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second-chance-stray · 3 years

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RP Log: Cravendy and Lin whittle the time away. @lettersnorth

Cravendy Hound sits on the balcony with an assortment of knick knacks spread around her. All kinds of wood, with and without bark, as well as knives of different sizes and shapes. She takes in a deep breath as she leans back against the railing, practically melting in the warm sun. But no matter how relaxing this might be, little worries spring up like weeds in the back of her mind...will Lin join her today? Did she get her note, and will she know how to get here?

Cravendy Hound groans. Brain, hurry up and remember how to loosen up.

Aislinn North It had taken Aislinn a moment to work out Cravendy's note, particularly in regards to where she would be setting up. This balcony at the back of Heartwood's grounds was tucked away and unless a person frequented the spot it was easy to remember it existed at all. Barring that, the woman also had been juggling a lot recently, both in mind and body. Though things with Cravendy had smoothed out somewhat, 1/2

Aislinn North she held an inkling of nervous energy as she made her way out to the balcony. If anything, this should take her mind off other matters for a time. "Alright, then?" she asked as she arrived. "Almost forgot this existed." 2/2

Cravendy Hound jumps slightly on Lin’s approach, and then turns to watch as she steps up the ladder and onto the balcony. She blinks - what is there to be so cautious about? They’re here to enjoy the daylight and carve some wood, simple as that. Cravs nods to herself, and then tries to smile at the other woman. It looks more like she’s baring her fangs.

Cravendy Hound: “Nice place. Secluded, and the view is ‘ard to beat, though if the wind becomes too much we oughta pack up our things and move indoors. But it’s good right now.” She picks up a rod of wood and a knife, and begins to scrape away ribbons without a moment's hesitation. Then she remembers why Lin came. “......Oh, right. ‘Ere, let me show ye.”

Cravendy Hound hands Lin a piece of wood. “It’s pretty simple. Carve away from yer ‘ands, and go with or across the grain. Why don’t ye give it a shot?”

Aislinn North At Cravendy's insistence she leaned down and took the block of wood being offered. After a quick study of the tools the Seawolf had spread out, Aislinn picked up one of the work worn carving knives. It was obviously a well-used tool and therefore likely to be a good one by Aislinn's thinking. She watched Cravendy a moment and then, ever the mockingbird, began to emulate her. Needless to say, Cravendy made it look much easier than it was. 1/2

Aislinn North Aislinn's knife kept snagging but she was nothing if not patient. "What sort of things do you carve?" asked idly as she hacked away at her poor block of wood. 2/2

Cravendy Hound: “Mostly small figures, like birds. Sometimes eatin’ utensils, if I feel like makin’ somethin’ that’ll be of some use. I don’t really think about it until I’m ‘olding the wood and knife in my hand.” Cravs carefully digs into her piece again, whittling another curl of material away. So far, she was lacking in inspiration, but it was satisfying regardless.

Cravendy Hound eyes what Lin is doing to her block with a grimace, but doesn’t comment on it...directly. “Maybe ye can start with somethin’ simple. A spoon, or a ‘air pin?”

Aislinn North Aislinn paused, glancing at Cravendy over the rim of her glasses. "So you don't actually know what you're going to carve until you're already carving?" For someone like Lin, the idea that there were no blueprints, no schematics, no advanced planning was almost an anathema. In her experience going along with her intuition and acting in the moment only got her into trouble.

Aislinn North Better that everything be carefully thought out and planned for. The exception being, in the heat of a fight, of course. Even then a good strategist should be able to foresee most possibilities and plan for them.

Cravendy Hound: “Yeah,” she answers nonchalantly. It, of course, sometimes led to her sharpening the wood into a simple spike or creating something equally unplanned, but for her, the point was to go with the flow. Cravs looks at her half-carved piece of wood with a hum.

Cravendy Hound shrugs. “No right or wrong way about it. I wouldn’t think too ‘ard about it...and if ye mess up, the wood shavings make good firestarter.”

Aislinn North Right. Aislinn gamely continued on in her endeavor but it was clear the woman was better with a firearm than a blade. And as much as Cravendy said not to think too hard about it, Aislinn had already decided what would be the best course of action. "A spoon can't be too hard, right?" she murmured, almost to herself as she concentrated on trying to steer the knife smoothly down the block. A comfortable sort of quiet settled between the women as they worked.

(Cravendy Hound) fdskjlf for some reason...I'm imagining Lin's spoon to be dual purpose in some way )) (Cravendy Hound) spoon end, and...stabby end is a thought xD )) (Aislinn North) ((She'll end up inventing the spork in Eorzea)) (Cravendy Hound) omg yES ))

Cravendy Hound lifts her work-in-progress up to the light. The curves cut out from it remind her of a fish, and she decides to keep going with it. Without realizing it, she begins to sing - a whisper of a song that is almost lost in the wind. It starts and ends without ever registering in her memory, and afterwards she grins at Lin.

Cravendy Hound: “The woods are nice when they aren’t sendin’ bees or other nasty buggers yer way. Feels...too nice, sometimes. A salty old dog like me is used to a lot worse.”

Aislinn North Her head bent over her work, Aislinn is lost in the minute details of blade against wood until Cravendy's lilting song quietly fills the air. Blinking, she lifted her head in surprise. She never pegged the woman as the type to sing. Though now she wasn't exactly sure why that would be. Sailors sang all the time, didn't they? But what Cravendy said seemed to flummox her even more. "The woods sent bees after you?" she halted as the realization came to her. 1/2

Aislinn North "Ohh. The Shroud. Aye, it can be touchy." she ran a jerky blade down her block of wood once more. "What did you do? I mean, to annoy it?" she clarified. 2/2

Cravendy Hound sucks in air through gritted teeth, and a light blush spreads over her face. “Oh, I don’t know...ye know. The Elementals are very, uh, mysterious.” She then slices away at her wood and, flustered, accidentally takes off a large chunk of the fish’s tail. Damnit. It’s starting to look more like an eel.

Cravendy Hound: “Okay, I’ll come clean. Ye know ‘ow I was practicin’ my aim, but I kept ‘ittin’ the trees instead of the target? I kept doin’ that and...I mean, that could be it.” She presses her lips tightly together. “Maybe.”

Aislinn North: The roundabout answer had Aislinn suppressing a small smile. It sounded as though Cravendy knew exactly what she had done. Aislinn wasn't going to press the issue but she didn't have to, either. Her face lit with silent laughter in the light of Cravendy's confession. 1/2

Aislinn North "Aye, I may have done that once or twice. Learned my lesson though. If I'm going out there in the wilds and not to the range, I'll pack my stunning ammo and a little target node instead. Seems to annoy the Shroud less that way. Or. ..at least I haven't got chased out since doing it that way." she paused in her work and looked Cravendy over. "Glad to see you don't look any worse for wear though. Looks like it was just a polite warning." 2/2

Cravendy Hound grimaces further as she recalls the swarm of bugs and plants that chased her from Peacegarden all the way to Hrystmill. “To be ‘onest, I probably would’ve been carried off by the buggers and thrown into the sun if it weren’t for..er. What was ‘is name...” Cravs waves her knife around, as if the physical motion of twisting her wrist would get the cogs in her head going. “Uhh, some mailman who goes by ‘Windy’ or somethin’. He got the worst of it off my back.”

Cravendy Hound: “Stun ammo...I’ll ‘ave to find some for myself. Don’t want a repeat incident.”

Aislinn North Aislinn had to stop her carving. If she hadn't she was liable to slip and make a bloody mess of one of her fingers. Her shoulders shook from the effort to keep her laughter quiet and contained. "So. ..let me make sure I understand. You were chased off your target practice by a swarm of bees. And then. ..saved by a mailman named 'Windy'. Out in the wilds of the Shroud. A mailman." she could do little more than shake her head. 1/2

Aislinn North "You do seem to end up in the oddest situations, Cravendy." 2/2

(Cravendy Hound) aaahahha xD )) (Cravendy Hound) it's gonna be hilarious when everything snaps into place )) (Aislinn North) ((assuming it ever does. But yes! xD)) (Cravendy Hound) it will!!! I'll make sure of it xD ))

Cravendy Hound nibbles the bottom of her lip. It was...an approximately accurate retelling of what had happened. Ridiculous, but maybe the bees in her hair had rattled her brain and shuffled her memory around. Swiving elementals. “Guy was as stiff as a board, but would say wild things with such ease. Claimed that ‘e could outrun a chocobo. Funny bastard, ‘ope I find ‘im again.”

Cravendy Hound is done carving her fish...eel...thing. Looking at it, you can’t quite tell what it is, though the swirling lines criss crossing over the wood are pleasing enough. She puts it down with a sigh. “I’m a fish out of water ‘ere, but it beats bein’ in Limsa or Ul'dah by a long shot.”

Aislinn North "Snorted "Supposin' if he could, he'd be the kind of mailman you'd want." she glanced down at Cravendy's work. She couldn't rightly say what it was but it was malms ahead of whatever she herself was doing. She looked down at her lap and picked up the block again. "I'm not gonna argue with you about Ul'dah. Neither one of us needs to step foot there. And Limsa. ..I can see why you might be avoiding it." she paused briefly. 1/2

Aislinn North Her block was beginning to resemble some sort of rudimentary spatula of some sort. Perhaps one drawn by a child. "Gridania just takes some getting used to, is all. It's...different." she shook her head. "It's not my favorite place either but there's good things about it." 2/2

Cravendy Hound looks over at Lin’s work, and then searches the array of tools scattered on the deck for one that has a small, curved blade at the tip. She picks it up and offers it to Lin. “This one is better for carvin’ out a ‘ole...so yer spoon is more spoon, and less spatula.”

Cravendy Hound then returns to crossing her arms, looking into the distance with a scowl on her face. She tells herself that by avoiding Limsa, she does everyone else a favor. With everything that had happened...No one wanted to itch that wound open again. But the truth is that she’s scared of what she’ll find. She’s not ready, not yet. But back to Gridania. “......The drinks’re good ‘ere, and that’s all I can ask for.”

Aislinn North She set aside her knife and took the proffered tool. "Right." she eyed the curve of the blade and then set to work. "And you know. ..when the bees aren't chasing you it can be downright pleasant." there may have been a facetious note to Aislinn's voice. She looked over at Cravendy with a brief smile. "Today's not a bad day, anyroads." she waved her tool out over the view the balcony provided, the sound of the wide river rushing below them. 1/2

Aislinn North "But I know what you mean. The forest can feel. ..confining. Closed in. It's not the wide ocean and it certainly isn't Gyr Abania." 2/2

Cravendy Hound: “I’m not pleasant, I’m...” Cravs trails off, her fire blowing out as quickly as it had flared up. Her days as a rough and tumble pirate were long behind her, despite it feeling like it was just yesterday. She snorts. “Bah.”

Cravendy Hound: “Never been to Gyr Abania.” She peers over at Lin, an assumption hanging in the air. She was Ala Mhigan, she probably went there all the time, right? But then again, Cravs was a Sea Wolf avoiding Limsa like the plague. “It seems...dry?”

Aislinn North "Ahh." Aislinn thought she understood now. "Well, the Shroud isn't exactly pleasant either. It has it's moments. That's all. Can still turn on you if you're not careful." She set down her knife. Maybe she'd ought to take stock and pause for a moment. "Dry's a good word for it." she nodded. "Though I haven't been back for..." she paused. Not since going to see the monks. She glanced away as a sadness seemed to settle over her, one she took an effort to shake off. 1/2

Aislinn North "Well, it's been more than a few moons. There's rivers and such but still. ..it's a dry, hard, beautiful place." 2/2

Aislinn North: "Maybe we wander that way one day. Just for a change of scenery."

Cravendy Hound fidgets with the fish-eel figure in her hands. Was that sadness, or perhaps longing in Lin’s voice? She wasn’t sure, except for the fact that there was -something-. But as the sun sets over the mountains, Cravs decides that it’s time to head back in, where they could continue whittling the time away in comfortable silence by warm fires and a well-stocked kitchen.

#ff14 rp logs #Cravendy Hound #Aislinn North #wood whittling!! :D #and bertram mention #aka windy the mailman aaaahah

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angel-caked · 3 years

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𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 ;; 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 / 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 ;; 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒑𝒕 𝑰𝑰.

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 -> 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒑𝒕 𝑰. // 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩 -> ♡

𝐈𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 @nxzoth 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬' 𝐏𝐎𝐕 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞.

" Pops, ya gotta eat. It's been days! "

Angel stared up at the hulking grey demon as an equally worried serpent prodded at a bulky arm; he hadn't moved by himself since the smaller arachnid hauled him from the destroyed remains of the garden. Henry simply stared off into nothingness and said nothing as if he'd given up, he hadn't even protested when Angel went into his stash of jerky or threatened to pour the wine down the sink.

Hell, Angel even went out of his way to make Henry's favorite to entice the mob boss into moving though it didn't even spur a sniffle.

While the two arachnids never saw eye to eye and have made attempts on lives... afterlives in some cases- they cared for each other in their own stubborn ways and ever since Arianna's return, they attempted to mend that bond ;

Henry even used Anthony rather than dead name him, he treated him more like a son rather than some stranger and Angel started going out of his way to childishly show more respect by harmlessly tormenting the old man and attempt to keep the giant pleased through working hard even if it meant a few more white lashes in the process.

