If there was one thing the magehunter had learned about Lómëdor, it was that the Wilwarin Inn and Pub did not require infiltration. Particularly on extremely busy summer nights, such as this very one, the tavern's doors were wide open, and even the most abhorred criminal could mingle in with the diverse crowd of boisterous, half-intoxicated men with ease. Shadier groups of cloaked men near the corners were commonplace, and they could not have elected a better spot for a secret meeting, for the attention of just about every patron was aimed either for one of the poor wenches serving around jars of ale, or for the band that played merry tunes upon the pulpit in the center of the common room. In the same way, the hooded man in alabaster robes leaning against one of the chamber's walls failed to garner any attention. Just the way he preferred it.

His hidden eyes were fixed upon one of the rowdier sailors in the group that had taken up seats very close to the band, singing along to the music even when they did not know the words, and bashing their mugs against the battered woodwork of their table in some semblance of a rhythm. It was unfortunate that the one man he was on the lookout for did not seem to be drunk; it was a giant of a man, wearing a sleeveless tunic that revealed the intricate tattooings on both of his thickly muscular arms. The top of his head was bald, but a bushy beard of unkept black hair made up for it. He bore the sunburn of a veteran seaman, and his eyes spoke of years-old experience on the azure. It took a moment for Sinitar to return himself from his analysis and realize that the man was looking at him, too. The familiar feeling of having been discovered raced through his veins.

The man got up from his seat, still eyeing the hooded hunter suspiciously. Instantly, Sinitar forced his body into action. Fighting the sailor fairly would be wholly idiotic; he'd be squashed beneath the other twelve angry seafarers before even having the chance to draw his blade. With as leisurely a gait as he could muster, he started making his way toward the exit. He swore silently as he realized that the sailor would get there earlier than he did; he was trapped inside the pub. Changing plans, he turned around and instead made his way for the staircase leading up to the pub's renowned accommodations. He could hear some agitated racked behind him; apparently, his quarry had increased his pace. He jumped up the stairs two steps at a time and looked around for cover, finding none. Heavy sailor's boots were already trampling up the staircase when he saw it.

A closet.

Although he'd been in more reputable refuges, he did not hesitate and sweeped the furniture's door open, finding the insides to be largely empty, much to his relief. He closed the entrace just in time to see the foot of the bulky seafarer turn around the corner that led downstairs. Sinitar held his breath as he heard footsteps getting closer. Beads of sweat trickled down his concealed jaw. The sound stopped, but the door did not open. Good, so the man hadn't seen him entering the closet. He'd have to think very carefully about his next move.

Only then did he notice that he was not alone in his hiding place.

Midori was trying to enjoy himself even if a little bit. He was in the Wilwarin Pub sitting at the counter. He didn't feel like spending any money on a drink so he decided against buying something. Seated at the far end of the counter closer to the stairs far away from most of the people. The Inn was almost filled on this day. Crowded and full of drunk people. There was a small band playing in the center of the room. Crowds made the young fairy uncomfortable most of the time. He had been taking sip from his fairy sized bottle of fizzy. He had gotten this at the spring festival and hadn't thought about touching it untill now.

Midori had finished a little less then half of the bottle and already hit by the very minor effects of the drunkness that would come from it. He was not aware that this would come from the sweet drink. Before he could get any more drunk off of this thing he put the cap on it and put it away. Midori did not feel like leaving the place to head out to his nowhere home. He had nowhere to go. He usally slept in bizzare places that you would not expect to see a fae. Other times he was in the forest and slept in trees which was almost normal enough. He had spent most of his life like this.

Being ignored by the counterman, Midori flew towards the stairs. He did not want to stay in this city anymore but didn't feel like leaving the place. He did not want to pay for a room. Seeing an open closet, he went in it and would stay there for a while. He found nothing wrong with it. Going to an uppershelf and into a corner. Midori just sat there against the wall.

The fae might've fallen asleep but a man rushed into the closet and closed the door. He seemed to be scared or in hiding. He had held his breath as foot steps came from outside. Midori's heart sank. If this was a fight, he might get dragged in. The foot steps seem to trail off down the hallway. Midori looked down from over the shelf at the man. "What you doing here?" he asked the man retoricaly. The answer was obvious and plan. Hiding.

A mix of anxiety and frustration spiralled around his heart as the innocent words reached him, nothing more than a soft buzz in the air, though to Sinitar's adrenaline-contorted perception, they were like an orchestra of nails upon a dozen chalkboards. For a moment, he considered grabbing the oblivious, tiny creature from its safe shelf, so that any further words would be stymied, but he froze before he could put that plan into action. Heavy footfalls came closer and closer again, and just when Sinitar thought they could not get any louder, they stopped. Cursing inwardly, he averted his gaze from the sinless creature that might have just unknowingly signed his death warrant. He counted his heartbeats through heavy breathing. The fury of the man that only the unbearably thin layer of wooden door separated him from was nearly tangible.

