Strel had been futile in his attempts to find Niro, who for the better part eluded him. It was not known to him that the man had been injured, but that he had found himself (another) bottle of some spicy rum that he was sure to enjoy. Before, they had drunk together and laughed, and enjoyed the late summer sun before the war began. Or was it during? He couldn't quite recall but he did recall that Niro enjoyed the drink. He had been gone for a while, and now that he was back the redhead thought he would call upon his drinking buddy and see if they couldn't get up to some sort of mischief together under the influence of alcohol. It might even make him feel like he wasn't a five year old, going on six, man with nothing going for him other than a high rank in an older pack. Pretending was fun, that was for sure.

And he had to get the stupid out of his system. Well, only until he knew for sure that Ahiga was not coming. For now, he had to get it all out of his system and pretend that the boy was actually going to show up at the borders sooner or later. So, he pulled out the bottle of spice rum from his dresser, carefully avoiding it clinking with the other bottles nestled in the bed of scrap cloth. He dusted it off, needlessly, and tucked it under his arm as he gripped the neck. Well, Niro ought not be hard to find, for certain. He took the flight of stairs down, passing by his tied up studio doors. The sign on it had been found somewhere in Lunenburg and he swore it said "Private", though the rest of the words he didn't bother to spend an eternity deciphering. Stepping out into the dying light, the man gazed at the fence, wondering where Niro was.

Strelein swiveled around to face the man who called to him. He blinked in surprise at the man sitting in the seat, bandaged up and all banged around. Strel pursed his lips, wondering what on earth happened this guy, again. "You look like shit," he said roughly, setting a hand on his hip as his other hand clutched at the bottle of spiced rum. "Who did you piss off this time, boyo?" he said, shaking his head at the man. He figured that after one beating, a man would learn better than to piss other people off. Hell, once scorned was a good lesson for any man or woman. Then again, after so many years, plenty of people were still making the same mistakes over and over again. He was one of them, but that was besides the point.

Shaking the bottle, the liquid sloshing about into the neck of the glass bottle. "I brought something to ease the pain and embarrassment." He handed the other man the bottle to look at, since he was the one who knew how to read and how to understand the human language. "I figured you'd like something nice. Getting your ass kicked deserves something nice, and I found this little beauty laying around waiting for a special occasion." That and the fact that he wanted to thank the man for his help. If it was not for Niro's assistance, then he never would have been able to know what Ahiga's message had said. And if he had not known, then perhaps he would be wallowing in darkness for months more till he gave out entirely.

Strel scoffed a little bit, shaking his head at the man's words. "I could have told you that and it would have sounded a lot more magical," Granted, he could still see the look that came across the man's face, and let his own face blossom with a smile that was its equal. Strel could see that this had made the man's day, to be presented with a drink like this. He was probably bored off his mind sitting outside the hotel with nothing to do and nothing going on. Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, the Dauphin shook his head. "I don't care, it's not like you're diseased. You just possess the weird ability to piss people off. Not like that can rub off on me," he said with a lopsided grin. Strel knew he possessed the same ability but he had the blessing of escaping scrapes.

The redheaded tailor snorted at Niro, rolling his eyes at him. "Yes, and I am an adorably fluffy kitten." Strel settled himself at the man's feet with a light groan as he looked up at the man, though it was not too far up considering the redhead's height. "Let me get that for you, ya cripple," he said, pulling open the bottle. His teeth wedged into the cork and pulled it out. He spat the cork away, watching it roll and bounce along the green grass lawn and under a bush. He handed it to the man, waiting for him to take a drink of it.

Strel snorted loudly, laughing out loud at the man's silly words. He rubbed at his nose, trying in vain to disguise his laughter at the other man. "You probably should put that bottle down if you're going to say things like that with only a baby's gulp of it in your belly," he said gruffly, leaning back onto his arms as he peered at Niro. A good drink was definitely something that the man needed and it was something that the redhead was more than happy to provide. If more alcohol disappeared from his rooms, he would not say anything against it. It just meant that there was a little less for him to be exposed to and weak against. Those bottles kept disappearing and he kept losing days of his life to the memory loss and probably from the damage he was doing to his only body.

The Sadira rolled the bottle neck between his fingers, looking down the neck to the brownish liquid inside. He sniffled at it, then took a drink of it. It burned on the way down but he hardly flinched at it anymore. It was a familiar burn to him now and it was nothing to care about at all. "Ahh. I knew it was a good one!" he said with a happy smacking of the lips as he handed off the bottle with a contented grin. "I assume you approve?" he asked, tilting his head at the man inquisitively. "I know you have a woman and two children, so better keep your honey words to yourself, my friend."

He furrowed his brows at the man. "What, didn't they give you some herb mush to drink? That's what they give don't they?" He had never really needed a good dose of healing for anything. He had never broken a finger or a foot, never had his toes crushed or his body racked with claws or fangs. The worst he had ever done was step on needles or poke himself when sewing. Niro seemed to need a splint or a bandage every time he saw him. What did they do to him all the time? He probably liked the poisonous teas healers knew how to make, that smelled like a three week dead cat and tasted like one soaked in brine.

