#kote runs the inn not kvothe

[kote-the-inn-keeper]

Me: Hm... I wonder *goes onto akinator*

Akinator: Do they have red hair? Do they work at an inn?

Me: Yes omg do they really have Ko--

Akinator: Kvothe :)

Me: *SLAMS EXIT TAB* NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[timelorddarthswagger]

“Auri took it, and peered inside the small leather sack. “Why this is lovely, Kvothe. What lives in the salt?” Trace minerals, I thought. Chromium, bassal, malium, iodine . . . everything your body needs but probably can’t get from apples and bread and whatever you manage to scrounge up when I can’t find you.

“The dreams of fish,” I said. “And sailor’s songs.”

@rhetoricandlogic kvothe breaking down naming into two parts. The science of and the experiance of. I think this also explain why the yellish had their customs the way they did. " socks changing with the owner." Which also explains why auri treats things the way she does. And why the cealdish don't wear second hand clothes. In essence they still belong to someone else. This lesson is first driven in by the cobbler. He doesn't sell used shoes. And he can judge a person by the nature of their feet. The master at the medica says the same with scars and how they were tended. And that later comes full circle with gran after kvothe saves the girls.

" they say you can twll a lot about a man by the way he runs his inn." And bast mentions that kvothe see's himself as a inn keeper NOW. And a failing one at that. Compund that with Bast and his metaphor about Masks ' and how yoy become what you pretend to be. Kote laufhing after being kicked on his inn's floor. Makes a lot more sense when you consider what he was being asked. " who do you think you are?" Kote always refers to his younger self as always playing hero. Prediction wise. I think for book three kvothe is going to change himself into a figure from legend. And who better to be then one of to people. Either Illien who shares his flame red hair or taborlin the great. Like when he opened the maer's locked money box.

[noblushingdaisy]

Denna and Wil

For @kote-the-inn-keeper

I was trying to write like a fic for these two, but everything felt stilted and forced so this is more of a jumping off point. 

So they both have a very dry sense of humor, which is how they bond. 

When they hang out with Sim and Kvothe, they bond over the fact that they don’t always understand them. Like, Wil is still learning the language and Denna doesn’t know anything about The University, so they often translate for the other. 

They both value knowledge

They both have a weakness for puns which is how Wil starts teaching her Sirau so he can tell her dirty jokes. 

Whenever Denna makes some sort of dismissal of herself, Wil reminds her that she is super strong and brave and smart and that he values her

They went on a double date with Sim and Fela and Kvothe was very jealous despite him having plans with another friend that night 

Denna and Wil can’t be on the same corners team

They will dominate

He really wants her to attend the University

She does not 

Denna loves Wil’s voice, although he rarely sings 

Wil is very good at constructive criticism 

So Denna runs by her original songs him first 

[incorrectkingkillerquotes]

Hi! It’s @druggeddraccus. Unfortunately I missed the podcast due to a family emergency. Even though I missed it I still really wanted to answer the questions because they were really cool. So below the cut are my answers!!

(@kvothe-kingkiller might answer the questions when they get back from their trip)

1.So I have this theory that Meluan Lackless is actually Kvothe's mom's sister. Think about it. Meluan was said to hate Ruh becuase they stole her sister and she got married first. What are your thoughts about it? (@statusfangirlhowell ) I’ve heard of this theory many many times and I am 100% in favor of it.  I think Kvothe even mentions that she seems familiar to him, so yeah if it isn’t fully established at some point then Kvothe is just blind and will need someone to point it out to him. Cause I also think he didn’t realize it at first and figured it out throughout the years. 

2. In the beginning of NoTW, when the caravan comes to the Waystone Inn, there are two young men traveling with them. One of them is dark, and Cealdish, and the other one is described as sandy haired. The sandy haired man is the one who gets drunk and calls Kote Kvothe. I've always thought it was Sim and Wil, but no one else seems to have noticed it. Thoughts? (@twostepsfromtemerant) I don’t think it’s them. I’ve thought on this before. And, yeah it’d be nice if it were them…but why would they be traveling in the middle of nowhere? They didn’t attend the University for nothing (unless something horrible happened to them too)…and I think Kote would have recognized them and I also think they both would have recognized his singing…I just don’t think it’s them. 

3. Q&A - What is the inspiration in the quotes? I'm friends with someone that also runs a incorrect quotes blog and they often use conversations that they've had with friends, is this the same for you? Congrats on 2k! (@sunny-but-not) I’ll be doing whatever and think of a quote from something that fits. And then I’ll look up more quotes from the thing (I normally use Pinterest and IDMB). Sometimes I’ll intentionally look up quotes from shows I’m familiar with and get quotes like that but it’s mostly when I remember one, or hear one while watching a movie or reading or whatever. Basically though whenever I think of one quote that will fit I look up more quotes from the same thing.

4. Congrats with (almost) 2000 followers! I'm curious, how did y'all get into KKC in the first place? (@withaninkheart) I’ve mentioned this a lot on my own blog, it was my dad (and indirectly my mom). My dad had asked my mom to find him audio books that he could listen to while at work, and so she found a whole bunch and bought them on audible. My dad listened to all the other books and thought they were ok. He listened the The Name of the Wind last because he didn’t know what to expect from it. And he fucking LOVED it. That was about 2010, maybe? He then hounded me to listen to them for a Long time (he often played the Roof scene for me), but I couldn’t listen to books at that point, and then I went out and bought NoTW and read it near the end of my freshman year. And then I fucking loved it and we had something to talk about… 

5. For the mods! What's your favorite scene in the series? (@ anon) Probably the Roof scene, just because when my dad was trying to get me to listen to the books that was the scene he played the most. We’d sit on the back porch while it played on his phone. He’d start at the beginning, when they enter the Crookery and stop it at the famous words “Congratulations that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. Ever.” After that it’s the draccus scenes. 

6. Who is everyone's favorite KKC lady? (@spaghettisaurus-rex​) Devi, for fucking sure. She is just so badass and clever and I love her. I want a book about her.

7. What do you think Pat would think of our blog?  ( @bookcub) I’d hope he’d enjoy it. I think he’d get a kick out of the Hamilton quotes

8. Do you have a favorite quote from the blog?  (@bookcub) Yes!! One is where Kote: ‘I imagine death so much it’s more like a memory, when’s it gonna get me?’ and the charming Bast:‘Quit being so fucking dramatic’ Also I really love “Look sir, troupers!” because it’s my favorite line from any Star Wars film and honestly it fucking cracks me up every time thinking of Cinder popping up from the ground with a lute string in his hand Also I love all the crazy ex-girlfriend quotes despite never seeing the show.