Despite his attempts at preparation, the violence with which the door was opened startled him. He felt himself being grabbed by his robes and moments later, he was tossed through the air like a rag doll, rapidly closing in on the wall opposite his hiding place. He heaved up his arms to absorb part of the blow, but in vain. The collision slammed the air out of his lungs, and colours whirled in front of his eyes as he slumped down against the stonework, landing in a motionless pile of crimson boot and alabaster cloth. Leaning against the wall for support, he tried to get up, but a vicious strike to his kidneys brought an immediate end to his resolution, and he very nearly blacked out as he hit the woodwork below again.

"Me's not payin' jack to that dog Shneer! Better tell 'em that, before sumthin' really bad happens!" was all he heard before the buzz of mental strain made every sound irrecognizable.

From that point onwards, he was subjected to a veritable barrage of roughly aimed kicks. He tried to cradle himself, protecting his face from harm, but not before a particularly malicious stomp split his left brow in two. Time seemed to lose its meaning as he lay there, defenseless. When the furious assault stopped, it took Sinitar a while to realize that he was still alive. He heard voices in the room behind him, but as far as he could see through his uninjured eye, the hallways was deserted. His arms and legs felt sore, and when he attempted to get up, a nauseous feeling warped his sense of equilibrium, forcing him to sit down, his back against the wall that he had previously crashed into. Behind him, the voices quickly died down. Perhaps the sailor had heard them as well, and fled. Realizing that he was alone, much of the adrenaline faded from the magehunter, and bitter disappointment set in. It was not often that he failed to complete such trivial contracts as this one. His reputation would suffer. A lot.

He looked up into the opened closet, noticing at once that the door had nearly been unhinged. Gods, what strength! It took a while for his eyes to find the shelf where the fairy that had betrayed his hiding place had resided. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to be angry. Blood blinded his left eye, his body was sore, his pride had been dented, and the pain that carved through his limbs drained him of the energy required for any form of tantrum. "Yeah... Thanks for that..." he threw at the shelf with barely concealed sarcasm, ignoring the bloody taste in his mouth.

Midori was not liking the look he was getting from the man. It was was very uncomforting. Then the door shot open. The man was dragged out and started to getting beaten up by a bunch of others. Midori wanted to help but also wanted to retreat into the corner. The fear got the better of him and he did so and retreated to the corner. He might've been able to help if he wasn't drowned by this terror of the attack on the man. The fae was not even sure if he should help this man. He might've been under attack for a reason.

After the beating had stopped Midori looked down. The man was in horrible shape on the floor. He said something and Midori understood what he ment. "I'm sorry then." he said flying down feeling guilty. He went over to the closet wound which was on Sinitar's wrist. Crossing his palms over it and muttering a word. A glow came from Midori's hands healing the wound quickly. It was not a strong healing spell but enough to close a wound like this one easily. "Like I said, sorry. Hope this helps even if a little." he said when he finished with this wound and moved onto the next one on the man's arm.

He could see the quiver of the fairy's wings in the orange light of the walkway, though in his current state, they looked more like a mass of transparent liquid, moving up and down slower and slower as the tiny creature got closer to him. The magehunter found it quite difficult to abide by his annoyance at the fairy's unfortunate intrusion - it was as if he were attempting to be angry at a timid child. Despite his many journeys over Arda's mainland, Sinitar had not met many fairies in his lifetime, and most of the knowledge he had of them came from books, or other people's stories. Admittedly, he'd never heard anyone talk about pixies capable of healing magic, but as the green-haired being landed near his injured wrist and a warm feeling began to spread through the wound there, he quickly added it to his growing list of pixie peculiarities.

The fairy hovered from one wound to the next, apparently intent on healing him to reinforce the apology it had offered moments ago. It gave him time to think about the situation, and he realized with a sudden tinge of embarassment that he had absolutely no right to be frustrated with the little fellow. After all, the winged creature had obviously been enjoying its peace in the closet before he'd come barging in, expecting that the poor pixie would immediately understand what was going on and keep quiet... He snickered as the frail body hovered over him again, inspecting him for further wounds. Of course, he still had the bloody brow to deal with, but it was impossible for the creature to see beneath the darkness of his hood, and he preferred to keep his identity hidden, regardless of the fairy's friendly gesture.

