Brittany (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breezeshadow) wrote2012-01-15 02:12 pm
breezeshadow) wrote2012-01-15 02:12 pm
Entry tags:
Tiger's Crouch
Title: N/A, pretty much
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Tegre and Eilís
Status: Complete, but relatively rough
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, a bit of violence
Summary: Everyone needs some extra money. And there are some interesting ways to get it...
Prompt: N/A
Author's Notes: I was talking withraze and Hari about what job Tegre may take once he's back from the civil war. He won't be a soldier again to be sure, but probably some private guard... And then I realized. BOUNCER. Then Hari showed me a picture of a cat while I was writing and I thought that they need a cat. And thus this was born.
---
The wind howled over the mountains and swept through the narrow streets of Pinehill, cutting straight through Tegre's coat as he braved the walk through the center of town. Warm light spilled from the windows of the houses on either side of him, but though he knew someone must be alive in them, he could not hear anything over the roar. He pressed his coat closer to his body -- Eilís was pretty determined to shove as much food into him as possible within one day, but apparently a long history of barely eating anything made his body a little reluctant to buff up.
He hoped it did not make things too awkward once he reached the job. Tegre sighed, his breath rapidly sweeping away as he stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets. It felt like snow; even on the other side of the world the air would get that same crisp feeling, the clouds looking ready and waiting. By the time the bar closed there would likely be a few inches on the ground, just enough so that every inebriated man who tried to leave would fall on his face and risk hypothermia. He had a funny feeling his second job of the night would be carrying them to the hospital, one at a time.
The tempest paused for just long enough for him to hear laughter from down the street. Oh excellent, he thought, I have roughly a dozen feet to come up with a good story for why I will work out. Sure, the bartender had seemed desperate, and his eyes widened when he heard about Tegre's "credentials", if fighting in a civil war counted as that. He supposed surviving the bloodiest war of the century did make him seem like a good bouncer candidate, though one involved more gunfire than muscle.
Tegre did not necessarily look like he had a lot of the latter. No matter how big of a breakfast he ate and how large his midnight snacks were, his face was still molded out of sharp cheekbones and a bony nose; his eyes still looked too big for his face, his fingers like a corpse. He only looked reasonable at that moment because his coat was big enough for two of him; Eilís had fretted over it and dusted off some invisible lint, shoved a fuzzy hat on his head, and then declared that maybe he would not die of frostbite.
He smiled softly as he tried not to let the sudden gust tip him over. He could hear the laughter over the howling now, and rolled his shoulders, happy they were still fluid from the stretches and quick jabs and kicks he had done in the training room before leaving. Eilís had commented that his form was just not quite right and he had thrown his balled-up towel at her; when he caught the glass she threw back in retaliation they concluded that yes, he would survive any bar fight that involved flying drinks.
The wind blew snow into his face at the bar entrance -- apparently they had not bothered to clean up the massive drift next to it. A few people smoking outside looked at him curiously, a few of the men who recognized him giving him a friendly if befuddled wave. Tegre nodded his head at all of them, then removed his hat and stepped into the laughing warmth.
A fireplace cracked in one corner of the room, as far away from the bar as was possible in the narrow rooom. Despite the noise, there were still not too many people in the bar -- the night was still young, after all -- and most of them crowded around the flames, sharing ridiculous stories and jokes. The bartender looked up from the drink he was performing and beamed at Tegre's direction, even after he had taken off his coat and hung it on one of the old wooden racks.
"Mr. Murray! Early just like you promised." He grinned, gold tooth glinting in the fire light. "Then again, that's a soldier's duty, eh?"
"That depends on the army." Tegre stretched his arms over his head, nodding politely at the men who turned to look at him. To his relieved surprise, they all just smiled and went back to their stories.
"Indeed, indeed. Care for a drink? On the house, of course, you're here to make, not spend." The bartender winked at him as he delivered a foaming glass to a long-coated man sitting at the bar.
