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In the day and a half they have known each other, Nott the Brave has come up with many words to describe Caleb Widogast.
Stinky. Shit-covered (technically two words, but she doesn't care—it's true). Clumsy. Nervous. Pathetic. Downtrodden. Lonely.
Sad.
It's been a while since Nott has interacted with other beings past picking their pockets, but she is excellent at reading people—she has to be, if she wants to avoid anyone who might try and hurt her, and the list is long.
Nott read the Caleb the moment he grabbed the hem of her jacket and begged for his tattered little pouch back. He had no ill intentions; he didn't even seem to want to hurt her, just wanted his things so he could summon that ghost cat. He was so desperate to see his pet again, and it didn't even work.
Now, as Nott sits on an upturned crate in a dingy alley just a few blocks from the weird pet store she and Caleb robbed the evening before, sipping from her flask and watching the man carefully count his meager components, the reward poster she tore from its wall burns a hundred-thousand-gold-sized hole in her pocket. There's no limit to the amount of booze she could buy with money like that. She could get a room at an inn for a week, or a month! She could send some home. Maybe it could even be enough to bribe—
Caleb makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, and Nott is shaken from her fantasies to see him still staring at the pitiful little pile of straw and string with a defeated expression on his face. He certainly doesn't look like someone who has such a large bounty on his head for murder; he hardly looks like he could strangle a butterfly.
And he had put his hand on her shoulder, gently, stared straight into her eyes like she was an equal rather than a creature to be feared, and told her his name. He doesn't seem like a powerful, murderous mage, just a sad, sad man. The saddest man Nott thinks she's ever met.
She knows she has to weigh her options carefully, but right now, helping Caleb seems like the right thing to do. After all, he can do magic, even if it's small and sparkly instead of large and awe-striking. And he wants revenge. Nott knows a lot about wanting revenge. Maybe they can help each other a bit, and then Nott will make her decision.
"Are you ready to go?" Caleb asks as he slips his last bit of hay into his pouch and cinches it shut. Nott nods and moves to take one last swig from her flask, only to find it woefully empty. Again. She grumbles and shoves it into her jacket pocket, then moves to slide off the crate. But her foot catches on the bottom edge, and she pitches forward with a startled squeak.
A large hand shoots out and grabs her arm before she hits the dirt, hauling her up and righting her in a single motion. Nott yelps and jerks away, and Caleb lets go immediately, pulling his hand to his chest like he's been burned.
"Es tut mir leid," he mumbles, and Nott doesn't know what that means, but she waves him off anyway.
"It's fine, it's not your fault, I'm—" she huffs. "Let's just go."
She dons her mask and hood and slips past Caleb, careful not to touch him. As she leaves the alley, she hears him sigh and follow.
Their destination is "The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities," according to the flyer Caleb showed her, a place he said would have the components he needs to do more magic. Nott knows where it is; she watched them set up on the outskirts of town a few nights back. Even managed to steal a couple bottles of whiskey from one of the trailers, but those didn't last long, and she didn't want to poke around anymore once the place got crowded.
It's nearing late afternoon and the streets aren't very crowded, but Nott keeps her head down and her guard up, walking quickly. She hates being so out in the open, yearns for the safety of an alley or rooftop. but she can't abandon the clumsy human still trailing her. But what he lacks in agility he certainly makes up for in stealth. Every once in a while Nott swivels an ear to listen and make sure Caleb hasn't fallen behind, and though his footsteps are distinct, they are also nearly silent. She glances back only once and almost doesn't see him at first; he moves like a skittish cat, slinking from darkened corners to shadowy doorways so quickly she would have trouble tracking him if she didn't have excellent vision.
They're almost to the bridge that leads to the main road out of town when she sees it out of the corner of her eye: a small building with a wind-beaten wooden sign that reads "Whistling Wolf Tavern." Her fingers twitch toward the empty flask in her pocket and she stops so suddenly Caleb nearly trips to avoid running into her.
"Nott, what—" he cuts off as he obviously notices the sign. "Ah. Did you run out already?" His tone is curious but not disapproving, which Nott will find time to dwell on later, when she can focus on anything besides the empty container on her hip.
"Um, Caleb." Nott feels almost ashamed asking again so soon; after all, he already got her some, and she promised she would help. But the fear is already starting to come back, and they're about to be around so many people, and—
"Do you need more?" He's smiling at her, a soft expression that could be pity but leans more toward genuine empathy, and Nott doesn't… know what to do. So she nods.