"Thank you," he said gruffly as he arose, grunting - but this time, it was a heartfelt comment. He could still feel the spots where he'd been hit, but the pain had been dulled, and his muscles no longer painfully protested to his movements. "And I suppose I should apologize for this sudden invasion of your... closet," he continued, faltering near the end - truly, this had to be the strangest mea culpa he'd ever uttered, but his pride demanded it, and seeing how he was in no shape to fight for the remainder of the evening, he had ample time to stay upstairs and chat. "What were you doing in there, anyway, instead of near the music? Aren't fairies supposed to be the happy, dancing folk of Arda?" It must have been a stupid question, but considering the little knowledge he had of the little folk, he found stereotypes were the most reliable assumptions to make.

After Midori had finished with most of the wounds he saw he backed off a bit. "You welcome. he said politly at the man's thank you. He flew up to a flower pot handing from the ceiling. He sat on the edge of it. Looking down at the man he spoke again. It was my fault after all. It was the least I could do. Why were they after you anyways? Did you do anything to them." Midori said with a frown at the end knowing that that beating must of hurt a lot. He let the man speak again. He spoke to the fairy about the closet. Midori just nodded as the man went on to speak again about fairies asking why he had been up here. It was a question Midori could not answer very well. He was an odd fairy after all. His native fun loving self was not shown very offen and only around people he considers friends.

"I can not answer that question very easily besides that I am a bit different from a lot of other fairies. I came up here cause I wanted to get away from the crowd." Midori answered to the best of his current ability. Also hiding the fact that he didn't want to admit that he had gotten slightly drunk off of his frizzy. He was not sure when he would ever drink that stuff again. It did not like the feeling and was embarreshed about it. It was not an alcohol but he was still only a child and should not get drunk. "Well, what is your name?"

Soreness still stabbed at the magehunter's insides, though perhaps it was more because of his mangled self-regard than any ache a few stomps could have inflicted. Sinitar Moorcrest, vanquisher of mages, beat by the drunken sailor and subsequently rejuvenated by the pixie in the closet - it would have made quite the bedtime story. He appreciated the thought with an indiscernable grimace, but then turned his ear to the fairy, who had seen fit to hang its lanky legs off the edge of a small terracotta vase on the wall. While the fairy's voice was obviously high-pitched to match its unimposing stature, there was a slightly boyish tone about it, and Sinitar had little trouble understanding.

The answer he was offered somehow triggered a stroke of bitterness near the inside of his jaws. He had known that humans were far too concerned with their status to not consider themselves unique, but that the same temperament had reached through to beings as pure as these admittedly disturbed him. If pixies, the avatars of the bliss of ignorance, had reached this point of self-conscience, then what was this world coming to? True, he was not the most examplary amongst his kind, and cared for little other than the money required to live through another day, but the fairy's hesitant reply inspired him to look at the bigger picture - and worry. Only for a moment. Then he was back in the Wilwarin's upstairs aisle, shadows leaping over still robes and a winged, green-eyed being looking down at him with innocent, querying eyes.

"I am called Sinitar," he responded, for despite his pondering, his sharp hearing had not missed a word his healer had uttered. "And the man that just so kindly introduced my head to the wall is a sailor named Tork. Bit of a halfwit... though if I were you, I wouldn't say that to his face." He rubbed his upper arm while he snickered, as if to enunciate the reason not to kick this ogre in the toe.

"Unfortunately for Tork," he continued austerely when the sting in his bicep had subsided, "he's been taking loans from people. Powerful people." He paused for a moment, and found that he was rather surprised that he was telling this stranger, however tiny, the details of his mission. There was something nice about it, to relieve himself of what he'd normally keep a secret, as though he could be certain that the winged fellow would not betray him, even though he had no such guarantee - he barely knew the fairy at all. "And those people hired me to keep an eye on him - but I made a little mistake tonight. Sailors don't like it when you look straight at them for too long, especially when they know the hound has caught their scent."

Being so battered, the magehunter did not really feel like the hound that his metaphor implied - but it fit the scenario, regardless.

"Of course," he gave another start, this time somewhat more light-hearted, "there's little more I can do tonight about Tork, I'm sure you'll understand. So, why don't you tell me now? What's your name, and what are you doing at the Wilwarin? Pixies aren't exactly a common sight 'round here."

Midori nodded to his name. "Sinitar it is then." the young fairy said as Sinitar continued to go on taking quite a few pauses. It made Midori wonder why he did but kept it to himself. As Sinitar finished about Tork, the fairy had mental pains going through his body thinking about the pounding Sinitar just went through.

Listen to the end of the asking the human infront of him had said. "I'm not a pixie, I'm a fairy! There is a differance! .....Sorry sorry. My name is Midori. Common no, I myself, hate this city a lot. But I really got no where to go myself. I just linger around wandering. I have this feeling like I have to go somewhere, but I am not sure where." Midori finished up twirling his hair with his finger and looking down. With his other hand in a spinning motion he made the plant behind him move a bit for fun. He liked to do this.