9.  Anyone else a bit creeped out that there are seven of us? This was my question, so yeah. Yeah I’m creeped out. I’m even more creeped out that I am the last of the seven. (So far I am the last person to join)

[halfthealphabet]

10 FACTS - TAG TEN FAVES 🙏

@frei-rancken

1. The Christmas tree in my house is still up (we have a fake one because both my parents are allergic, but it looks very nice.) 

2. I started dying my hair red when I was sixteen and have never gone back to brown and never want to. 

3. I am hopefully getting my second tattoo next week. My first is a rabbit and this one is a crescent moon. My sister designed both. 

4. I run five blogs, and only one of them is a group blog. 

5. I’m kind of obsessed with how my hand look. My nails are almost always pained and I have seven rings that I wear every day. (My sister calls them piano hands).

6. I love country music. I know all the words to a variety of drinking songs and other songs about being a redneck. 

7. I took voice lessons for five years. My favorite song to perform is Taylor the Latte Boy or My Party Dress. 

8. I have a very loud voice and talk really fast. . . Something people remind me all the time. 

9. If I had a nickle for every time someone told me I looked like my mom or I didn’t look like my sister, I would be able to pay my way to a PhD. 

10. I’ve had glasses since I was three and I used to wear an eye patch. 

I’m tagging: @book-emlou-lou @iamnotfromthisplanet @kote-the-inn-keeper @the-forest-library @alennaska @yikes-in-the-yard @rhetoricandlogic @kvothe-kingkiller @aeruh @eggkin

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Whistle Down the Wind

by Dan H

Wednesday, 23 July 2008

Dan on The Name of the Wind, with reference to Superman, Macgyver and Roger Rabbit.~

While I was reading The Name of the Wind (which is called The Name of the Wind, and not In the Name of the Wind, despite the fact that I keep on being tempted to call it that) I stopped every thirty seven seconds to inform my girlfriend that I just didn't know what to make of it. I've finished it now, and I still don't know what to make of it.

So you should have a pretty good idea of what to expect from this review. Plus, y'know, spoilers.

A comedian, I think it was either Phil Jupitus or Bill Bailey (one of the Never Mind the Buzzcocksteam captains anyway) once observed that he had loved Captain Scarlet as a kid, but had always found himself with the same old problem. Captain Scarlet would get into trouble and he'd think "oh no, how's he going to get out of this?" Then he'd realize "oh yeah, he's indestructible." Yes, it was a joke. Yes, Phil or Bill or whoever it was, was mostly just trying to get a laugh, and yes in fact the way you deal with that sort of problem is by having Other Things at Stake but it does highlight a serious underlying problem.

The Name of the Wind is a peculiar book (which is part of why it's causing such a stir at the moment). It is primarily told in the first person, but unusually for a book with first-person narration, the narration is actually contextualized. The book begins with a simple village inn in a simple, grimy fantasy world. The text draws our attention to the barman, a man named "Kote". Although he seems no more than a simple innkeeper, we know there's more to him than that - he has red hair for a start, and under Article Five of the Fantasy Literature Act of 1972 it is illegal to have a redhead in a fantasy novel who isn't Totally Special (Ron Weasley slipped through the net due to the Sidekick Exemption Clause).

The town has the usual small-town worries: bad roads, a hard winter, attacks by demonic creatures, that sort of thing. The demonic creatures (who aren't really demons, they're creatures called "skraelings") have already jumped one villager, who escaped more by good luck than good judgment, and there's probably more coming. Simple Innkeeper Kote heads out into the woods in the dead of night and slaughters them in single combat, and this prompts a meeting with a travelling Chronicler called Chronicler, who has come to the sleepy village looking for a legendary hero called Kvothe who, surprise surprise, turns out to be one and the same as our mild mannered flame-haired barkeep.

It's here that the story switches to first-person narration, where it stays for the rest of the book. Kvothe arranges to dictate his entire life story to the Chronicler over the course of three days (which, it seems likely, will correspond to three books). In the course of this negotiation we establish several very important things about the book. Firstly, that it's going to be Kvothe's story as narrated by Kvothe. Secondly, that the Chronicler is a renowned debunker whose great passion is seeking out the truth behind legends (this will become A Theme). Thirdly, and most importantly, we learn that Kvothe is totally awesome at everything. We witness Kvothe cracking the shorthand-like cipher in which the Chronicler writes his notes with a speed and efficiency that makes the Universal Translator look plausible, and we learn a little of his dazzling exploits:

I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity ad my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age that most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep. You may have heard of me.

Now as the book progresses, we learn that at least some of these claims are not all they seem - Kvothe doesn't so much burn down Trebon as happen to be nearby while it gets burned down by a third party. He gets expelled from the university, but his expulsion is suspended as a matter of course. This is part of the second point established above: the book is basically all about the boundaries between myth and reality, men and legends. Regardless of all that though, the fact remains that Kvothe is totally awesome at everything, and that lies at the heart of my problems with the book.

I should say now, in case it gets lost in all the nitpicking, carping, and pettifogging, that The Name of the Wind is genuinely good and highly readable. It's one of those fantasy books which you can compare to serious literature without sounding totally risible. It deals intelligently with its themes and ideas, its characters are fairly well realized, and it's obviously going somewhere quite interesting.

None of that, however, gets me past the Captain Scarlet problem. "Oh no! how is Kvothe going to get out of this? Oh yeah, he's totally awesome at everything."

Long time Ferretbrainers, or people who know me in real life, will probably be aware that I have a George Silver-like fondness for identifying paradoxes: contradictions which it amuses me to highlight and declare irreconcilable. Kvothe is the perfect example of something I might glibly call the "Macgyver Paradox".

It is widely accepted that a hero who merely has unlimited power isn't interesting to write or read about. There's a reason that Lord of the Rings focuses on Frodo instead of Gandalf, or that Feist no longer writes books about Milamber. If a character can just wave a magic wand and make all his problems go away, he can't face any meaningful obstacles, and if he can't face any meaningful obstacles, he can't have any meaningful development as a character. Unfortunately, people assume that this very sensible, very important rule only applies to supernatural sources of power. Worse, they tend to assume that the best way to avoid relying on supernatural sources of power is to make their character "resourceful".

Of course, there's a giant problem with "resourceful" characters, which is that they wind up being exactly like the all powerful characters only worse. Sure, Superman can force majeure his way out of most situations, but it's relatively easy to think of situations where it would not be helpful or desirable for him to rely on his superpowers. It is much, much harder to think of a problem where it isn't helpful or desirable to "come up with a really clever plan". By trying to create a hero who relies on ingenuity instead of superpowers, all you do is turn ingenuity into a superpower. If Macgyver and Superman were both trapped in a sealed room that was slowly filling up with gas, it's Superman who would be in the most trouble. Sure he could bust his way out, but that might detonate the gas and kill a bunch of innocent people. Macgyver on the other hand can just use the gas to jury-rig a blowtorch, thereby getting himself out of the room and taking care of the explosives in one fell swoop. There's a reason that Batman beats Superman in The Dark Knight Returns: power is always finite, but "resourcefulness" is unlimited.

