Originally posted in Fisherman's Folly:

It was hard to escape the scent of dead and rotting fish that lay thick in the air, but Kacey had been trying to ignore it as she went about her business. Working on repairing the walls of a rather dilapidated house just outside of the Dockside district wasn't the best-paying job, but it was what she could get, and so she'd wrapped a scarf over her nose and mouth and continued sawing and hammering away. Her stash of "retirement" pay wouldn't last forever, and hard work was better than starving. Even when the air reeked of dead fish.

She'd been stuck at the worksite longer than planned, as the sounds of chaos had increased for a while, birds, cats, and other wildlife obviously enhancing the confusion. Finally, however, it sounded like the streets were calming down, and Kacey decided to make a break for the room she was renting. It was, of course, inevitable that in the madness of the day something would go wrong - the violent explosion rather fit the bill.

As Kacey automatically ducked into a defensive crouch and glanced around, nothing immediately appeared to be a threat. It was just bad luck that she was looking right as a manhole cover came whirling in from the left, struck a glancing blow across her head just above the temple, and continued on its way into the wall she had just spent all day and a good part of the night repairing. Of course, it was good luck that it was a glancing blow, and only knocked her down (and, briefly, out).

The thing about infravision was that it allowed him to see in low light, even as the daylight was beginning to creep in and his eyes were adjusting to a more "human" type sight. Even then, though, he was still able to see in heat signatures well enough to see the girl get winged by a manhole cover.

Now, Vic wasn't terribly comfortable with females even now. Given that the females ruled over the males in the Underdark, often brutally, the natural wariness was understandable. So, when confronted with women, he tended to withdraw.

Still, Vicfryn was mostly a gentleman. Or, he was still learning to be a gentleman, even if that required interacting with females. When he saw the girl get hit, he did what any honest gentleman would do....he went and picked her pockets.

Oh, no, he did not. Fooled you.

Actually, he looked at the side of her head where the thing had dealt her a glancing blow, then frowned. There was a little blood, but not nearly as much as there would have been if she was truly hit — looked more like a small knick where metal had winged across the bone underneath. From what he could see, it didn't seem like she was severely wounded, but obviously she was hurt enough that she couldn't be left in the street.

So, hoping that she wouldn't wake up while he was carrying her and then proceed to hurt him, he picked her up and carried her back to the Maritime. The first aid kit that Harold religiously maintained was in the kitchen; at the very least, he could bandage the cut and give her an ice pack and a place to recover.

Hopefully, she wouldn't kill him for it.

Kacey was, as far as she could tell with her eyes closed, sitting propped up in a chair, and her head was throbbing, especially on the left side. Since the last thing she remembered was the explosion and looking around the street for its source, she was just a bit disoriented.

One hand reached up to the worst point of pain as she began to pry open her eyes. A wince as the hand encountered the tender lump left behind, and the bandage wrapped over it. Finally, blinking a bit to try and focus her eyes, she managed to shape a semi-coherent thought.

"Oww....what happened?"

"A manhole cover hit you in the head," Vicfryn replied, making sure he was standing well out of striking range of the female he had brought in off of the streets. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it had occured to him that it was always Harold who brought home 'strays,' not him, but he kept it to himself.

He hadn't had much trouble bandaging the female's head, and he had the firm intention of making certain that she was able to stand and walk, then sending her on her way. Not because he was unfriendly; he was just never quite able to overcome his shyness.

Still, he did manage to find his voice long enough to get the ice pack out of the first aid kit, the kind that got cold when you broke them, and offered it to her. "This should help. There is also aspirin here."

Vic watched as she moved; no, she didn't appear to be too badly injured, and she didn't seem to be angry with him, but he was cautious anyway. At her question, he went and looked out the kitchen window, then came back and reported, "There is still flooding, but we are safe here. If it does not flood too much, I mean. Because we are higher up than the street and the street is flooded. So, since we are higher up, we should not be flooded."

When he realized he was jabbering, he closed his mouth with an audible click, then decided to try to make himself useful until the flooding dissipated. "There is food here. Food to make sandwiches. Or I could make coffee. Do you want coffee?"

"Vicfryn. People who live here call me Vic." The drow focused on the coffee making, noting with his hearing where she was. And overcoming his anxiety enough to tell her where she is. "This is the Maritime Tavern. It has been here a long time, but it is usually very quiet. I used to be a cook here, though I did not know how to cook well, but then I went to become an emissary. But now I am back for..." a long pause as he thought about it, then finished, "...for many reasons. What were you doing out there?"

Once he flipped the coffee pot on, Vic didn't have much else to do but get the mugs down, get the cream and sugar out, and make small talk. It wasn't his natural strong-point, that.

"I have not seen manhole covers explode out of the street before now," he answered, sincerely. "It is quieter here in the city now than when I first came here. You should not have much trouble finding work if you know how to build things, though. Or repair things."

Vic got out of the way when she stepped over to the counter, waiting until she was done making herself a cup to make his own; a taste for Sumatran had been cultivated by one of the Tavern's owners and he still liked it even now.

"I do not know of much. When I was here before, I would sometimes ride my horse around, but I did not spend much time around people." It was a somewhat sad, though honest assessment — there really wasn't much to do around Rhy'Din anymore aside go to one of the inns or taverns. "There are good shops in the Marketplace," he said, as an afterthought. "A place to buy bread, and a cafe. Perhaps you would like that?"

Thankfully, hand shaking was something he had to get fairly comfortable with; there was only a moment's hesitation before he shook her hand, then stepped back again. "It was not a good place to be, with the flooding. But there are good people, it is just not always easy to find them sometimes."

But sleep sounded like a good idea, if he could get there. So he gave her a half-smile, then rinsed his own half-full mug out and set it in the sink; he would wash the dishes later. "Be careful going home."