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“ .. oy!” Ghastly’s voice is an indignant hiss. He pulls the breeches on, gets them halfway up his thighs, and realizes (Patrek can see a pained look cross his face) that they are not, in fact, his breeches. They are several sizes too small, and will not pull on the rest of the way. This leaves him staggering about, stumbling out of the forsaken breeches, and snatching his hat off the edge of the dustbin to cover the necessities. “Ye bloody well think I’m out here ‘cause I likes it? Well —“ He turns about completely, recognizes Patrek and Careo with a jolt, and somehow has the grace not to blush scarlet.

“ .. aw, hells. Kip yer voice down a mite, milord, ye’ll have the wee young thing oop at that winder in trouble.” He strolls away from the window in question, quite as if he is indeed properly dressed, instead of possessing nothing more than a hat, which he is using to keep himself from being too exposed.

“I don’t s’ppose ye ken where I kin gets me a spare set of trousers, milord?” He keeps his voice discreetly low, but then this is perhaps the one time in his life when Ghastly has absolutely no desire to attract any excess attention, especially not from the window in question. The math here isn’t particularly difficult to add up: he’d been in the bedroom of some young thing of the house — and then had to escape quickly, before he could get caught by someone else. A parent, perhaps, or a highly placed servant. Yet if that’s the case .. why were there trousers that were too small? Who’d been wearing them, if not Ghastly?

.. had it been, perhaps, a young man in that now dark and silent manor that he’d been keeping company with?

“B’ain’t as if Ol’Ghastly din’t have no invite-tashon.” His eyes go wide in feigned innocence — which lasts only seconds before he breaks into a grin — and then he shrugs. Of a manner of speaking, he probably did have a welcome in that little room, welcome enough for him to end up without clothing and without any notion of where his pants were. It just wasn’t a welcome from the master of the house.

“C’ain’t say t’weren’t wurth it,” he offers in continued good cheer, scratching at an old scar on his chest with his free hand. Without his usual miss-match of clothing, it is plain to see that he has plenty of scars, more than usual for a mere sailor. There are old whip-marks on his legs, shoulders, and back: if he was a mere sailor, he was not a well-behaved one. “Good lad. Bit quiet, but eyes that light up like nothin’ ye’ve e’er seen at th’right time, and that smile on ‘im!” He whistles appreciatively, low and quiet, and then flashes another grin.

“Were afeared ye’d say something like that,” the grin dulls only a little; doubtless this will not be his first arrest, though without warrants on him in Palisade — or any kind of evidence of any past career he might have — he probably hopes that this will only be a short visit. “Bit of a damper on our frien’ship, mate, jest when we’d been agettin’ along so well. Ye could alwuz jest send a note on over t’me brother’s flat; he ain’t so far off t’would take any time.” This may seem odd to Patrek, considering what he’s learned of the family so far: the Freds looked well enough off for the sons of minor merchants, but even they hadn’t looked like they could afford anything anywhere close to this particular area. Their tavern, and presumably their flat, is far closer to the rougher streets where Patrek had met Ghastly than it is to these grander residences.

“He’s eldest,” Ghastly continues, as if aware of the skepticism that must be running through the guardsman’s thoughts, “bit more posh then the rest’ve us. He’ll be damnall pissed at me, but leastways ye wouldn’t have t’walk me through no streets with naught but me cap t’cover meself.” If Ghastly’s voice is a bit coaxing, he doesn’t necessarily seem to think that Patrek will believe him and agree: nor does the thought of trotting along the streets in not much of anything seem to terrify him like it might most people. Rather, he seems to understand that something of this nature might bother Patrek more than it would bother him, and is hopefully offering a way out.

That first question, however mockingly (or regretfully) Patrek had asked it, causes the pirate to toss his head back with another wild grin, as if these are his only defense: certainly, he is without any other reasonable weapon, and better a smile than a curse. “Oh, aye,” says Ghastly, making a motion like he’s tipping his cap to the other man, even though his other hand keeps said cap firmly in place where it is. “I’d druther ye were a frien’ as an enemy, sirrah, and I b’ain’t got no mind to do naught as would push ye t’th’other side.”