I suppose I should explain what all this has to do with The Name of the Wind. Basically the book concerns itself with Kvothe's origin story. He is raised as a wandering player, amongst the "Emera Ruh," a race of travelling performers who I won't describe as "Gypsy-like" since I know bugger all about Romany culture. It's no big spoiler to tell you that his idyllic childhood is cut short when his troupe is slaughtered by a group of quasi-mythical demonic entities called the Chandrian (the name seems to be plural). After this he lives wild in the woods for almost a year until he finally breaks two strings on his lute and heads off to the big city to get some more. Here he gets mugged and beaten up in short order (losing his lute in the process), and spends the next three years as a beggar living a horrible, Dickensian hand-to-mouth existence.

So far, so good, except that this goes on for nearly a third of the book, with very little real progress being made, and then suddenly he encounters a storyteller and then apparently "his mind wakes up" and he bluffs his way off of the streets and into comparative wealth and comfort, literally overnight (he pawns a book he's been holding onto for sentimental reasons, and then gets a bunch of free clothes by impersonating a nobleman). If it sounds jarring, it is. It's like that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit: "You mean you could have done that at any time?" "Not at any time, only when it was funny."

This pattern continues throughout the rest of the book. Kvothe gets into a bad situation, and then he gets out of it by being totally awesome at everything. Then fate (or his enemies or, dare I say it, the necessity of the plot) gets him into another bad situation, and he gets out of it by being totally awesome at everything. Even that I could almost forgive, except that everything follows the same awkward, jarring pattern as his years as a beggar: helpless ... helpless ... helpless ... totally awesome at everything ... helpless ... helpless.

After he stops being a beggar, Kvothe manages to persuade the University not only to let him in, but also to pay him for the privilege. Here he picks up the obligatory High School Enemy, an obscenely wealthy, obscenely influential nobleman by the name of Ambrose. Perhaps I'd have been more sympathetic towards this plotline if it hadn't been done in ... well ... every single boarding school based story ever. It's got to the stage where I can't even distinguish between the descriptions of Ambrose, that dude from the Black Magician Trilogy, and Draco Malfoy any more (I think they're all blonde, but they all run together in my head). Like all Boarding School Rivals, he's somehow powerful enough to totally wreck Kvothe's life, yet also clearly totally inferior to him in every way.

For example, as part of his continuing struggle to stave off starvation, Kvothe takes to playing his lute at a highly prestigious local music venue. Not only does he wow the audience by playing the single most difficult song in the world ever, but when Ambrose tries to sabotage him by magically cutting one of his lute strings, he completes the song anyway, thereby making people even more impressed at how totally awesome at everything he is. However, his plan to use this event as a springboard to find a noble patron is thwarted because Ambrose tells all the nobles not to support him.

Okay, fine, Ambrose is rich and powerful, but are you honestly telling me that his family has no enemies whatsoever? That there isn't one nobleman in the whole damn city who don't think that ticking off some uppity brat is a fair price to pay for being able to get one of the greatest musicians who ever lived playing at your banquets? (Seriously, when Kvothe plays his lute, people practically ejaculate into their pants he's that good). Is there nobody out there in the cutthroat world of noble politicking who would actually relish the opportunity to piss off Ambrose's family, with an orgasm-inducingly awesome pet musician as an added bonus?

Like with

my review

of the Age of the Five trilogy, I've had to take a step back from what I've just said to think to myself "god, when you write it all down like that it just looks absurd". Kvothe is a musical genius with an eidetic memory, precocious magical talent, wisdom beyond his years (the book constantly tells us how totally young he is " the broken down world weary version we see in the inn is only twenty-five), limitless courage, and infinite resourcefulness who only suffers setbacks at all because the rest of the world goes out of its way to screw him over. Hell, he's supposed to be so cool that he's literally reciting the entire damned novel from memory. The fact that this kind of thing works at all and is in fact quite entertaining to read about is testimony to the genuine merits the book possesses.

When all is said and done, The Name of the Wind is a genuinely engaging, genuinely interesting Fantasy novel. I genuinely enjoyed it and would genuinely recommend it but, as you might have gathered from the fact that I wound up using the word "genuinely" four times in the last sentence, I'm still hugely confused about it (genuinely confused, in fact). I really, really hope that the "Kingkiller Chronicles" (the name of the series, in case I didn't mention) will turn out to be the classic everybody is predicting. I really hope that Kvothe's ludicrously expanding skillset won't start to become annoying and implausible (or rather, more implausible). I really hope that we'll actually find out something about the goddamned Chandrian in the next book. I kind of hope that it will turn out that Kvothe has been totally lying about a lot of this stuff, but I don't think that will happen.

The Name of the Wind (no "In", remember) is an entirely readable, quite well-written book that raises some interesting questions about the boundaries between history and legend, reality and myth. Its protagonist is remarkably likable given that he's a colossal Genioos. The plot is remarkably engaging given that nothing much happens. I'll certainly be picking up the next volume in the hope that I might be able to make some goddamned sense of it all.Themes:

Books

,

Sci-fi / Fantasy

~

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~Comments (

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Rami

at 14:30 on 2008-07-23I'm glad you liked it! Kvothe's total awesomeness made even me, gushy and enthusiastic as I

tend to be, think twice

-- but I really can't wait for the next one... in

a few months' time

, anyway...

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Michal

at 07:44 on 2011-07-02Hmm, I've avoided this book so far for the somewhat silly reason that one of the interior cover blurbs is from Robert J. Sawyer...I've found a strange correlation between "books I dislike" and "has blurb by Robert J. Sawyer", but I really should just give it a shot.

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Dan H

at 12:03 on 2011-07-02I wasn't sure who Robert J. Sawyer was, so I looked him up on Wikipedia and:

a) Wow, he *really* looks like Steven Merchant

b) OMG! He's the guy who wrote that book Kyra's got on her to-read pile about the blind girl who has experimental surgery which allows her to SEE THE INTERNETS!

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Michal

at 16:44 on 2011-07-02

He also nearly ruined my childhood.

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Alasdair Czyrnyj

at 01:12 on 2011-07-03Sawyer also tends to push the "science vs. religion" pretty hard in science/rationalism/whatever's favor in most everything he writes, but he doesn't really understand religion enough to criticize it effectively, so it just comes off as a strawman-fest.

Wow, he *really* looks like Steven Merchant

Really? I thought he was tubbier than Stephen Merchant.

