When Rowan woke up he noticed six things.

One, someone’s knocking on the door.

Two, he was naked.

Three, there was a stranger sleeping beneath him on his living room floor.

Four, said stranger was also naked.

Five, the one knocking was Marian. How did he know?

“Hey! Rowan are you in there?! Miss Rotwall said she heard screaming! Are you okay?!”

Because he was yelling too. Rowan did not intend to open the door or answer just yet. Why?

Six, the area closest to the door and anything within tossing range looked like a murder scene.

‘Groan…’

A very enthusiastic murder scene. There’s blood on the ceiling. Blood and other things.

“...Oh, you’re awake- mphmh?!”

Rowan covered the stranger’s mouth. No time for conversation. Shock first, stranger time afterwards. Where was he? Ah, right, a very enthusiastic murder scene with a stranger naked on the floor, also covered in blood and… other things, and Rowan had no idea how he ended up in this situation.

“Rowan?!”

Marian was sounding more worried now.

“Mhrmhmpm!!”

The stranger was clawing at his hands and trying to scramble away from either Rowan or the door, a venture that didn’t really work out seeing how he was still pinned beneath the artist with a hand on his mouth. How did this happen…

“I’m breaking down the door!”

Shock time over. Initiate panic time.

“MHHHHH!?!?!”

The stranger didn’t respond well to being suddenly lifted up and carried across the room at a run. Were those bite marks? Rowan blinked, and the bite marks were gone. Guess not.

‘CRASH’

The stranger let out a choked scream, almost loud enough to be heard past Rowan’s hand. Oh dear, Marian is actually breaking down the door. With magic.

‘CRASH’

Rowan tossed the stranger through the door to his bedroom onto the bed. The next crash of magic hitting the front door drowned out the scream. What now… Think, think…

‘CRASH’

No time for think, go with instinct.

“I’M RUBBING ONE OUT OKAY! STOP!” He yelled.

“...”

Magic assault stopped. Pride in ruins. Marian possibly weirded out beyond saving.

“Give me one reason not to blast the door down and then hit you with one!”

Yup, definitely ruined. Marian was pissed. Answer him you doofus.

“Give me five minutes to get dressed first!”

Great answer. No answer from Marian. Wait where did the redhead go? No time for redhead. Clothes. Rowan dove for a pile of junk near a desk, found a pair of pants, then paused and swore as he noticed he was way too covered in blood to pull any kind of innocent but weird excuse off, pants or no pants. New plan.

Rowan abandoned the junk pile, flew up on his feet, skidded to a halt, dove back at the junk pile to bring the pants anyway, then tossed them at the couch and headed for the kitchen area. Without thinking the plan through he grabbed the water barrel, the big one, and heaved. Barrel half the size of a man went up, then the water in it went crashing down. Onto Rowan.

He heard the door to his bedroom close as he blinked water out of his eyes. No time for mysterious stranger. He glared down at his hands to check if the water did the trick or not. Most of the blood came off, but traces of it still remained beneath his nails and on his hands. Did he tear a chicken apart limb for limb? Hopefully it was Herman.

Rowan rubbed at the few traces of darkened blood and filth he could reach, checked his chest and legs, then rubbed at them and his face just in case. Naked can be explained, murder scene cannot. Wait there’s no corpse… Is there a corpse?

“Done yet?!”

Corpse can be found later. New plan, don’t let Marian into house.

“Coming!”

Rowan made for the door, spun on his heel and nearly fell halfway there, went back for the pants, then turned towards the door again once dressed enough for minimum social interaction. He paused right as he was about to grab the handle, then spun around and scanned the room. There was far too much blood and filth around. What the hell happened?

“ROWAN!”

Questions for later. He swung open the door, then quickly stepped out and pulled it shut again before Marian could look past him into the house. The affronted priest stumbled back and gave Rowan a look that clearly asked if he’d lost his mind. Before Rowan could argue that no, he had not, Marian’s face shifted and he knew he’d already decided that yes, he had. The priest folded his arms and just glared, as if expectations were expected, but wouldn’t be accepted. Rowan stared back, feeling his face flush and the world spin just a little. Must have been all the running.

“I can explain.” Good start.

“What time is it Rowan?” Wait what?

Rowan blinked, then looked up at the sky. The sun was setting. Oh no. Oh no he was supposed to deliver the statue today. Wasn’t it morning just a moment ago? What the hell- Marian cleared his throat.

