There are not many options available to a stranger who arrives suddenly in Fodlan with a sword and not much else. There are even fewer for a stranger who is obviously strange by the standards of this world. Młynar supposes that in a sense he was lucky - he can make his way as a mercenary.
It is difficult to feel lucky.
If he is to find a way home, or at least some answers for what happened and how, Młynar has come to understand that the monastery at Garreg Mach is his best option. Getting to the town proved easier than expected - it was simply a matter of earning a position guarding enough trade caravans moving in the right direction. Staying in the town long enough to figure out a way to gain access to the monastery, though, may prove more...troublesome.
"We don't have any rooms. But there's space in the stables." The innkeeper clearly thinks he is remarkably clever for this. Nearly every one of them Młynar has encountered in Fodlan has thought that after saying more or less the same thing.
One of the boons of rising to leadership during wartime is the fact that the country by and large has no idea what Claude looks like. There was no time for tours of the country at large, no grand public appearances, no portraits made in his image to be circulated around. All the people know is that in the wake of Oswald's death, his mysterious grandson had taken over, much to many people's chagrin. Which means that when he wants to head down to an inn here and there to sit and listen in on what the townspeople have to say about how things are going, he can do so in relative anonymity provided he dresses the part.
Which he's doing now, in his sturdy riding boots and loose white linen shirt, hair left in its loose, natural curls as he sits by the bar and listens carefully to how people feel about the war effort. (Not good, as it turns out, but he can't blame them. Claude doesn't feel good about it either.)
As he listens in on the newcomer's conversation, he can't help but turn sharply towards him, puzzled as to why a traveler is being urged to stay in the stables... until he sees his appearance. He is not visibly a foreigner like Dedue and Petra are, but there's certainly something foreign about him. Are those animal ears? His eyes travel around the man's face, as though trying to search for some hidden band of fabric for such an eccentric style choice, but it becomes increasingly clear that his ears are real. How the hell is that possible?
And so he slides over with what he considers to be a most charming smile and says to the innkeeper, "Now, no need to turn away a man looking for a roof over his head. If the inn's full up, he can stay in mine. I can make alternative arrangements, I'm sure."
He glances over at Mlynar, and gives him a quick wink. It's as good a conversation opener as any.
If Claude needed any further indication that the ears are real, here it is: when he begins to speak, the ear closer to him pivots slightly in his direction before the rest of Młynar's head follows. This is unexpected, to say the least, though Młynar's expression is more bemused than surprised.
...Did the fellow just wink at him? He did, didn't he.
The innkeeper stews for a moment, caught between the pain of losing a customer and the pain of admitting to an obvious lie in front of a growing audience. "That's very generous of you, sir. What, er, do you mean by 'alternative arrangements,' exactly?"
As the inkeeper dithers, Młynar takes stock of his new ally. The man is plainly dressed, but the clothes themselves are well cared for and seem of decent quality, especially those boots. At least he can probably afford to make other plans, should it come to that. Młynar can't guess at his motives for helping, but in the end that isn't what matters. The fact of the help is.
"Thank you. I hope it this is not too great an inconvenience." Possibly the innkeeper is still saying something. Młynar does not particularly care.
"I don't see how that's any concern of yours, my good sir, considering the coin you'll get will be the same either way," Claude says to the innkeeper, watching with naked fascination as the man's ear full-on twitches. How fascinating! How thrilling!
How disturbing! The only possibility Claude can think of for how such a thing could happen goes back to less happy memories, of people desperate for power and ignorant of the consequences turning from man to beast, flesh rippling and twisting, faces shuddering as they stretch into beastly visages with the snap and strain of muscles never meant to move in such a way. It's the only sort of half-beast he's been able to see. But this man looks otherwise quite ordinary in a way he's never seen before. A little taller than average, something a little foreign in his mood and bearing, but otherwise he looks far more Fodlani than Claude himself does.
"It's of no trouble," he reassures the stranger, flicking his fingers at the innkeeper; shoo, shoo! "Provided you don't mind sleeping on the floor. Or if you're not comfortable sharing lodging, I can always return to the monastery. I just happen to find it offensive to turn a guest away when there's still perfectly good rooms available. Now, let's properly make our acquaintance. Do you have a friend, my traveling friend?"
