and where these things intersect for casters using other methods. And what else is there to talk about? They have hours to wile away yet.
It's not the roughest establishment in the city, but neither is it anything like the glittering verandas overlooking the sea frequented by those that rarely set foot off land. It's been bustling with trade at nearly all hours given the recent arrival of several merchant ships to the Open Quay and and at least one to the Restless Wharf. Given his druthers, Ro prefers the Quay: it's a straightforward thing to register with the dock masters and trust cargo to be off-loaded without interference and without any of it going missing as a tax to one set of hands or another. Years ago, the first time he sailed into the harbor here, he heard a rumor it's to do with the occupant of the emerald tower. He's seen other sailors tip hats (imaginary or otherwise) or salute toward the tower like it's a good luck charm.
It's late enough that the tavern isn't quite as loud even an hour or two ago when the handful of musicians playing on the makeshift stage kept the energy up. But with a glance from the barmaid, it's clear that it'd be best to wind the gathered drinkers down if they can.
Ro sits on top of a barrel on a low stage as one of the musicians that's joined him beats a slower rhythm - the tavern grows a bit quieter at the sound of it. It'll likely be Ro's final song of the evening - he thinks he's more than earned his bed for the night and the beer he's been sipping to keep his throat from getting raw. When it's clear they've got the attention of the better part of the bar, the halfling starts to sing again.
"Blue as the wings of a heron in the night, like the rising of the tides on the shores of Darktow Isle. They gleam evergreen, winds 'a whistling in the pines, like a castle-crawling vine, like the fields of Felderwin. And rich as the mud after rain upon the ground, they're a whisky hue of brown, braided river running wild. I fell astray, but in you I have found that I am ever bound to your hazel eyes."
A fiddler picks up then to join them as he finishes the verse and chorus. Ro's smile seems private and he doesn't lift his gaze to look at anyone in the crowd as he picks up again with the next verse.
"Deep as the sea where the ocean meets the shore, where I met them once before on the cliffs of Othermoor. Bright as the light setting fire to the north, rising high beyond the morn laying shadows on the floor. Long is the day when the moon obscures the sun, 'tis the darkness they become, 'til the dawn upon the fjord."
The fiddle fades as Ro sings, "I fell astray, but I am bone and blood, and I am bound by love to your hazel eyes."
The drum lasts a moment longer, but by the end it's only Ro's voice carrying over the room.
"I fell astray, but in you I have found that I am ever bound to your hazel eyes."
There's scattered applause but it almost seems as though the crowd doesn't want to break the quieter atmosphere left in the wake of the song. The halfling hops up and joins the half-elf and tiefling in a little bow. He recognizes the half-elf as a dockworker and he's sailed with the tiefling before on another ship. Rather than leaving the little stage immediately, Ro sits on the edge to collect the handful of coins left in the wooden bowl he'd put down earlier.
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"Death but not change, hm? Not sure that's the best approach, but it's not my empire."
Ro glances side-long when he hears that little hiss of discomfort. His fingers tighten around the scarf, winding it around his hand just to resist the urge to reach out. But he smiles when Caleb asks about Avandra.
"No, not exactly. She's the patroness of freedom. Travel, trade, adventure. Luck. She calls us to venture into the unknown... which doesn't always mean plunging into the wild or following the road away from home. But if you do, she's there. Also, just so I'm clear - you're not trying to entrap me, right? Like, if I talk about her more, you're not gonna sell me out for a lighter sentence right?"
Ro offers a little lopsided smile. He doesn't actually think that Caleb would do that. And he's in enough trouble as it is, so he's pretty sure just talking about the Changebringer isn't going to make much of a difference. Idol worship is idol worship, right?
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It's a silly idea, bordering on absurd. It's even more ridiculous to think about it now, locked in a jail cell for trying to steal enough to feed himself and a goblin for a few days. What is he ever going to amount to other than this?
That voice sounds just like his old teacher.
The more Ro describes the Changebringer, the more Caleb understands why she isn't wanted here by those in power. He is thinking so hard about this that he almost misses Ro questioning him, catching up with the conversation only when he's alerted by that disarming smile. Startled, he shakes his head.
"Nein. I think it is a little too late for entrapment, anyway. You are here already." For the first time tonight, the corner of his mouth curls up with a ghost of a smile. "I am just a curious by nature. I like to learn, and do not get the opportunity often."
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Ro's expression softens and he runs his thumb over the edge of the scarf the same way he'd trace the symbol on his pendent. He glances at Caleb, then back down at the scarf. He adjusts the way he touches it, instead following the lines of the knit pattern.