“I uh… It’s sunset. I’m sorry.”

Marian did not seem impressed, so Rowan continued, feeling his hope slowly die.

“And the reason why....” He paused. Marian raised a brow and waved for him to continue.

“The reason why is……. Something uh… I… Chicken…”

“...Chicken?” Marian grimanced. Not a good sign.

“-...Died in my house. I think.”

Silence.

“You think?”

“Maybe.” Rowan was at a loss for words, he had nothing. No way to explain what was going on. Marian finally snapped, in the worst possible way. He frowned with disappointment, disgust, and a slight twinge of pity. Then he spoke, thank the gods. If he’d just ended it with that Rowan would have actually considered killing a chicken.

“What did you take?”

“What?” The question stumped him. Marian pressed on, arms still folded.

“What, did you, take?”

Rowan just stared. What? Marian stared him down like a mother trying to make a child confess. When no confession came, his face softened and grew concerned.

“Did someone make you eat something? Drink something? Rowan you’re pupils are the size of buttons and you reek. What happened?”

The comment about his eyes made Rowan feared his curse was acting up, which made him slap a hand over one of his eyes as if that would hide it. The motion made the world spin a bit faster and he nearly tripped backwards. Marian was there at once to catch him. Rowan stumbled and felt as if his bones all decided to boycott him at the same time. Marian helped him lean against the door, but stayed close in case he lost his balance again.

First now did Rowan notice the priest was wearing his official attire. The gold gilded blindfold hung around his neck and his white hair had been tied up with a crown of glistening nails set up like a sun around the high ponytail. A golden band held a lantern shaped medallion beneath his collarbone and the long white sleeves of silk shone slightly in the late sun light. The wooden staff stood leaned against the wall, lantern lit and shedding a gentle yellow light on the slightly singed wall of Rowan’s house. And he’d apparently given up on the beard and shaved it off again. Rowan felt the wood of his door crunch slightly as he shifted, surface charred from Marian’s earlier magical assault.

“You look like shit. Let’s go inside.”

“No!”

Rowan jerked forwards and grabbed Marian’s shoulders before he could reach for the door. Bloody room was a no go. The priest blinked and gave Rowan a questioning look. Rowan swallowed and quickly tried to explain, in a way that wouldn’t make Marian think he murdered someone.

“My place looks like shit.”

“Your place always looks like shit.”

“More than usual. A chicken really might have died in there.”

Marian kept staring at him, probably pondering if he should believe him or not. Rowan desperately hoped he would.

“...Fine. To Miss Rotwall then.”

Marian grabbed Rowan under the arm and heaved him up, struggling slightly with the weight, then grabbed his staff with his free hand. Rowan stumbled up obediently and went along with the priest down the street. He had a feeling he was forgetting something.

Herman greeted the pair as they approached with a shriek that could shatter eardrums on a bad day. Rowan noticed right then that it was a bad day, and the shrill cry made his already spinning head do flips inside his skull. Marian flicked a finger at it, which lobbed a globule of gentle light in the rooster’s direction. The bird shaped terror let out a affronted hiss and hopped back in alarm. Margret’s door swung open before they could get close enough to knock.

“Marian, you know I love you like a misguided bastard son, but please, don’t bully my rooster.”

Margret smiled from her door, grey eyes twinkling. Marian ignored the comment and rooster and went straight to the point.

“Rowan’s drugged or something, can you help?”

The old lady’s smile remained, but her eyes gained something sharp for a second.

“Drugged? You sure he’s not just sick, boy? Though I guess you have enough experience in that department to know don’t you? Come in come in.”

Margret waved a hand and disappeared back inside her home before Marian could answer the retort. He kept his mouth in a tight line as he helped Rowan inside.

The home of Margret was a sight to behold. It was dark, cozy, and full of stuff in a way that made it feel well stacked, rather than cluttered. She kept shelves of containers and jars along nearly all wall space. What few spots of wall not covered by shelves were adorned with tapestries and painted pelts. Dried or drying herbs hung from the ceiling, along with a number of odd and odder decorations. Some might be tools or ingredients, but Rowan had a definite feeling a mummified frog in a glass jar was more for aesthetic than for any form of use. Of course he couldn’t tell for sure, alchemy and the like was far from his area of expertise.

