(( Pity me because I had the audacity to try to repay such a well-written post with this one. ))
"That's because you don't need it. I am not your friend, nor your spouse, nor even an acquaintance. You will not have need of my name." Her back was toward him as she shrugged off her coat, lightly reaching a hand out to brush against the back of a wooden chair that had seen better days, draping the equally worn garment over it. Mag took care to empty the spacious pockets, slipping their contents into the black satchel and tucked the more precious items away in the safety of her "upper pocket." A quiet hum escaped in slight contempt, though her tone turned softer when she addressed him again, turning around the smallest bit. "Names. . .are very fragile things. You should be more careful with yours. Don't trust it to someone like me."
A sudden gust from the window sent her thoughts scattering, along with a couple layers of dust that had blanketed the room like snow only a moment before. "Like a blizzard, it is, if not outside than in here with this cursed rot. . ." she muttered to no one in particular, pursing her lips to blow away the few dust bunnies that remained. She slammed the window shut with a contented noise as she brushed herself off, taking care to lock it. Usually she liked to leave windows open, rooms felt so much stuffier and heavier when they were closed, but that wasn't really safe these days.
. She had already known his name, of course, and the reason he wore those gloves that wrote "suspicious" all over his appearance, though she hadn't cared much to dig too far into his mind. Beside, it wasn't as if there was too much there to dig around in. But she had found enough, and now that they were alone--locked in a room with a brewing snowstorm outside, and with him intoxicated and without gloves--there were not very many good scenarios possible that she could think of. She sat warily by the window, edging away from the single bed he occupied. It was impossible to give him even a shred of trust, and there was no reason she could imagine to do so. The best thing to do was to know where he was at all times, and to wait for him to fall asleep first before taking off. Though the howling of the wind sounded like a banshee, and the clinking sound of hail was becoming horribly apparent-- there would be no going anywhere tonight. She was stuck with the animal making himself comfortable on the bed.
If that was the case, at least she could make it more bearable. Abandoning her station at the window, she busied herself at the little table near the chair where she had left her coat, taking a few tiny bottles sealed with cork from her belongings and emptying a portion of their contents into a glass cup left on the table. She returned to the bed a moment later with it in her hands, purposely averting her gaze from him. "Here, drink this--it should help your little stupor, or at least lessen the side effects. . . Just take it. I don't care to spend the night with a durnk." She shoved the mix at him, taking extra caution not to let any part of her touch him
--and resumed her spot at the window, sliding off the long boots that had wrapped around her legs and amusing herself by thinking up possible spells she could use to get away from him. I could always turn myself into something temporarily, or even him, something small and harmless, with a tail, perhaps. . . A cat, maybe, I should think I would like him better as a cat.
"Knowledge itself is power."
-Sir Francis Bacon