Emrys practically walked the ground without his cane or any guidance. Obviously this was his terf. He didn't need a guide. He walked towards the staircase and up to the second floor, three doors and then pulled a key from inside his shirt on a long necklace. Unlocking the door he pushed it open and poked his head in, as if looking to see if anyone was there before stepping back and letting Hawthorne go through first.

The scent of herbs and spices flew out to meet them. Inside was, well, the best way to put it is a messy library. The dorm was a two person dorm but the other bed was empty save for books and papers piled up. The room was dimly lit, cozy. It contained one short double sofa, one straight back chair, a card table and folding chair, the two beds, a kitchenette along one wall, and several bookcases, all sagging with books. There was a dresser and a basket of clothing, the other bed that was his was not made up. Herbs hung from the ceiling, drying upside down, there were bottles and tins of homemade salves. It looked like a medicine man's hut.

"Sorry it's a mess." Even with piles of books around the floor he moved around as though he could see it all.

Hawthorne glanced around as she entered before him, her lips giving a curve that hinted to a smile. 'I like it.' She stated this shortly after he apoligized, guessing it was the herbs that hung from the cieling that reminded her of home. Not the loft she resided in now but the home that lay in the back of her mind. The place where she was born.

Hesitantly she removed her coat, finding the cozy atmosphere warmer than the outside. Violet eyes shifted to Em, before she slowly released her Glamour. It was strange taking it away infront of someone else, part of her was afraid, knowing the last time she had released her Glamour her wings were crushed. Hawthorne kept her coat in her arms as she looked towards the kitchen area. 'Do you have anything we can boil those herbs in?' She was sure he did, it was a dumb question. Giving a quick glance to the area she looked back to him for a reply.

Emrys pulled off the over shirt he'd worn and dropped it onto the bed, wearing a white, formless shirt with short sleeves beneath the other one. This showed that the scars on his hands extended to halfway up his forearms. He turned as he felt the brush of glamor against his skin and his hand was half extended over his face, hiding, before he could stop himself. After a moment, though, he let his arm fall and shook his head at himself.

"Yes."

He moved to the wall with cabnets and kitchen area appliances and opened a cabnet, knowing exactly where it was and where the big pot and a strainer was at. He set the strainer aside and set to work at filling the pot with water and putting it on the stove top. He then turned and shoved a stack of books off of a chair.

"Sorry. Have a seat. Anywhere you can find just...push the books around." He frowned. Maybe he should get more shelves. He turned and picked up a jar of slave he'd made for Alice's bruises and unscrewed it. He began pushing on his flesh, looking for the bruises.

Her wings hovered maybe a foot above the floor, the edges where jagged due to the way the last ones were taken. They brushed against the legs of the jeans as she walked though she had no intention of sitting, it was only to lay down her coat.

'Is there anything I can help with?'

Hawthorne could see the bruises, if he would let her help it would save him the time it took looking for them. She pulled back her hair and put it through a ponytail as she stepped towards him.

He stiffened when he heard her footstep and then sent out healing magic to his muscles, messaging and willing them to relaxe, like little hands all over his body. He breathed out heavily and leaned back against the counter.

"You...can help. Find the...show me where my bruises are so i can put...." He stopped, finally held the little tub out to her. "Can you put this on the bruises."

Touch me? Scary thought that. Touching anything but his hands is a rarity for anyone. He fidgeted with the edge of his shirt, unsure if he really wanted to pull it off, afraid of what she'd say about how he looked. Most of the damage had been to his face, chest, and a lot to his shoulder.

As her hand clasped around the little tub she looked up at him. Slightly uncomfortable would be an understatement. Hawthorne shifted slightly as she removed the lid. She hoped she wouldn't regret asking him if she could help, there was alot that could go bad ... and she didn't want someone else to hate her.

Dipping her fingers in the slave as she targeted the first bruise she saw. It was on his forearm, not really huge but not tiny either. As she rubbed the slave on it she looked down to his hand that fidgeted with the shirt then to his face. She smiled. 'You know you don't have to if you don't want to.'

