The rest of the afternoon was spent in a fragile silence. Mariette sat on her bed, forlorn. Despite knowing she should pray and look to the Lord for guidance, she felt unable to move from her bed. Knees brought up to her chest as she hugged them, resting her chin atop.
Armen, after the many hours of prayer, finally stands. With a sigh, almost melancholic, he asks of Mariette, "Hungry?" Mariette only looks at him with her eyes, not moving anything more. Her disappointment plain. Armen grabs the basket, of which was given to her by the kind merchant that had come to her aid earlier. In it were produce and some dried meats, along with a loaf of bread. He tears a piece of the loaf and a chunk of meat and tosses it to Mariette's feet on the bed, before he grabs a small selection for his own. "Eat. It does no good to starve."
She rolls her eyes and huffs, taking the food and nibbling at either item. Armen, halfway within his meal, rises from the floor and announces, "I will fetch some wine from below. Do you wish for something else?" Mariette shakes her head, "Nay. Wine is ideal."
Armen leaves the room and descends into the tavern below. The joyous hollering and noise a stark contrast to the sensitive air of their room. He steps up to the bar, in between two sleeping drunks that snored enough to vibrate the counter, and waits patiently for the bartender to notice him. Armen felt it rude: to demand service so long as there were no pressing matters that would dictate such prompt. As he waited, he could feel a piercing gaze that bore into his skull, forcing the hairs on his neck to rise. Glancing around the tavern, he espies the group of men from before, sitting at a table against the wall. The lot of them were conversing and laughing with each other, save for the Doberman. Whom peered through a swollen left eye and a scowling right, directly at Armen. Among them, was also the older feline boy: the brother of Liam. The feline hadn't caught the staring and was continuing with whatever story he was telling the group, unaware of the blatant watching. There was also, an elderly-looking bloodhound manolon amongst them. Both of them speaking to one of the friends from before, that was too cowardly to aid the Doberman in his beating. The bloodhound's words were slurred as he seemed to recount his glory days to no one in particular.
Armen, not intent on causing any more of a scene such as before, turns back to the barkeep, this time waving for attention. The old badger catches the motion and pries away from his previous conversation with one of the bar goers, courteously stepping to take Armen's order. "Wine. If you have it." Armen speaks louder than normal, attempting to be heard amongst the haughty voices and laughter of everyone else.
As the badger nods and strides to the few steps that lead to the cellar behind the bar, Armen takes care to keep the group of ruffians within the edge of his sight. Just enough that if they should rise and move, particularly that vengeful Doberman, he would see.
The badger returns with a dusty bottle, the cork half stuck in the neck and visibly falling apart as it rots. He sheepishly hands the bottle over to Armen, "This has been in the cellar since I was a boy. I haven't had a single man ask for wine yet in my steward here. Forgive me, for I doubt that it is the like of which will please you." Armen takes the bottle graciously, bowing his head, "I imagine that this wine shall be the sweetest I have ever known. Thank you." As Armen holds the bottle close to himself, he sees the badger's timid eyes flicker with gratitude.
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Mariette looks up from her sulk as Armen enters the room. Trying to uncork it, he only enables the cork to disintegrate and fall in clumps into the bottle, plopping in the wine. He sniffles, in apathetic contemplation of the ordeal, then offers the bottle to Mariette. Uttering a light jest to justify his failure in opening the drink proper, "I've never known sophistication enough for this."
Mariette grew a playfully annoyed smirk at her lips as she takes the bottle from him. "Thine brutish hands are terribly apparent." she mocks half-heartedly. Armen smiles to her, though she couldn't see it. He was glad to find her in a better mood now. She was one of the few unexpected turns in his venture that he hadn't any ire with thus far, and he hoped that it might remain as such.
Armen elected not to tell her of how her assaulter were just below her feet as she sipped the wine from the bottle, there were little reason to frighten her any more than she was so far. Not to mention it was terrible timing now that she had begun to come back around again, the altercation from earlier in their day all but forgotten.
At least, he had hoped so... After several generous drinks of wine, Mariette sunk again, this time with a misting over her eyes. She looks to Armen, a cracking voice hiding a sob: "Armen, I fear that your words may hold more credence than I had hoped." she sniffles, her nose twitching at the end of her snout, "I keep telling myself that there is worth in the world I live. That the Lord hath developed a land where kindness and comradery triumph against wickedness. That turning the other cheek is rarely necessary in our age. Yet, the more I come to know, the more I see how wanting my time has been here."
Armen stands stoic, quietly watching Mariette as she shares her mind. "With mother's departure from us, in the short time since that foul day, I've only been met with grim tidings of the nature of my very own home. Upon our arrival in this forsaken town, only moments after we entered this house had that bastard barkeep offered service at the cost of my flesh. More yet, at the market, no one had come to mine aid save for you and that poor man in the stall. How long had I struggled against that fiend while others watched? Had you not been there, I know certainly what would have happened. And how could I not? He was aggressively forthwith. If only you could hear his egregious words that he whispered in mine ear. Had he no respect for me? Had he not noticed my own habit? I know that my attire is sewn with intent of lust but the trial is to rebuke it, not succumb to it. Why do I even fault him?" Her words become more incoherent and riddled with ache at every consequent syllable. Armen brings his eyes down to the floor, allowing her voice to sink into him with its torture.
"Mariette... I wish I had encouraging things for you. I'm afraid that I do not." he approaches her and takes her hand, clasping it in his gloves as he kneels before her, "The world in which we live is not kind to those that deserve it. It is more familiar with and patronizes the evildoers. The seven sins of sentients are often the lead before lives of comfort within the embrace of this world of devilry. The path of righteousness and impiety is seldom traveled, for it is the most difficult of paths. Yet, despite the daunting task that it is, still it remains the only path unto the Lord's grace. I know that you wail against the world, but you should take comfort that in the end, there is the light of Him awaiting yourself. Open arms as he welcomes his beloved daughter into his kingdom once more. Thine trial complete, your charge fulfilled, dues: paid."
Armen reaches up and strokes her head, his hand coming down to hold her cheek. "Ye suffer not for the world to relish in despair. Ye suffer to build thineself worthy of eternal grace." Armen pulls her against himself in a tender embrace, hoping that his words were enough to help her make sense of a land she no longer recognized. She sobs in his chest, her arms curling up against herself while he cradles her in her anguish. Armen, unsure of how else he might soothe her pain, gently strokes her head and neck.
