If You Want to Hide, You Hide in Plain Sight

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Sleeping comfortably, curled up in the arm chair having drifted off into a dream, Irmelin didn't notice in the slightest as the man returned to the room the low sounds of him removing clothes and accessories was slowly pulling her from sleep and finally she jerked awake at a higher sound, groggily she looked around trying to remember why she was sleeping in a chair and not her bed. After a few moments everything came back to her and she turned in the armchair, looking over the backrest at Forrest, her face flushed when she saw he was preparing a bath for himself. Quickly she turned back facing the window, she wasn't exactly shy but unless you were married or related it wasn't proper to seeing people of the opposite sex without clothes in her village.

"How did you get all those scars?" Irmlin asked curiously, pulling a hand through her hair tousled by sleep. The thought that it was perhaps a too personal question not hitting her until after she had already asked. Her quick view of his bare upper body had shown more scars than she could imagine someone getting, in he experience anyway.
 
Forrest looked over at her, then down at his body. He laughed a bit. "Fighting." He looked over at her again. "Sword slashes that I didn't block properly." He flexed his hands. "Except these. These were from fist fighting." He smiled and kicked off his other boot and stood up to drop his pants. He kicked them over onto his other clothes and stepped into the bath, scratching himself shamelessly. Of course, had he known the kid in his room was female, he'd...well, he'd at least cover himself...

He sank down into the hot water and sighed. "In the morning, I'm going to give you a few lessons in how to survive. Probably pickpocketing. Some hand-to-hand. The basics."
 
"Oh," Irmelin mumbled, gazing out the window, not that she could see much in the dark, faint shapes maybe but the light inside the room reflected in the glass, showing a vague picture of the room instead of the view outside the inn. Realizing she saw too much even in the reflection she turned her gaze to the floor, studying the old, worn wood in a sudden interest, part of her was apprehensive, maybe even a little scared, after hearing him speak, of course she couldn't know if the fights had been caused by him or not but it was still a dangerous world out there. But the curious and, in all honesty slightly reckless side, was starting to win again, the same part of her that had gotten her into all this in the first place with her crazy idea of running away from home.

Home. She missed it, more than she really had thought she would, the safety and a feeling of belonging, of knowing where you were and should do, her loving family whos only fault was the reliance on traditions. Were it not for that none of this would have happened, or perhaps it would, Irmelin thought to herself, she knew she had curiosity and an eagerness to see new things in her that couldn't be fully satisfied with the little world she was raised in. She just wished she had left something behind for them, or even been brave enough to stand up for herself and explain herself, and still leave if they did not listen, but she had never been good at confronting people about her feelings, least of all her own family or friends.

Tuning in to the man again Irmelin frowned and turned to look at him, feeling better know that he was in the bath and under water. "Pickpocketing," she repeated with a tone one might use for something not entirely pleasant. She could imagine that to some people stealing may very well be the only way to survive another day, others did it for fun or as a way of living, but to her and her traditional upbringing it was wrong, not only by law but ethically. However, this man had no obligation to help her out, and Irmelin did see the advantages clear enough so she sai nothing more about it, after all she could chose to not use what he thought her. "What's your name by the way?" Irmelin asked suddenly, reminded that she had given her name but he had not.
 
"Pickpocketing?" He said, mimicking her tone of voice before laughing. "Yes, pickpocketing. Reaching into someone's pocket, taking out their valuables, and buggering off before you get caught." He sat up and grabbed the wash cloth and soap, starting to lather it up. "McKay. Forrest McKay." He said, glancing over. "You're Imre, right? Think that's what you said." He reached up to rub the soap into his beard and black hair, then started scrubbing the cloth against his skin.

"But yes, pickpocketing. I'll spare you some of the other skills I picked up, but pickpocketing and how to defend yourself are two you won't get out of having me teach you. Don't think of picking pockets as a crime, think of it as an art form." He looked over, looking rather comical with soap suds in his beard and hair. He didn't look like the total badass he did when he was dry and fully dressed. He looked...well...normal...like a normal guy with scars, but pretty normal. "An art form that gets you money so you can eat. The better you are, the less you get caught, the more you eat, the less you get the shit beat out of you by the cops. At your age, anyway. At mine, I get shot." He laughed loudly, like it was a perfectly normal, funny thing to say. "But, me bein' in the state of employment that I am, it's the best way for us to get money. And if we don't want to sleep in back alleys and go without food, well...I'm not doing all the work, kid. I'ain't your parents."
 
Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue at his words and tone Irmelin nodded instead, "yes, Imre Calendula." She said, hoping her new name would stick with her so she would remember to listen to 'Imre', it was at least similar enough to her own name that it should be quite easy, she hoped.

"That sounds like a tempting form of art to pick up," she noted sarcastically. Not every art form resulted in you being killed or beat up but it did make it a teeny bit easier to accept, maybe, if she thought of it that way and she did not want to sleep in an alley without food and if it was demanded of her to help steal then perhaps she could put in the effort to learn. A smile tugged in the corner of her mouth at the sight of him all covered in soap but she kept her laugh in, pulling a hand through her hair. "Fine, I'll do my best to learn then."

With her natural determination and at times stubborness Irmelin would indeed do her best to learn, the thought of failing was inspiration enough for her, showing that her hair colour reflected her personality somewhat even if it took awhile for it to show sometimes.
 
The man shrugged. "It's that, Imre, or I teach you the other way to get money when you're out on the streets." He dipped down under the water to wash the soap off of himself. When he came back up, he stood and shamelessly scratched himself as he watched the other figure in the room. "But male prostitution isn't all about sleeping with beautiful women." He stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, starting to dry off his hair first. "Usually it's big fat rich men who barely pay you proper." His tone of voice said he wasn't joking. "Not enough soap in the world..."

He moved the towel down to his face, then his shoulders, chest, and back. "Pickpocket training starts in the morning. You should get some sleep, kid. It's a long, hard road ahead of ya." he said, finally moving the towel down to dry off the rest of his body. "I'll wake you up in the morning. We'll get breakfast downstairs, then back up to the room so I can teach you the basics. Hope you're a fast learner."
 
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