Until, suddenly, a conscious thought actually wormed its way through the wall of surging emotion, and all Widdershins could think was, Oh, gods, I must be such a mess! Somehow, the fact that she'd been badly wounded, and unconscious for most of a day, didn't feel like much of an excuse.
It was Olgun-and wasn't it always? — who guided her back to an even keel. A faint surge of undifferentiated emotion, the equivalent of a gentle cough, was enough to grab her attention. From there, she felt as though she were briefly floating in what she could only describe as a pool of calm, cooling the extremes of her emotional turmoil and lingering pain both.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, this time too low for any mortal ears in the room-and Olgun could certainly have never doubted that her thanks were for more than just that moment.
Widdershins took a deep breath, felt her heart slow to something vaguely resembling its normal rate, and tore her rapt attention from Julien's face (or at least the vicinity thereof) to take in her surroundings. Indeed, she recognized his office, now, as she'd been there a time or two before. The same rickety chairs; the same cheap desk that seemed about ready to collapse beneath the tectonic shifting of the parchment continents moving about its surface; the same oily lamps that added an acrid tang to the air and had stained the walls a color that wasn't really gray, but wasn't really any other color even more than it wasn't really gray. All that had changed was the mattress on which she now lay.
Well, that and the truly motley assortment of individuals currently gathered in said office.
Individuals who…Widdershins blinked, puzzled, wondering if she remained dazed enough to be so severely misinterpreting what she saw. Both Renard and Robin were glaring at Julien Bouniard with a simmering anger; what could, indeed, have almost been hatred! From Renard, Widdershins could have dismissed it. The flamboyant thief, for all his bravado, had to be made a little uneasy just standing here in the heart of his enemy's domain. But Robin? What could Julien possibly have done to earn Robin's ire?
Perhaps sensing Widdershins's confusion, if not the underpinning reasons for it, Julien gently released her hand and took a half step back from her side.
“Better count your fingers,” Renard warned, casting a sidelong grin at Widdershins that almost hid the growl of genuine hostility underlying his words.
“Oh, please,” Widdershins huffed. “I wouldn't steal from Bouniard.” Her own grin went impish. “Until I was well enough to escape, anyway.”
Julien snorted back a laugh. “Whatever issues I may have with your friend here,” he said, “he hasn't left your side since he arrived. He says he's something important to tell you.”
Three faces swiveled toward Renard, then, who blinked, looked askance at Robin, and then back at the young woman on the mattress.
“I trust her,” Widdershins said simply.
“I'm sure you do,” Renard began, “but-”
“I trust her. Completely. Out with it.”
Robin beamed, tenderly brushing a strand of sweat-matted hair from Widdershins's forehead.
“Well…All right. Widdershins, there's been some talk going around the Finders.”
“Yeah? Wow. Good thing I'm already lying down, or else I'd probably fall-”
“Talk about you, my little jester.”
“Still not being shocked here, Renard.”
“Talk that you just murdered a couple of Finders.”
“What?!”
It took a bit of time to calm things down after that. Widdershins needed a few minutes to recover from the surge of pain in her shoulder brought about when she shot to her feet (or attempted to). Bouniard had to speak to several of his fellow Guardsmen, assuring them that no, they had not in fact just heard someone being violently assaulted within the walls of their own headquarters. And thankfully, by the time all that was done, Robin had recovered most of the hearing in her right ear.
“Who do these people think they are?!” Widdershins was lying back, and her voice was substantially softer, but neither fact was preventing her from giving the rant everything she had. “What am I, the guild's designated scapegoat? ‘Something's gone wrong, must be Widdershins's fault!’ ‘Uh-oh, it's raining, must be Widdershins's fault!’ ‘Stubbed my toe! Curse that Widdershins!’”
“Uh, Shins?” Robin began. “Maybe-”
“This was supposed to get better once Lisette was gone! But noooo, I still have a target painted on my soul's butt!”
“Widdershins,” Julien said, “I think-”
“All right, so I messed up one job! But it was dumb! And it wouldn't have worked anyway, and it would've brought the Guard down on us! And-”
“Widdershins!” Both Robin and Julien, this time.
“Well…it's all I've done lately. How long can they hold a grudge, anyway?” She crossed her arms with a genuine hmph, as though daring anyone to answer. “All right, fine. I've done a lot. So if there's plenty to blame me for, why does the world always insist on getting me in hot water for stuff I didn't do, hmm? Seems like a stupid amount of effort to go through, yes?”
Robin, Julien, and Renard all waited, presumably to be certain she was done. Then, as she began to draw breath-suggesting, perhaps, that she wasn't done-her fellow Finder spoke up, apparently determined to head her off before she built up any further momentum.
“There's a witness,” he told her.
“What?” Not a screech this time, but more of a faint squeak, as Widdershins seemed to deflate or even flatten rather like a mouse in a grain mill.
“Simon Beaupre.”
Widdershins was able, this time, to keep herself from sitting bolt upright and stressing her injuries even further. She settled, instead, for squeezing her eyes shut against what promised to become an incipient headache. “Squirrel.”
“Squirrel?” Robin and Julien asked simultaneously.
“That's him,” Renard said.
“I'm gonna kill him!” Widdershins promised.
Several chuckles answered her. “Maybe not the best thing to say when he's the one accusing you of murder,” Renard pointed out.
“Or in front of the Guard,” Julien added.
“Oh, both of you shut up.” Then, “Renard, I didn't kill anyone, and I don't know what Squirrel's talking about, though I can take a pretty good guess as to why he's trying to blame it on me.” Another pause, as she squirmed beneath the questioning expressions of Julien and Robin. “I, uh, sort of interfered with a job he was trying to pull. You…” She offered the Guardsman a weak, limp sort of smile. “You, uh, were sort of there for part of it.”
Julien's face stiffened. “I think you'd probably better not go into any further detail, before I hear something I'll have to act on.”
“Yeah, I was just thinking that.”
Robin looked at her, at Julien, at Renard. “Guess there's a reason you thieves don't plan anything with Guardsmen in the room, huh? Umm…” It was her turn to wither beneath the weight of several unamused glowers. “Maybe you guys should keep doing most of the talking.”
“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Julien asked the world at large. Widdershins-who knew, for once, when not to make a snide comment-just nodded her sympathy.
“I never for a moment believed you a murderer, Widdershins,” Renard assured her, with a borderline melodramatic hand over his heart. “More importantly, neither do the Shrouded Lord or the taskmaster.”
Widdershins felt the fist that had closed around her lungs relax its hold just a bit, and nearly gasped aloud.
“There's a lot of pressure from the ranks of the Finders to question you-you're, let's say, not popular in some quarters…”
“You don't say?”
“…so I can't promise you that there won't be repercussions. And I'd definitely watch my back while out alone, were I you. Actually, I wouldn't go out alone, were I you.”