"Please. I'll do a really good job finding you the things you need, I promise—"
Caleb waves a hand. "I know. Don't worry. Stay here."
Then he's gone, the front door of the tavern already swinging shut behind him. Nott settles herself in the adjoining alley to wait.
She doesn't know what happens—maybe she dozed off somehow, after the excitement of the past twenty-four hours, or maybe she just wasn't paying enough attention—but suddenly a rough hand wraps around her throat and slams her against the rough stone wall.
"I found you, goblin." The man is human, with dark eyes and rotten breath, and he squeezes her throat a little tighter as she wheezes and struggles. "I saw you skulkin' about the market yesterday. Lookin' to nip a little silver from hard-working folk, or maybe steal their kin?"
Nott blanches. She wouldn't, she would never—well, the silver bit, yeah, but not—
"Or maybe you're lookin' to get your fix?" The man jabs with his other hand somewhere to her right. "Casin' out the butcher shop? I know it's just cattle and pork, and not babies, but—"
Nott manages to free her dagger from her belt and stabs the man in the arm. He screams and drops her, and she hits the dirt and rolls, hooking her foot around his ankle. He goes down hard, and Nott wastes no time, darting toward the street, but she's not fast enough. The man grabs the back of her hood and yanks, and then Nott is back on the ground, and he's over her, both hands on her throat this time.
"Listen here, you little rat," he snarls. Nott scrabbles at his arms with her claws, but it makes no difference. "You're not gonna come here and terrorize the people of this town. Your kind is nothing but—"
"I would stop there." Caleb's voice might just be the most beautiful sound Nott has ever heard. She can just see him over the man's shoulder, silhouetted in the mouth of the alley like a skinny avenging angel, and she tries to call his name but chokes.
"None of your business, friend," the man says, his tone suddenly far too polite for the situation. "Just taking care of some trash." He tightens his grip further, and Nott's vision dims.
"I said stop."
What Nott will only realize later, when she can breathe again without feeling shattered glass in her throat, is that she never actually saw Caleb move. The alley is stunningly silent for a moment before the first flames flicker into existence on the man's shirtsleeve. He reels back, trying to bat out the blaze as it spreads down his arm faster than any natural fire should. By the time he manages to tear his shirt from his body, parts of the sleeve have literally melted into his flesh in patches of bright red and charred black. The man weeps, his good hand hovering over his ruined arm. Nott's own hands drift to her damaged throat, and the man's eyes suddenly dart toward her, shiny with pain and rage. Shit.
"Caleb!" She can barely speak, forcing the two syllables out with a rough cough. She stumbles toward him, but he doesn't even look at her. He stares into the middle distance, his eyes dull and expression frighteningly blank. His hands are shaking. This is different from his desperation when she took his pouch, or his grief after his cat disappeared. He's empty—his body is here in the alley, but his mind is somewhere far, far away.
And it scares Nott shitless.
She shoves bodily at Caleb's middle until he finally budges with a quiet oof, then grabs his trembling hand and bolts. Caleb lets her drag him out of the alley, over the bridge, and into a small thicket just off the roadside. There, in the shade of the trees, Caleb sinks to his knees, his shoulders wracked with silent sobs as he covers his face with dirty fingers.
Nott hasn't comforted anyone in a long time, and she's afraid she might have forgotten how. Besides, goblins aren't exactly the most reassuring of creatures. But despite the fact they haven't known each other very long, and the fact Caleb might be a dangerous murderer or something, Nott likes him. He's treated her with kindness, and he has someone he's lost too.
She slowly extends a hand until her fingers are just brushing his knee, and when he doesn't move away or slap her or do anything at all really, she reaches up to gently pull one of his hands from his face, and he lets her. His eyes are bloodshot, his face red, and Nott only barely stops herself from instinctively brushing his tears away with her thumbs.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, "for getting into trouble. Thank you for saving me."
Caleb seems almost confused, his brows furrowing. He looks down at their entwined fingers but doesn't let go. "I could not just let him hurt you. You do not deserve that."
It's the kindest thing anyone has said to Nott in years. She sniffles, winces as her throat throbs. "I…"
"Here." Caleb finally lets go of her hand and reaches somewhere inside his jacket, pulling out a small brown bottle. "It was all I could afford, I apologize if it is not enough—"
Nott hugs him. He freezes, then melts into her, wrapping his arms around her. For a few minutes, they just cling to one another. Finally, Nott pulls away slowly and stands up, offering her hand. "Let's go see what that carnival has to offer, Caleb Widogast."
He takes it and gives her a small, watery smile. "After you, Nott the Brave."