About Mittens

There's a beat of silence, and then the roar of the small crowd within the MacAddams' Warehouse drowns out the bell signifying the end of the duel.

Cechec stands by one of the exits from the arena, leaning against one of the walls. A small dagger twists in his hands as he eyes the duelists leaving the building, recognizing very few. Few, except for one Calla Prim.

"Miss Prim. Looking no worse for wear, I see."

Calla, polishing a smudge out from her glasses, pauses mid stride and glances at Cechec. Without the lenses her pupils are blown out, almost wall-to-wall black. She awkwardly changes course while propping them back on her nose, but looks immediately puzzled.

"Have.. have we met?"

The knife returns to its home in a sheath fastened to the golden dragonborn's chest with a long leather belt. As it does, Cechec chuckles, leaning forward off of the wall. "Once or twice. We have a few mutual friends. Artolos sends his regards."

"Sorry, I'm extremely long sighted and, uh, not always so observant?" She smiles apologetically, "It's great to hear Artolos is…" Suddenly her brain catches up with her mouth, "Wait, you were at the Temple? Is everyone okay?"

Calla opens a palm in the same direction, gesturing for her larger companion to lead on. Her tone is equally flat in reply.

"Oh?"

The two slowly begin walking away from the warehouse and into the streets of Swampside. The days are longer, now, and the sun still shines brightly through the late hours of the afternoon.

"The young one is reckless." Cechec goes on to describe some of the events of the job surrounding Mittens, as well as what had happened and what was discovered in the Temple. "And so I told him to apologize. To the boy's credit, he did. With some prodding."

"Mmm. I understand. And would have done much the same, most likely. I'll talk to him though". Calla takes a deep breath and a long sigh. "He's getting a lot better around the recklessness, but a lot more capable of getting himself into trouble as well". She turns away a little, squinting in the rough direction of the sinking sun. It's clearly uncomfortable for her, but she doesn't flinch away… or turn back as she mumbles, almost to herself.

"How many times do you have to repay a life debt, do you think?

"Depends who holds it." Cechec follows Calla's gaze out to the horizon, rolling his shoulders and neck. "Some refuse repayment. Others demand it. Still more add interest to the loan." His eyes narrow, and he returns to look at Calla. "Do I need to speak to someone? I can be very persuasive."

Calla turns back to Cechec, her pupils now pinpricks against amethyst irises. She sounds tired, but grateful, "Oh, no. Mittens saved my life very shortly after I got here". She can't help but laugh at herself, "I don't think he even knows what that means".

"But I appreciate the offer, I really do".

"The offer stands. But you are probably right, I doubt he knows what he holds." Cechec raises a claw, the orange light glinting off of the golden scales. He rubs his thumb along the finger tips. "You've repaid the debt. I've seen that. And if it's not in his ledger, I'd let it go."

"Mmm. You might be right. We'll see how I feel about it by summer, I suppose".

"Either way, thank you for coming to me. I really do appreciate it. And I do promise I'll talk to him".

"Hmh," snorts Cechec, nodding. "Best of luck. Maybe the lesson will stick this time." He turns to leave, taking a few steps forward before stopping and turning his head until Calla can only see its profile. "It's good you look out for him. I'll... keep an eye out too."