Młynar can't say he likes being the subject of open curiosity, but it's not a new experience, and it's certainly preferable to the hostility or contempt that is the typical Fodlani reaction. Also preferable to the resentment of the departing innkeeper.
"I don't mind." There are many worse places to sleep than a floor. But hold on, return to the monastery?
It can't be this simple to make a connection there, can it?
He holds out his hand. "Młynar Nearl. I just arrived." Which is to say, no, he does not have any friends.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-05-31 02:48 am (UTC)It is difficult to feel lucky.
If he is to find a way home, or at least some answers for what happened and how, Młynar has come to understand that the monastery at Garreg Mach is his best option. Getting to the town proved easier than expected - it was simply a matter of earning a position guarding enough trade caravans moving in the right direction. Staying in the town long enough to figure out a way to gain access to the monastery, though, may prove more...troublesome.
"We don't have any rooms. But there's space in the stables." The innkeeper clearly thinks he is remarkably clever for this. Nearly every one of them Młynar has encountered in Fodlan has thought that after saying more or less the same thing.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-31 09:02 pm (UTC)Which he's doing now, in his sturdy riding boots and loose white linen shirt, hair left in its loose, natural curls as he sits by the bar and listens carefully to how people feel about the war effort. (Not good, as it turns out, but he can't blame them. Claude doesn't feel good about it either.)
As he listens in on the newcomer's conversation, he can't help but turn sharply towards him, puzzled as to why a traveler is being urged to stay in the stables... until he sees his appearance. He is not visibly a foreigner like Dedue and Petra are, but there's certainly something foreign about him. Are those animal ears? His eyes travel around the man's face, as though trying to search for some hidden band of fabric for such an eccentric style choice, but it becomes increasingly clear that his ears are real. How the hell is that possible?
And so he slides over with what he considers to be a most charming smile and says to the innkeeper, "Now, no need to turn away a man looking for a roof over his head. If the inn's full up, he can stay in mine. I can make alternative arrangements, I'm sure."
He glances over at Mlynar, and gives him a quick wink. It's as good a conversation opener as any.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-01 10:26 pm (UTC)...Did the fellow just wink at him? He did, didn't he.
The innkeeper stews for a moment, caught between the pain of losing a customer and the pain of admitting to an obvious lie in front of a growing audience. "That's very generous of you, sir. What, er, do you mean by 'alternative arrangements,' exactly?"
As the inkeeper dithers, Młynar takes stock of his new ally. The man is plainly dressed, but the clothes themselves are well cared for and seem of decent quality, especially those boots. At least he can probably afford to make other plans, should it come to that. Młynar can't guess at his motives for helping, but in the end that isn't what matters. The fact of the help is.
"Thank you. I hope it this is not too great an inconvenience." Possibly the innkeeper is still saying something. Młynar does not particularly care.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-03 06:32 am (UTC)How disturbing! The only possibility Claude can think of for how such a thing could happen goes back to less happy memories, of people desperate for power and ignorant of the consequences turning from man to beast, flesh rippling and twisting, faces shuddering as they stretch into beastly visages with the snap and strain of muscles never meant to move in such a way. It's the only sort of half-beast he's been able to see. But this man looks otherwise quite ordinary in a way he's never seen before. A little taller than average, something a little foreign in his mood and bearing, but otherwise he looks far more Fodlani than Claude himself does.
"It's of no trouble," he reassures the stranger, flicking his fingers at the innkeeper; shoo, shoo! "Provided you don't mind sleeping on the floor. Or if you're not comfortable sharing lodging, I can always return to the monastery. I just happen to find it offensive to turn a guest away when there's still perfectly good rooms available. Now, let's properly make our acquaintance. Do you have a friend, my traveling friend?"
no subject
Date: 2024-07-17 05:42 pm (UTC)"I don't mind." There are many worse places to sleep than a floor. But hold on, return to the monastery?
It can't be this simple to make a connection there, can it?
He holds out his hand. "Młynar Nearl. I just arrived." Which is to say, no, he does not have any friends.