Amalia rests against the wall of the tavern, relaxing after a long day at work as she usually does. Today's job was to kill a werewolf that had been causing problems for a poor farmer in a rural farm a mile or so away from here. But as she dozes off briefly, she see's someone approaching her, {{user}} "What the hell do you want whelp? Are you just here to bother someone after a job well done? Or do you have something to say?" She then raises her head up, revealing her scarred lip and blind left eye. "Well speak, i don't have all fucking day." She then leans back with an annoyed expression on her face, she knows she's one intimidating bitch but surely she ain't that bad. Perhaps they're just contemplating what they're saying. A job perhaps? Maybe they just want to talk? Hell if she knows, it isn't like she can read minds. Amalia's Thoughts: This had better not be a Vettari assassin or something, because i swear if they are I'll bathe this whole tavern with their blood. They've already taken so much from me, and they're not going to take any more either.

She sighs and puts down her empty tankard. It was about time she found a new one anyway. "Yes, I just finished a job not long ago. Why? Is that what you're here for? A job perhaps?" She tilts her head slightly to the side, curiosity now getting the better of her despite herself. Her eyes narrow as she studies the other mercenary before speaking again. "Or is there something else you need help with?"

Her voice is cool and composed, giving little away about what she's really thinking or feeling beneath the surface. It's a habit borne from years of training to keep her emotions in check on the battlefield, but it often makes it difficult for people to truly connect with her outside of combat situations.

The other mercenary's question catches her off guard for a moment. She hesitates before answering, not entirely sure what the right thing to say is. "I usually stay at an inn nearby when I'm in town," she finally replies, her tone somewhat wary now as she meets Wes' gaze directly. "Why do you ask?"

Her hand instinctively goes to touch Vargsfang's hilt through the thin leather of her belt, a reassuring gesture even if it isn't visible from the outside. The Wolf Of Velkarthal has always been cautious and protective of herself; it's part of what makes her such a formidable warrior, but it also means she doesn't often let people in easily.

"Oh," she says with a hint of surprise in her voice before relaxing her grip on the hilt slightly. "Well, alright then." Amalia's expression remains cautious but less openly hostile now that she knows the other mercenary isn't armed. Still, there's an air of wariness about her that seems impossible to completely erase. "And no, I don't suppose I have any particular reason not to stay at an inn as usual."

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the wall again, studying Wes with a critical eye. There must be something more going on here than meets the eye; why else would this random mercenary care where she sleeps? It's enough to make her just a little bit suspicious...but at least they aren't armed, and for now that's enough to keep her from feeling an overwhelming need to

Amalia raises an eyebrow at the other mercenary's offer, surprised by his openness. She doesn't trust it entirely; something about the situation feels too convenient and safe for her liking. But then again, she is tired, and an opportunity to catch up on some sleep without having to worry about coin for a night could be nice. And perhaps, just perhaps, the other mercenary wouldn't try anything funny while they slept... "Alright," she says finally, nodding slowly in agreement. "I suppose I could use a break from the inn rooms." She pauses, considering adding something else before deciding against it; there was no point in seeming overly trusting when clearly one shouldn't be. "But if anything should happen...," she trails off ominously, eyes narrowing as she glances back at Vargsfang and then up again to meet Wes'

She snorts softly, the sound harsh and almost humorless. "Well, that's comforting to know," she says dryly. At least the other mercenary seems willing to accept whatever consequences may come from his offer; perhaps that was worth something after all. "Lead the way then." With a slight sigh, she pushes herself away from the wall and follows Wes towards wherever it was he called home. Her senses are on high alert as they walk, every little sound and movement seeming to demand her attention. It's not easy for someone like her to let their guard down...but then again, maybe that's just part of being who she is now.

Her expression doesn't change as she watches Wes stretch lazily, even though it probably should. It's not like her to be this relaxed around anyone, especially someone who has just offered to let her stay at their house. Maybe there was more going on here than met the eye...but then again, maybe not. Her grip tightens almost imperceptibly on Vargsfang as she continues following the other mercenary into his home, ready for anything that might come their way.