Of course they had the occasional fist fight but after an intervention provided by the younger one's lover, the brawls stopped completely even with Arianna agreeing to the deserved asskicking.

The only time Angel saw him move out of his own tution was when he'd stuck out his claws to puncture a bag every so often that was presented to him by Arianna's guardian... snake, Sari when reminded that the leviathan still required nourishment even in a comatose state.... even if it were via cheetos or when Angel was shoveling soups down his throat in between taking care of the others just to keep the bastard living.

" Ssshe doesn't like Henry ssssad."

The serpent chimed in, bumping her head against a steely cheek in attempts to get a response from the scorpion. It seemed to work or at least they both thought. A brief flicker of hope glistened in Angel's eyes when Henry's hand sluggishly raised towards Sari but quickly fell as it had raised when no plastic needed to be pierced, obviously not listening but still aware enough to detect voices. Angel's fists that held the edge of the plate started chipping it in the firm grasp- of course she didn't, she never did like him upset but he didn't care now did he?

They could vividly remember the first time Arianna died-- he didn't act like this, he was nothing but rage and hatred masking despair and disregarding them and their siblings' feelings about the loss by violence. This though? Angel didn't know what to think of it because, he'd never hit this stage before; broken heart syndrome was a thing but he'd shown no signs of it prior besides the chaotic woman was going to pull through this time.

Sari said so and because she's a part of Ari that meant she knew. Right?

Unless Henry was so distrusting of his wife to believe that she'd give up so easily. To think that Arianna would succumb to some coward that couldn't even show their face was almost too disrespectful for this woman who has fought overlords, struck fear in faux holy creatures and was definitely a force to be reckoned with. She couldn't save Fat Nuggets during the fight, but she sure did save the Scorpion from a possible attempt…. Could've been the same ballsy bastard that murdered the prince not too long ago considering the weapon.

The faux calm that Angel had built up for the sake of both parents and those aware of the situation was slowly starting to bubble into anger just thinking about how Ari would feel, knowing Henry was restarting the cycle again and they were not about to be around to be subjected to it alone.

"Dad. She will be back, we just hafta be patient… I'm gettin' antsy worrying about when she'll wake up to but, don'tcha think that she'll be pissed to know yous aren't listening or eatin' fa that matta?" They assured him, keeping emotions in check at least for now. " It wasn't your fault, it had been so long since the other attempt an' we all had our guards down. Who knew they'd come here? Fa now we need to keep it together for Mama's sake an' everyone else. If they had an inkling'a this-"

Angel didn't get to finish the sentence before being grabbed by the wrists, effectively making the plate shatter to the floor and went wide-eyed registering Henry had moved and was now staring down at them with pupiless eyes that oozed a concoction of emotions that made Angel narrow pink eyes at him. Sari quickly slithered to coil around Henry's arm to make him release the taken back starlet but only got him to lessen the iron grip.

"Your mother gets fuckin' stabbed with a holy weapon through the goddamn heart, remains unresponsive then a pet yous claim as a son gets slaughtered as if he were on the chopping block an' you're concerned wit' how others will feel? I knew hell fucked ya up but, this much? We JUST got her back an' lost her at the drop'a goddamn hat an' over what? Bullshit! Do you realize we could've caught that fucker had you stayed instead'a runnin' off to that shit hotel? Yous knew more about that one and even if she's in a comatose she might not wake up. You sure fuckin' didn't!"

The Scorpion shouted, hoisting his heir up by the upper arms to shake while ranting and Angel was… too shocked to introduce him to pearlesque claws and Sari was fruitlessly trying to detour Henry's frustration by reminding him that Ari can sense the emotions though it fell on deaf ears as the scorpion vented ; he thought Angel didn't care…and he was aware of the coma…? The jostling just made a sharp pain slice through the captured arachnid, almost as if realizing what he was doing… or maybe what he said. Angel was quickly released from the grasp.

" D- "

" Get out. " Henry uttered, slowly unwinding Sari from his wrist to place the serpent back on his shoulder instead. He briskly moved away as best as he could from his legs falling asleep from standing immobile for so long as Angel just stood there.

What the hell were they supposed to do now?

#storyline : blood && lace #drabble : golden baby #death mention tw #violence mention tw #violence cw

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

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Working Like a Charm

Sammie Smith’s body ached. Every muscle screamed to the high heavens, lamenting long hours of work, telling a tale of soreness and overexertion. He could feel how sunken his eyes must have looked but avoided rubbing them.

Numb to the layers of grit and filth from the coal mine that clung to every surface of exposed skin, his weary calloused hands burned from clutching tools for as long as he had. Still was he clutching them now, carrying his heavy shovel and pickaxe on a shoulder. Part of why “Baron” Callan had hired him—he brought his own tools to work.

The day had been entirely too damned long, he thought. His head hung low, he looked forward to crashing into his creaky old rocking chair, warming up a bowl of beans, taking a bath, and getting a good night’s sleep. Night came fast this time of year, and the day had dragged on into overtime due to a cave-in, setting them back and subjecting the workforce to Callan’s barking admonitions. At least nobody had gotten hurt in the accident.

Sammie’s feet dragged and kicked up tiny clouds as he walked the dusty road back to his home on the edge of Dead End.

His shanty little shack stood amid a copse of trees, just far away enough from the town’s center that he needed not deal with the raucous noise from the saloon or the farrier’s daily toil or other busywork in the rugged frontier town, but not so far away that it made fetching water and supplies too much of a hassle.

He tripped over something, stumbled a few steps, and caught himself before gravity could drag him down. Sammie slowly turned to look at what had snagged his boot.

A linen sack. Sopping wet and dark in color. About the size of a human head.

It took him several moments to register what he was looking at. For the realization to sink in. He lost track of time, oblivious to how long he was standing there, staring at the linen sack, piecing together why his own brain figured it to be the size of a human head, or that the stain in the coarse cloth and on the dirt around it had to be blood.

And then his mind snapped onto a decision. He did what he believed every other conscientious citizen of their fine town should do upon finding a severed head by the roadside on their way home. He kicked it away with full force, cringing at the squelching sound and how little it flew past the shrubs, heavy with fluid, and it flopped unevenly, disappearing awkwardly into the shade of the underbrush.

He had been stealing pennies from Callan and often cheated at cards. He had pissed off plenty of people around town in some of his bouts of drunken aggression, and Sammie did not want to have Sheriff Moody on his ass for accusations of a murder he did not commit.

With a heavy sigh and hoping to leave the severed head behind for wild animals and vermin to claim, he continued his way home.

Only about thirty paces away from his shack, he stopped and groaned, beginning to second-guess and regret what he had just done. If it did draw wild animals, they would be a bit too close to his hut for comfort. And leaving it there for some rascal or dog to find might just make people think he did it either way.

Branches bent and snapped as he hastily dumped his tools by the side of the dirt path and started poking around in the bush where the head in the burlap sack had rolled off to.

Sammie swore up a storm as he searched. The blood drained more and more from his head with every second, a sense of dread forming a knot in his stomach as he could not find it and began to imagine people pointing and laughing while they hanged him from the gallows.

It had not flown far. How in tarnation could he not have found it already?

Glass shattered and metal clattered, and the burst of ruckus stopped him dead in his tracks. Sammie’s head jutted over, and he craned his neck over the edge of the bushes to peer at his shack.

Someone was in there.

The murderer?

He could feel his heart pounding away as it uncomfortably pumped blood through his throbbing chest, digits, and ears. Even his belly pulsed with his festering sense of fear.

Straining his eyes to see inside the darkness behind the small and shoddy windows of his cabin, he could not make out anybody in there. Eagerly awaiting a motion to make itself noticed.

He licked his parched lips and returned to his tools, keeping his eyes trained on his home. He ducked down, pawing at the first wooden shaft his hands found purchase on, then gripped the pickaxe in both hands.

Step by step, careful to not make too much sound as he approached, he drew his axe up high above his head, ready to swing it and kill if need be.

The closer he drew to the shabby front door of his cabin, the more subtle sounds he perceived from inside: scratching, followed by a man’s clipped cough, followed by wooden objects scraping against each other, followed by what sounded like someone smacking their lips—

Sammie arrived by the door. His heart throbbed with such pounding force that it felt like it was trying to escape every orifice, trying to drown out every little noise.

He kicked the door and started swearing once the sensation of the jolt reached his ankle and knee—the door just rattled in its hinges, refusing to yield anything but additional pain in his already sore leg. He lost balance and stumbled away, using the pickaxe to brace himself from falling, skidding across the dirt.

Whoever had invaded his home did not react to his fumbling around outside. Still sounded like someone was eating in there.

Was this rat bastard eating his jerky supplies?

The fury welling up in his gut—being stolen from, being possibly framed for murder, making a fool of himself in failing to kick his own door open, frustrated by the ghoulish foreman and “Baron” at work, being too tired for any of this—somehow eclipsed his fear.

Fuming, Sammie ripped the door open, gripping the pickaxe in one hand, knowing it might as well just scare off the scoundrel to show he could drive the pick right through him if he started messing around.

One step beyond the threshold, he froze.

Faint light from the setting sun poured in through the cabin’s small windows, revealing a cloud of dust motes to be dancing in the rays. The smell of feces and vomit lingered in the air, like someone had dragged the horse trough from outside the saloon into here.

A stranger sat at his table, eating. Eating what looked to be shards of glass in one of Sammie’s wooden bowls. The stranger smacked his lips and the glass crunched between his teeth as he chewed, with rivulets of blood trickling down his chin. He looked like he had once sported a dapper black suit and jacket, like someone far more well off than Sammie—like a businessman from Louisville—but myriads of dark spots and dust marred his attire, like he had been rolling around in the dirt and human refuse.

And his hands were slick and shiny with crimson. His fingers looked way too thin at the tips, all pointy and narrow, mismatched with the rest of his meaty palms.

The stranger met Sammie’s horrified gaze with an air of confounded indifference about him, idly crunching down on the glass being ground down between his teeth. His eerily thin fingertips gingerly grabbed another shard from the pile of broken bottles in the bowl in front of him and guided it to his mouth.

He opened his mouth and revealed a nightmare of blood and shiny jagged bits, teeth painted in black and red.

The pickaxe landing on the floorboards with a heavy thud helped Sammie break out of his trance. All semblance of fatigue had escaped his weary body and he now felt lightheaded, his stomach churning and turning upside down like it needed to expel his meager lunch, and his knees buckled for a split second before he braced himself against the frame of his front door.

The stranger stopped chewing. Swallowed with visible effort and a loud gulping sound to accompany it. Coughed, choked, gurgled. Swallowed again.

He tilted his head and stared Sammie in the eyes. Piercing, unblinking. Uncaring of the blood dripping from his own chin.

“I—”

The glass-eater spoke and coughed. He cleared his throat and coughed again.

“I, too, have discovered, that poring over the secret pages of Doyle, I sometimes feel the distant spirit of God,” said the glass-eater. Blood bubbled from between his lips and stilted his otherwise eerily calm manner of speaking. “On the whole, our questions are quickly eaten by the—by the—”

His words trailed off. His gaze remained fixed upon Sammie, going blank.

“W-who? Who are you?” Sammie finally asked.

He wanted to crouch down and snatch the pickaxe back up, but it was all too weird. The stranger, this glass-eater, had clearly lost his mind, but he was not threatening him in any way. Just sitting there with a calm that did not match the damage he was doing to himself in eating all those glass shards.

The glass-eater blinked, finally, reminding Sammie of a human. His focus returned; his gaze hardened again.

“Who are you?” the glass-eater echoed him, almost mimicking his tone.

Was that a mockery?

Sammie almost shook his head as much as his mind told him that was not the case. The glass-eater had repeated his question more like children learning how to speak by mimicking the words of adults they heard spoken.

He swallowed the dry lump of coal dust and grit and fear that had lodged itself into his parched throat and started thinking differently.

Maybe this glass-eater fellow needed help.

“You don’t look alright, man,” said Sammie. “I can get you a doc. You want me to get you a doc?”

Glass-eater tilted his head the other way and did not answer the question. Instead, without breaking eye contact, he picked up another shard and brought it to his lips, parting them and inserting it into his bloodied jaws.

Crunch, crunch.

“You, uh, you know where you at? This is my home,” Sammie said. “I can get you—I will go get a doc, alright?”

Crunch. Crunch. Dead stare.

“Maybe, uhm, stop eatin’ all that—uh, all that glass?”

Crunch. Staring unbroken.

“I will go find the doc,” Sammie said, walking out of his cabin without turning his back, not daring to turn until he had distanced himself from the door by several slow and careful paces, as one should in the presence of a beast in the wild.

Slowly peeling his gaze from their unnervingly long eye contact, he shot a glance over his shoulder every few steps, making sure that the crazy man still sat there and did not just jump up from the chair and give chase.

Instead, he continued to calmly eat more of the broken glass. With growing distance, Sammie could not hear those blackened teeth crunching down on the shards. He merely heard the haunting echo of it in his mind.

Crunch, crunch. Crunch.

His pace accelerated and he nearly jogged the last bit towards the rows of buildings that constituted Dead End’s main street. Bumped right into someone, nearly falling onto his ass as he stumbled sideways past the next person.

