Snippet #2346041

"You've," he struggled to put it in words, "given me a gift?" He was shocked. He planned to wait until the bear was out of the picture to start begging or flattering, but... he hadn't needed to. She had given him a gift. She worked on it, and hunted for it, and then given it to him. Something in Botch screamed about paranoia and that she was buttering him up but it was a tiny voice, far too small for him to hear. She hadn't gagged at his sight, or ran from his friends. This strange young woman, hair shocked red and escorted by bears, had called him interesting. Smiled at him. Given him a gift. He stolen from and spied on her. He chewed his tongue for half a moment in confusion. "Thank you," he said, his voice accompanied by his kin. He took the pouch carefully from her and hung it on his staff. He found himself smiling. Catching himself in the midst of his thoughts, he regained his composure. "You know where to find us, I suppose. If you ever need something..." he straightened his posture and pushed open one of the twin doors of the inn, "thank you again," he said quickly, and walked inside.

The little white Peppered Moth he had sent to follow them a while back stayed behind, fluttering quietly above the girl and her bear outside.

Once inside, Nackerick tried to clear his thoughts. He silently willed his lice to burrow out of sight, leaving his thinning hair motionless. The locusts above his head and on his staff flew into the small bag he had received. All visible members of his party sunk away into his recesses. It left him looking merely bruised and down trodden. Not entirely normal, but for a town of magic folk nothing out of the ordinary he hoped. He cleared his throat and took his place in line behind a rather tall man, who was just as wide. He was clad in earthen tones and the skin of his arms bristled with dark hair. Some warrior, Nackerick supposed. He waited patiently behind him and when it was his turn he spoke to the manager with a voice that was his alone. It sounded weak without it's entourage of clicks and flutters, and Botch was uncomfortable using it. He secured a room in the upper floor with his last remaining coins from his last scam. He had given lice to an entire town, and offered bottles of colored water as an elixir to cure it. It worked of course, he simply told the lice to leave. Easy. But boy had he made a killing on those "elixirs". He sighed in longing for such funds and gathering up his bag, lantern, and staff, he adjourned to his room.

Safely in his room, his swarms unraveled. Within minutes the small, warmly painted, 8' by 8' room was filled with nests and hives from floor to ceiling. He sighed again, this time happily, and laid upon his creaky bed still clothed. "Room 31. Home. Hidden Valley." The walls of insects whispered in perfect time with him this little observation. "What a strange place." He listened to the drone of bees and cicadas as he laid on his bed, in sleepless thought.