Zev & Morwen
Morwen pretended to not notice when the Barkeep handed Zev a glass of ale instead of juice. She felt his smugness radiating off of him, and chose not to acknowledge it. Pretending to be irritated with Zev was starting to make her... actually irritated at Zev. And, given the task at hand, that would be a distraction they couldn't afford. He wasn't really all that bad, she reminded herself, minus the lost pair of boots. Besides, the drink in her hand made up for a lot, at the moment.
She vaguely noticed as someone nearby (Arnyn) tensed and gave her a sharp look in response to her kneeing him. Good. Then focus would stay on her. She would remain the threatening one. Zev was just an untried youth. He would be pleased about that. It had been his idea; he thought it would make it more convincing. The angry unwilling guardian and the useless youth. She hoped he enjoyed his aching gut. She had told him the scar and her grumpiness would be enough, but he always had to take things too far.
"Uh, Morwen?" She looked up, golden eyes meeting youthful green. But he wasn't really that young. He just seemed young, even after what they had been through. And he did play the part well; she had to appreciate that. Maybe because he had been a silly little fool at some point. Not anymore though, that much was certain. At least not all of the time. But as long as his uncle still believed it, that was all that mattered. She snorted as she gave him a good look for the first time in a while. He looked like he had gone for a roll in the mud and then slept in a haystack for three weeks. She probably didn't look much better. Her once long black hair now hung in a ragged off kilter chop above her shoulders; she had been forced to get rid of it after it refused to untangle anymore. Ah well. With that, the (relatively) new scar, and the passage of time, she figured she wasn't particularly recognizable anymore.
A throat clearing near her broke her from her thoughts. Zev's eyes crinkled briefly in concern before returning to their usual frivolity. "What? she snapped half-halfheartedly, in keeping with their roles. Ay, but she was tired.
"Maybe you ought to have some water?" He played it excellently, the youthful follower, just uncertain enough, almost timid... but not quite. She saw the glint in his eye. It hadn't left since the moment he stared her down and told her in no uncertain terms he was not returning to Minas Tirith with her. She hadn't thought he had the guts, not to speak like that to her. After all, she had gained a bit of a reputation in her time in the corps. She wasn't exactly known for keeping a level head. But she had aged a bit, and grown a bit more... perhaps self aware was the word. Getting your face sliced open could do that. Her hand unconsciously reached up and traced the raised edge of her scar, lingering at the bottom of her face. Zev was still staring at her intently, like something was wrong with her, and she realized she hadn't responded.
"Aye, water." She repeated, in a slightly raised voice, not bothering to play act grumpiness at him. She needed rest, but Zev seemed to never run out of energy. Not for his mission. Why had she agreed to help him again? Oh yes, to fulfill her promise to Pele. Well, she was going to have a word with that woman... If she ever saw her again. Zev gave her a sharp look, obviously irritated and perhaps a bit surprised at her carelessness in relaxing her put upon attitude. Morwen almost rolled her eyes at him; did he think no one would notice if he started behaving differently? Her relaxing a bit was one thing; she had a drink. But if he suddenly started behaving as though he had a brain in that head of his, and more experience than his youth let on... Their quarry would never show its face.
She turned her attention to the dwarf as she asked where they hailed from. Zev looked suitably in awe of all the jewels she wore, his mouth gaping like a fool as they glinted in the light. Maybe that would assuage any suspicious parties watching him too closely. But before either of them could respond, they had a new problem.
Someone all but shouted across the bar for Zev, and approached them both, spouting something about pies. It took a moment, but she recognized the face from several memories she was less than proud of, and the name followed. Kaylin. And now the woman was buying them a round of drinks. She took this all in quickly, and for a moment, she tensed, but then relaxed again.
"I guess I won't turn down another drink." she grouched, back in character. Zev, for once, was speechless. His mouth was still gaping like an idiot. Come now, they were in one of the most frequented inns in Minas Tirith. They knew there was a chance of being recognized. Certainly, she hadn't thought it would happen so quickly; she had hoped to maybe wash first. Or at least sit down for a moment, but, well, they were here now. She realized Zev was still staring at Kaylin, apparently dumbfounded. What had gotten into him? He had been desperately focused since the moment she found him, unshakable in his determination to smoke out his uncle. Perhaps he was as exhausted as she was. She elbowed him in the ribs, and muttered something to him about manners. That's what a grouchy mentor would say, right? He grunted, and then stammered something mostly unintelligible that sounded like 'most beautiful pies in Gondor'.
The blush was a nice touch. He was too good at this. She glanced at him again, as he had fallen silent, and realized that maybe the blush wasn't intentional. She bit her cheek to stifle a grin, instead furrowing her brow in apparent irritation. Oh, she was not going to let him live this one down.
they/he/mischief