"No, thank you." He leaned up against the wall, wondering if perhaps he should have left his coat on; the cold seeped through the door and straight to his bones. He supposed it was not the chill's fault he made it so easy.
"Suit yourself. Going to be a long few hours, though. Things aren't going to kick up until the last factory closes and the last family dinner ends." The man shrugged. "Call if you want something."
Perhaps the hours would be long, for another person. But Tegre never had a problem with getting lost in his own mind. First he considered the stories the people told. Most of them were mining incidents, however, and Tegre could not find those joyful. They never talked about the mines at home; Eilís's face always became so tragic, hiding the pain from a story Tegre never forced her to tell.
He knew she would likely tell him eventually, but he knew how long it could take. Kader only found out about his father because he felt she was long overdue for the story; he could either have kept seeming weird and useless, or given her some sort of excuse. Of course, the story she shared a few months later was not even remotely better. He sighed softly as he looked up at the old wooden ceiling of the bar. He had not seen her in years, and yet if he somehow came upon one of those boys who raped her, he would still shoot him without hesitation. It was the least the bastards deserved.
Tegre hoped she was all right; the last he had seen her was right before he went away to Garanee, in some backwater coffee shop on the coast. She had looked drained, but still fighting; but she had been so quiet, so much of her bite gone, that he had begged her to exchange addresses. Of course, when he got back a few years later she was gone. It was hard to find telepaths in Arebe so locating her was pretty much impossible, and he only had to hope that somewhere, she was alive and still kicking, perhaps had even found something to look forward to.
He shared these worries with Eilís at least a couple of times a month, and she always tried to find something to say. Friends moved on, she may have found someone else, the telepaths on Arebe always had a bit more trouble for some reason, just because they could not find her did not mean she was gone...
The noise around him slowly picked up as he daydreamed, and he looked around from time to time, watching as factor workers covered in ash and smelling of metal ordered beers they couldn't hold with one hand; miners with dark soot faces washed it away with the hardest liquor they could find; and then he stared when a group of five women carrying needlework settled with some wine in the corner and giggled over gossip.
Soon the bar was filled almost to the brim with people -- men and women alike out from work trying to relax or escape. He pressed up against the wall, watching them all carefully; but he had no idea who would be the most likely to start a fight. Sure, the factor workers were yelling pretty loudly, but then they would laugh hysterically five minutes later and order another beer. The miners were gesticulating about something that happened in their day, but they were so busy their drinks were barely touched. He could not imagine the knitting women were going to attack each other with needles any time soon.
Most people ignored him, he noticed -- not surprising, he figured. He was a short scrawny man squashed into a corner, threatening to be smothered by coats. Eventually a few people filtered out; the miners left first, one of them giving him a near-crippling smack on the shoulder in presumed solidarity. The factor workers were just finishing up what he assumed was their last beers when a shattering glass distracted them all.
Tegre turned over to the fireplace, where he found glass spread across a chess table and on the floor, with beer seeping into the woodwork. The crowd was backing away from the two men, who glared at each other drunkenly from across the game. With a sigh the former soldier stood up straight and walked silently over as one of the men clenched a fist and pointed accusingly at the other.
"We weren't playing by that rule, asshole!"
"It's a standard rule, you little shit. You're just pissed I got my pawn over there."
"Fucking cheating little bitch!" And then the man uncleched his fist so he could throw the table at the other guy. He threw it aside into the crowd, Tegre dodging it with ease as he slipped in between the two men. They both stared down at him as he held out his hands, staring coolly between the two of them.
"Enough. Pay for your drinks and get out."
"Who the fuck are you?" The table-thrower sneered, making fists once more. "Get out of here, you scrawny little shit. This is between men."
Tegre stared at him in return. "It's a chess game. I could play that when I was seven."
The man gritted his teeth, but apparently did not have the logic left for the argument and just threw a fist.