A man in black, standing tall, the powder of the trails sticking to a long duster coat. U.S. Marshal’s star on his belt, two six-shooters slung into holsters hanging from a belt around his hips. A visage featuring a symmetry broken up only by a milky-white eye, framed by a scar speaking volumes of a beast’s claw raking over the lawman’s face.

The marshal’s one good eye scanned Sammie up and down while he caught himself. Sammie nearly soiled his pants right then and there, at the mere thought of all the trouble he might get into if this lawman got on his case and misunderstood the situation somehow. Just find the doctor, now, and—

“What in the hell is wrong with you, son?” asked the marshal with a growl. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

He tipped his hat at Sammie and hooked a thumb into his belt, demonstratively flapping open one side of his coat to display the badge and one of his revolvers.

“O-oh, uh, it's—it’s, uh, it's—uhm, it’s nothin’, sir,” stammered Sammie. “Jus’ lookin’ for a, uh, physician, bit of a personal medical ‘mergency?”

He silently cursed himself for being such a bumbling coward, now of all times. Swallowed another lump stuck in this throat. His heart now pounded as fiercely as it had when he found the severed head.

Shit. The severed head.

Sammie had nearly forgotten about that.

The marshal took a step closer towards him and lowered his voice to what could only be described as a conspiratorial whisper, “Listen, I know there are strange things goin’ on in this town. You lead me to 'em, I oughtta have a shot at fixin’ these things somehow.”

He rolled his jaw and then set it while he awaited a response from Sammie. Sammie’s mind and thoughts however melted into a puddle of worthless soup.

Sammie blurted out the words, “Ah, shit, m-man—uh, I mean, uh—I-I need your h-help, sir.” He then lowered his voice to a desperately pleading hiss. “There’s some crazy man in my house. H-he's—he’s eatin’ glass, man. And talkin’ weird.”

He could get to the head later. Or maybe that would never come up.

Sammie held his breath, ready to soon be staring down the wrong end of one of those revolvers.

Instead, the marshal nodded and ordered, “Show me.”

He led the lawman back down the trail. Noticed a whiff of something dead and rotten about him, leaving him to wonder if something was not off about the marshal, as well. At the very least, Sammie hoped, that might throw him off from noticing a head in the sack out in the bushes nearby. Then he wondered if it was even a human head in there, as he had never bothered to look inside. Then he quietly scolded himself to shut about it already, like he might draw attention to the bloody linen sack if he thought too much about it.

Approaching the cabin, hasty step by step, he expected to find the glass-eater missing and putting him in the predicament of having to explain things. Things like this did not happen. Should not happen.

Some part of him dreamt that this was just a nightmare, and he was about to wake up anytime soon. No such luck, though. His body still ached from the day, the sun set on the horizon, and every step hurt his blistered right heel. It was all too real.

Like a dream, he hoped to cross that threshold and find no sign of the glass-eater. To find everything in its rightful place, to wonder if he was just losing his own damned mind.

But Sammie froze by the door. The stranger still sat there, gingerly picking up another shard of glass, bringing it to those bloodied split lips and the crimson fluids running down his chin in rivulets, and then chewing on the shard.

Crunch, crunch. For some reason, it reminded Sammie of bones now. Like this was the sound that bones made when something ate them. Snapping, cracking, crunching.

Crunch. Crunch.

A calloused hand clapped down on Sammie’s shoulder, tearing him out of this new daze of his. The marshal squeezed his shoulder for a second and then pushed past him, stepping inside the cabin.

“Sir?” the marshal asked. “This your home?”

Even with his back turned to Sammie, the marshal’s presence was imposing. All dressed in black and looking weathered, it was like he absorbed all the remnants of light in these gloomy cramped quarters, like he had a strange inverse halo about him where all light bent and gathered around him.

Crunch, crunch.

The glass-eater tilted his head again, just like he had when speaking with Sammie.

“Yes, of course this is my home,” the stranger spoke, another bubble forming between his tortured lips.

Unfazed by his condition and what all those shards must have been doing to his—in his—

Sammie fought the urge to throw up at the thought. The marshal cast an inquisitive glance over his shoulder, catching Sammie’s gaze. For a moment, he worried if he had to argue about some crazy man walking onto his property and getting other people to testify that this was, in fact his home.

The marshal did not question it, though, instead turned his attention right back to the glass-eater.

“All under the sky is my home, now, as we awaken, sea, by sea,” said the stranger, cementing what the lawman must have instinctively grasped. “You are a child of the mountains. I am the ocean.”

His thin fingers—and only now, somehow, as it grew darker, did it dawn on Sammie what was so off-putting about them—grabbed another shard from the bowl. His fingers looked the way they did because all the skin and nails from their tips had been flayed off somehow. Just bloodied skeletal husks of what they must have been, thinning towards the tips.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“That so?” asked the marshal. He shot another glance at Sammie, his brow arched.

The marshal knew. He understood the insanity of this situation. The madness of that man.

To the glass-eater, he then added, “You touch any… strange objects lately, sir?”

Crunch, crunch.

“You involved on the rail work between here and Louisville?”

Crunch.

The glass-eater tilted his head again. More blood trickled from the corner of his sealed lips. His eyes sparkled with something strange in the dying light.

Crunch.

“You even remember a name anymore?”

Crunch. Crunch, crunch.

The glass-eater grabbed another shard, not breaking eye contact with the marshal.

“My name is the many, and my song is the return. I am the ocean,” he finally replied, putting particular emphasis on the word “am”. It echoed in Sammie’s mind.

The marshal violently expelled air from his nostrils, something in between a sigh and a groan.

“Shit,” he said.

In a flash, loud claps of gunshots pierced the air. The stinging smell of gunpowder soon hit Sammie’s nostrils. The deafening noise startled Sammie, sending him reeling, stumbling backwards, away from the eruptions of muzzle flashes brightly illuminating the gloomy cabin for split seconds. Then another volley of shots ripped, fired from both revolvers, one in each hand of the marshal.

The glass-eater dropped the shard into the bowl and looked down at his chest, now pockmarked with pitch-black bleeding bullet holes. He probed one of the wounds with those skeletal fingertips, almost in disbelief. Not trembling with fear or weakness—no—with a certainty that seemed wholly unnatural.

More thunderclaps, more shots released from the revolvers until both weapons had been emptied through repeated fire. The glass-eater slumped over the table, the wooden bowl with the glass hurtled to the floor where the shards sprayed in every direction with high-pitched clinking, and the stranger stopped moving.

Frozen in shock, Sammie knew not what to do.

Why in God’s name had he just shot the man?

“Too late to save that poor bastard. Too far gone,” the marshal growled, followed by another sigh; almost as if he had read Sammie’s mind and responded to his thought.

The floorboards thumped and thundered, and spurs jingled, as the marshal strode through the narrow cabin’s interior, closing in on the dead body of the glass-eater. He poked him with the smoking barrel of one of his pistols, then used it to lift the lifeless head and ensure the stranger had expired. A veritable vomit of blood poured out from the dead man’s half-open mouth.

Still dumbfounded and with a panic budding deep down, Sammie was only moments removed from running away and looking for help. Because now he feared the marshal again, perhaps far more than ever before.

What if he found the head? Blamed it on him? Blamed glass-eater on him Gunned him down without question? Without trial?

The thoughts circled at the speed of a hundred miles a minute, but they also rooted him firmly in place while the marshal’s eyes scanned Sammie’s meager possessions around the cabin. Then their eyes met again.

“You hold on, sir,” the marshal said, taking a step towards him. “I will get this mess cleaned up, lickety-split. Damn shame he had to ruin your home like that. And I reckon I, uh—I apologize for the holes I put into your back wall.”

He had already holstered the guns, which had happened so quickly that Sammie never registered it. He wanted to back away, but now dreaded seeing those guns flash right back out, giving him the same treatment of judge, jury, and executioner, all in one.

Instead, the marshal dug around in his duster and produced a silver amulet. Its shape looked foreign, odd—not a crucifix, not a locket, not a pocket watch—before he could discern its precise form, the marshal clutched it firmly in his fist and whispered something incomprehensible.

A warm light flared up in the cabin for a split second. The stench of rotten eggs suddenly filled the air, adding to Sammie’s nausea. And he heard something fidget in there, just out of sight. The marshal looked at a corner—focused on something just out of sight for Sammie. He only needed to step inside to follow his gaze, but—

Something held him back. Something in there had appeared out of nowhere, and it unsettled him deeply. Made his mind race even faster, so fast he could not form a single coherent thought.

“You clean up here, alright?” the marshal spoke to whoever was in the corner.

Pause. Scratching sounds.

“No, we will not discuss this now. Just clean it up, and we can bicker later,” the marshal said, responding to seemingly nothing.

Another long pause, more scratching sounds. Someone else was in there. Or something.

The marshal walked outside the front door, paused, swiveled, and closed the door behind him. He cracked a feeble smile at Sammie, something that screamed of dishonesty. Or perhaps pain. Or regret.

Sammie did not know what to do. He had to tell others about this. Get word out. They might think he was crazy, but if the marshal was truly crazier than him and the glass-eater combined, then he might find protection in numbers. Hell, maybe even that useless sheriff might help cover him if the going got rough.

The marshal lifted the amulet to eye height between them and then let it drop. It dangled from its silvery chain and Sammie tried to study it as it swung back and forth.

Up close, it looked like a long, steel cylinder, roughly the length of half his pinky finger. Reddened grooves coiled around it at rhythmically pleasing intervals, and strange symbols etched into the side formed a harmonic pattern all over its surface. The symbols reminded him of arithmetic, for some reason, though Sammie was illiterate.

“Look at the amulet, sir,” said the marshal, his voice now flat and calm. Almost soothing. “Next thing you know, all these worries o’ yours will be wiped away.”

Another flash of light. Next thing Sammie knew, he was walking down main street, in Dead End. No recollection of anything that had just transpired.

His body ached. Every muscle in him complained about the long day of toil behind him. He just yearned to sink into a bath and wash off all the grit and filth from the coal mine. His weary calloused hands burned from clutching the pickaxe and shovel that he carried on his shoulder. His tired gait gained more zest as he veered off to the side, taking the open spot between the buildings and following the dirt path back to his cabin.

The day had been entirely too damn long, he thought. His head hung low, he looked forward to crashing into his creaky old rocking chair, warming up a bowl of beans, taking a bath, and getting a good night’s rest.

Night had somehow come faster than it should have, he reckoned. They had worked late, but he must have been so tired that he did not realize how fast the sun set on his way home.

Must have just been that time of year.

Sammie’s feet dragged and kicked up tiny clouds as he walked the dusty road back to his home on the edge of Dead End.

He did not trip over anything this time. He did not notice anything amiss in his cabin when he plunked down his tools on the table and looked around for some jerky to bite. He went about the rest of his evening. Oblivious to what had happened here earlier.

Something had reached deep inside his mind and scrubbed it clean. No head, no glass-eater, no marshal, no shooting, no talisman. Just some missing time he could explain away.

The marshal’s talisman worked like a charm.

—Submitted by Wratts

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gayiconwaluigi · 4 years

Text

Tracking the dynamic between Argo and Fitzroy eps 9-11.

Episode 9:

Fitzroy: Damn!! This is good jerky!! Argo: Oh, my mom would be pleased to hear you say that. What—how about you, Firbolg? You want to try a little bite?

Argo: Well, I'd agree to that idea, as long as we could maybe name it after my ma. Cause y'know, she was a very important part of my life. Fitzroy: Thundermom! Argo: [quietly] Thundermom…

Argo: Memories, huh? What about you, Fitzroy? What about your folks? Fitzroy: Oh… You know, uh, the—the house where I grew up, Argo, it‘s um… I don‘t like to flaunt it, but uh… it was large enough that I would go days without seeing either of my parents, and uh, they would frequently sort of travel from villa to villa. Or ‗vi-ya,‘ as they would say it.

Argo: Avast ye—oh, he‘s already dead. I actually should've said the ava— but then it wouldn‘t have been a sneak attack if I'd yelled out ‗avast ye.‘ Firbolg: This is the problem. Fitzroy: Well, it still wasn‘t a sneak attack, if you think about it… Argo: It wouldn‘t have been, no.

Fitzroy: [quietly] There may be invisible imps in here. So make sure you sneak attack just every square inch of the room, okay partner? Argo: Well, it doesn‘t really work like that. That‘s not sneaky. Fitzroy: Well, again, I think… the last play was a little bit also unsneaky, but let‘s just, um… hm. Uhh… Argo: Let me try something. Let me try something.

Griffin: And I attack the model skeleton with my maul. Argo: You have sneak attack too?! Fitzroy: Sure, if this is what we‘re calling it. I sneak attack the heck out of him.

Fitzroy: What… just… happened, Argo? Argo: Hell if I know. [laughs] I have—I have magic, too! I have one freakin‘ spell!

Fitzroy: Argo, take a grabski, bud! We‘re all takin‘ one. Argo: Uh, I'll take the… oh, I don't know. I'll take the arsenic. I'll take some arsenic. Travis: Whoa! Fitzroy: I don‘t love that. Argo: Well, I am a rogue.

Argo: Sneak attack!! Fitzroy: Now this is a good—yes!