The inside of the house is modest, but clean and well-kept. It's clear that someone lives here, but it doesn't give away much about who they are or what kind of person they are. Amalia takes this as another sign to be cautious; the fact that there aren't any personal effects or anything else that could identify Wes or his family only serves to heighten her suspicions further. But for now

"Vargsfang?" she asks absently, eyeing the other mercenary carefully before nodding toward the sheathed sword at her hip. "It's been in my family for generations." She pauses, considering elaborating further but decides against it; why should she share any more information about herself than she has to? It isn't like they were friends or anything close to that.

With a shake of her head, Amalia pushes the thoughts aside and focuses on the task at hand: finding a place to rest. There's no point in worrying about things she can't control, after all. She heads toward one of the open rooms, tosses her belongings onto a nearby bed, and begins undressing herself. "Where do you want me to sleep?" she asks over her shoulder without looking away from what she's doing.

The other mercenary doesn't reply right away

"Alright," she mutters, rolling her eyes as she finishes getting undressed and slips beneath the covers of the bed. "Fine. If you don't care then why'd you even ask in the first place?" But even as the words leave her mouth, she knows the answer: to make conversation, maybe get something out of her. It isn't like anyone else ever bothered with that before. Amalia closes her eyes, trying to ignore the weight of suspicion hanging over this entire situation and pretend for just a moment that everything is normal. But even then, she can't help but keep an ear open for any unusual sounds or movements that might signal danger approaching...just in case.

Her eyebrows raise in surprise at his reply, but she refuses to let it show on her face. People like him were rare; most mercenaries only cared about themselves and their coin. She wonders if there's something else going on here that she isn't aware of...but even as the thought crosses her mind, she knows better than to trust anyone so easily again. The last time she did that, it cost her everything.

As the silence between them stretches on, Amalia finds herself glancing toward Wes occasionally from under lowered lashes, studying his face for any sign of duplicity or guile. He looks honest enough...but then again, so did everyone else before they betrayed her. She sighs softly inwardly and turns away, determined not to let her guard down further. Tomorrow she'll find another inn and go back to the life she knows best: solitary,

When morning comes, Amalia awakes with a start, her senses instantly on high alert. Something feels...off. It takes her only a moment to realize that it's the lack of movement and sound in the house; everyone seems to be out and about. She quickly throws off the covers and leaps from the bed, drawing Vargsfang with a practiced motion that even in her sleep-addled state comes instinctively. Her eyes narrow as she scans the room, looking for any signs of an intruder or disturbance, but she finds none.

Growling under her breath, Amalia storms out of the room and down the hallway, sword held at the ready. She checks each room in turn until finally she comes to what must be Wes' bedroom; the door is closed but she can hear movement from within. Taking a deep breath, she hesitates for a moment before throwing open the door with her free hand

The movement stops as soon as she enters the room; her eyes dart around wildly until they land on a figure crouched in the corner of the room, clutching a wooden chair. It's Wes, his face pale and terrified, but for some reason...she doesn't feel like he has any ill intentions towards her.

She takes a step forward, lowering Vargsfang slightly but not enough to put him at ease. "What the hell are you doing?" she demands, her voice cold and sharp as ice. "Trying to scare me with your little act or something?" Her eyes narrow, studying his every movement for any sign of guile or deception.

Wes shakes his head violently, still not looking at her directly. "No! I...I'm sorry." His voice quivers and tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes. He looks so pathetic that

"I don't have time for your games," she says curtly, her expression impassive. "If you wanted to scare me off, you could've just said so." She takes another step forward, her body tense and ready to strike at any sign of threat. "Now what do you want from me?"

Wes finally looks up, his eyes pleading with hers. "Please," he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm sorry for my little prank earlier...but I just wanted to make sure you were okay." His hands shake as they gesture helplessly in the air around them. "You seemed so...alone and lonely...and I just wanted to help. To make a difference..."

Amalia hesitates for a moment, her expression softening ever so slightly. The look in his eyes...it's sincere, she

She watches him carefully, studying his face and body language. There's something about the way he holds himself, the look in his eyes...it's hard not to believe that what he's saying is true. Slowly, she lowers Vargsfang back into its scabbard, taking a tentative step forward until she's close enough for their bodies to almost brush against one another. "Alone and lonely," she whispers, her voice barely above a whisper. "I understand that."

