“Yeah,” Vrenille assured as he watched Remus drop off to what would hopefully be a restful sleep, “Sure."
Of course this meant that Vrenille was going to have to figure out what to do with himself in the meantime. It was cold in the shack and the wind howled in a low, near-constant whistle outside. Obviously he wasn't going to get any body heat from Remus at this point--there was barely room on the cot anyway.
Sitting down on the floor with his back resting against the cot, he ate his own omnomberry bar, thinking over all that had happened and trying to understand the young man who fate had thrown him together with. Growing up poor made it pretty easy to spot the signs of poverty on someone else, but with Remus certain things were...different.
He didn't seem to have the same sort of hardscrabble pragmatism that life on the streets had taught Vrenille. Hard luck might have touched him more recently. But there was something else too--he was clearly used to people being afraid of him, used to living in guardedness and secrecy, and yet these same things seemed to pain him in a way that also implied he wasn't really used to them at all.
It was a mystery, but not one that made Vrenille feel disinclined to like the man. Perhaps he even liked him more for it. Granted, Vrenille generally found it easy to like people, which made the way he made a living a lot easier in turn, but Remus couldn't be seen as a mark in any traditional way. With him, it already seemed clear, everything would be a kind of barter, but Vrenille was fine with that: Remus badly needed companionship and affection; Vrenille badly needed someone who would help him find his way home.
He pulled the covers up closer around Remus and for a moment let his hand rest lightly on his shoulder atop the covers. Then he sighed, rummaged around in his pack some more and found a long-sleeve shirt which he swapped for the sleeveless one he'd been wearing. He retrieved his scarf, wrapped it around his neck once more, and picked up Remus’s wand where it had fallen on the floor, setting it on the table after only a brief examination (interesting little weapon; small, light weight).
His next order of business, he figured, was to try and get a fire going. He found an old wood-burning stove in the corner of the shack, though there was no telling how long ago it was last used. He cleaned the soot out of the grate, flicked his finger against the stove pipe to check that it sounded clear and then went out and collected branches of heather to have something to burn for fuel.
It took a while, but eventually he had a fire going. The sun had technically risen a few hours ago now, but the clouds had since rolled in thick and the day remained gray and glum. Coming back in from the moor, Vrenille’s fingers had been stiff with cold. Inside at least he could thaw out a bit. He took a blanket from his pack and sat by Remus’s cot with it wrapped around his shoulders, occasionally drifting off for a few minutes of light sleep, getting up every now and then to feed heather branches into the fire. At least when Remus awoke it should be warmer in here than it had been, for whatever comfort that would be worth.
It really is! Stroke of small genius on the devs' part, that one.
Of course this meant that Vrenille was going to have to figure out what to do with himself in the meantime. It was cold in the shack and the wind howled in a low, near-constant whistle outside. Obviously he wasn't going to get any body heat from Remus at this point--there was barely room on the cot anyway.
Sitting down on the floor with his back resting against the cot, he ate his own omnomberry bar, thinking over all that had happened and trying to understand the young man who fate had thrown him together with. Growing up poor made it pretty easy to spot the signs of poverty on someone else, but with Remus certain things were...different.
He didn't seem to have the same sort of hardscrabble pragmatism that life on the streets had taught Vrenille. Hard luck might have touched him more recently. But there was something else too--he was clearly used to people being afraid of him, used to living in guardedness and secrecy, and yet these same things seemed to pain him in a way that also implied he wasn't really used to them at all.
It was a mystery, but not one that made Vrenille feel disinclined to like the man. Perhaps he even liked him more for it. Granted, Vrenille generally found it easy to like people, which made the way he made a living a lot easier in turn, but Remus couldn't be seen as a mark in any traditional way. With him, it already seemed clear, everything would be a kind of barter, but Vrenille was fine with that: Remus badly needed companionship and affection; Vrenille badly needed someone who would help him find his way home.
He pulled the covers up closer around Remus and for a moment let his hand rest lightly on his shoulder atop the covers. Then he sighed, rummaged around in his pack some more and found a long-sleeve shirt which he swapped for the sleeveless one he'd been wearing. He retrieved his scarf, wrapped it around his neck once more, and picked up Remus’s wand where it had fallen on the floor, setting it on the table after only a brief examination (interesting little weapon; small, light weight).
His next order of business, he figured, was to try and get a fire going. He found an old wood-burning stove in the corner of the shack, though there was no telling how long ago it was last used. He cleaned the soot out of the grate, flicked his finger against the stove pipe to check that it sounded clear and then went out and collected branches of heather to have something to burn for fuel.
It took a while, but eventually he had a fire going. The sun had technically risen a few hours ago now, but the clouds had since rolled in thick and the day remained gray and glum. Coming back in from the moor, Vrenille’s fingers had been stiff with cold. Inside at least he could thaw out a bit. He took a blanket from his pack and sat by Remus’s cot with it wrapped around his shoulders, occasionally drifting off for a few minutes of light sleep, getting up every now and then to feed heather branches into the fire. At least when Remus awoke it should be warmer in here than it had been, for whatever comfort that would be worth.