Fitzroy: Hey, Argo, you're just— Travis: If you're wondering, you get some in your hair. Fitzroy: Yeah, Argo, you're just kind of trying some stuff out tonight, aren't you? Argo: [laughs] I'm just really exploring meself. I'm discovering Argo! Fitzroy: Okay, so just like, moving forward, how did you feel about the head-butt operation? Argo: Probably a bad choice. ‗Cause now I've got ichor. But my skin is so naturally… y'know, it always looks like it‘s kind of covered in water and oily and stuff that, hopefully, the ichor will wash out.

Argo: Oh, okay. [sings] Night fever, night fever… Fitzroy: I don‘t think he was speaking… Argo: Oh, you didn‘t mean that literally?

Griffin: Yeah. Uh, I think that sort of takes the wind out of me, as I see Argo, uh, seemingly be killed by a razor-sharp chain. So I'm going to try and get over to him, taking an attack of opportunity, and try to get in his bag if I can.

Griffin: [laughs] I'm glad I said I drop out of rage, as uh, as I see that, because I lose my half damage ability, and uh, that‘s gonna take me down to, uh, two hit points! So, I dive towards Argo, take an enormous hit. Uhh, reach into his bag, grab the medicine kit, think about it real hard, about just kind of eatin‘ it myself, uh… but no, I'm going to uh, use it to revive Argo.

Summary: Lots of back and forth between Argo and Fitzroy. Argo is investigating Fitzroy (from what it appears). There’s a back and forth about Fitzroy wanting to sneak attack (Argo’s thing) and Argo wanting to do magic (Fitzroy’s thing). Argo head butts an imp, and even Fitzroy knows that’s dumb. Fitzroy drops out of rage to help Argo and helps Argo instead of helping himself after getting knocked to 2 HP.

Episode 10:

Gary: Those imps taught you something, eh? Fitzroy: Yeah, those imps taught me a lot about life and love. [????Griffin?????]

Argo: Umm… well, I did, uh… thanks to my new hero, Fitz, I—I escaped from the brink of death. I missed a lot, because I was at zero—no, I was unconscious.

Argo: By god, the little guy came along and brought me back to life, and I owe him a life debt. Buckminster: Oh! Fitzroy: Uh, yes, and a lot of times, when people say that, they do mean it sort of… um… metaphorically. At this school, there is actually a sort of fungible like, equivalent to a life debt. And we can get into that later.

Argo: No, wait, we need to try to guess, don‘t we? Buckminster: No, it‘s not a riddle, it‘s a joke. Fitzroy: No, it‘s not a riddle. It‘s not a quiz. It‘s a joke. Argo: Oh, gotcha. We don‘t know!

Argo: Uh, well, I mean, it was interesting. It was kind of creepy. Umm… but uh, yeah. I almost died. So, that was kind of a sucky, y'know, angle to it. Jackle: No. Argo. Argo, I'm not talking about the imps, boy. I'm talking about, what did you learn about Fitzroy Maplecourt? What'd you learn about his family? Argo: Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah. Oh, listen to this. You're gonna love this. His ma, her name was Dindra. And she handed out really good gum. Had a big purse. Had a huge purse. And in this purse, she kept like, jewels and gems, and uh, amulets, and uh, hot mint gum, apparently. So… that—that‘s… that‘s about the extent of what I learned. Jackle: [sighs] Argo: These guys don‘t like talkin‘ about themselves. They don‘t want to share. [weepy] I mean, they kind of bond together, and they got their little things, and they talk, but nobody—

Argo: Because listen… the—the guy could‘a… he had a chance to help himself, or save my salty ass. And he saved my salty ass. I… I… I don‘t feel so comfortable spying on him, especially if it‘s gonna lead to something bad happenin‘ to him. He‘s not a bad guy. For an arrogant jerk, he‘s kind of a nice arrogant jerk.

Argo: Well why can't I just come out and ask him? Why can't I, instead of just sittin‘ around, y'know, trying to be—

Argo: I understand. Okay, let me just tell you something. That‘s fine. And I‘ll pursue this up to a point. But if it reaches the point where something bad‘s gonna happen to him, you may have your first broken chain link, my… my friend.

Fitzroy: But I don't know how much you've been paying attention – Argo sneaks out at night very frequently. He does not talk very much about the classes he takes. I know he is a rogue by nature, and so, there is a certain amount of that to be expected from him, but… I… there is something very big and strange happening, and there is also something strange happening with our friend, Argo Keene. I don't know if we can bring him in on this.

Fitzroy: Master Firbolg, I trust you with my life. It‘s what… it‘s what happens to you occasionally that I don‘t trust. I don't know that I can say the same for Argo. And I don‘t necessarily know how to get there, so I think… at least for right now, it would behoove us to stay quiet, at least until we can protect ourselves from whatever is doing this to students at this school.

Summary: Fitzroy...I know you’re joking about kissing an imp, but if the imp’s taught you about love and to sacrifice yourself for the one’s you love...Argo call’s Fitzroy “my new hero.” Fitzroy is thinking about taking Argo up on that life debt. Argo is dumb and also sad that his friends exclude him. Argo says he’ll leave if they hurt Fitzroy because he thinks he’s a good person for saving his life instead of trying to save himself instead. Fitzroy doesn’t know how to begin to trust Argo, so he’s not sharing anything with him.

Episode 11:

Fitzroy: Uh, we like to keep it more fluid around here. More jazz-like, with our long term planning. I mean, right now, we've got a great thing going on. We have a fantastic thing going on. My CFO is always crackin‘ the books, trying to ink out every little bit of gold and copper and coin that we can possibly squeeze into our coffers, and Argo is doing… something. Equally vital, I'm sure.

Argo: And y'know, they're great fellas. They're really… they're really good, and they really seem to have really kind of, y'know, connected. They‘ve got… okay, they're both CEO and CFO of this… Thunderman thing, and I don‘t have a title. And it bothers me.

Argo: But I don't know, I'm kind of the odd man out. Y'know, with the two fellas. And it‘s, uh… y'know, like I said, it‘s not a big thing. It‘s just a fittin‘ in, y'know, kind of thing. I've never been one to make friends fast. But y'know, I feel a little left out. Especially at the meetings. Y'know, they all get to make official reports, and I just sit there, writin‘ all the stuff down. Eh, y'know…

Althea: Now, Argo, this isn't necessarily within my prevue. But… have you spoken with them directly? Have you told them that you feel left out, that you would like to be closer friends? Have you… opened up to them? Argo: Well… here‘s the thing. I think Fitz thinks I'm kind of an idiot.

Argo: And thank you. Thank you, by the way, for the compliment. I appreciate that. Althea: Oh, of course. Argo: So far, all I've been complimented on is like, uh, like, stealing things, and killing. It‘s nice to get a compliment on, y'know… bein‘ smart.

Fitzroy: Sneak attack! Travis: Wait, you don‘t have sneak attack! Griffin: I mean, I just did it fast.

Argo: Sneak attack! Crush: Okay. I'm standing right here looking at all three of you, and you're saying out loud, ‗sneak attack.‘ Um, so, this is going to be lesson number one. If you're going— Argo: I was trying to encourage—I was trying to encourage Fitzroy to try it again. Crush: Sure. If you're going to sneak attack – and this is just kind of basic 101 stuff – don‘t yell ‗sneak attack‘ before you do it. Fitzroy: You should whisper it. Crush: No, don‘t—okay. Argo: [whispers] Sneak attaaack!

Fitzroy: Hey, you did a fair amount of ass kicking before you were— Argo: Thank youuu. Fitzroy: Before you were killed.

Fitzroy: They had a evil boss. Crush: Like a big imp? Argo: He was an imperor. Fitzroy: Yowza.

Argo: Um, okay. Listen, um, I'm uh… I'm checkin‘ out—I wanna check out things on uh, Fitzroy. Y'know, I'm on my secret mission, which I assume you know, so it‘s not that big a secret. Sabour: Oh, yes. Yes. Argo: I was thinking, like, any… like, a social register from Goodcastle, or uh, old issues of… Knights Illustrated. Especially the bathing suit of armor issues. [laughs]

Argo: Wow. Caravan? Huh. So he was… a truck driver. [laughs] Travis: Basically, yes. Argo: Oh. [laughing] I'm not meanin‘ to laugh. Um… I… there‘s no way Fitzroy knows this, does he?

Argo’s Letter: Greetings, salutations, and general huzzahs! We haven‘t been formally introduced in the flesh so to speak, but I am Argonaut Keene, friend, roommate, and business associate of your son, Fitzroy. And let me just say right off the bat – your son is quite well. He is excelling in his classwork, wreaking a lot of havoc among imps, and making fast friends with many of his fellow students. Most notably, myself, his best friend, and our other roommate, a Firbolg named… Bud… Furby… Dr. Fungus. I tell you what, that can wait for another letter. Actually, the friendships are the reason I'm contacting you. We've all grown quite fond of Fitzroy and would like to surprise him with a kind of social event. Here at the academy, they have a tradition called a roast – and no, it does not involve cooking of any kind. I had to explain that to the Firbolg… It‘s where friends gather and show their affection for a designated buddy by standing up and making speeches; most of them, good natured ribbing of the honoree. I am organizing just such an event, and Fitzroy will be the honoree! ...Of course, I in return, vow to watch over Fitz and allow no harm to come to him here. That is a solemn promise that I do not make lightly, but to ease any concerns you have over the safety of your boy, my BFF.

Summary: Fitzroy admits that he doesn’t have a role for Argo, and then Argo notes that in his own meeting. Argo is hurt that Fitzroy thinks he’s stupid, and he takes Althea’s compliment that he’s not dumb to heart. There’s the whole sneak attack bit, which I cannot tell if Fitzroy is trying to mock Argo or genuinely has stolen his bit. Argo makes bad jokes and also asks for Knights Illustrated. Argo thinks it’s funny Fitzroy’s dad was a truck driver and trusts Fiztroy so much that he believes he doesn’t know his dad’s a truck driver. Argo labels himself as Fitzroy’s best friend although he’s obviously been upset that he’s not as close to Fiztroy as everyone else is. Then Argo vows to watch over Fitzroy, okay man, chill.

#maplekeene #taz graduation #sir fitzroy maplecourt

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diddlesanddoodles · 4 years

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Dumpling ch. 21

Nenani watched Farris as he worked from her perch. She’d been relegated to a top shelf where she could not get into trouble and Farris could watch her. The King had left earlier with Jae and though Nenani was a little disappointed at not being able to say anything to her friend. she had a sense that things were going to get better for Jae. She took solace in that. Tinking back to the conversation that Farris and Lolly had been having earlier in the day about Farris deciding to keep her and with Jae and the King’s private reconciliation still fresh in her mind, Nenani found herself curious.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked the spice master as he poured a measure of leaves and salt into a mortar and pestle.

“Ya can ask as many as ya want,” He replied, not looking up from his task. He took the stone pestle in one hand and began to crush the ingredients together. “But I won’t be promisin’ t’answer any of ‘em.”

“What would have happened to me if you didn’t keep me?”

Farris’s hand paused and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye before resuming his work.

“Keral would’a taken ya to the Hill tribes. A few miles from here. S’where most a’ the human refugees that come our way go. Not many want anything t’do with us Vhasshalans, but they’ll take our charity if it means a safe place to live and full bellies.”

She pulled at the hem of her sleeve, trying to find the right way to phrase her next question. “So, why...why did you keep me?”

“Hm. I didn’t have it m’mind to when Yale first brought ya t’me,” he said. “Just another lost and hungry lil’ human like so many before ya. Then ya got the reap...”

He stopped and put his hands on the table, staring into the mortar’s bowl until he finally looked at her fully, his expression enigmatic.

“Yer not my first ward, Dumplin’,” he told her. “There was another.”

“I’m not?” she asked.

“Kent was m’first,” Farris explained. “The war had been over fer about a year or so. Things were startin’ to find some sort of calm again. The King had outlaws eatin’ humans, but as ya probably figured...not everyone wanted t’give it up. ‘Specially since food was still scarce in many places. Word got around that some bastards had a stash of captive Silvaaran soldiers they were auctioning off as meat in some shit hole near Dornbey market. Keral took some of his boys and busted the group. One of the soldiers they rescued was Kent. Sorry bastard was all beat t’bits. Been smashed in the face at some point and infection had taken his sight. Yaesha treated him here best he knew how, but there wasn’t nothin’ he could do to give his eyes back. He couldn’t walk very well, either. Some old inury to ‘is leg left ‘im almost lame.”

Farris paused, mulling his words over.

“I got to thinkin’… Maevis’s been lookin’ after Barnaby and the King had taken Jae in by then. Thought I might do some good and give the poor sod a safe place till then end found ‘im, whenever that was. He’d be right useless to the Hill tribes in that state. Couldn’t work fer shit and had no other real skill doin’ much else. He’d be a burden to ‘em and I took pity on th’ poor bastard.”

For a moment, she could see the hurt in his face. Farris has never expressed anything close to pain, but Nenani had no trouble recognizing it in his eyes.

“He was a good man,” Farris said, voice on the verge of breaking. “Better than most folks I’ve ever known. Forgivin’ to a fault. Didn’t blame a soul for what had happened to him or to his family or to his country. Pissed me off t’be honest, but I think he was so grateful to be alive...well. He was m’ good friend for many years.” He paused. “But he got sick. The red reap. He didn’t suffer long. It was quick.”

Nenani chewed on her lip. “I’m sorry...”

The forlorn look in Farris’s eyes as he spoke of Kent faded and looked at her with a faintly amused smile.