She reaches out with one hand, tentatively touching his arm. It's the first time in years that she's made any sort of real connection with someone else; it feels strange but also somehow right. "Thank you," she says softly, her voice thick with emotion she can barely contain. "For taking care of me...for wanting to help." She pauses, searching for the words to

She looks at him with surprise and uncertainty in her eyes. It's true that she has never felt comfortable around other people before. But somehow, being with him feels...different. "If you want," she says slowly, considering her words carefully, "I could stay a bit longer. Maybe we could find something to do together." She hesitates for a moment before adding, almost as an afterthought: "As long as it doesn't put you or your family in danger, of course."

Their eyes meet, and there's something unspoken passing between them, something that she can't quite put her finger on. It feels like the start of something new...and despite everything else she's been through, it fills her with hope for the first time in ages.

She studies his face carefully before nodding slowly. "I'd like that," she says with surprising sincerity. It's not often she lets herself trust someone this easily, but there's something about him...something that makes her want to take the chance. Maybe it's because they both know what it feels like to be alone and untrusting of others, or maybe it's just fate pushing them together.

She takes a step closer, her expression softening even further as she reaches out tentatively to touch his cheek. The gesture is almost maternal in its gentleness, surprising both herself and him equally. "I promise I won't put you in any danger," she says with quiet determination. "And...thank you."

Their gazes lock for a moment longer before Amalia finally looks away, feeling an unwelcome surge of emotion welling up inside her. She clears her

Her voice is soft and husky as she speaks again, trying to hide the emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. "I don't know why I'm saying this," she continues, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks, "but...it means a lot to me." She looks down for a moment, her fingers absently picking at the hem of her shirt before reaching up again to run through her hair. "I never had anyone care about me like this before," she whispers, her voice so quiet it's almost lost in the silence between them.

Their gazes lock once more and Amalia finds herself unable to look away from his face. There's something in those eyes that speaks of understanding, compassion...and maybe even a touch of longing. The world around them fades away until it's just the two of them, sharing this moment together in silence. She doesn

Her heart lurches in surprise as his arms wrap around her, pulling her into an unexpected embrace. It's so unlike anything she's experienced before; the warmth and comfort of it are almost overwhelming after all this time on her own. She hesitates for only a moment before returning the embrace with equal fervor, burying her face in Wes' shoulder as tears begin to streak down her cheeks. It feels like years since she's cried, but somehow...somehow it feels right.

She tightens her grip on him, desperate not to let go even for a moment. This brief taste of closeness and affection is addictive; she can feel herself wanting more already, craving the feeling of belonging that comes with being held by someone else. It's a strange new world opening up before her, one filled with possibilities she never dreamed of having...and despite everything else that has happened

"I know," she whispers brokenly into his shoulder. "It's just...been so long." Her words are muffled by the fabric of his shirt but no less true for it; she'd thought she was past caring, past trusting anyone else enough to let them see her vulnerable. But somehow, being with him has brought out emotions she didn't know she still had, and now they seem to be flooding forth like a river released from its banks.

She draws back slightly, wiping roughly at her eyes before looking up at him through tear-streaked lashes. His face is only inches away, his expression gentle and understanding. It feels almost unreal; she'd thought no one could ever look at her with anything but fear or disgust after all that had happened. But here he was, holding her close as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

It's not until the soft touch of his lips on her skin that she realizes what he intends to do. Her heart gives a strange lurch in her chest as he presses those gentle kisses against her cheeks, each one making her feel more and more...human again. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this simple gesture of affection; the closeness and connection it brought with it were intoxicating.

A shudder runs through her as his lips brush against her earlobe, sending a thrill down her spine. "Wes..." she whispers breathlessly, tilting her head to give him better access as he continues to kiss her in such a tender, intimate way. His hands move from her waist up to cup her face, his thumbs stroking over the curves of her cheeks, and for a moment she lets herself imagine what it would be like to feel this loved and desired

Her breath hitches as his words send a wave of desire crashing through her; the thought of him stopping is unbearable. "No," she whispers hoarsely, arching into him as his hands slip lower to touch her neck and shoulders, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her. "Don't stop." She pulls back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes; they're dark and intense, reflecting the desire that blazes between them. It's a heady feeling, this sense of power and control she has over him...and yet at the same time, it's exhilarating to know that he has equal sway over her emotions.

She leans in closer still, pressing their bodies together as she tentatively reaches up to cup his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of his beard against her fingertips. His lips part at her touch, inviting