Dodging it was easy; the man did not exactly have the coordination he imagined. Tegre swept his legs out, knocking the man's feet out from under him. The look of surprise on his face changed rapidly to pain as he slammed into the ground. He heard the other guy move after him and ducked down, dodging to the side. The man staggered as his own momentum sent him downward; Tegre's elbow on his back gave him that extra jab to make him collapse.
The entire bar had become silent but for the crackling of the fireplace and the groans from the two men. Ignoring it as best he could to maintain composure turned to the two men. "Shall I show you out?"
The first man seemed too surprised when Tegre supported him to his feet and led him to the entrance, where a sheepish man admitted that he knew where the guy lived and would help him home, giving him the money for the man's drinks and more than a little extra for the trouble. The other chess player was already sitting up by then, cursing out everyone and everything he could think of, though he did not have the strength to follow through with his threats when Tegre helped him out. The drunken man had the grace to vomit once he was outside the building, then staggered down the street.
He turned back to a bar that had resumed its normal activities -- one of the barmaids was cleaning up the mess on the floor, while conversations had rapidly resumed. He noticed he got a lot more pats on the shoulder and back, though, and quite a few more offers for a drink. By the time closing time rolled around, He was starting to wonder how much longer he could refuse before he would accidentally start another fight.
"Thanks for the help, Mr. Murray." The bartender smiled at him as he handed over a couple banknotes; Tegre easily estimated double what he was expecting in the pile. "Everyone got a story to talk about tonight."
"Do you need any help cleaning up?" Tegre glanced at the barmaids washing endless glasses and tables.
"No no, we'll be fine. You've done your job. Go get a good night's sleep and say hello to your wife for me." The man shook his hand and then turned back to the bar, barking out a few orders.
Tegre watched them work for a moment before putting on his coat, tucking the notes in his pocket, and heading out into the night. An inch or two of snow rested in the streets as he expected, with more falling from the sky; yet no one outside the bar seemed to be having any real trouble with it. Pushing his hat down over his ears, Tegre turned and ducked down the street toward his home.
The wind died down somewhat half-way on the way home; and that was when he thought he heard a small noise, somewhere in the snow. He paused and listened for it again; this time it was a little louder, and distinctly like a tiny mew. Brow furrowing, he walked over to the snow pile and knelt down in front of it, pushing through the snow.
Then a long-haired bundle pounced out of the snow at his glove, digging its claws into it and biting at his fingers. It would have been more impressive if the kitten was bigger than his hands. Its tiny tail lashed as it kicked its back feet at him, and with an amused little smile he lifted his hand up with the kitten still attached, though once he was at his full height and had his other hand supporting it the cat finally turned its head to his face.
"What in the world are you doing?" He was not expecting an answer, but the kitten mewed at him, tail still lashing, and then went back to chewing at his gloves.
He let it keep that up all of the way home, noting that a lamp was still on in the living room. He opened the door to find Eilís on the couch with a book; she smiled at seeing him, then lifted an eyebrow at the kitten.
"I see you found a wannabe snow leopard." She closed the book and walked over to extract the kitten from his fingers; it meowed and pawed at her face. "Very ferocious. Let's name it Tiger since it's convinced it's one."
"I'm happy that I can bring home random animals and have you immediately name them." Tegre smiled at her as he hung his coat up on a hook next to the door.
Eilís laughed as she scratched at Tiger's head as it tried to bat at her. "Well it wasn't a baby wolf or something, just a starved little kitten. Had you brought home a wolverine we'd have a little talk."
"'Can I keep it? I'll take it for a walk.'" Tegre took the money out of his pocket and showed it to Eilís. "I got this for beating up chess players."
"Hagaas, can you do this at any time? Does it have to specific chess players?" She exchanged the money for Tiger, counting it out quickly and whistling. "You know, I was a little doubtful about you doing this, but... This is good. We can save up for a child if you keep this up."
"I hope he bites less than this guy." Tegre pried the kitten from his fingers, trying to pet him and wincing instead.
"Well I hate to disappoint but..." Eilís grinned at Tegre's chuckle. "Come on, I should have some milk and meat for that little monster. And then you can tell me all about the chess players."