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Vermisvere

at 03:24 on 2011-07-03

Sawyer also tends to push the "science vs. religion" pretty hard in science/rationalism/whatever's favor in most everything he writes

I'd probably be best off avoiding it then. I found that a lot of the books that I read which have the "science vs. religion" concept in them tend to, at one point or another, grind to a painful halt in terms of plot and turn into a mish-mash fest of mental wanking where the characters turn into your average 6th graders debating theology.

Angels and Demons by Dan Brown is a good example. *shudder*

Wow, he *really* looks like Steven Merchant

Hey, he does too!

Well, whadya know...

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Michal

at 04:15 on 2012-01-20Well, I finally gave it a go. Got about 70-some pages in before I gave up.

I think it was the bit where Kvothe deciphers the Chronicler's super-duper-complicated shorthand system in a matter of minutes that had me let out my first gigantic groan. But on a less superficial level, it was just pretty clear that the book was Not For Me.

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Dan H

at 10:14 on 2012-01-20I think that's a fair assessment. This is one of those books where people will tell you to stick with it because it gets better, when in reality it just gets more like itself, which means people who like it start to like it more, while people who don't like it get more and more irritated.

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Dan H

at 20:18 on 2012-01-20Double-posting like a noob, it occurs to me that the bit where he deciphers the Chronicler's shorthand system is a particularly sensible breaking point, because it's not amenable to all of the "unreliable narrator" arguments that apply to most of the rest of Kvothe's Mary Sue qualities. He might be lying about everything else, but he can't be lying about that.

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Michal

at 05:14 on 2012-01-21Well, I did feel particularly sensible at that moment. The framing narrative, at least from my meagre experience of the book, seems to serve more to affirm Kvothe's awesomeness rather than subvert it (he, like, kills demon spiders and knows magic and is super-smart and stuff!).

Are there any inconsistencies in Kvothe's narrative in this book or the next one? Because his voice, when telling this story, is essentially the same as that in the frame, but with an "I" swapped in for the "he". The guy recalls long inconsequential conversations his parents had when he was young in a way that doesn't suggest he's just embellishing and making shit up on the fly. And yes, this is typical of first-person narratives, but I've only really seen bad historical fiction framed in such fashion (

Aztec

comes to mind), and in those cases, we're meant to trust the tale-teller's perfect recall.

I have a feeling I've been spoiled in thast few books I've read that used the first person, and was just disoriented by the fact that no, I

didn't

need to pay close attention and peel back the narrative voice to find out what was really going on. No "wait, the towers are space ships?" moments in

The Name of the Wind

.

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Dan H

at 21:15 on 2012-01-21

Are there any inconsistencies in Kvothe's narrative in this book or the next one? Because his voice, when telling this story, is essentially the same as that in the frame, but with an "I" swapped in for the "he".

There aren't any inconsistencies I can recall (although I might be missing something super-duper subtle). And you're right that there's no meaningful difference between the third-person narration and Kvothe's narration. As with most framing devices, Rothfuss only really pays lip-service to the notion that Kvothe is supposed to be reciting this story from memory.

[kote-the-inn-keeper]

Platonic Love [And A Cat] re-write!

Kvothe woke up to something heavy on his stomach. His first thought had been that it was Auri, since her coming in to wake him wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and she had her own ways of making sure people got up. But, the routine of giggling and singing his name wasn’t there, so it was already clear something wasn’t right. Or she was playing a game. Either way, whatever was on him wasn’t all too welcome.

He started to sit up, stopping as he hear purring. Purring? Yes, purring. It was hard to not hear it clearly considering his room was rather quiet and he could feel the animal nearly vibrating. Finally rubbing his eyes of sleep, he blew red hair from his face and looked down to see a cat; calico, curled up, and like it owned the place. “Now, how in the name of Tehlu...?” Kvothe muttered, blinking slowly as he tried to wake up fully. “Auri...?” Looking over to the other half of the bed she usually occupied when she needed or wanted too, it was empty. That was even more strange. She rarely was up early, let alone left the room first. Kvothe always had to go first to check for anything or anyone inside the small apartment. Just in case.

Looking to the alarm clock it in fact told him it was early, and whatever was going on was growing more confusing by the minute. Looking down to the cat in his lap once more, he ran a hand long the calico’s soft fur and tried to wake up. The cat made a trill noise in reply to the pets, ear flicking and curling up in a slightly different position to accept the love. “Alright, I’ll figure you out later, kitty cat.” He said, carefully moving the cat off himself so he could leave bed. “I have something a little more pressing to figure out. Just... stay there. Don’t ruin my room or anything.”

The cat lifted it’s head and yawned at Kvothe, rolling over and changing sleeping positions happily.

The cold floor against his bare feet helped him wake up faster. Auri always complained about the floors being cold, but there wasn’t anything he could do to fix the apartment to change that; other than run the heater all day every day, running the heating bill through the roof. Which, he wasn’t about too do. She just refused to wear any of the fuzzy socks Fela had bought her yet, claiming they were too cute to wear still. That they had to wait just a little longer. Any longer and the cold weather was going to pass and there would be no need for them anymore...

None the less, Kvothe left his room and rubbed his face tiredly. His hair was still a slight mess, sticking up in places and tangled from sleep, clothes also off kilter and tugged in odd places from just leaving bed. Shuffling out to the living room, it wasn’t hard to see the mess Auri had made; along with Auri herself. The kitchen was a mess: food all over the counter, dishes seemed to be placed in the sink without even being touched, the fridge was wide open, stove on with something nearly boiling out of the pot, and microwave still reading done on the small screen. As for Auri, she was standing on the counter, only her feet and shins visible to Kvothe, since she was seemingly trying to grab something from the top shelves of the cabinets. 

“Auri,” Kvothe began softly as to not startle her, “lovely. Ray of moon light. Sweet apple. Can I ask you a question?” He was also trying to keep the ‘holy shit what the hell did you do to the apartment’ tone out of his voice by using sweet names.

The girl paused, before her face was suddenly visible to him as she crouched and jumped off the counter quickly. “You’re awake!”

“Yeeees.” He replied, eyes trailing the mess of food and dishes around the kitchen.

“What do you need?”

“Answers.” He replied carefully, pointing softly to the kitchen as a whole.

Auri tilted her head, before looking behind her and around. “Ummm... To what?” She asked back. “I think it’s clear what I’m doing in here, silly.” She said, batting her eyelashes at him. Oh, she knew she was in trouble. Sweet names from Kvothe meant he was either frustrated, or about to get upset. 

Kvothe took a deep breath, pressing his hands together, and giving a slow sigh. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he thought about his wording. “One, there is a cat in my room. Where did it come from? Two, I’m at a bit of a loss as to why you needed both jam, lettuce, and barbecue sauce for... chicken noodle soup and tea. And why there are sauce pans in the sink I haven't even used this week.”