“Then a few years on, Yale brings me this thieving little urchin, scrawny and pathetic, and tells me half of my persimmon order’s been pilfered,” he said, walking around the table and stepping closer to her shelf. He took the end of her braided hair between two fingers and ever so gently tugged on it. Nenani broke into smile, pushing at his fingers to try and reclaim her braid. He poked her in the belly playfully and his smile widening as she giggled. “So I put the fear into ya like we do with all them humans who try to come and steal from us...and then went ya got the red reap yerself.”

The sadness returned, “I thought ya might go just as quick as Kent did.”

He brushed a finger lightly across her cheek, affectionately. His eyes seemed to burn bright as she watched his face and he looked oddly proud. “But ya fought it and lived. Don’t know if ya realize just how much of a miracle that is, lass. So, when it was obvious ya were gonna pull through, I decided I wanted to keep ya. That I would watch over ya and give ya place t’call home.”

She felt her throat tighten and she held onto his finger when he would have pulled away. Bending down, she pressed her forehead into the warmth of his hand in the best approximation of a hug that she could manage.

“T-thank you...for deciding to keep me.”

Farris smiled and huffed a small laugh, turning away from her to back to his work. “Yer welcome, Dumplin’.”

……………………...

It had been a nice and quiet morning. Most of the staff were inside going about their work while Bart and Gjerk were chopping firewood. Or a more accurate description would be that Bart was chopping wood and Gjerk was doing his best. The younger worker was a few heads shorter than Bart and did not have near the muscles or sheer mass as him nor the years. He and Herit were the smallest and youngest of the staff and struggled the most with their work. Gjerk was taller than Herit by a bit, but was as lanky and thick as an oak tree yearling. While Bart swung his tool with grace and precision, Gjerk’s motions with his own were more jerky and seemed to have more hope and wishes behind it than muscle or practiced skill. Despite the chill, both of them wore no coats, but instead had added long sleeved shirts they wore beneath their usual tunics. Their idea of cold was far different than a human’s.

Nenani was only vaguely aware of the two giants as she occupied herself with making a snowman. It had not snowed very much so it was a small snowman, but she had managed to make it about two feet tall. Rummaging around the edges of the courtyard looking for rocks for the eyes and mouth, she had found two twigs and used them for arms.

She was making her way back to her small creation with a small collection of stones when she heard Bart yell.

“Dammit boy! Yer gonna lose a fuckin’ foot at this rate!” Bart snarled as he reached out and took the ax from the younger giant’s grip, looking at it with a frown. “Well, no fuckin’ wonder ya can’t split a damn log fer shit. What’er ya doin’ with an ax? Where’s yer splittin’ maul, boy?”

“Uh...a maul?” asked Gjerk, looking flustered. His face was flush from the cold, making his freckles stand out all the more.

Bart glowered and rolled his eyes. “‘What’s a maul’, he says. What’s a maul. This!” Bart held up his ax – er, maul. “This is a maul. It’s made fer splitting wood.”

He held both tools together in front of Gjerk. “See the difference now?”

Each looked very similar from the side, but one was much thicker, not blade-like at all, and the other was a thin and curved blade.

“Y-yes, I see now,” Gjerk replied.

“Good. Now go get yerself a fuckin’ maul and put this back,” Bart replied gruffly. “And hurry back!”

Nenani finished putting the smile on her snowman and stood back to admire her work. A thick sprinkling of snow abruptly fell onto her head, startling her. She yelped in surprise, more from the shock of the cold snow hitting her bare skin and looked up as Saen walked passed her with a heavy sack of flour over one shoulder. He was grinning down at her and stuck out his tongue in response to her baffled expression.

He was almost to the stone archway when something small and very cold hit the back of his neck and slipped down into his shirt. He squawked indignantly and floundered as the small, but very cold, piece of ice trailed down his back. The giant whirled around to stare at Nenani as she dusted her hands clean of snow, looking smug.

“Oh yeah,” Saen replied with a crooked smirk. “Forgot about that arm of yer’s.”

She grinned as she leaned down to scoop up a large handful of snow.

“Okay, okay!” Saen replied, scuttling into the safety of the dark entryway. “I’m goin’!”

Nenani laughed quietly to herself and let the snowball drop back to the ground before retrieving a few of the rocks beside her feet. When she pulled herself back up, Bart glanced her way with one eyebrow raised in question.

“Ya an icicle yet, Dumplin’?” he asked, a vague smile playing on his lips.

Nenani brushed the snow from her coat and adjusted the knitted scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders. “Only a little,” she admitted.

“Well go inside and thaw,” he said, tossing his head towards the stone archway, and then returning his focus back to the wood pile and the logs waiting to be split. “Tell Herit to come get these logs. Quinn’ll be gettin’ pissy if his ovens start coolin’.”

“Okay.”

The sound of stomping boots, a great many of them, echoed through the courtyard and both Nenani and Bart looked up. Along the top walls of the courtyard was a walkway and several guards were rushing down them and taking up positions there. A good many of them were armed with halberds and pikes. They were all looking upwards into the gray sky. Nenani followed their line of sight and she starred at an odd black spec that was swirling about in an odd pattern high in the air above the castle.

“What the blazes is goin’ on?” Bart hollered up at the guard closest to him.

The guard, dressed in his boiled red leather armor and black metal helmet, leaned down over the rail and yelled back a single word. “Wyvern.”

Nenani had never seen Bart express anything close to fear in the short time she had known the giant. His head swiveled around to Nenani, an alarming intensity to his eyes. “Inside. Now.”

“What’s a wyvern?” She asked, but jumped in alarm when Bart yelled over her.

“INSIDE. NOW!” She dropped the few rocks that she had in her hands and ran for the stone archway just as Farris, Yale, and Saen were coming up to peek out, having heard the chorus of guards.

“What is it?” Farris asked, his posture stiff and his eyes narrowed. “Bart?”

“Wyvern,” said Bart as he circled around the courtyard with slow strides, his eyes never leaving the sky. He brandished the maul in his hand like a weapon.

“Fuck,” Saen muttered. “The hell is one a’them doin’ out at this time of year?”

Nenani reached the archway and stood next to Yale’s boot, peeking out at Bart curiously.

“What’s a wyvern?” she asked, looking up at Yale.

“Big lizard with wings,” Yale muttered, arching his neck to try and spy where the wyvern was in the sky. “Nasty buggers.”

Farris glanced down at her. “Get inside, Nenani. And not just in the doorway. Inside proper, understand?”

“O-okay,” she replied and turned to hop down the small set of stairs. Giant stairs weren’t so bad going down, it was climbing up them that got exhausting fast. Once inside, she scurried down along the wall towards Kol and Quinn’s station who had stopped their work to watch the doorway.

“Did he say wyvern?” Quinn asked her as she made her way under the table. He sounded worried.

She nodded, leaning around one of the table legs and finding herself feeling very unsettled at the fact that that single word was making so many of the giants around her nervous.

“A-are they like dragons?” she asked.

Kol barked a humorless laugh. “If we had a dragon bearing down on us, we’d be under that table with ya, Dumplin’. Nah, wyverns are a lot smaller, but they’re still dangerous. Big jaws. Big teeth. Small brains.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “They’re also supposed to be hibernatin’ this time a’ year too. And be buggaring about several dozens of leagues away from Vhasshal!”

“It’s probably sick or dying,” Avery tossed in his opinion from the other side of the kitchen. “Preferably it’ll be gettin’ on with it before long and before it comes near us.”

“Maybe it’ll croak and just drop outta the sky,” Kol suggested in a paltry attempt to bring a douse of levity to the room. “A wyvern skull would look pretty magnificent above the hearth, eh? Maybe get Keral to carve it some? Remember that Boar’s skull he did up a few years back fer the King’s birthday?”

“You ever smell a dead wyvern, Kol?” Avery asked, curling his nose. “If ya think lippers have a right stink on ‘em ya really don’t wanna be smellin’ a wyvern carcass up close.”

“And how would ya know what a wyvern carcass smells like?”

“M’Dad killed one when I was a kid,” Avery replied. “Stank up the whole fuckin’ valley. Mum whined about it fer a month.”

Nenani clutched the wooden table leg, letting their conversation drift above her. It felt odd to know that above her head were a dozen armed guards, giant armed guards, but more concerning was the creature above all of them. With it being as high as it was, it was impossible to gauge its actual size, but if the giants were worried, she took it to mean that it would be very advisable for her to be as well.

“What are you suppose to do?” Nenani asked. “When a wyvern comes, I mean.”

“Exactly what we’re doin’ now,” Quinn replied. “Grab yer biggest and meanest, give ‘em big sticks, and shove ‘em outside.”

“So...we just wait?” Nenani asked.

Quinn knelt down beside her, rubbing a knuckle against her back. “Yer safe in here, lil’un. Avery’s probably right. A wyvern out here in this cold? It’s gotta be on it’s last legs. If it does come close, the guards will have no trouble takin’ it down.”

“O-okay,” she replied.

A low groaning sound reverberated through the room, sending out a wave of vibrations that sent glass and ceramic clinking together. From outside, there came a chorus of yells. Then the air cracked with a horrendously loud roar and a blast of air shot through the doorway, blowing in snow and dirt. Avery, being in the air’s direct path, was pushed back against the hearth. He desperately grabbed the hearth’s mantle to keep from being thrown backwards into the blazing fire. Nenani was pushed back as well, falling onto her backside, and slid a few feet. Quinn managed to keep on his feet, but only just, and Kol had braced himself against the table. A bowl of proofing dough dropped from the table and shattered and several tools went flying.

“FUCKING HELLS!” Avery bellowed, scrambling away from the fire and swiping at his backside, and checking his hands for soot or signs that he was smoldering. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Any expostulations of their shock was drowned by yells from outside and the undeniable sound of something very large crashing into the walls accompanied by a guttural and feral growling far too animalistic to have come from a person. Quinn and Kol ran for the entry way and Avery was not too far behind them.

Nenani found herself all alone in the kitchen.

Belatedly, she ran after the three kitchen workers, but stopped just short of the door way, not feeling brave enough to see what lay beyond the stone walls. She could hear the scuffles and yells and the sound of something large flapping around and smashing into the ground and castle walls. She concentrated on trying to discern the individual voices, trying to pick out those of the kitchen staff. She could hear Farris, but the other voices were too muddled for her to pick them out or what any of them were saying.

It was then that she noticed the smoke.

Worried that something might have disturbed the cooking fire and was burning, she turned and saw a thin plum of smoke curing up from the top of the hearth as though the chimney were blocked. The smoke swirled in the air in an odd pattern, behaving unlike any smoke Nenani had ever seen. It began to fall as though it were struck with sudden weight, landing smoothly before the fire and swirling around and around in a tall spiral…

...and began to take the form of a person.

The sounds from outside were drowned out from Nenani’s mind as she watched in horror as a person emerged, full bodied, from the smoke. A familiar stag head skull stared at her, two red pin pricks of light illuminating the sockets and focusing in on her. At his side, clutched in his hand, was a sword.

“Beautiful chaos,” said the man, his voice like gravel crunching together. He took a step towards her and then another. He raised his free hand, gesturing to her. “The river runs uphill...”

She took a step back, never taking her eyes off the man. So many questions were rushing through her head, but she was struck with an undeniable truth: this man was dangerous. She knew it instinctively.

“Who are you?” she squeaked, pulling at her scarf.

“...to the dying songs of the fall of fools and Kings...” He ignored her question and simply took another step, chanting his nonsense. His sword, colored black as though covered with a fine sheen of soot and ash, swept up into an arch. Flecks of black broke off from it and flew about the air like dark snow.

The room smelled of smolder and ash.

“What do you want?” she asked, the fear clear in her voice. She was alone and even if she called for help, she knew there was no chance that anyone outside could hear her. Her dream was vivid in her mind and there the man was, fully realized and present as the floor beneath her feet. But it was not possible. He was impossible…

“...that tear flesh from bone and the crown from the mountain...” He held his arms wide as though his words held great meaning, but she could not make sense of anything he was saying. Mountains and rivers and blood and kings, she understood nothing of it.

Nenani back peddled several more steps, her heart hammering in her chest. “Leave me alone!”

“Water runs red with fire,” he said, voice falling an octave and the red of his eyes seemed to brighten, “...and shall rise when the old blood runs new.”

When the old blood runs new. That phrase, for whatever reason, sent a wave of dread through her body and into her bones. She turned and ran.

“The flesh taken will be paid in blood...”

The curtain to the barracks was pulled closed so she slipped under the heavy fabric and scrambled underneath. The room was dark, the lanterns unlit, but she could make out the darkened shapes of the bunks with what little light there was. She ran for Yale’s empty bunk, but in the near all consuming darkness, she failed to see the materializing form in front of her. She slammed into it. The smoke man’s voice spoke from above her. “...and the dead walls will rise with gold.”

Nenani saw the flash of metal as it swung down. She screamed as the world behind her exploded. Wood splinters flew through the air, pieces of ceramic and glass rained down, and the large body of the wyvern convulsed as it struggled inside the kitchen that suddenly seemed much smaller. Its wings flapped awkwardly, knocking down shelves and hanging pots and pans and knives from the walls. Its great head swept side to side as though seeking something out.

Nenani sat up from the ground, not remembering how she came to be lying near the hearth, to see the great head turn down to her and she couldn’t see anything beyond its gaping mouth, filled with teeth longer than she was tall.