She prepared milk for him as well, with a spoonful of honey as he always liked it; Tiger lapped eagerly at his own little saucer, so distracted that he did not even beg as Eilís simmered the meat to soften it. She laughed at Tegre's confusion for the knitting ladies, though not as hard as she laughed over the chess players.
"You seriously said that to them? Hagaas, there goes what dignity they have left. Especially after you grounded them in less than five minutes." She rolled her eyes as Tiger yowled at her. "Would you like me to throw you in here? I think you'd find it awfully uncomfortable."
Eventually the meat was soft and she crushed it into a paste that Tiger eagerly lapped at while Tegre explained where he had found him. Eilís chuckled as she looked at the cat, who soon was collapsed on the floor with a round belly, purring loud enough to be heard in the living room.
They carried him into the bedroom, Eilís folding a blanket and putting it on the floor near the low-burning fire. Tiger let out a last happy purr as Tegre set him down before curling up and falling asleep. Eilís walked over and embraced her husband, looking down at the kitten with a smile.
"He's kind of a like a trial baby. 'Can you handle the biting and yowling and piss? Then maybe you can take a baby.'"
Tegre smiled and kissed her gently. "I'd like to hope our baby isn't as furry. Or prone to snowdrifts."
"Oh Tegre. He's going to be raised in Pinehill. You bet he'll love snowdrifts." She paused. "Or she. We really need to stop assuming it'll be a boy. It doesn't even exist yet."
"It'll be whatever it wants to be."
Eilís laughed. "Yes, Sage Tegre. Let's go to bed now. Janet wants me to babysit her brats and you will want to be awake if you're going to keep the house safe from Tiger."
They changed and settled into bed, hands entwined while listening to the storm outside. Tegre still did not find sleep easy, even after a few years with someone he knew he could trust with his life. He closed his eyes and tried to count kittens jumping out of snow, only to be distracted by Eilís giggling. She shushed him when he tried to ask, and he heard it.
"How can something that tiny snore?"
And he was pretty sure he fell asleep laughing.
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Tegre and Eilís
Status: Complete, but relatively rough
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, a bit of violence
Summary: Everyone needs some extra money. And there are some interesting ways to get it...
Prompt: N/A
Author's Notes: I was talking with
raze and Hari about what job Tegre may take once he's back from the civil war. He won't be a soldier again to be sure, but probably some private guard... And then I realized. BOUNCER. Then Hari showed me a picture of a cat while I was writing and I thought that they need a cat. And thus this was born.---
The wind howled over the mountains and swept through the narrow streets of Pinehill, cutting straight through Tegre's coat as he braved the walk through the center of town. Warm light spilled from the windows of the houses on either side of him, but though he knew someone must be alive in them, he could not hear anything over the roar. He pressed his coat closer to his body -- Eilís was pretty determined to shove as much food into him as possible within one day, but apparently a long history of barely eating anything made his body a little reluctant to buff up.
He hoped it did not make things too awkward once he reached the job. Tegre sighed, his breath rapidly sweeping away as he stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets. It felt like snow; even on the other side of the world the air would get that same crisp feeling, the clouds looking ready and waiting. By the time the bar closed there would likely be a few inches on the ground, just enough so that every inebriated man who tried to leave would fall on his face and risk hypothermia. He had a funny feeling his second job of the night would be carrying them to the hospital, one at a time.
The tempest paused for just long enough for him to hear laughter from down the street. Oh excellent, he thought, I have roughly a dozen feet to come up with a good story for why I will work out. Sure, the bartender had seemed desperate, and his eyes widened when he heard about Tegre's "credentials", if fighting in a civil war counted as that. He supposed surviving the bloodiest war of the century did make him seem like a good bouncer candidate, though one involved more gunfire than muscle.