“That’s Elodin!” She chirped in reply, going to the fridge and closing the door. 

“El...odin? As in my professor?” He asked.

“No, silly. That’s a cat, not a man.” Auri corrected, seeming to finally remember the pot on the stove and moving to turn off the burner. “His name is also Elodin. He told me so. And he came in through the window.”

“But the wind...oh. You left your window open, didn’t you?”

Auri hummed in reply, moving the pot slowly and carefully away from the stove and plopping it onto the counter. Pulling the lid off to let the plume of steam billow out, she peeked in and wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t look right... That’s not cat food at all.”

Kvothe put his face in his hands, before slowly walking into the kitchen. Walking behind her, he wrapped his arms around Auri lightly, picked her up from around her waist, and removed her from the messy kitchen. Setting her down just outside the kitchen gently, he put a hand on her head and sighed. “No more kitchen for you.”

“But, Kvothe--!”

“I have to clean up... this.” He gestured to the kitchen, already exhausted. “And find out of ‘Elodin’ has owners already.”

Auri turned and shook her head, brilliant blond cloud of hair following the action in waves. “He doesn’t! No collar!”

Kvothe started with throwing out whatever concoction Auri had tried to make in the pot, shoving the contents into the trash. “He could still belong to someone. Maybe he got out.”

“But, he told me he has no owner! I brushed him and cuddled him and gave him food already. He’s ours!” She argued, clearly very attached to the cat already. “He wants to be here, he came here all by himself.”

Grabbing the trashcan, Kvothe started sweeping crumbs and such off he counters as she spoke. “He could be an indoor cat and someone else...?” He trailed off, hearing sniffling already. Looking over, Auri was clutching the front of her shirt and already tearing up with being told no about the cat. That threw him off, that was for sure. “Ah--uh!! W-Well, s-some cats...”

She scrunched her face up slightly, clearly ready to start crying.

Kvothe sighed heavily, “Fiiiiiiiiine. Fine. We’ll keep the cat... for now. Can you at least name him something else?”

“Nope!” Auri grinned, all better immediately. “He said that was his name.”

“Of course he did...” Kvothe muttered.

Said new cat, Elodin, came walking in and gave a soft meow at Auri. Auri scooped up the calico cat and giggled, nuzzling and baby talking the creature excitedly as she walked off to her room with her newly owned cat.

[kote-the-inn-keeper]

in regards to the post about kvothe being mentally ill. with the examples of the doors of sleep. and he effects of the plum-bob. I think another good sign is how kvothe tried to cope with seeing Denna with Ambrose. he did not try to warn her and he out right avoided going anywhere that might cause him to run into her. i think this is in part because of what happened with Fela but also because he's so use to playing a part when when Denna is with other men. and Ambrose = kvothe trigger

//Hm... Possibly? I mean, this boy is outright fuckin mentally ill and has trauma. By the time we get to the inn, there is no doubt he has PTSD, among some other things [depression namely by that point, but anxiety as he goes through his life prior to that]. I don’t think it’s so much ‘coping’ to avoid anywhere Ambrose may be as much as it is literally just avoiding him as best as possible. It’s trying to cut out the middle man that causes him anxiety and literal fear [the dude is an adult and harassing a 15-17 year old boy]. Coping is different, but I guess I see where you’re coming from with that point to a degree. 

I don’t see how it plays a part in how he acts towards people around Denna, so much as he is a teenage boy who has an ego and see’s himself as her best friend/ best interest since he has a crush on her and “knows her better”. As he says several times. So that point is a bit iffy and wobbly, and less of him trying to protect himself and more of him in his own interest. 

Though, I will agree that Ambrose is an abusive shit head and is somewhat of a trigger to Kvothe. If not one fully. With the way Kvothe reacts to seeing him in public, his name, even just mentions of him is almost immediately viscerally angry. It’s not like immediately that way, but you can notice over time his reactions to Ambrose grow more and more [rightfully so] angry and bitter. As someone with abusers, the reactions vary. But there are some abusers who are mentioned to me and I have the same immediate reaction: Anger. Rage. Because the name brings back shitty ass memories and shitty ass situations I was stuck in and the way to get past them without having a complete melt down or crying is just to bark back in anger and bare my teeth for once -- which is what Kvothe does. Not saying it’s a ‘’’healthy’’’’ coping mechanism, but it is one people irl use and he uses.

But, aside from JUST Amrbose, there are a shit ton of situation throughout the books where things have left mental scars on him. His family being murdered, hid time in Tarbean [struggling to survive and relying on himself, being attacked by those kids and insinuated situations which I’m not going into but has been talked about on another post], his several attacks on him from thugs, nearly drowning in a god damn ocean, falling off buildings, being beat to shit on several occasions for different reasons, being attacked and having to kill people, seeing a shit ton of dead people -- AND MORE.

So honestly, people that go “lmao he’s fine. nothing’s wrong!! He’s NT.” are blind and I’m tired of hearing them tbh like wow mentally ill people exist and you’re ignoring clear signs through out the books how this boy is breaking down and slowly wearing down to become the quite and closed man who runs an inn. Like, damn you ignoring irl people with these signs too or????  

TL;DR: Kvothe / Kote is mentally ill asf and people like to ignore it despite the books literally showing how being a legend isn’t all fucking fun and games and has repercussions on both self and place of affect permanently. //

[kote-the-inn-keeper]

//Here ya go, I guess? Kote running into Auri again after all these years. Idea came from an ask that ran through here from an anon.//

//Side note: I recommend you listen to Auri’s Moonlight as you read. It’s what I listened too.//

Kote wandered outside once more, pacing in the back of the inn. It had been a while since the weather had been nice enough to go outside, and things had been more rough than usual. Not necessarily work wise, but personally. Such as all men who run from their past, it catches up one day. The last month had been one of those ‘days’. Extended periods of sullen silence, guilt, regret, and fear. Anxiety chewing at his stomach and sending his heart fluttering like a wild bird, burden of his past weighing down on his mind and shoulders, causing him to move slower and react less. Sleep was a distant and unknown friend to him, peace wasn’t a concept he knew anymore.

Of all the worst things, he knew Bast was aware. He knew Bast wanted to say something, but couldn’t; wouldn’t really. There was nothing the fae could say that would better old wounds and hush intrusive and tempered thoughts. No action or word could do so, for Kote had tried for years to find anything that would ease such pains. Physical and mental. 

Though, one thing brought solace to his aching. Just for a little while. Something he had been doing on and off for about a month previous. While he was no longer as fit and sturdy as he used to be, Kote still dared and made an effort to climb the inn to its roof. Many times he had slipped and fallen, nearly breaking or spraining something. Many times he cursed the weather, the inn itself, his hands and feet. Yet, he continued to carry out the activity and climb to the roof for quiet and clarity above all that dragged him down.