Emrys nodded and let go of the shirt. He didn't want to be rejected because he wasn't trusting enough but he didn't want to be stared at either. And Emrys knew when he was being stared at, call it a feeling. He also knew, without ever actually seeing his own wounds, that the mess on his chest was stare-worthy. In fact, it'd be hard not to stare.

"It's just that...they're bad." Would she even know what they was? Probably not. But he said it like she would. Then he frowned. His worst sores were under the shirt, in fact, the absolute worst were his shoulder area where the invisable teeth had bit him.

"Thanks for...helping me."

She paused before going to another bruise. 'I thought they might be ... I understand though ... thats why I suggested that you didn't have to.' The last bruise on his arm was taken care of, and now with some caution she would continue on to the bruises that dotted his face.

Before rushing to rub slave on them she rose her other hand to touch his face, so he was aware of her next actions. 'Your welcome ...'

It's good that she touched his face with the clean hand because he flinched away. All that would have made for was salve waisted spread over his face and lips. His lips were dry, cracked, had even bled earlier that day. He took a deep shaking breath through those lips trying to calm himself.

"Sorry," that I can't trust you easily. He put his face back against her hands. Translation: Alright, I'm not going to freak this time. What now? "Have you always lived in Bayfield?"

One hand was twisting the edge of the shirt again, the other coming to rest on the bad shoulder.

Hawthorne jumped slightly when he turned away, her wings gave a soft rustle in her alarm before settling against her back. 'It's alright.' She had expected it, well, that was what she was telling herself now. Her eyes watched him as he put his face against her hand once more and she began applying the slave to his bruises.

She smiled as he spoke and shook her head, but since he couldn't see it she spoke. 'No, I moved here last year ... have you?' He knew his way around pretty well, if he hadn't always been here then he had definately been here longer than her. Hawthorne kept her eyes on what she was doing, the slave was cold reminding her of sunscreen on a hot day at the beach, and she didn't want him to turn away again if she accidently hurt him. Meanwhile she kept her other hand there, hoping maybe it would bring some form of comfort.

Actually, it created a feeling of being held in place, not comforting at all, but Emrys swallowed suspicion and remained very still in between he hand and her fingers with the cool salve.

"Only two years, for school." He'd not seen but sinced her head shake as he could feel the slight movment in her hand. When you shake your head, it isn't the only thing that moves. So he'd known she'd shaken her head. How often people did that to him without thinking about it. It made the corners of his lips twitch into almost a smile. "What made you move here?"

Maybe it was the knowlege she was like everyone else that was normal...he was growing more comfortable. It seemed the people who hurt him were always far less then normal, not even barly human.

She sighed softly as she put the lid on the tub. 'I guess I got bored of everywhere else ...' Hawthorne knew better than to launch into explaination, not only would it probably be 378 years worth of longness but ... probably just boring.

Shifting slightly from one foot to the other she looked down into the boiling water, with the sound now reaching her ears. She smiled and handed him the tub, 'I guess I'll leave whats left to you.' The alarm she had recieved with touching his face, she was sure was nothing compared to the rest. Hawthorne knew he would probably be more comfortable with that anyways.

She turned and sat down, moving a few books here and there so not to smush anything. If he thought her normal for just a few little things he had seen hardly anything. Hawthorne was raised mostly by mortals, her abilities were never fully developed and just because she had a lot of years of living ... it didn't make her as wise as one would think.

He nodded when the tub of salve was placed in his hand and he closed his fingers around it. He could hear the faintest of bubbling from the water and knew it would not be long before the water was boiling. He frowned, fidgeted, and finally lifted the hem of his shirt. His lower torso was smooth, tanned darkly, his skin slightly weathered from the sunlight. It was toned nicely though sported some bruising.

His upper torso, while toned as nicely, was paler, smoother but in a different way. The skin was raised slightly in a mass of mounded scars, smooth, pale, shinny scars, reddened around the edges and nearly three tones lighter then the rest of his skin. It matched perfectly the scars over his hands and what lay beneath the blindfold. There were more bruises there, an especially dark and large one over his shoulder and the side of his neck with distinct bite marks that had scabbed over but not healed yet.