Strel grinned slightly, nodding at the man's approval for the choice of drink. Strel was not much of a picky drinker, though he found he had a fondness for rum and for spiced drinks from the summer islands. It was a nice drink to warm his belly when life seemed at its coldest. But the other man's question forced a frown onto his face as he pulled the warped bottle to his chest and tapped the glass. He looked at it, then back up at Niro before taking a long drink. Finished with his overzealous sampling, he handed off the bottle, smacking his lips as though it was a sweet treat. "Oh, I'm fine. I went off to talk to him and convinced him to come out here. Well..," he paused, looking to the gates. "I hope I convinced him." He gestured with his fingers all of a sudden, showing the change he had seen. "But you would not believe how much weight he had lost since I saw him last. It was insane. You think I'm thin? At least I was born this way!" He shook his head, wondering what that boy did to himself.

Strel winced as he stared at the severed pinky. It was just a stump and the man could hardly figure out how it felt to have it severed. He shivered and the man looked away from the stump. "That is disturbing," he said, shaking his head. He had never knew of any herbs that could cure the pain of the heart or the pain of the soul. And from what it sounded like, there were no herbs strong enough that would numb all of Niro's pain. Strel felt sorry for the man, especially considering that only alcohol seemed to do the job. Silly healers and their herbs. There was no replacement for booze!

The redhead snorted, then rolled his eyes. "If that boy starts to think that way, I'll eat a bobbin." The world was starting to roll a bit, and things seemed hazier. That meant the booze was starting to work into his blood, and he was feeling the happy buzz. It was going to be a while before he would find a reason to drink (or even a chance to do it alone). Ahiga had to see the face of a responsible adult. And Strel had to pretend he was one.

"It's more like I need to make him hunt for himself. I can only get rabbits and stuff, that won't fatten up a man almost my size and thicker than me." Strel sighed, feeling the alcohol course through him. "God.. you look so weird without your mohawk. You need.. need more color on yah." His words were starting to slur a bit, and he smiled a big dopey grin.

He shook his head. It was a futile idea, considering how hostile Ahiga had been to him, and he had known him. It was unlikely that the boy would warm up to anyone, especially with how cold and distant he was from someone who was supposedly a relative of sorts. "Good luck with that, my friend. He might just bite off your other pinky if you try it." Strel snorted before taking a gulp of the rum. The liquid was starting to dwindle fast between the two of them, especially with the Dauphin's larger swallows; his tolerance levels had shot up in the recent months. It was probably a bad thing, but he felt good that he was keeping his head more and more, though felt a little bad about how much drink he had to waste before the world around him got too fuzzy to decipher anymore.

Strel furrowed his brows in thought, then exclaimed out loud, he shot up, even though his head was stupidly dizzy and the world swirled around him. At least everything was still relatively defined and he could see everything perfectly fine. "I know exactly what you need." He stumbled to the door and pushed his way in. His hands ran along the paneled wall, letting his fingers glide along the wooden surface. It was mostly for support but he giggled at the touch and feel of the wall. Strel almost fell into his studio after fumbling with the bow knot. The colored rope hung limp in the handle, and he forgot it on his way out. Tucked under his arm was a jar of brown powder, and in his other was a bowl.

"Lets make you pretty," he slurred, setting the jar down, limbs shaky as he grabbed some water from a rain bucket. It was weird how long it took him to open the lid and then shake some of the powder into the water. The result was a liquidy paste that was easy to smear and still felt more solid than runny. "W-where, do you want it?" he asked, blinking absently at the man with a smudge of red-brown paste on his fingers.

Strelein nodded, a goofy grin plastered on his face as he grabbed the man's head to steady it, an himself. He tucked the bowl into the crook of his arm and pressed fingers into the paste. The paste smeared on his fingers and he started to pat it onto the other man's ears as he giggled. He would have to sit with the paste on his fur for a bit but it would be so worth it in the end. Inebriated, everything seemed like a good idea. "You are going to look soooo nice after this," he said with a slur, adding more paste to his fingers. Both ears were now covered with it and the man's fingers hung twitching over the rest of the man's forehead. Giggling, he created a swirl on his forehead, where the mohawk used to be.

Swaying on his feet, Strel sat himself down and the bowl made a clunking noise on the cement. "Here, gimme those," he said drunkenly, grabbing at the man's hands to doodle on the backs of the hands. He just made music notes, whistling a tune fairly off key as he swirled lines up the man's arms. "Do you like music? I like music," he said dumbly, sticking his entire hand in the remainder of the paste and pressing it against Niro's belly with a giggle. "Ooooh Amaranth's gonna think you're cheating on heeeer." He pulled away and giggled more at the paw print on the man's chest.