"Avandra tells us that we must fight for our freedom and that of others when we can. And to inspire others when we cannot. Tyranny cannot bring freedom. It must be challenged."
And he's starting to think he understands why she might not be welcome in a place like this. But whether the Empire sanctions her worship or not, she is everywhere. Change is everywhere.
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Caleb shifts to draw his coat closer around himself against the cold, turning the collar up and pulling the lapels together. Chill air seeps through the stone. He can hear the wind whipping outside and feel the draft from the other end of the cell. He flexes his fingers several times, keeping the blood flowing, before curling them against his palms and tucking his hands under his arms beneath his coat, arms crossed over his chest. His fingers are his most valuable instrument, and also the part of his body most vulnerable to the cold. He can't take any risks with them.
"I am not one for the gods. Any of them," he admits finally. "But the people of this country could use many of these teachings, I think. Owning our lives, challenging tyranny--these are lofty goals, and far from easy, but worth pursuing. I suppose that is why Avandra blesses her followers in these endeavors."
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Ro runs his thumb along the edge of the scarf. He thinks of the time he spent learning, the time he spent coming to know the Changebringer, only to realize he already did. He glances up at where his pendent rests on the table. He knows he doesn't need it, but it'd be comforting to hold right now.
"But you're right, too. These things aren't always easy to do, even the small ones. But they are worth it. And that's why she's my patron. Small things matter as much as the big." He realizes he's been saying an awful lot and he laughs a little, soft and breathy. "And I just said I wasn't that kind of cleric. Way to make a liar of me."
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It isn't often that he gets the opportunity to talk to anyone but Nott for quite so long these days, let alone in depth. That is mostly intentional, but he is finding over the course of this conversation that he almost misses it. Perhaps he's just gotten lucky this time.
"You could be that kind of cleric, if you wanted. You speak with conviction." His voice lowers conspiratorially as he adds, "Just not here."
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So, to a place like the Empire. Ro grins and looks down, and maybe there's just a bit of charmed warmth in his cheeks. Better than being cold, anyway. He shuffles the scarf around him, making sure it's entirely unfolded so he's wrapped in the full width of it.
"Thanks for talking to me. This could've been a really cold night otherwise."
And he doesn't just mean the temperature.
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"Ja, for both of us," he agrees, though he should be the one thanking Ro. He is the one who'd made an effort to talk with the shifty, dirty drifter.
He decides two things, then. One is that Ro is probably not an agent of the Assembly sent to hunt him down. The second is that he is going to tell him about Nott. But first--
"Is the scarf enough for you?" he asks softly, brow knitting. "My coat is much warmer, and I have gotten through worse nights without it."
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Ro glances at Caleb again, debating the words on the tip of his tongue. Caleb hadn't wanted to be touched earlier, he hasn't forgotten that. But--well. It's worth suggesting.
"We could share it," he suggests. "If I sit closer. If you'd be okay with that."
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But he knows the cold, and how easily it can creep into a body. How insidious it can be, how deceptive; how going numb can feel like relief, when really it means that if you are alone, it is already too late. He knows intimately that touch can be the difference between life and death. He has no idea how much colder it will get tonight, only that it will, and Ro is so small. It will be twice as bad for him, and they will be in this drafty stone box for hours yet.
This goes beyond his discomfort. If Ro doesn't mind sharing space, sharing heat, that is what they should do. Caleb nervously licks his chapped lips again, split and all, and nods, gaze trained on the floor between them. "Ja," he agrees hoarsely. "That would be okay."
For this to be useful to either of them, Ro will have to sit very close. It won't be only Caleb's coat keeping them warm, but each other. But Caleb offers no specific instruction, merely sits up cross-legged and grips his lapel to swing his coat open, making space for Ro to tuck himself close.
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It takes a moment for the tension to ease from his shoulders, but soon enough he leans against Caleb's side. There's no point in being worried.
Up close, the man smells faintly of sweat and smoke and earth. It isn't overpowering or unpleasant, and Ro catches the scent of soap beneath it all. He draws his legs up, making himself a ball beneath Caleb's coat. He could probably hide there without much trouble.
Warmth seeps into him and Ro realizes how chilly he'd been feeling, even with the scarf. Sharing body heat makes all the difference. He peers up from Caleb's side, his eyes large and dark. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"I appreciate this."
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The other man feels cool against him rather than warm, which makes him glad he'd spoken up now, before it could get worse. He can warm him up now, and they will both be happier for the rest of the night. Ro's upturned face peeks out from the collar of his coat, and Caleb is again forced to acknowledge that he likes his eyes. And his smile.
