[center][h3]A Farewell to Arms[/h3][/center]

[center][i]A collab post between [@gcold] and [@Peik][/i][/center]

[center][i][b]Sun's Height 18, Night[/b][/i][/center]
[hr]

Madura got his stuff on the night of the 18th. It was late sleeping hours when Madura was woken by knocking on his room door. Turned out the Gazette courier had rushed all the way here from Solitude to deliver the papers. Accompanying the newspaper stack was a box of supplies. He typically only required a small packet when residing within civilization, but this time, Sadri's custom arm took up a sizable portion of the shipment. The courier asked for his credential, and when he provided that, the same courier just had to be curious about why he needed a metal arm when there's a perfectly fine flesh one. Madura didn't want to lie or give the impression of him misappropriation resources, so he simply slid over a batch of coins and told the delivery person to “not worry about it”. 

Now Madura had step past passed out drunks and find that freeloader Sadri. That poor excuse of a man better not demand more of him, or else, well, Madura will improvise the else. One thing’s for sure; someone better give him back five Septims.

The Dunmer sat idle, watching the night sky, with his back leaning against one of the wooden pillars that supported the inn building's porch. Compared to a few days back, he felt surprisingly serene as he watched Masser and Secunda, and their reflections upon the sea. It looked almost as if the sky and the sea were one now, thanks to the night's obscurant properties blurring the lines between them.

He turned his face slowly when he heard footsteps. Was it Solveig? He would've liked it if it were, but in this guilt-free state of mind of his, he felt he could start a friendly conversation, even with Dumhuvud, for whom he kept a bitter cove of poisonous intent in his belly. But he didn't want to ruin his mood. Not now.

''Who goes?'' Sadri called out as he heard the porch floor creak with footsteps. His voice was gentle, but nonetheless, he leaned forward and put some distance between himself and the pillar out of caution. He wouldn't want to be caught unaware.

“Renym the Ashlander.” Madura replied dryly. He approached the pillar and drop the case with the metal arm beside him. It landed with thump, but judging by how sturdy the damn thing was, nothing got broken, sadly. “I guess you don't need this any more.” He tapped the case with a shoe-covered foot. The journalist remained standing, not wanting to risk bogging himself down with whatever the other Dunmer was doing.  

The name that Madura used reminded Sadri that there were still things to feel guilty or careful about. He remembered that Ashav's employer still knew him as Madura, and that Madura himself was reduced to not much more than an Ashlander. Sadri looked at Madura, understanding of his frustration, and then looked at the case, opening it with his good hand.

''Ah. I appreciate you bringing this to me. I really do,'' Sadri said to Madura. ''I can see why you're angry. I would not say I'm sorry, but you have my sympathy. I'll try to pay you back. Maybe sell this old thing,'' he said, knocking on the bonemold stump that was bound to his body through a harness. ''It should net a pretty penny even now.''

Sadri grabbed the case, pulled it to himself, stuck it underneath his arm, and got up. ''I'll need to replace the harness, you see,'' he said as he moved back to the inn, ''And I don't think you'd appreciate the sight of my naked torso. This will hopefully be worth your while, Renym,'' the Dunmer said, finishing with a burst of air from his nostrils, meant to stand in for a chuckle. He hadn't done much in the name of enchanting for a while. He figured he could spend the night tinkering.

Given their history, Madura honestly did not expect any gratitude. Hearing Sadri voicing his appreciation caught him off guard, and as a result, made it harder to rant. “Well, you better, uh,” the journalist struggled to find a snarky retort, but failed, “better start working then.” 

Leaning down to pick up Sadri’s old prosthetics, Madura examined the thing carefully before setting it back down. It was worn, possibly beyond normal use, but an item as curious as such could fetch a decent sum for purely collective purposes. “Yeah, I'll take half the profit for getting you your handy treat.” Managing a chuckle of his own, Madura found he wasn't much for laughter tonight either. However, he did notice something, and that was a lift in Sadri’s demeanor. He couldn't resist his journalistic urge to ask why.

“You're not brooding or smoking.” Madura remarked. “What happened? Did you strike gold at Winterhold?” 

Sadri looked at Madura from the edge of the inn door as he asked about the cause of his good mood. For a moment, he felt like talking to Madura about Solveig and ranting about how love, and a mutual appreciation between persons could change one's nature, but felt the need to hide his precious' name, and his feelings. He did not want such an important thing for him to be given out to a man whose work was made of selling words. He did not wish to debase her name in such a way, by having it uttered by someone who wasn't him.

''Nah, I just lost my pipe to the sea there.'' Sadri remarked. ''I've simply remembered to appreciate some of the finer things in life, I guess. Sights, tastes, words, feelings.'' A faint smile curled up on his face. ''I'm sure you understand.''  

“So healthy living does pay off, eh?” Madura went along. He didn't have enough energy to investigate, and the sudden yawn that came out of him reminded him of bedtime. “A friend once told me how tough it was to quit smoking, but you seem to overcome it with no problem.” Another yawn interrupted. “Speaking of healthy, I believe some sleep would be just what the restorer ordered.” 

''Yeah, some sleep could do you some good. I'll have to work this thing's straps for now,'' Sadri replied, content that Madura wasn't feeling very nosey. And with that, he went into the inn, heading for his room with the case containing his new arm. With a little bit of adjustment on the harness, he figured it'd make a perfect fit. For all the good Telekinesis had, its lack of effectiveness on living tissue had troubled Sadri for some time. Now he could at least have a semblance of touch on another's flesh. And what better thing is there than to feel someone you love?