Tegre did not necessarily look like he had a lot of the latter. No matter how big of a breakfast he ate and how large his midnight snacks were, his face was still molded out of sharp cheekbones and a bony nose; his eyes still looked too big for his face, his fingers like a corpse. He only looked reasonable at that moment because his coat was big enough for two of him; Eilís had fretted over it and dusted off some invisible lint, shoved a fuzzy hat on his head, and then declared that maybe he would not die of frostbite.
He smiled softly as he tried not to let the sudden gust tip him over. He could hear the laughter over the howling now, and rolled his shoulders, happy they were still fluid from the stretches and quick jabs and kicks he had done in the training room before leaving. Eilís had commented that his form was just not quite right and he had thrown his balled-up towel at her; when he caught the glass she threw back in retaliation they concluded that yes, he would survive any bar fight that involved flying drinks.
The wind blew snow into his face at the bar entrance -- apparently they had not bothered to clean up the massive drift next to it. A few people smoking outside looked at him curiously, a few of the men who recognized him giving him a friendly if befuddled wave. Tegre nodded his head at all of them, then removed his hat and stepped into the laughing warmth.
A fireplace cracked in one corner of the room, as far away from the bar as was possible in the narrow rooom. Despite the noise, there were still not too many people in the bar -- the night was still young, after all -- and most of them crowded around the flames, sharing ridiculous stories and jokes. The bartender looked up from the drink he was performing and beamed at Tegre's direction, even after he had taken off his coat and hung it on one of the old wooden racks.
"Mr. Murray! Early just like you promised." He grinned, gold tooth glinting in the fire light. "Then again, that's a soldier's duty, eh?"
"That depends on the army." Tegre stretched his arms over his head, nodding politely at the men who turned to look at him. To his relieved surprise, they all just smiled and went back to their stories.
"Indeed, indeed. Care for a drink? On the house, of course, you're here to make, not spend." The bartender winked at him as he delivered a foaming glass to a long-coated man sitting at the bar.
"No, thank you." He leaned up against the wall, wondering if perhaps he should have left his coat on; the cold seeped through the door and straight to his bones. He supposed it was not the chill's fault he made it so easy.
"Suit yourself. Going to be a long few hours, though. Things aren't going to kick up until the last factory closes and the last family dinner ends." The man shrugged. "Call if you want something."
Perhaps the hours would be long, for another person. But Tegre never had a problem with getting lost in his own mind. First he considered the stories the people told. Most of them were mining incidents, however, and Tegre could not find those joyful. They never talked about the mines at home; Eilís's face always became so tragic, hiding the pain from a story Tegre never forced her to tell.
He knew she would likely tell him eventually, but he knew how long it could take. Kader only found out about his father because he felt she was long overdue for the story; he could either have kept seeming weird and useless, or given her some sort of excuse. Of course, the story she shared a few months later was not even remotely better. He sighed softly as he looked up at the old wooden ceiling of the bar. He had not seen her in years, and yet if he somehow came upon one of those boys who raped her, he would still shoot him without hesitation. It was the least the bastards deserved.
Tegre hoped she was all right; the last he had seen her was right before he went away to Garanee, in some backwater coffee shop on the coast. She had looked drained, but still fighting; but she had been so quiet, so much of her bite gone, that he had begged her to exchange addresses. Of course, when he got back a few years later she was gone. It was hard to find telepaths in Arebe so locating her was pretty much impossible, and he only had to hope that somewhere, she was alive and still kicking, perhaps had even found something to look forward to.
He shared these worries with Eilís at least a couple of times a month, and she always tried to find something to say. Friends moved on, she may have found someone else, the telepaths on Arebe always had a bit more trouble for some reason, just because they could not find her did not mean she was gone...
The noise around him slowly picked up as he daydreamed, and he looked around from time to time, watching as factor workers covered in ash and smelling of metal ordered beers they couldn't hold with one hand; miners with dark soot faces washed it away with the hardest liquor they could find; and then he stared when a group of five women carrying needlework settled with some wine in the corner and giggled over gossip.