Caleb swallows audibly. "It is..." He is about to say nothing, but that lie would be far too obvious at this point. He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and doesn't quite smile, but his grimace is at least a little softer. "Well, we have only just met, but I would not like to see you shivering all night. The cold this far north is not kind if you are not dressed for it."
And often even if you are.
"You are chilly already. May I see your hands?" He offers his own hands out open and flat, presumably for Ro to place his in.
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"I grew up almost this far north," he admits with a wry smile. The coastline north of Emon isn't on the same latitude, and is farther south than they are now. But not by enough to say Ro's never experienced a deep winter. His mother would have a look for him if she knew.
After all of this, he doesn't hesitate to give Caleb his hands. His fingertips are cold and he'd been keeping them under the scarf as much as he could. Ro laughs, though there's little real humor in it.
"I have gloves in my pack, too. I really was prepared for the weather here." But no one saw fit to give him any of his cold weather gear before tossing him in here. He casts a glance toward the open room outside the cell where he knows his things are sitting, useless.
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It also takes a great deal of trust, Caleb thinks, for a caster to offer up his hands so readily, even if somatics for clerics tend not to be so nuanced or precise as those for wizards.
He glances out past the bars, following the other man's gaze. If only he knew more spells--Mage Hand would be useful--he could get Ro his things. His hands nearly twitch away from Ro's to reach for his spellbook, but it is currently half sandwiched between their bodies, and he knows very well that it contains nothing to help them here. He is glad Ro hasn't mentioned it, and even more glad he hadn't sat on his other side.
"Almost this far north...in Tal'Dorei?" he guesses. And then, quieter, "We will get your things back."
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He can feel the shape of a book pressing against him, and he is both impressed that the guards didn't strip it off Caleb before throwing him in here and curious if it means what he thinks it does.
His smile flickers back to life and he tries to sit up more to look past Caleb and his coat to see the bars.
"Yes we will, one way or another," he says. "And yes, we lived off the coast, north of Emon on the far western side of the continent. Cold winters and cold waters."
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As he says it, he realizes he doesn't actually know for sure if Ro is by himself. He hasn't mentioned anyone else, but that means little; after all, Caleb hasn't either. Not yet, anyway.
He can feel the dry friction of his hands beginning to restore a little warmth to Ro's cold fingertips, so as Ro has not asked for him to stop, he briskly continues. He does this for Nott as well, but Ro's hands feel different in his than hers do, despite being roughly the same size. Nott's fingers are longer and thinner, tipped with goblinoid claws, and she has tough leathery-feeling palms. Ro's hands are more like his own, but proportionally smaller.
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"I found a ship bound for Nicodranas and signed on. Some of the crew were bound some of the cargo we brought over, so I went with them. Thought I could at least see it to where it was going, and see more of the continent while I was at it. We split when they headed back south. They had places to be, I didn't."
So he'd decided to stay for a little while and see what he could see. It hasn't been too difficult to find charity here and there, especially when he's able to happen upon anyone who recognizes his holy symbols. Barring that, he's worked to make his way.
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Ro's fingers are nearly as warm as his now. He hasn't brought it up yet, but it would be strange to continue if it serves no purpose, wouldn't it? He lets it go on for another twelve seconds entirely unnecessarily before he releases Ro's hands with a light parting squeeze.
"There. Just, ah...tell me if you get cold again. I will be here all night." His mouth slants up at one corner in an awkward little half-smile.
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But he isn't from here. Ro sighs softly when Caleb lets his hands go with a gentle squeeze. He settles against the other man and keeps his hands close to his body, curled in his lap. Caleb's promise that he'll be here all night earns an exhaled laugh.
"I will, thank you. Is the part where I ask if you come here often? Oh, or what's a fellow like you doing in a place like this?" He grins up at Caleb, maybe a bit flirtatious. Mostly he just wants to make sure both of them can keep smiling in the face of this stupidity.
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Still, he feels his face take on a little color, especially noticeable when he is otherwise so cold. He gives a soft huff, which is near enough to a laugh, and glances away rather than look directly at Ro's smile.
"Too often, actually," he says. He tucks his hands back beneath his coat. "Well, this is only the second time, but I am trying not to make a habit of it."
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He's trying to keep a smile at bay, but it hides in his voice. Ro shifts a bit, just trying to be comfortable without being a complete lump against Caleb's side. He doesn't want to make him uncomfortable, either.
The smile creeps across his face eventually. Ro adjusts Caleb's scarf around him, wrapping more of it around his neck now that the rest of him is safer beneath the other man's coat.