Before her mind could understand what was happening, she was up and running down the wyvern’s side, away from its mouth, and towards the door to the courtyard. Guards were cluttering up the entryway. One of them brandished a pike and he lunged at the wyvern with a wild yell. Nenani scurried to the wall and pressed herself against it. The metal pike made contact with the great lizard’s side, but only scrapped down the thick scales. More guards were rushing into the all too cramped space. They bore their weapons and snarled and yelled and stomped.

The noise was deafening.

Nenani was frozen to her spot, mind blank, and unable to move. She was vaguely aware of the sensation of something dripping down her forehead, but ignored it as she watched the guards fling themselves and their weapons at the wyvern.

The wyvern seemed to decide it no longer liked being in the tight confines of the kitchen and whirled around, knocking into several guards and pushing one into the hearth fire. The unfortunate giant was quick to roll out and a fellow guard started to slap out the flames. The great lizard pushed the rest of the guards aside with a flick of its tail and hind leg. Nenani watched it writhe and struggle into the door. The beast hauled its body through, tail wiping around and throwing what remained of the long table against the wall towards Nenani. She watched the massive wall of splintered wood screech towards her and braced herself. She heard a loud clang of metal, her mouth was filled with the bitter and acrid taste of ash, and then everything went dark and quiet.

……………………….

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Come now,” her uncle told her. “What do you see?”

“The water.”

“And what is it about the water that you see?”

“The moon’s reflection.”

“Right. We see by the moon’s light. So, what do you see?”

“...I don’t see anything,” she replied disheartened. “D-does that make me a bad sailor?”

Her uncle smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was warm and comforting. Safe. “No, it doesn’t.” A pause. “Not being able to sail makes you a bad sailor.”

Nenani made a face and her uncle laughed.

………………………….

“Nenani? Can ya hear me?” a voice was speaking, but it sounded as though she were underwater and the voice was muffled and far off sounding. The voice continued to call to her and slowly the voice grew in volume as though she were surfacing and all at once she could hear everything fresh and crisp.

And there was chaos.

Guards were yelling, she could hear Bart hollering and then there was the roar of the wyvern and everything shook with the force of it. She abruptly came to a start and full awareness and sat up coughing. Her head swam and she reached out to brace herself and found her hand meeting the meaty flesh of a giant palm. Gjerk had her cradled in his arms and was huddled off to one side of the courtyard behind a stack of salted Lipper barrels. She could smell the pungent stink faintly in the chilly air.

“Easy,” Gjerk cautioned. “You got a nasty bump on yer noggin’. It’s not bleeding anymore, but ya need to keep still.” He laughed in relief, his eyes were watering. “Gods above, it’s a miracle ya ain’t in pieces. That ash bucket right saved ya from bein’ crushed, I’d say. Though you’ll be needed a good scrub down after this I suspect.”

Her face and hands and clothes were covered in black sooty ash and it lingered in her mouth as a disgusting mud that she spat out between bouts of coughing, trying to clear her airways and mouth of the fowl muck.

“Wha...where is...are...” her lips were not working properly and she felt ill.

“Just do me a favor a keep breathing, eh?” he requested with a flash of a smile that was clearly forced. She could see it in his eyes that he was terrified and she could even feel the slightly trembling of his arms. “I’d make for the other end of the courtyard, but there’s a giant angry lizard in the way. Best we sit here until they strike it down; or I see a better opening and just let the big fellows do their work.”

“Smoke…?” she asked, fumbling gracelessly over her words. “Smoke...man?”

Gjerk, who had turned his attention back to the ongoing skirmishing, jerked his head back down at her in confusion. “Smoke man? What-?”

His words were consumed by a chorus of yells and just as the young Vhasshalan looked up, something large and red swept in and struck the salt barrels. The world went flying and Nenani felt Gjerk’s arms and presence disappear and she went tumbling over and over until she landed on her front into the dirt and snow, gasping in pain. She struggled to bring air into her lungs and there was an alarming heat building insider her chest. Her already hampered mind was slower still and she starred blankly and uncomprehending at the brown and white and red blobs around her. Her vision cleared after a moment, but was still dominated by the enormous body of the wyvern. It was twice as tall as the tallest of the giants and five times as long, with sinewy tendons stretching along the thin membrane of its wings, colored a mottled brown and orange. Its head was large and angular with finer points of hard edged scales rimming its eyes and mouth. Two thick hind legs leg to strong ankles and clawed feet, talons as long as the blades carried by the guards. It was a nightmare with wings and teeth and a voice that broke the sky.

And the milky white irises of his eyes were looking right at her.

“Nenani!”

Someone was screaming her name. Several someones, she realized. Fear was belatedly building in her gut, but her chest...Gods, her chest was on fire. It was unlike the pain of the fever induced by the Red Reap. This was intense heat without any sense of real pain. Something deep and penetrating, calling from the marrow of her bones and flowing through her heart and lungs and ribs.

The great head of the beast was closer now and she spotted something atop its head, a quick flash of light on metal. A sword. There was a sword embedded in the wyvern’s forehead. Not a giant’s sword, not it was far too small for that. A human sword. And at once, she could see the small mark on its guard. A tangle of vines, rimmed with thorns.

She felt the heat building, spreading up to her shoulders, through her veins and build into her palms. The rancid breath of the monster’s opening jaws washed over her in a wave of moist heat. Sensing movement behind her just as the monster bore down on her, she saw a fluttering of maroon robes, a gloved hand slipping beneath her and pulling her away. Maevis pulled her to his chest and she did not recognize the amiable and generous man who had made her tea and wiped away her fretful tears. The man before her was none of those thing. He was hard faced, bitter and angry. He raised his hand up, an orb of brilliant blue swirling in his palm and he slammed it down as the wyvern’s muzzle came into reach, the whole of the beast’s body shivering and it gave a pained wailing howl. It was so close to them that the long teeth ripped into Maevis’s arm, tearing the clothe and his flesh alike. She heard him cry out in pain. Nenani was mere inches from the beast’s long teeth, it’s upper lip only just above her head. With heat surging into her palms, pulling her breath away from her lungs, she reached out with her hands and gripped the rough flesh of the wyver’s upper lip. Everything became a brilliant white and then she knew no more.

………………………………………….

She held onto her her father’s hands as he spun around, flinging her legs into the air and she squealed in delight before he brought her back down to earth. Breathless with mirth, they settled down back onto the driftwood log to enjoy the sound of lapping waves upon the beach. The day was bright and clear and though it was a pity that their boat was docked for the day due to a leak, it was hard to begrudge the rare opportunity for her and her father to spend some time together. Just the two of them. Her uncle would make short work of the repairs and join them later. Her mother had been stricken with a mysterious nausea again and was resting at home.

She glanced over to her father and then down at the sheathed sword leaning against the log next to him. Her father was the only one in the village to own a sword of such magnificence. Of course others had short swords and daggers, but they were not made of such strong steel or their grips braided with such fine leather. Their guards were bare, broken, or missing. Her father’s sword bore upon its guard a tangle of thorns. She knew it well, but had never actually asked her father about it. The villagers all seem to have deep respect for her father and to an extent her uncle, though he was not an elder.

“Papa?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“Where did you get your sword?”

Her father was silent, the lingering smile on his face died and he looked over to the sword. He pulled it across his lap, running his hard calloused hands across it. “It was given to me. By my father.”

“Grandfather?” she asked in excitement. She did not know any of her grandparents and any small bit of information was a treat. “Did he make it?”

“No. No, we are not sword-smiths,” he replied with a patient smile. “This emblem here is for the Thorn Guard.”

“Thorn Guard? Like warriors?” she asked with glee and leaped to her feet. She grabbed up a stick and swung at the air, imagining the wood was steal and her homespun clothing were armor. She wheeled around in the sand as she danced. “If we’re guards then what do we guard?”

There was a sad, longing look in his eyes. “We use to guard great halls and noble men of ancient blood. Grand libraries and treasure beyond your wildest dreamings. The hope of a people. Our people.”

Nenani paused, mid swing, and looked at her father. “What happened?”

He regarded her with the same forlorn smile. Indulgent, but pained. “The war, dearheart.”

………………………………

There was a vague sense of pain and the taste of soot in her mouth. Warm flesh beneath her pulsed with the giant’s rapid heart beat and his voice spoke above her, weaving words and phrases into the air. The words mad no sense, but with each phrase, a pressure was building more and more in her skull and she cried out in pain. Gold light burst out from behind her eyes as sound and understanding surrounded her.

“Please, Maevis,” begged a voice, small and breathless with worry. Another was speaking, Maevis, but his words were alien to her ears. “It’s too much. She is too weak.”

The light danced around her eyes in a golden ring, pulsing with each incantation of the incomprehensible words. Maevis broke from his chanting to say, “No. No, I must do this. It must be done. For her sake as much as our own.”

“She’s but a child.”

“All the more reason for it,” he replied. “I should have done something sooner, Barnaby. Gods forgive me, I saw it before, but never would I have believed...”

“I know, my friend, I know.”

“I am so sorry,” came the magician’s voice, pained and choked with tears. “My dear girl. I am so...so sorry.”

He spoke another verse of his strange mantra and her skull ripped open and she saw stars. The warmth of the library was gone and she was standing on the ocean, the night air bit at her face and limbs.

The smell of salt and soot stung her nose. Far off, the sound of metal ringing as it struck against metal pulled her gaze. Two men were fighting aboard her Uncle’s boat as it bobbed in the light swell, their swords red as they caught the fire’s light. Other boats were ablaze and the wind carried off the cries of dying men.

“You cannot save her from this,” the smoke man was saying, swiping at his opponent. “I will not be denied a third time.”

“You will be denied,” her uncle cried, catching the smoke man’s arm and pulling him to the floor. As the smoke man tried to regain his footing, her Uncle brought his sword down and plunged it into the man’s chest. “This time and every other. You have haunted my family all these years, took everything we ever had, and yet still you are here, demanding more!”

“I will have what is mine,” spat the smoke man, his stag skull mask a bright white against the absolute black of his body. “I will see the dead walls rise...”

“You bathe in the blood of thousands,” panted her uncle. “And crown yourself emperor of a mountain of bones. But you are not my King. No King at all...and she will never be yours, no matter how you twist and pull these threads. In this life or the next! She chose Hayron.”

He spat at the downed man.

“I call you demon,” her Uncle said, with palpable vehemence. He pulled out a dagger from his belt. “And for the blood of my father, my king and my people, my dear brother and his wife. I avenge them. For my niece of whom you’ve robbed most of all: I will have this madness end!”

As her Uncle raised his hand to throw the dagger, to end the demon’s life, the black smoke swirling around them gathered around the black mass of the man’s body. His arm reached up and the smoke flew from his fingertips. Vapor became corporeal and the thin finger thick blades struck her Uncle in the chest. Stunned, he released his grip on the hilt of his sword and the dagger fell from his other hand to clatter noisily onto the floor. He staggered back, blood pouring from the corners of his mouth.

Her uncle gave a pitiful, wet cough and fell back.

“I will have what I was been promised,” said the demon as he stood, pulling the sword from his chest with alarming ease. He flung it over the side of the boat and it sunk beneath the dark water. Crimson oozed from the wound and he allowed it to flow freely over his fingers. “For it has been foretold...”

.............................................

Author’s notes continued: Ooooooh my god. We have reached the chapter that I have been agonizing over for a very very long time. I would greatly appreciate any feedback and it if you could leave a comment, I would be so happy.

#DUMPLING #g/t fantasy story #Nenani #Farris #Yale #Saen #Bart #Quinn #Kol #Avery #the plot thickens #Maevis #magic #wyvern #gjerk

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tisfan · 5 years

Text

Tony Stark Flash Bingo

006 - Theft - Mean Machine - general

For @tonystarkbingo

Stark was looking better. The others didn’t see it, because they hadn’t had the time to watch him grow thin and sick from infection. They hadn’t carried him to the captain’s chair so he could look out into the vastness of space.

They hadn’t mourned, thinking they were going to be alone in a space ship, waiting to die, and knowing it was going to be a very, very long wait.

So they saw him, weak and with tubes and machines hooked up to make him live, and they saw the anger and betrayal and grief on his face and they didn’t think “getting better.”

But they also didn’t see the way he clung to his woman, Potts, and the way he couldn’t stop looking at her.

So when she and Rhodes walked into the hospital room, she offered him that rarest of gifts in her power to give. She smiled at him.

“Hey Blue Meanie,” Stark said. “How’s it hanging?”

She glanced over at Rhodes. “Was I supposed to hang something?”

“Naw,” Rhodes said. “It’s just Tones. He means, how are you?”

Nebula licked her lips, hesitated. “I am sad, but I have shared news of the others with Rocket. We are not alone in our loss. I am angry, because Thanos still lives. I am glad, that you are getting better. And I am happy, that I have made a new friend.” She gestured with one thin, blue hand, at the man, Rhodes. “He thought I would… want to see you. And I find you are doing better. Recovering.”

“Remind me not to ask,” Rhodes said, “if you look like you’re having a bad day. You’re the sort that would tell me.”

“Platypus, play nicely,” Stark said. “She’s a guest.”

Rhodes put the basket on the small table by Stark’s bed. “I brought you a bunch of things that you can be stupid about.”