Such as he was doing that night. The red haired man ceased his pacing and sighed slightly, looking at his more recently re-calloused hands. It had been a rather long time since his hands and shoulders ached with a dull strain. Not since he was younger, climbing roofs to survive and keep out of horrid weather. Seemed much longer ago than it truly was. Looking to the sky, it was rather clear. Clouds drifted along the sky slowly, but the moon was nearly full and visible. Shining bright enough to lead any man down a road as though he had lanterns with him. 

Kote pulled himself up carefully onto the window ledge and placed his foot against the stone wall to brace himself.

The air was crisp and cold, without the sun to warm the grass and buildings anymore. While the inn gave off a gentle warmth from holding heat in its shingles and the fire within, it didn’t stop the world from being cold enough to nip at bare skin his shirt hem exposed with his reaching. The town was quiet, considering the time of night it was. None the less, the only sounds were his boots scraping the stone of the inn and the gentle breeze that blew through and rustled the nearby forest.

His hand slipped and nearly sent him toppling. But, Kote managed to keep his hold with his other hand and balance out, giving a heavy sigh and pulling himself up to the second level of the inn. 

He was more than aware that Bast knew what he was doing. It wasn’t as though he were hiding his late night actions, nor trying to be all too quiet about it. All he knew, for a fact, was that Bast would say nothing of the subject, perhaps from his shorter temper or from a quick hash of things the fae should have been doing instead of snooping. No matter the reason, Kote wasn’t hiding anything in his actions or intentions on being above the small town. 

Finally onto the roof, Kote gathered his breath as he slowly got to his feet. Stepping carefully on the shingles that he oh so hated as a young boy, the innkeeper made his way to the peak of part of the inn, where a wood bean held it together. Careful not to slip any of the shingles out from where they were places, Kote made it to where he wanted and slowly sat himself down. The wood was warm from the heat inside the inn, making him a little less cold out in the open.

Above everything, the innkeeper could see the forest, his garden and wood pile, and the long expansion of wilderness that went beyond. If he had been sitting the other way, away from the moon, he would see all of the town in a simple glimpse. The farms, the fields, and the road that snaked out and away into more populated parts of the region. But, that was against his interest, so it didn’t matter at all to him.

Dull green eyes slowly looked up toward the almost full moon, white as clean sheets and as distant as a memory. The innkeeper leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees and keeping silent. There was no need for speaking; no one was listening. No one would listen, even if they wanted. The silence he bore was a silence of his own; not man made nor situational. It wasn’t a type of silence anyone could just hear or feel. Intangible, unrecognizable, and dare be spoken more silent than silence itself. It was an inward silence that billowed and shook a core of anyone who could try and hear it. An uneasy and frighting type of thing that could only be created and carried by a person with more things to hide than things anyone should ever have too. A very rare silence. A silence all his own that engulfed anything around him to try and soften all that had ever happened. A silence that in trying to help, only made things worse.

Kote grit his teeth and clenched his fists, biting back the want to howl the agony of a lifetime to the moon so it could carry such weight instead of him. The past month had been the worst on him yet, since he had left and changed years ago. People who reminded him of others had wandered in, too similar for him to keep speaking without a voice crack having to be hidden as a cold. People whose smiles were heartbreaking to him because they were just as sweet and true as another he once held dearly. People whose laughs were contagious, but also wounded him from reminding him how happy he had been at a point and time. Voices that were too similar in tone and fluctuation for him to serve them directly -- sending Bast to do it instead. It all built up so quickly; too quickly.

Guilt of not speaking, not sending letters, and not apologizing rose. He had claimed it was to protect them and to keep them safe, but how could he do so if he had no idea that they were well and still alive? Such thoughts crossed his mind and broke him nearly daily. What if all he had done didn’t help anyone -- only hurting more people? What if his friends were in such disasters and he would never know? 

Kote put his head in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes and grasping at his hair that hung lose as he leaned forward, nearly curling up on himself. It hurt. It all hurt. Phantom pains, remembering all he had done and not done, and all that he wished he could have said before just vanishing. Teeth clenched and a sob trying to push its way up his throat, he held his breath. Breaking. 

A roof shingle shifted off to his right, near the chimney. 

“Bast, I said--!” Kote snapped immediately, throwing his hands down to grab the beam under him as he turned towards the noise. About to continue his bark of a demand, his words fell flat and stopped.

Someone stood partially behind the chimney, slightly illuminated by the moon. One a slender leg and what seemed to be a blue dress revealed itself as a cloud rolled past the moon. Everything was darker for a long moment, but, the person did not leave. They showed themselves a little more then, watching the red head as he watched her. 

Blond hair waved around in the breeze as a halo around her fair face and shoulders. She looked rather petite, but a woman, not a child, none the less. Her eyes were curious and confused, seeming to track even his breathing as she seemed to wait for him to respond to something she hadn’t even said. Her slender fingers were gently wrapped around the brick chimney’s corner, keeping her balanced and ready to hide once more.

Kote stared for a long, long while. Words seemed to fail him no matter what he tried to speak. But, before he could say anything, the woman spoke first.

“Kvothe? My sweet Kvothe?” She asked, voice of gentle bells and summer lavender. She spoke but barely a murmur, unsure and nervous. “Are... you my Kvothe?”

He didn’t speak, shifting a little more to get a better look at her. It only startled her, causing her to retreat behind the chimney all except a small bit of blond white hair and a foot. He stopped moving and finally took a breath, tears in his eyes. “...Auri?” He asked, voice cracking.

She peeked around once more, only showing part of her face to him. Not a word was spoken, waiting for an answer.

“Auri, I --.” Kote tried once more, voice halting in his throat and sending tears to finally fall from his eyes. She was safe. She was alive. Auri was alive and safe and there was no other thought in his mind. Relief washed over him like a cold river, also waking him up to the reality he had also left her again without a word. 

Auri hid slightly once more, only gently moving out from behind the chimney as the moon hid once more under a small blanket of dark clouds. Her steps were as light and dainty as ever; nearly dancing about with each toe lead step. She wore a blue dress that was seemingly brand new, only a few small tears along the bottom of the skirt, probably from climbing about. Bare foot, careful, and almost the same as she had been years ago. The only differences were that she looked older now, a bit more well fed. 

Kote suppressed the want to get up quickly and grab her into a hug, knowing it would scare her away. “I... I was Kvothe.” He finally replied once she got as close as she seemed comfortable with.

“Was? Where did he go?” She questioned, crouching down a few feet away from him. Perfectly balanced on beam, back against the chimney, she waited. Her hands were placed in a manner to get up and leave swiftly if needed.

“Was.” He repeated. “I’m... older now. And I changed my name to Kote. I’m Kote now.”

A long pause.