Margret sat down in a red couch facing the fireplace in the middle of one wall. A sofa and another couch stood on next to it, creating a small half circle facing the fire. The old woman waved a hand at the pair to sit down without actually looking at them, pale eyes staring off towards the fire blindly.

Marian leaned his staff against the empty coach, then guided Rowan over to sit with him on the sofa. Margret waited for them to be seated, then spoke.

“So, drugs and mischief is it?”

“Something like it. He didn’t turn up at the church today so I went to look for him. You said you heard screaming when I went past your place and when I finally get him to come out he’s soaked, half naked, and can barely keep his balance.” Marian’s explanation made Rowan’s face heat up. Margret gave him a knowing wink. He wasn’t sure what for.

“Mischief and drugs then. Was he alone?”

“I’m right here you know,” Rowan remarked sourly.

“And high as a kite on a changeling’s perfume,” Margret retorted. That made Marian sit up and stare at her in alarm, then at Rowan who felt the color drain from his face. The golden trinkets shined a bit brighter as the fire flickered. Margret clicked her tongue and shut Marian off as he tried to speak.

“No priesting in my home Marian. Alchemy acts up when coupled with divine powers, and I have far too many ingredients that would spoil if you started lobbing weaponized prayers around.”

“And the goddess doesn’t like my rooster,” she added when Marian leaned back again. Rowan almost expected the feathered disaster to come screeching through the room at the mere mention of it, but the bird was nowhere to be seen. Somehow that unnerved him more.

Margret didn’t seem to notice either of the other two’s discomfort, or she simply ignored it. The old alchemist stood up and dusted off her skirt, then explained that she would start brewing tea or something. Rowan didn’t pay attention. Now that he was no longer running about in a panic he had finally noticed how sore and drained he felt, despite just waking up minutes ago. His muscles ached as if he’d run a mile, a sign he didn’t like at all since he usually felt that way after waking up after a change. Had he changed? In his house? And who was the redheaded guy he’d woken up next to- no on top of. Just thinking about it made his head spin. He couldn’t make sense of it.

The dizziness doubled all at once when Margret stuck a steaming cup in front of his face. The bitter herbal scent made his nose sting and his eyes water. He flinched away without thinking and practically crushed Marian into the armrest of the sofa. The startled priest let out a grunt and pushed back, jewelry clattering at the sudden movement. Margret didn’t so much as blink.

“Oh my, a bit too strong? My bad my bad.” Margret smiled in a way that made Rowan’s skin crawl, though he didn’t know why. It felt like she’d looked through him for a second there.

The old alchemist stepped back with the cup and went to pour something into it. The suffocatingly strong scent of the brew faded as she did. To both artist and priest’s horror the old woman also plucked down the bottle with the mummified frog in it. She uncorked it and shook it over her hand until dried flakes and crumpled parts fell out. Marian stuttered a protest as she made to drop the frog bits into the cup, to which Margret simply replied, “Do you want me to whip out the leeches instead? I got some lichen ones crawling about somewhere.”

Both men shook their heads.

“You sure? They’re nice and chewy.”

More shaking, quicker this time.

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. The questionable looking frog parts went into the cup, which let out a low hiss. Once the hiss quited down Margret strode back over to hand Rowan the cup. The green liquid within bubbled slightly, slowly, suspiciously. He could see something floating around just beneath the surface. Rowan gave Margret a pleading look while Marian stared intently at a bushel of herbs hanging the opposite direction of the mystery brew.

“One chug, pulp and all,” she instructed. Rowan heard Marian gag. Margret pushed the cup into his hands. He eyed the cup one last time, then closed his eyes and chugged it back in one swift motion, trying his best not to pay attention to the smell or the way the deceptively thin looking liquid caught on his teeth like a thick soup would. He felt it come back up almost immediately and had to fight to swallow it back down. Margret watched the struggle intently, then smiled kindly.

“All down? Good. Now get out of my house, I have work to do.”

Marian blinked. “But the changeling-”

“Is none of my business,” she countered. Marian flushed and stood up to argue.

“It’s every child of Katrina’s duty-”

“And neither is it yours,” she cut off again. “Now come along, to the door you go.”

She waltzed over and grabbed Rowan by the arm, then with surprising strength she pulled him up and started herding both men towards the door without letting Marian finish a single sentence. The priest was growing visibly agitated by it.