He pulled out any number of small packages. “Dried blueberries, beef jerky, ice cream--”

“Stark Raving Hazelnuts?” Stark asked. A flicker of pain crossed Stark’s face.

“Of course. And you would not believe how hard it was to get a hold of,” Rhodes said. “The power grid went down here and there. Depended, I guess, if the wrong man got dusted at the plants. We were okay, with the arc-reactor, but--”

“Yeah, I get it. Beacon of hope and warm light for all mankind,” Stark said.

“Man, you can’t think like that,” Rhodes said. “This wasn’t anything any of us could have predicted. And you saved a lot of people, Tones.”

“In the grand scheme of half of all life in the universe,” Stark said, “I don’t think a few million in New York City who didn’t lose their air conditioning in the summer--”

“Banana bread,” Rhodes said, pulling out another package. “Mama made that, so don’t you go dissing on it.”

“Is it gluten-free?”

“Tony, that is my mama, no there ain’t no fancy gluten-free rice flour in her kitchen. Now eat your bread like you got some manners.”

“You want some, Blue Meanie?”

“I do not know, what is--” And Rhodes was already unwrapping the loaf; thick with nuts and fruit, heavy with sugar and butter. “Yes, I would like some banana bread. Please.”

Rhodes cut her a slab of bread and put it on a paper napkin. “Here you are,” Rhodes said.

She sniffed at it, enjoying the rich scent of spices and fruit and little nuts inside. Tentatively, she took a bite.

Nebula wasn’t entirely sure what happened then. Before she knew it, she had practically inhaled the slice. It was sweet and heavy and full of butter and…

“Another?”

She held out the napkin, bare except for crumbs, eagerly.

“Just help yourself, if you want more,” Rhodes said. “See, I like a person who eats when they’re fed.” Rhodes turned his attention back to Stark, talking about what had happened on earth after the Snap. After her father had killed half of the universe.

She cut another slice of bread, not really listening. It was the same story, everywhere. Her father’s intentions might have been good, at some point, but it was shallow thinking. Anyone who had really lived in the world would have known it wouldn’t work. He was doing nothing but making things harder for everyone, and adding a burden of grief and guilt on top of that.

“Rhodes, Rhodey, platypus, sourpatch,” Stark was saying, his voice getting higher pitched and swifter with each name.

“What, Tony?”

“Rhodey, she ate all my banana bread!”

Rhodes looked at her, his eyebrow shooting up in an expression of impressed disbelief. “Well, then, maybe you shouldn’t be jawin’ and not eating.”

Stark gathered all the rest of the items from the basket into his arms. And then pulled his blanket over the stash. “Thief.”

“Did you like it?” Rhodes asked. “My mama made it special, she’s gonna be really happy, knowing someone enjoyed it.”

“I did,” Nebula said. “It was. It was good.”

Stark tore open the package of blueberries, poured them all into his mouth. He resembled a chembran-mouse, and she almost told him so, except he wouldn’t know what that was. Except it had never stopped Stark, so she did.

“Ooonds ike a pster.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that sounds like a hamster. I speak rude white boy.”

“Go on, thief,” Stark said, throwing the empty bag of blueberries at her, his teeth stained.

“Come on, let’s see if we can’t find a TV in this place, get you some quality entertainment.”

Stark was already tearing into another bag, eating in between glaring at Rhodes and Nebula. She gave Stark a little wave and followed Rhodes out of the room.

“That was perfect, I could kiss you,” Rhodes said.

“You could? Perhaps, if I would let you.”

Rhodes blinked at that. “Nope, hold up, hold that thought, I am not Captain Kirk, I do not go with the space babes just because they’re blue. Or green,” Rhodes said.

“Another of your figuring of speeches?” Nebula couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or not.

“I meant you eatin’ that banana bread,” Rhodes said.

“I should not have,” Nebula decided. “Now he is angry.”

“Nah, ain’t like that. Tones… he’s weird about food, don’t always eat even when he’s starving, and tends to offer it out to everyone else in the room first. But you-- eating all his bread like that? Now he’s got to make a Big Show about eating it. It’s good for him. I may hire you to come eat with us every meal.”

“Then we should make him some more of the bread,” Nebula decided.

“Yeah, girl,” Rhodes said. “You’re gettin’ the idea. I’ll teach you.”

“And then,” Nebula said, “after we make the bread, I will let you kiss me.”

#TSBFlash #Tony Stark Bingo #Mean Machine #Rhodey/Nebula

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placesyoucallhome · 4 years

Note

🍜 - Carnivore/Pescatarian/Vegetarian/Vegan/Other? What kind of diet does your character have?

“They’re both assholes, is what they are.” Q’ruhka huffs, passively watching salmon sizzle in the pan, “Less Salt. Can kinda understand it from her. Apparently plenty used t' turn her stomach, so she just stopped tryin’ new things. Pickiness became habit, a defense against more sickness. Unfortunately that diet was shit, think it might’a just made her catch bugs more easily.” All conjecture on his part, of course, he was no chirugeon. But it was still a bit of a struggle getting her to try anything, all the same. He didn’t believe someone could get sick from plain water until he saw her manage it.

“Canum though, he ain’t got an excuse. I think he just hates the idea that he has t’ waste time on eatin’. Would be perfectly happy with just some ridiculous Garlean nutrient slurry to drink. Bastard. At least he usually eats whatever I put in front a’ him, jus’ probably an hour after it’s been done and is stone cold.” But it was eaten, and that was all that mattered really.

“Me? I like a’ bit a’ anything.” The catte grinned as he flipped the filet, “After all, ‘anythin’‘ beats the hell out of sandworm jerky. Smell sticks around long after that shit dries out, like chewin a solid block of fingernail.” the memories alone were enough to send a disgusted shiver up his spine. Never again.

Who else? Oh right, few more faces coming and going now. “That Corbeau fella seem t’ do well fer himself, talks wines with Salt, brought some fancy cuts of meat and cheeses from Ishgard a few times. Says he can’t cook a lick though, at least he admits it.”

#TY!!! <3 #answer #Canum's eating habits are stolen wholesale from Murdercatte #the assholes #I don't get it #I love food #even if it makes me sick #eligos-venator

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chloesaunders · 4 years

Note

for the fairy tale ask: 5, 11, and 18 🌸🗡✨

5: You’re send out to save your kingdom from a cruel king. The journey will lead you through dangerous woods and unknown lands - what do you pack in your rucksack? Which animals would you ask to aid you on your journey?

A sword, a knife, and iron knuckles, obviously. A compass and a map to guide my way and an undying ember to protect me from the dark. As far as snacks: a loaf of sourdough, maybe some beef jerky, and peach rings : )

As far as animals: deer are always helpful and corvids will often assist in exchange for goods.

11. As part of the Fae folk - What name would you tell mortals if they tried to find out yours?

I actually decided this long ago I would not be called my my true name but rather by the name of the land I hail from — I’d go by California. Not only does this act as a calling card to anyone else not from the fae realm, it also gives a strong indicator as to Exactly what my personality will be like.

18. Which would be worse for you - if a loved one got transformed into a fawn and was thus vulnerable and mute, or if a splinter of a devilish mirror fell into their eye and made them cold and unfeeling?

I mean obviously the mirror is worse. Who wouldn’t want to vibe as a deer, just chillin, eatin fruit, free from the burdens of capitalism.

send me a fairy tale inspired ask!

#thank u rose

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second-chance-stray · 3 years

Photo

RP Log: Cravs, Aislinn, and Bertram try to find a buyer for stinky fish in a country of vegetarians.

Aislinn North Comes out from the house like a person moving briskly from one task to the next. Brushing a hand down her skirts, she smiles briefly to Cravendy. "Alright there, Cravendy?" she asks in her usual fashion.

Cravendy Hound - To this day, there have been -at least- five fish deliveries from Dirtpatch to Heartwood, all handled by Bertram Windshadow. The highlander’s feelings about becoming a fish courier was unknown...what was known was that Heartwood’s storage area would soon fill up if the product wasn’t dealt with soon. Crates upon crates upon crates, each full of fish in different stages of decay.

Bertram Windshadow was ponder such a turn of events himself as he walked along the path toward the Heartwood headquarters. It was certainly a stark change of pace for the man but it also came with the blessing of distraction. Something he'd found to be quite the blessing. Even if the perpetual smell of fish was ... maybe less than ideal. He waved a hand to the two standing just outside the yard and flashed a quiet smile, "Cravs! Lin!"

Cravendy Hound is outside, trying to dry some of the fish. But the drying racks are full and there are still plenty more to deal with. She turns to Lin and gives her a somewhat panicked smile. “Eh, er. Hm.” Then after a pause. “Nnn..nno. Oh bugger, Windy. Are ye ‘ere with more to deliver?”

Aislinn North By now she knew well enough not to jump right into the business at hand. Which in this case, was definitely the amount of fish piling up on the grounds. Even so, the looming need to move the product, and *fast* hung over her head. It was starting the smell and soon she feared the aroma would seep into the walls of the house itself. She turned her attention to Bertram as he arrived. She was smiling but her eyes all but dared him to say he had yet another delivery. "Afternoon, Bertram."

Bertram Windshadow: "Uhm ..." Bertram's gaze sweeps over the scene as he quietly processes what it all means, a somewhat nervous chuckle rising up from the man as he notes the look from Aislinn. "I ... uh ... was coming by to borrow a chocobo to haul it up the hill ..." He shifts his attention to Cravendy looking apologetic.

Bertram Windshadow: "But the ice crystals still have some chill in 'em, so ... they should be good for a ... bit!"

Cravendy Hound: “NO...” Cravs sinks to the ground, crestfallen. So soon! And all her efforts would barely cover the first batch, as there were still several more crates to process. That said, Cravs was really just buying time...a house full of fish jerky was still suboptimal.

Cravendy Hound: “The smell is startin’ to attract unwelcome company, if ye catch my drift. So far just small critters, like spriggans an’ squirrels, but if we don’t do somethin’ soon it’s only a matter of ‘when’ a bear’ll come and make itself at home ‘ere.”

Aislinn North groans inwardly at the news. With a shake of her head, she glances between Bertram and Cravendy. "We can't keep stockpiling it all here. Soon we'll all be smelling of fish." she makes a face. "What about...the botanist guild? Surely they need some fertilizer or somesuch?"

Bertram Windshadow watches in muted horror as Cravendy succumbs to piscine despair. Though he is pulled from that moment at Aislinn's suggestion of selling it to the the botanists. "That's a pretty good idea ..."

Cravendy Hound: “Seems like such a waste.” Cravs tips her head to a particular crate that she’s been too scared to open. The wood used to be straw brown, but now it was stained darker from its wet contents. She grimaces and averts her eyes from the disaster. “But we don’t ‘ave a choice for a lot of it.”

[FC]<M'shara Rhaz> if there's so much fish in the house all I can wonder if how badly the races with sensitive noses are suffering [FC]<Altani Misair> Maybe the fish smell good [FC]<Riylli Aliapoh> Did no one deal with the box after it was left there [FC]<Riylli Aliapoh> is it just rotting [FC]<M'shara Rhaz> fish do not smell good [FC]<Altani Misair> Maybe someone sprayed them with perfume [FC]<M'shara Rhaz> *shudder* [FC]<Cravendy Hound> ahahahah

Aislinn North she shoots Cravendy an incredulous look. "It can't possibly be fit for eating at this point. There's nothing for it."

Bertram Windshadow follows Cravendy's gaze to the ominous and unopened crate. "Yeah ... I think we've already passed that threshold."

Aislinn North waves a hand in Bertram's direction. "Maybe we can still sell the new delivery as food but whatever's sitting in that crate there..." she followed Cravendy's gaze to the ominous box like it was a ticking timebomb. "It just has to go."

Bertram Windshadow: "If it makes you feel any better, Cravs, it might be used to become food again."

Cravendy Hound: “By who?!”

Cravendy Hound: “Ye mean that one-” She points to the soggy crate. “-t-that one, as food?!”

Aislinn North tips her head. "I think he means that it'll be used to grow actual food. Part of the cycle. No one would eat it as it is." she assured the Roegadyn.

Bertram Windshadow blinks, trying to parse the question. "Not directly, I mean! But if we can sell as fertilizer like Lin suggested ..."

Cravendy Hound: "OH YE MEAN. AS fertilizer it'll become food again....Not like. Someone’ll eat it like food. Ah." Cravs finally understands. Gods, her mind is far too preoccupied by fish despair.

Bertram Windshadow gestures toward Aislinn, "Yeah, that!"

Bertram Windshadow: "Or maybe swine fodder ..."

Cravendy Hound blushes slightly as she clears her throat. “Ahem. Well, let’s go over and try to sell it to the botanists then. And keep an eye out for anyone interested in the fresher stuff as...instant food.” Cravs grabs a couple of fish samples before she heads out, just in case.

Aislinn North As the wind shifts, the putrid smell drifts their way. "Nymeia's breath." Aislinn chokes. "Alright. Yes, this needs to get solved. Yesterday. Surely we can make some sort of deal."

Bertram Windshadow suppresses the sudden urge to vanish as the scent of ripe fish wafts in his direction. He speaks as though he's being partially strangled, "Yeah. Let's go."