“It’s suiting.” Auri said, as though she knew so already. “Always changing; it wasn’t all too fitting for you to keep the same name always. But, you are still my sweet and dearest Kote, right?”

Kote smiled softly and let out a short sob, trying to wipe his face of tears. “I would hope so... Auri, I don’t have a gift for you.”

“Nonsense.” The woman replied, getting up and walking towards him. She sat next to him in a rather dignified manner and gently reached forward, pulling him into a soft hug against her chest as she had did once before. “You are giving me a friend again. And your tears hold stories for me to read later.” She spoke softly, wiping his cheek of a few tears with her thumb.

Kote immediately wrapped his arms around her waist and cried. He was thankful and sorrowful. Thankful that Auri was back and no scared of him after all he was sure she had heard of him. But, sorrow still clung to his heart. Remorse over leaving her with no warnings, never speaking to her again, and forcing her to find him some how. For such, he wept quietly against Auri as she comforted him at such a late hour of the night.

Auri played with his fire red hair, rubbing strands between her fingers and holding him close. She knew who he was and what he had to do. As for the time being, he needed to cry. She understood and could feel he needed too a mile away. It was much more sadness than she had felt on him before. “Don’t worry. I’m here now. You’re safe.” Auri spoke gently to the innkeeper, placing her hand on his head gently.

[kote-the-inn-keeper]

Lute Playing -- Re-Write

The day had been long and, as always, quiet. No one had the need to come in and out, no one needed drinks or a meal, and no one needed a break from the nice weather outside. While it was nice to not be flooded with work, it all left the innkeeper with itching fingers to keep busy. His hands rubbed together out of boredom over and over again, picking things up, putting them back down, pushing in and pulling out chairs; yet nothing helped. The man had already chopped and diced up vegetables and fruit earlier in the morning, swept, changed bed sheets and polished bottles. Normally, that would have all put him at ease, but the day was… strange. Nothing he did eased the itching feeling his his fingers, crawling to his palms and forcing him to tap his fingers.

Having been sitting for the last hour, trying to occupy his mind to ignore his hands, the innkeeper gave up on such activity and pushed himself from the chair. There had to be something he was forgetting to do or somewhere he was forgetting to be. Once to his feet, he heard something something thick and full hit the floor with a mellow thud against the hardwood flooring. That wasn’t the sound of a chair or table, too light and not far enough clattering. Which had surprised him, giving him a half second thought that someone else besides himself and Bast were indoors.

“What in Tehlu’s name…?” He muttered, stepping over the chair easily to the other side to find the source. At his feet laid a case, long and smooth; with a neck and a round bowl at the end. Staring at the case, Kote slowly drew his eyes away to see if there was anyone else he possibly forgot about hanging around he inn. Not catching sight of anyone, he sighed heavily and picked it up, running a hand over the thick case to make sure he hadn’t accidentally damaged it.

Smooth and cool, he set it on the table with a bit or relief. Well, it wasn’t broken, but now he had another issue to figure out -- who owned the instrument and how had it gotten into the inn without him noticing? Surely he would have noticed something like an instrument enter, be played, or some poor musician forgetting it and panicking. Yet, none of that had happened, leaving the red head more perplexed than before. Rubbing his chin as he thought, Kote tried to also recall if anyone in town played anything with such an odd shape. He was sure he had heard a few people who played smaller instruments, but nothing like the one in front of him. So how had it ended up in his inn? Who in Tehlu’s name put it there and just… left it?

With a small pause, Kote opened the case to check what was inside, not wishing for it to be money or something that would bring guard into the inn and cause more trouble than the had in the past. That was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

A lute? No one he knew o played lute in the town, nor anyone who rarely traveled through did either. Brows furrowing in confusion, Kote started to pull his hand away from the instrument, but paused, and placed his hand on the strings instead. Familiar feelings moved up his arm and into his mind; both good and some more depressing of sorts. But of all he were to notice first, was that the itching, uneasy feeling his his hands had started to fade as soon as he touched he case. Now it was nearly gone with touching the exposed lute and remembering how much he loved playing when he was younger.

A tender smile passed his face, before he abruptly pushed it away, drawing his hand sharply as though he stuck his hand into flame. “No, no, no. No.” He muttered at himself, taking a step back and closing the case sharply. “No, I won’t… I can’t. I told myself I wouldn’t. It’s been too long anyway. Not mine, can’t play. Easy musician rules.” he hissed, shaking his head once more.

But it called to him… Oh, how it did. The lute nearly sang to him in its own hushed, gentle way; wanting to be turned and allowed to speak through its strings and resounds. The lute called to him to open up once more, allow for him to share his feelings in a way he knew best -- the best way anyone could ever express emotions in more depth than words ever could. It wanted to breath once more, as though not being played was holding in a breath longer than comfortable. Tempting and needing, it slowly drew Kote’s attention back to it, forcing him to open the case and at least look at the lute once more.

“Maybe…” He whispered, fingers gently curling around the lute’s neck and pulling it from its velvet casing. It was a little heavier than he remembered a lute ever being, but he easily sat and positioned himself with it; plucking a string, adjusting a peg, plucking again. Even though it had been years, it was as though all the information flooded back to his hands, doing their own thing and knowing how to treat the lute before he could even have a full thought. As has hands worked, his mind rolled back to find a song that he could play without ruining it too terribly.

There was a small silence and the innkeeper paused, debating if his idea was the best one to carry out or not. The inn was silent, he was silent, and the lute was silent. Then, music broke the air. Fingered pressed to the neck and other hand gently plucking the thin metal strings, music softly and gently filled the inn with a new sound it had never heard before. As new and soft as a first kiss; delicate and growing as a flower. His hands were nervous, his heart beat a little faster, but he played. Kote played for the inn, letting his heart fall to the strings and control his hands. Whether or not he sounded good and was doing well, he didn’t know. All that seemed to matter in that moment was that he was occupied and his heart was feeling lighter.

Little did he know that Bast was standing at the top of the stairs, waiting. Listening. Bast smiled happily and tried to keep his excitement contained, sneaking don a few more steps to hear the music a bit more clearly. Little did Kote know, Bast had set it all up on his own. The lute, the time, the position, everything. It had taken weeks to prep and get just right so Kote would play again. He was seeing Kvothe sitting there, not Kote the innkeeper. He was seeing who he deemed the true person he knew, playing lute and being himself. The smile grew on his face more, sitting on the steps of the stairs and listening to the human play while he could.

And just for a little while, everything was good. Everything was okay again.

[kote-the-inn-keeper]

//Wow look I write something new!! I’ll add to my list eventually!//

"You speak as though you have flowers in your mouth." Bast said, rather bluntly to the innkeeper. Placing a hand under his chin and resting his elbow on the table, the dark haired man pushed the book away from himself. It wasn't very interesting, nor was he in much of a mood to be reading something anyway.