But he sighs, his hopes crushed to avoid such a ridiculous parade, even though embarrassment is not really something that he knows or understands, and makes a gesture with his free hand to indicate that if Patrek is willing to lead, he’s willing to follow. Maybe they’ll have a pair of pants at gaol, or some lad’ll be prudish enough to want to give him a spare. “Pity that,” he murmurs. “That mean ye b’ain’t a-comin’ to the wedding?” The question is asked with a guileless innocence which does not in the least suit him, for he knows well enough that Patrek will not have heard of it, the news itself being so new that it has not yet spread outside of his immediate family, much less to someone like Patrek. But he knows this is like to get a rise out of the man, and he cannot entirely resist the urge to worry him.

“One’ve the two,” he says, with an air of supreme satisfaction, it having been something of a surprise to everyone that such wild lads could even consider settling down. “Lad with the deer — I tol’ja last, din’t I, he had a gel? Damn near prettier than ol’Ghastly ever thought ‘e’d catch, that’s fer sure. Cor, she’s a fire breather, too, e’en Jay likes her, and he don’t much like nobody. A smith, she is, a tradeswoman.” A tradesewoman — for others it would be almost a slur, for it’s certainly against the societal norm to have a woman working on her own, but from Ghastly it sounds like a noble title. Then again, they wouldn’t likely be impressed by a woman without a will of her own, would they?

“She’s got one’ve them deers, too,” Ghastly continues with some relish. “So t’will be a sight t’see; sommat roight out’ve a storybook, a Warden handfastin’.” He glances over at Careo, to see if perhaps the Guardian has some reaction to this, wondering what he might think of it: thus far, Unwanted has been uninterested in considering the consequences. He already sleeps at the smithy (and half on top of Aelius) already; he is largely bored by the fuss. What will Patrek’s guardian think of a wedding of Wardens, or of his Chosen’s horror?

“Ye oughter come! Gonna throw a damn big party; Jay already wrote the last o’our’n t’come, so t’will be all’ve our lot all lined up, nice’n’pretty.” His eyes glitter with amusement, perhaps wondering if the terror of an event put on by Grimms will keep Patrek away from the chance to see all the possible suspects lined up in a row. If nothing else, that way he’d know who to avoid in the future ..

"Hey-la," says the pirate, feigning hurt; he puts a hand over his heart, as if the other man's outburst has caused him physical pain. This is, of course, belied by the glitter of his eyes, which bespeak great amusement in the situation. "We b'ain't so far off as all that, m'lord! Troo, troo, you'n I, we ends up at opp'sits now'n again, but b'ain't there sommat t'be said fer us both bein' so honored as t'be Choosen?" He tips his head at Careo, for even though his Guardian is not present, she does exist: and it should be said, for Patrek can probably hear it in his voice, that while Ghastly has heard a great deal about how Wardens are supposed to be equal, he doesn't for a second believe it. But it does make a grand thing to tease Patrek about, especially since the pirate knows that this is something that other people often wonder about, whether they really believe it or not.

"Why, half o'me lads be Choosen now! Runs in the fambly, aye? 'Sides, t'will be a grand event. Even gonna have a bath fer it." This last he mumbles, somewhat reluctantly, but clearly he has submitted to this inevitability, possibly on the determined request of the unknown fiance. "And all the lads'll be dressed posh."

The pirate's eyes glitter, for such insistent denials can only mean one thing: no matter how wrong it seems to Patrek, no matter how much his heart and mind might rebel against the idea, now he's going to wonder. It may not keep him up at night, Ghastly don't know him well enough to know if he's the sort of man who'll worry at a thought like a terrier at a rat, but anytime it comes up in conversation, any time it occurs to him, Ghastly's just gone and planted a big fat seed of doubt in the other man's mind, and nothing tickles him more.

"Shame," he says, perfectly amiably, content enough with his unspoken victory not to push the point too firmly. "The lass, now, she's bin sayin' t'will kip them in line, and yer glad face might inspire 'em t'mind 'er wishes, it might." In other words, his presence might remind them of the consequences, and give them further reason for minding the law in addition to the fiance's requests .. or at least that's what Ghastly wants him to think. The real truth of the matter is that the blacksmith in question has not promised to reform them at all: in fact, there have been hints, strong hints, that she has it in mind to direct some of the efforts of the twins, to see that their activities are more -- efficient.

But Patrek doesn't know that and doesn't need to.

(Really, Ghastly ought to stop: there's no reason Patrek should come to the wedding, and further attention can only cause trouble. But he can't really help himself; Patrek is so very stuffy, and needling him is so very fun! This is perhaps why he oughtn't go anywhere without his Dapplegrim; she is usually able to deflect him from such cross-purposes.)