“You can’t just let a enemy of man-”

“Tonight is the time of Uuhn, it is no time of man in a woman’s house during Her night. Now shoo, be gone.”

“But-”

The door slammed in Marian’s face and caught Rowan’s heel as he stumbled out after him. Both stood silent after that, Marian glaring holes in Margret’s door, Rowan rubbing his heel where the door clipped him. The dizziness had all but disappeared. It had left behind a odd feeling of being too hot and too cold at the same time. The disorienting feeling made him nauseous enough to just want to sit down again. At least his head had cleared up somewhat. In the distance the full moon was replacing the light of the setting sun.

“...So uh..”

“Tell me about the changeling.” Marian kept glaring at the door, but now his some of his attention changed direction towards Rowan instead. The priest seemed dead set on finding out what happened. Rowan cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I don’t uh… I just bumped into someone on the street. I think. It’s fuzzy…”

“The person was fuzzy?” Marian turned around and gave the artist a disbelieving look. Rowan flushed and quickly corrected himself.

“No, the memory. It’s been a haze since.” The priest’s face softened again.

“When was this?” He asked.

“Sometime this morning I think. Woke up back in my apartment with no clothes and uh… Blood… on the floor.” Rowan felt bad for lying, but putting bits of truth in there made the lie easier to make up at least. He couldn’t let Marian figure out what actually might have happened. Did he hurt the redheaded man? He’d seemed fine when he tossed him into the bedroom right? He couldn’t remember…

Marian bit his lip in thought.

“You said something about a chicken?”

Oh, right…

“Aaah… Yes. Feathers. Lots of feathers. Chicken feathers.” Crap.

Marian nodded and stroked his chin in thought.

“Show me,” he demanded, eyes set as he looked back up at Rowan. Oh no. Rowan tried not to fidget as he struggled to come up with a reason not to let the priest see the mess in his house.

“It’s ah, erhm… it’s a mess. I really wouldn’t…”

“Rowan, I’m a priest. It’s my job to make sure this settlement is kept safe from monsters. I can’t do that if you hide things like this from me.”

That stung, but he couldn’t do what Marian asked. No matter how much he liked the man, there were things he absolutely had to keep secret from him. That stung even more.

“Sorry Marian… It’s just, It’s a real mess in there and it really isn’t anything to see. Just blood and some feathers. I’m sorry.”

Marian’s mouth pressed into a thin line, then he turned away.

“Marian…”

“Where’s my staff?

“Sta- still with Margret I think.” Right as the words left his mouth they both heard Margret’s door close. When they turned the staff stood leaned against the wall. Neither had heard the door open, nor seen anything move. Marian stood quite for a moment, then went over and grabbed his staff and said coldly,

“Tell me if you change your mind. Changelings are dangerous.”

Feeling a cold lump settle in his stomach, Rowan tried to come up with something to keep the priest from leaving.

“That statue-”

“Already picked it up at Clark’s.”

Rowan’s heart sunk further. He opened his mouth again, but no words came to mind. Marian gave him one last look, then put on his ceremonial blindfold and straightened his back.

“I’ll see you around Rowan.”

The priest left without waiting for a reply, leaving Rowan to stand defeated outside Margret’s house. He watched him go silently for a few seconds, then felt frustration well up. Rowan swore and spun, fist leaving large cracks in Margret’s wall where clay flaked off of bent logs.

“Five seconds Rowan,” he heard the old alchemist yell from inside. Rowan yelled a apology and turned around to jog back to his own house with his tail between his legs.

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot!” He grumbled to himself the entire way there, feeling sick from both frog tea and the wreck of a conversation he’d had with Marian. Herman waited for him outside his door, black arse planted on the ground like a misinformed guard dog. It’s yellow little eyes stare towards the door, but as Rowan paused a few feet away from it the rooster’s head did a nearly ninety degree turn to stare him down. The rooster let out a sound not too far off from a snort, stood up, then waltzed off to go harass someone else.

Rowan watched the bird go, feeling the urge to punch through a wall return again. He fought the urge back as best he could and ripped open his door instead. He used a bit too much force, and winced as the hinges hissed. His mood remained sour as he stomped inside and kicked the door shut behind him again. As soon as the door smacked shut a paint bucket hit the side of his head with enough force to flatten a chicken.