"Don't feel like you have to answer, but... is that a spellbook jammed into my side or are you just happy to see me?"
It's a stupid innuendo that doesn't even work given that he's not on top of Caleb and he knows it but he's going for it anyway.
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The nonsensical innuendo startles Caleb into a wide-eyed blink before he gives another little almost-chuckle under his breath. "Or maybe I just like books," he suggests with a raised brow.
Usually, he tries to avoid sharing this information. Wizards are not so common, and many of his and Nott's cons only work if he keeps his arcane abilities hidden. But if his goblin friend is going to break the two of them out of here tonight, there is probably no avoiding Ro witnessing him doing at least a little bit of magic.
"It is. A, um, a spellbook. My spellbook. I have more knowledge of theory than practical skill at this point," he relents after a moment, again glancing away. Not out of embarassment, but more because he finds it difficult to look directly at Ro for so long while he is looking back. "I try not to draw attention to it. Sorry, I can move it if it is too uncomfortable."
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Or maybe it had just been much easier to take things from Ro, who is more than two feet shorter than Caleb (he's guessing). Ro looks down, absently running his fingers along the embroidered hem of his shirt. It's one of his nicer ones, go figure. There's another question on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't really want to invade Caleb's privacy. The man is already sharing personal space he clearly wasn't entirely comfortable giving up in the first place.
"I've got a little book in my pack," he says with a faint smile. "I know a few ritual spells I keep in there. Just in case."
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His expression softens as Ro mentions keeping his own little book. "That is always useful," he murmurs. "Do you use divine magic to access them? Or are they recorded with the arcane formulas, the way I would?"
Admittedly, he's always been curious about how and where these things intersect for casters using other methods. And what else is there to talk about? They have hours to wile away yet.
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some months (or years?) later
It's not the roughest establishment in the city, but neither is it anything like the glittering verandas overlooking the sea frequented by those that rarely set foot off land. It's been bustling with trade at nearly all hours given the recent arrival of several merchant ships to the Open Quay and and at least one to the Restless Wharf. Given his druthers, Ro prefers the Quay: it's a straightforward thing to register with the dock masters and trust cargo to be off-loaded without interference and without any of it going missing as a tax to one set of hands or another. Years ago, the first time he sailed into the harbor here, he heard a rumor it's to do with the occupant of the emerald tower. He's seen other sailors tip hats (imaginary or otherwise) or salute toward the tower like it's a good luck charm.
It's late enough that the tavern isn't quite as loud even an hour or two ago when the handful of musicians playing on the makeshift stage kept the energy up. But with a glance from the barmaid, it's clear that it'd be best to wind the gathered drinkers down if they can.
Ro sits on top of a barrel on a low stage as one of the musicians that's joined him beats a slower rhythm - the tavern grows a bit quieter at the sound of it. It'll likely be Ro's final song of the evening - he thinks he's more than earned his bed for the night and the beer he's been sipping to keep his throat from getting raw. When it's clear they've got the attention of the better part of the bar, the halfling starts to sing again.
"Blue as the wings of a heron in the night, like the rising of the tides on the shores of Darktow Isle. They gleam evergreen, winds 'a whistling in the pines, like a castle-crawling vine, like the fields of Felderwin. And rich as the mud after rain upon the ground, they're a whisky hue of brown, braided river running wild. I fell astray, but in you I have found that I am ever bound to your hazel eyes."
A fiddler picks up then to join them as he finishes the verse and chorus. Ro's smile seems private and he doesn't lift his gaze to look at anyone in the crowd as he picks up again with the next verse.
"Deep as the sea where the ocean meets the shore, where I met them once before on the cliffs of Othermoor. Bright as the light setting fire to the north, rising high beyond the morn laying shadows on the floor. Long is the day when the moon obscures the sun, 'tis the darkness they become, 'til the dawn upon the fjord."
The fiddle fades as Ro sings, "I fell astray, but I am bone and blood, and I am bound by love to your hazel eyes."
The drum lasts a moment longer, but by the end it's only Ro's voice carrying over the room.
"I fell astray, but in you I have found that I am ever bound to your hazel eyes."
There's scattered applause but it almost seems as though the crowd doesn't want to break the quieter atmosphere left in the wake of the song. The halfling hops up and joins the half-elf and tiefling in a little bow. He recognizes the half-elf as a dockworker and he's sailed with the tiefling before on another ship. Rather than leaving the little stage immediately, Ro sits on the edge to collect the handful of coins left in the wooden bowl he'd put down earlier.