Kote paused his sweeping, raising a brow and looking to his supposed helping hand. "Oh? And how is that?" He questioned, putting one hand on his hip and resting the broom against his shoulder. Things had just finished being busy for the mid-day; people of the town having run in for a quick lunch and drink. No one staid long, having to go help with the harvest and all. But, the weather was nice and he opened windows while people were inside, allowing the warm air inside the stuffy keep. Now all he had to do was clean up after all the people who tracked in dirt and stones with their boots.

Bast perked up more when he got a response, turning to Kote and even sitting taller. "It's pretty obvious, Reshi."

"Is it now?" Kote hummed, starting to look more annoyed than anything else. He didn't have time to play around with Bast right now. There were chores to be done and things to clean up. Bast's little games and mind tricks were not very welcome at such a time.

Bast nodded once more. "I mean, it's obvious to me."

"I can see that much."

"You talk like you have flowers in your mouth: all perfumed and pretty, even while you're dying." Bast finally explained, waving a hand softly. "You look pretty and give off the aura of joy, even though you've been plucked and forced to sit in a vase with bad water. You're words reflect how you are; carefully picked, always the prettiest words, and gathered into groups instead of just.. natural. You don't see roses growing with lavender, now do you? Yet that's how you're giving your voice and self to people, Reshi."

Kote leaned against the broom as he listened to his fae student speak. He didn't look amused, and even more so as Bast decided to tell him how he was acting and pick him apart. The red head looked bothered and uneasy, trying to give a more stern look than anything. Huffing, Kote stood upright fully once more and just went back to sweeping, choosing to ignore Bast's words and deal with such a topic. What he did and how he went about his life was none of Bast's business. He chose to tag along, and wasn't being forced. So what did it truly matter how he went about his life currently?

Bast frowned when he was ignored, getting up from the table and leaving Celum Tinture on the table to be dealt with another time. "You know I'm right... That's why you won't reply. That's why you don't respond to anything I say about this... 'new' you." He said stubbornly, crossing his arms and shaking his head softly. "Reshi, I have been alive a long time, and I know no one can outrun their past -- Even you. It only goes away for a little while. But, believe me, it will come back to bite you in the ass."

Kote ignored the words more, sweeping more aggressively. Why would he want to be hearing such on such a good day? The inn had had people come in, there had been joy and nice conversations; even if they were more on sided than not. There had been things to do and help to be given! This was not the time for Bast to be weaseling his way into how he lived his own life. Honestly, it never was the time, yet here he was. Trying. Again. Still.

"Reshi--"

"I heard you, Bastas." Kote snapped, still not looking to him. "I heard you the first time. I heard you the seventh, and twentieth, and ninty-ninth. I heard. Just because you keep saying it doesn't mean that i will change it. So leave me alone about it."

Bast paused, shocked at the sudden lashing out. Relaxing slowly, he frowned and refused to stop. "Kvothe--"

"SH!" Kote snapped, nearly throwing the broom in hand at him. "SH. Don't say that name around here. Don't mutter or whisper or think that name. It brings nothing but trouble and that person isn't even here. You know what happens when names are said. You aren't someone stupid. So stop acting like your some brainless twit."

"You said mine--!"

"I was chastising you."

"And I was doing the same."

"It is NOT the same!" Kote boomed, tightening his grip on the broom. "For the love of Tehlu, get it through your thick skull that he is just dead. dead. Gone. Forever. Away. Whatever way will get you to just stop bringing that ungodly name and idea around!!"

The inn fell silent, and for a moment, it even seemed like the very being of the world hushed. Nothing moved, and even the wind seemed to take a break from blowing just to conform to the tension among the two men. The floor boards stopped their usual creaking, the gentle howling from the open fireplace ceased, and the world was still. The stillness of everything fed into the tension of the situation, building like a storm and waiting to be released.

A small breath of air bubbled from the tension, allowing both men to subside from their harsh stances and shift about. But only just.

"No more of this, Bast. No more... Okay?" Kote asked, eyes shifting carefully and looking Bast over as though he had just brandished iron at the fae.

Bast frowned more, shifting his weight once more. "No, we need to talk about this. You're in this acting too far, and it's time we talk about it properly. I hate seeing you like this; like a cut flower. You know your dying and you aren't doing anything about it!"

"It's the natural state for all things to die, Bast. Who am I to change that?"

"Not like this! You know what I'm talking about and what I mean. This isn't you. This isn't the person I decided to follow and learn from... I don't know who you are." Bast replied, sounded offended and almost disgusted.

That hurt. The innkeeper white knuckled the brook in hand, hair standing on end and standing taller as his brow witched slightly from the insult. His jaw clenched and it took all his might to not shout back or try and use things he swore off years ago. It took all his might to not try and call upon names he had cast into the dark, to use the world around him just out of rage. He couldn't. He wouldn't. No.

Bast waited for a response from Kote, trying to keep his desperation in pushing the man to do what he didn't want too out of his eyes. He tried to keep from leaning forward, from egging him on too much on accident. He was desperate though, begging and willing to sob just to have Kvothe stop acting like some pathetic and soft footed innkeeper. Having tried everything else in the world, now it was coming to being more brash and hard. He had too... it was for Kvothe's on good.

Speaking through clenched teeth, the red head tried to calm himself, feeling anger and hate boiling in his blood an chest. Feeling the warmth of fury spread across his skin and into his mind. He couldn't use those things anymore, he told himself he wouldn't. Not anymore. He was a new person and he was leaving all that behind. "Go do your studies. Stop bothering me right now. I'm busy." He said slowly and carefully.

Bast stared, before frowning and disengaging the situation. It had backfired on his heavily, and the fae knew when to quite. He stepped back softly, letting Kote know that he was stopping the argument without verbalizing such. He gave a short glance to Kote, before grabbing Celum Tinture and leaving the main room, heading upstairs to his own room so the two of them could calm down in their own spaces.

Chronicler came in through the back of the inn, holding vegetable that he had been asked to pick in his arms. "Er, where do you want me to put these? I know the kitchen, but..." He trailed off, seeing the red headed man standing with his hands on one of the tables. "Are... you alright, Kote? You don't look so well."

"I'm fine. Put them on the cutting board, I'll get to them in a moment." Kote lied easily, pushing himself off the table with a small sigh. "Thank you. Feel free to eat whats already in there from the mass earlier."

"Don't mind if I do." Chronicler replied, walking back into the kitchen to do as he was asked.

Kote looked back to the broom, which had snapped in half... "Damn." He whispered, picking up the two halves and sighing. Great, he was going to have to somehow replace it again this month. Whatever Bast was trying to do to him was going to get one of them killed. That was definite.