Faolan had nothing to say to Lucien's protests, and only grunted and shook his head at the comment. [i][color=a36209]Twenty's still a child.[/color][/i] He thought and kicked his legs out to lay out on his cot. There was clearly no sense in arguing with the boy, he was too stubborn. Optimistic and obstinate, a bad combination. He tucked his hands behind his head as a pillow and closed his eyes, his brows furrowed. The least he could do was get some rest before the law came knockin'.

Faolan made no attempt to stop his leaving either, if he wanted to walk around alone some more and get himself in trouble again, that was his problem now. He didn't know what he thought he was doing, risking himself to keep Faolan out of trouble would only get him deeper in the shite. 

After a moment alone in silence, Faolan sat up again and reached for his bag, a little too angrily. Why would Lucien risk himself for this when he knew it was a loosing battle? It was plain stupid, is what it was. The boy had no sense.

And yet, had Faolan not done the same thing for the lad, twice? Sure, he'd gotten something out of it for himself, twice, but was it more for private rage or out of some sort of sympathy for the lad that he acted? After all, had he not been a small fish in a huge pond? When he'd left the farm, he'd run into his fair share of gobshites and ne'er do well's, and no one had stepped in to help him. He'd learned on his own what the world was like and it had shaped him into the man he was today. Once he'd thought that maybe everyone wasn't so bad, it was just the few he'd met, but his gut had been right all along. They were all scum...

Except for Lucien.

[color=a36209]"Lad's not the full schilling, alright."[/color] He growled quietly to himself as he fished a small leather-bound book from his satchel. It was tiny in his large hands, and filled with yellowing and mis-matched pages. There was a leather string wrapped around it, to keep everything inside. Faolan flipped to the back of the book, about a dozen pages from the end, took the charcoal pencil from inside, and began to scribble almost furiously inside. If he was waiting for the inevitable, he might as well record the day's events.

[b][color=a36209]Date unknown, day 7 at sea. Took silver dagger to the side. Could've been dead, but lad saved me with some quick healing. Never felt or seen anything like it. Warm and painful, hot, light from his hands, and the silver and it's poison was gone in a flash. Almost better now, about thirty minutes later. A bit drained and nauseous, but otherwise alright.[/color][/b] 

He paused here, lost in thought for a moment, then continued:

[color=a36209][b]Took out pack of English. Bastards all, and thieves, got [s]Lucien's[/s] the lad's goods back. Law will be coming.[/b][/color] Another pause, then:

[b][color=a36209]Lad's special, not human. Something else. Something[/color][/b]--A final pause--[b][color=a36209]good.[/color][/b]

He;d just added the last bit of punctuation when the door opened. He looked up, saw Lucien, and snapped the book closed with one hand. Immediately, he felt his brow furrow, but his frustration had left him. Why was that?

He raised his eyebrows at the Frenchman's words. [color=a36209]"Will it now?"[/color] he said, disbelief thick in his voice. The boy hadn't been gone a half hour and already everything was fixed?