Soon the bar was filled almost to the brim with people -- men and women alike out from work trying to relax or escape. He pressed up against the wall, watching them all carefully; but he had no idea who would be the most likely to start a fight. Sure, the factor workers were yelling pretty loudly, but then they would laugh hysterically five minutes later and order another beer. The miners were gesticulating about something that happened in their day, but they were so busy their drinks were barely touched. He could not imagine the knitting women were going to attack each other with needles any time soon.
Most people ignored him, he noticed -- not surprising, he figured. He was a short scrawny man squashed into a corner, threatening to be smothered by coats. Eventually a few people filtered out; the miners left first, one of them giving him a near-crippling smack on the shoulder in presumed solidarity. The factor workers were just finishing up what he assumed was their last beers when a shattering glass distracted them all.
Tegre turned over to the fireplace, where he found glass spread across a chess table and on the floor, with beer seeping into the woodwork. The crowd was backing away from the two men, who glared at each other drunkenly from across the game. With a sigh the former soldier stood up straight and walked silently over as one of the men clenched a fist and pointed accusingly at the other.
"We weren't playing by that rule, asshole!"
"It's a standard rule, you little shit. You're just pissed I got my pawn over there."
"Fucking cheating little bitch!" And then the man uncleched his fist so he could throw the table at the other guy. He threw it aside into the crowd, Tegre dodging it with ease as he slipped in between the two men. They both stared down at him as he held out his hands, staring coolly between the two of them.
"Enough. Pay for your drinks and get out."
"Who the fuck are you?" The table-thrower sneered, making fists once more. "Get out of here, you scrawny little shit. This is between men."
Tegre stared at him in return. "It's a chess game. I could play that when I was seven."
The man gritted his teeth, but apparently did not have the logic left for the argument and just threw a fist.
Dodging it was easy; the man did not exactly have the coordination he imagined. Tegre swept his legs out, knocking the man's feet out from under him. The look of surprise on his face changed rapidly to pain as he slammed into the ground. He heard the other guy move after him and ducked down, dodging to the side. The man staggered as his own momentum sent him downward; Tegre's elbow on his back gave him that extra jab to make him collapse.
The entire bar had become silent but for the crackling of the fireplace and the groans from the two men. Ignoring it as best he could to maintain composure turned to the two men. "Shall I show you out?"
The first man seemed too surprised when Tegre supported him to his feet and led him to the entrance, where a sheepish man admitted that he knew where the guy lived and would help him home, giving him the money for the man's drinks and more than a little extra for the trouble. The other chess player was already sitting up by then, cursing out everyone and everything he could think of, though he did not have the strength to follow through with his threats when Tegre helped him out. The drunken man had the grace to vomit once he was outside the building, then staggered down the street.
He turned back to a bar that had resumed its normal activities -- one of the barmaids was cleaning up the mess on the floor, while conversations had rapidly resumed. He noticed he got a lot more pats on the shoulder and back, though, and quite a few more offers for a drink. By the time closing time rolled around, He was starting to wonder how much longer he could refuse before he would accidentally start another fight.
"Thanks for the help, Mr. Murray." The bartender smiled at him as he handed over a couple banknotes; Tegre easily estimated double what he was expecting in the pile. "Everyone got a story to talk about tonight."
"Do you need any help cleaning up?" Tegre glanced at the barmaids washing endless glasses and tables.
"No no, we'll be fine. You've done your job. Go get a good night's sleep and say hello to your wife for me." The man shook his hand and then turned back to the bar, barking out a few orders.
Tegre watched them work for a moment before putting on his coat, tucking the notes in his pocket, and heading out into the night. An inch or two of snow rested in the streets as he expected, with more falling from the sky; yet no one outside the bar seemed to be having any real trouble with it. Pushing his hat down over his ears, Tegre turned and ducked down the street toward his home.
The wind died down somewhat half-way on the way home; and that was when he thought he heard a small noise, somewhere in the snow. He paused and listened for it again; this time it was a little louder, and distinctly like a tiny mew. Brow furrowing, he walked over to the snow pile and knelt down in front of it, pushing through the snow.