His hand lay flat on his chest, frozen. Was she staring at him? Was he a freak to her like everyone else thought? People stared so often when they got to see, people pittied, people laughed.

As he lifted his shirt Hawthorne turned her gaze away. He hadn't wanted her to see in the first place, so was it right to look now? She could see him out of the corner of her eyes, frozen, perhaps waiting for some comment, snide remark ... or a gasp and then silence. In truth she didn't know what to say, and if she looked she was afraid of what she would say.

In a moment she had made up her mind, turning her head so that she faced him she stood. 'Em, maybe you should sit so you can tend to them ... I'll put the herbs in when the water is ready.' She kept her eyes on his face, but her gaze took in more than just that. The scars. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, listening to his movement and for his voice.

Sit so he can tend him. Her voice came from just barly a different direction, moving towards him. She hadn't been looking, hadn't been staring. She was turning towards him walking to the water. But she'd not stared at his scars. He almost smiled. Almost, but not quite.

"Maybe your right." He sounded chocked. He scarcly got a reaction that didn't turn him into a monster of some sort. He walked over and took the seat she'd been in and started applying the salve to his shoulder. There, he knew, were cuts and bruises without pushing around to find them.

"Thanks."

'Your welcome.'

A slight upward curve of her lips before she turned off the heat, took the herbs and grinded them in a small bowl. As she added some of her own Hawthorne turned her head slightly so that she saw him in the corner of her eyes. 'What is it that you study here?' She assumed the vast collection of herbs was a hobby, perhaps part of a religous belief, or maybe he just didn't care for modern medicine.

Gently she crushed the petals into the herbs she had already resolved to powder. The petals smelt slightly of vanilla, it was a warm smell and Hawthorne hoped it would help. Pulling a cup from a cabinet she put some of the mixture in then carefully poured in some water watching as it browned slightly taking the appearance of a tea.

'It's alittle hot.'

"Do you mean in the college or here in my room?" He finished applying the salve and quickly pulled his shirt down and tucking the edge into the pants as if to keep it from coming up again. "For the colege I'm takeing a few medical classes, I wanted to be a surgeon but..." he shurgged a little. "Now I would like to be a pediatrition. In my room," he shrugged again and held out both hands for her to put the cup in his hands.

"In my room, I do what we're doing now. I study medications from all dates. I make them, I use them. My mom was a healer." She was innitiate, he could tell her that. "But she liked the old fasshioned things too, the medicines and her art. It worked well togather so now I'm learning."

Gently she handed him the cup as she found a seat in the forest of books. 'I never went to college ... I never had a reason to.' Violet eyes watched him as he spoke of his mother, in her mind she tried to gather what memories she had of hers.

'My mother was into medicines and herbal remedies, I remember on some mornings waking to the aroma of juniper.'

Hawthorne almost smiled with that thought, unfortunately it was one of the few nicer ones she had. She swallowed and leaned back taking a glimpse to the cup before checking the time. 'How does it taste?'

He took a long drink, grimacing at the taste and even at the feel of the liquid running down his throat. He didn't answer, didn't pull the cup from his lips until it was gone. He'd learned that if you stop half way through taking the medicine, you hesitate to put it back to your lips.

"Terrible." he said finally. "But it probably wouldn't do me any good if it didn't right?" Yes, he was raised on the rule 'if it doesn't taste bad it isn't called medicine.'

((sorry that's so short))

Hawthorne smiled and nodded. 'I think your right ...' Her gaze lifted from the watch to him and she gave a soft sigh. 'I'm afraid I better get going ... it's late.' Standing hesitantly she took her coat in hand and took a step towards the door. 'It was pleasant meeting someone new ... maybe sometime soon we could hang out.'

(eh dun worry mine is short too)

"Maybe," he replied, standing when she did, setting the cup on the coffee table in the cramed room. He walked to the door, as if he could see, and opened it, holding it for her. "I uh....thanks for your help. It was....nice to meet you, Hawthorne."

((*Dies three times* short again))

'Your welcome ...' Hawthorne paused as she looked to him and nodded. 'It was nice to meet you too Em.' She smiled gently as she stepped out the door and left.

(yeah ... well end for now?)

(yush)