Then a long-haired bundle pounced out of the snow at his glove, digging its claws into it and biting at his fingers. It would have been more impressive if the kitten was bigger than his hands. Its tiny tail lashed as it kicked its back feet at him, and with an amused little smile he lifted his hand up with the kitten still attached, though once he was at his full height and had his other hand supporting it the cat finally turned its head to his face.
"What in the world are you doing?" He was not expecting an answer, but the kitten mewed at him, tail still lashing, and then went back to chewing at his gloves.
He let it keep that up all of the way home, noting that a lamp was still on in the living room. He opened the door to find Eilís on the couch with a book; she smiled at seeing him, then lifted an eyebrow at the kitten.
"I see you found a wannabe snow leopard." She closed the book and walked over to extract the kitten from his fingers; it meowed and pawed at her face. "Very ferocious. Let's name it Tiger since it's convinced it's one."
"I'm happy that I can bring home random animals and have you immediately name them." Tegre smiled at her as he hung his coat up on a hook next to the door.
Eilís laughed as she scratched at Tiger's head as it tried to bat at her. "Well it wasn't a baby wolf or something, just a starved little kitten. Had you brought home a wolverine we'd have a little talk."
"'Can I keep it? I'll take it for a walk.'" Tegre took the money out of his pocket and showed it to Eilís. "I got this for beating up chess players."
"Hagaas, can you do this at any time? Does it have to specific chess players?" She exchanged the money for Tiger, counting it out quickly and whistling. "You know, I was a little doubtful about you doing this, but... This is good. We can save up for a child if you keep this up."
"I hope he bites less than this guy." Tegre pried the kitten from his fingers, trying to pet him and wincing instead.
"Well I hate to disappoint but..." Eilís grinned at Tegre's chuckle. "Come on, I should have some milk and meat for that little monster. And then you can tell me all about the chess players."
She prepared milk for him as well, with a spoonful of honey as he always liked it; Tiger lapped eagerly at his own little saucer, so distracted that he did not even beg as Eilís simmered the meat to soften it. She laughed at Tegre's confusion for the knitting ladies, though not as hard as she laughed over the chess players.
"You seriously said that to them? Hagaas, there goes what dignity they have left. Especially after you grounded them in less than five minutes." She rolled her eyes as Tiger yowled at her. "Would you like me to throw you in here? I think you'd find it awfully uncomfortable."
Eventually the meat was soft and she crushed it into a paste that Tiger eagerly lapped at while Tegre explained where he had found him. Eilís chuckled as she looked at the cat, who soon was collapsed on the floor with a round belly, purring loud enough to be heard in the living room.
They carried him into the bedroom, Eilís folding a blanket and putting it on the floor near the low-burning fire. Tiger let out a last happy purr as Tegre set him down before curling up and falling asleep. Eilís walked over and embraced her husband, looking down at the kitten with a smile.
"He's kind of a like a trial baby. 'Can you handle the biting and yowling and piss? Then maybe you can take a baby.'"
Tegre smiled and kissed her gently. "I'd like to hope our baby isn't as furry. Or prone to snowdrifts."
"Oh Tegre. He's going to be raised in Pinehill. You bet he'll love snowdrifts." She paused. "Or she. We really need to stop assuming it'll be a boy. It doesn't even exist yet."
"It'll be whatever it wants to be."
Eilís laughed. "Yes, Sage Tegre. Let's go to bed now. Janet wants me to babysit her brats and you will want to be awake if you're going to keep the house safe from Tiger."
They changed and settled into bed, hands entwined while listening to the storm outside. Tegre still did not find sleep easy, even after a few years with someone he knew he could trust with his life. He closed his eyes and tried to count kittens jumping out of snow, only to be distracted by Eilís giggling. She shushed him when he tried to ask, and he heard it.
"How can something that tiny snore?"
And he was pretty sure he fell asleep laughing.
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