(Cravendy Hound) heading over to the botanists guild :D )) (Aislinn North) ((That firecracker was handy! :D)) (Bertram Windshadow) (( A signal cracker!! *grins* ))

Cravendy Hound - The Botanist’s guild is, as usual, a verdant and bustling place, with farmers diligently working the fields. As the trio approach, one of the guild’s workers stops what he’s doing and freezes in place, nose crinkled and generally confused. “Gods, what’s that smell?”

Bertram Windshadow follows along with Aislinn and Cravendy whilst also holding a russet colored chocobo by the reins and walking them alongside the trio. Hitched to the saddle bags are two small crates of fresh(ish) fish that are being kept chilled via ice crystals. He clears his throat and looks to the others at the cry. "Fish..?"

Cravendy Hound - Cravs realizes the stranger must be talking about her. When she had grabbed samples, she had grabbed a fish from every stage of rot, from unspeakable, to fresh, to bone dry. Figuring that there was no point in hiding it, she presents the source of the smell to the farmer. “Fish...”

Aislinn North Jerks to a halt, a dawning look of embarrassment flashing across her face. She knows it can't be the still fresh fish Bertram has in tow. "It's happened already. We reek of fish." she murmurs leans over and discreetly sniffs Cravendy. "Everywhere we go." a flush of red starts creeping up her neck.

Cravendy Hound: “I can’t tell if it’s ye, or this thing.” Cravs lifts the rotten fish in her hand slightly. “Or me. Or all three. Seven ‘ells, this is bad....Maybe we’re numbed to the smell.”

Aislinn North Realizes what Cravendy has brought with her and pulls back sharply. "Twelve above!" she hisses. "Nevermind." she says somewhat in relief. With a bracing breath, she steps forward and addresses the botanist.

Bertram Windshadow was starting to wonder if he was just going to smell like fish for the rest of his suns. He'd been around the scent for so long now that he was worried that he couldn't really discern it from himself any longer. "We ... uh ... we were hoping that we could, maybe, ... offer a trade with your guild?" He looks toward the botanist thoughtfully.

Aislinn North Nods in agreement with Bertram. "We find ourselves with some good quality fertilizer on our hands and we were hoping you all here might be interested."

Cravendy Hound - The farmer puts down his bag of seeds for a second to listen to the trio’s sales pitch. “Let me guess - fish fertilizer? We’re already stocked up on other varieties of fertilizer. What makes yours different?”

Bertram Windshadow seems entirely at a loss on this one. He's not exactly a botanist and his knowledge of caring for plants was ... middling. He looks over at Aislinn in the hope that she would know something about this, otherwise he'd have to fly by the seat of his pants.

Aislinn North "Namely, it's fish. It does wonders for the overall health of the soil. And the plants really take to it. The gardens at our Company House are quite the sight to see." Aislinn replied as she took a look around the garden plots. "We have an agreement with a fishing village and ended up with a bit of surplus."

Cravendy Hound: “Ye know why Sea Wolves are tall and strong? It’s cause we love fish. And eatin’ it daily ‘elps keep yer eyes workin’....Not that you’d know, since you Gridanian’s don’t eat meat...” Cravs notes, her comment both useless and insulting? She clearly has a bone to pick with Gridanian cuisine. “Anyway, that’s gotta count for somethin’ with the plants.”

Bertram Windshadow nods his head slowly along with Aislinn's explanation before looking back over to the botanist. "And I could make personal deliveries." He looks over to Cravendy's pitch with ... a bit of uncertainty but nods all the same. "It could bring some nutrients that the local varieties don't usually replenish!"

Aislinn North Blinks once at Cravendy's reply. And again. But aside from that small tell, she makes no sign that the comment was anything out of the ordinary and plows ahead, building off of what Bertram had said. "You really can't go wrong with a well-rounded fertilization schedule."

Cravendy Hound - The farmer listens intently to Lin and Bertram, his curiosity piqued. He opens his mouth, about to ask about price and volume, but is interrupted by Crav’s comment. So instead, he gasps, insulted. “Wait, what?! What do you mean by that?”

Aislinn North lets go the quietest of sighs. So close.

Bertram Windshadow takes in a *deeeeeep* breath as he lifts a hand up and rubs the back of his neck, "She ... uh ... she doesn't mean anything by it. She's just not from around these parts."

Cravendy Hound: “I’m sayin’ ye should try it too. Fresh fish. We got that.” Cravs says somewhat aggressively. She steps forward, invading the botanist’s space and looms over him with her fish-begotten height. The farmer shrinks under her shadow. What the HECK is this negotiation - more like intimidation?!

(Bertram Windshadow) (( I'm dying. "Fish-begotten" )) (Cravendy Hound) bad cop good cop confused cop ))

Aislinn North Steps neatly between the looming Seawolf and the botanist with a gentle laugh she certainly doesn't feel but sells all the same. "Or, just the fertilizer. Like Bertram said, our friend is from Limsa, very passionate about seafood. She just wants everyone to try it." as she's speaking, an elbow is nudging Cravendy back. "And I can't blame her. It really is, very good. Very fresh."

Bertram Windshadow takes a step forward and reaches up to touch Cravendy's shoulder with a pleading smile, "That's right. She feels real strongly about it, but it comes from a place of passion and knowledge."

Cravendy Hound - There isn’t much space between Cravs and the farmer, so for a second, Lin, Cravs, and the poor man are sandwiched against each other - chest to back to chest. At Windy’s touch though, Cravs backs down and takes a step back. She has more to say, but senses that maybe she should leave the talking to the others.

Cravendy Hound - The botanist is visibly shaken and annoyed. “Tell your oversized friend that around these parts, we live in harmony with the forest and Elementals! That our meals are balanced and wholesome!” He huffs, arms crossed.

(Aislinn North) ((I love the visual of us all just piling on this poor botanist XD)) (Cravendy Hound) probably never gotten a sales pitch like this before ))

Bertram Windshadow pats Cravendy's shoulder as she backs off from the botanist. Something that the man says seems to spark a thought. "I guess ... these fish would be like a wholesome meal for the plants that is in harmony with the forest? The fish returning to the soil..?"

Aislinn North For a moment, Aislinn stills and her smile grows tighter. Insults thrown in her direction rolled off her like water off a duck's back but insults tossed uncaringly at her friends were an entirely different matter. Even so, she tries valiantly to keep sight of the bigger picture. She merely nods along with what Bertram had said deciding it was much better than what might slip from her mouth.

(Cravendy Hound) return to soil )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( He's trying his best. )) (Cravendy Hound) I love all of this xD )) (Aislinn North) ((Ahh yes, the soil. Natural habitat of fish XD))

Cravendy Hound is being placated by Windy...for now. But when she hears the botanist spit an insult back, she nearly goes right back at it. Teetering on the edge of doing something rash, Cravs grabs tightly onto Windy’s shoulder and whispers harshly in his ear. “Guh, I know I shouldn’t, but I wanna give this whelp a new eye socket. ‘old me back, alright?”

Bertram Windshadow feels the vice like grip upon his shoulder and shifts his attention back to Cravendy. He listens quietly to the request before lifting his brow and, ultimately, giving a firm nod. "I'll do my best, Cravs, but you have fish-fueled strength." He offers back in a hushed tone.

(Aislinn North) ((*dies*))

Cravendy Hound - The botanist is at the limits of his patience and desperately wants this colorful trio to leave him alone so he can work. He raises his hands up in defeat. “Fish returning to the soil? I....doesn’t everything return to the soil eventually? Agh, look. Just. How much are you selling this for? If it’s a good price I might be willing to try, provided you throw in free samples as an apology for how your colleague acted. VERY generous free samples.”

(Cravendy Hound) LOL )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( I couldn't help myself! ))

Cravendy Hound: “Free samples?! F-for wh... Alright, this bloody drylander is askin’ for an ass kickin.” Cravs growls under her breath. She tries to lunge forward, truly testing Bertram’s strength.

Bertram Windshadow does his best to hold Cravendy in check! He slips his arm through her own and tries to lock it there ... or as best as he can! "Cravs ... we're *trying* to get rid of the stuff!" He whispers sharply.

(Bertram Windshadow) (( Good lordy. She's so much taller than Bertram. )) (Cravendy Hound) djfkls the contrast between professional and the absolute clownfoolery in the back ))

Aislinn North The only thing keeping the smile on Aislinn's face at the moment is the thought of this man opening up the dark, fish juice soaked crate that currently sat back at Heartwood. "Certainly. I can have that sent over straight away." she paused, a look of consideration on her face before tossing out a gil price per ponze of fertilizer. Discounted but still enough of a profit knowing the need to get rid of the stuff while still giving Dirtpatch something for their efforts.

Cravendy Hound is like a lion on a frightfully thin leash. For the moment she is held back, but for how long?

(Bertram Windshadow) (( *laughs and grins* Also, if you want me to roll or anything to hold by the fish primal just let me know. )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( *hold back )) (Cravendy Hound) oh god I desperately would want you to roll higher than me )) (Cravendy Hound) let's roll the dice why not xD )) (Aislinn North) ((famous last words)) (Cravendy Hound) also LOL the fish juice soaked crate....true fear )) (Cravendy Hound) Random! 664 (Bertram Windshadow) Random! 815 (Cravendy Hound) -wipes brow in relief- )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Fate provides relief! )) (Aislinn North) ((Whew!))

Cravendy Hound - The botanist considers the price, considers the free sample, considers the sight of Bertram holding Cravs back....and finally gives. “Okay. But if this fertilizer isn’t up to par, we have the right to get a refund. Eh, hope this stuff really is a wholesome meal for the plants.”

Cravendy Hound isn’t able to break free from Windy’s grasp, and he buys enough time for the botanist to agree. This, in turn, is enough to defuse Crav’s fighting spirit.

Bertram Windshadow manages -- by some miracle -- to hold back the tide of fury boiling over in Cravendy, though he does hope and pray that the botanist either hurries or keeps his mouth shut a much a possible. He doesn't want to have to explain to the Wailers why there's a botanist outcold that smells of spoiled fish.

Bertram Windshadow heaves a sigh of relief as the tension seems to settle.

Aislinn North shakes her head. Did he take them for fools? The price was already discounted. All she could see was him opening up the crates of decaying fish and sending it straight back. They'd be in the same situation a sennight from now. "Alright, that's fair." she allowed. "But if you decide it's not up to snuff, we'd like to come back and see the plants that you feel didn't benefit before issuing a refund." she replies.

Cravendy Hound - The man nods. “That’s fair. I’ll bring this up with the guildmaster and we can draw up official agreements, refunds and conditions included.”

Cravendy Hound shakes her arm free from Windy. Thank the twelve for Lin. It looks like she has something to say, but wants to wait until they leave.

Bertram Windshadow exhaled a sigh of relief as the botanist seemed to take to the demand reasonably. "And I'll be happy to come in and check up routinely for a moon or so!" He fully pulls his hands away from Cravendy as he decides to trust the roegadyn not to throttle the botanist now.

Aislinn North nods as the polite smile returns to her face. "We'll leave you some samples now." she waved to the decaying fish Cravendy had brought with her. "And we'll stop back later to sign the agreement. I'm excited to see how the plants here are going to take off once you start rotating in our fertilizer." turning to Cravendy and Bertam she gives them a look of utter relief. "We'll be getting out of your way now."

Bertram Windshadow nods in fervent agreement with Aislinn before looking over to the botanist with a small smile, "It was ... uh ... a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to speaking again!" He then looks back to his two companions and quiets his tone slightly, "That ...wasn't so bad?"

Cravendy Hound places the rotting fish at the farmer’s feet and then backs away awkwardly. The farmer simply stares down at it and then at the three as they make their way out. The silence that follows is particularly uncomfortable for Cravs. What an experience.

Aislinn North Is only too happy to beat a hasty retreat before the botanist tries to change his mind.

(Cravendy Hound) lmao I like to think we ICly RAN AWAY )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( "Scatter!" )) (Aislinn North) (( Ahahaha! 'They bravely ran away'))

Cravendy Hound: “Pah, fish this high quality, and it’s just goin’ straight into the ground. What a goddamn waste!” Cravs bemoans, her agitated expression more intense than usual. She rubs the space between her brows. “Maybe there’s an underground market for this kinda stuff...I know there’re miqo’te in the woods that might be more open to eatin’ fish.”

Aislinn North Once they're far enough away, a rush of breath escapes her. "Alright, the important thing is we've dealt with the spoiling fish problem. From here on out, we can try and find takers who are actually interested in the fish as -food-."

Bertram Windshadow follows behind as they make their hasty retreat from the botanist's guild, leading the chocobo along with him. "That *does* take care of the more critical problem." He turns his attention to the crates on the chocobo's sides. "That just leaves the fresher catch..."

Aislinn North "Hopefully there are people around here a litt more open minded than that...." she stops herself. "man." from the stress she puts on the word it was clear she had something more colorful in mind. "Miqo'te, you say? Maybe some Keeper tribes?"

Cravendy Hound: “I can’t believe that man!” Cravs hears an echo of herself gently speaking back - but you started it. Undeterred, she shakes her head. “And he ‘as the gall to complain about how the fish stinks, when they’re usin’ literal shite as fertilizer too? Bloody shove it.”

Bertram Windshadow: "Sometimes it's the novelty of the stink that really gets people ..."

Cravendy Hound: “We’re givin’ ‘em the caviar of plantfood, and then ‘e’s askin’ for a discount, for samples,” Cravs grumbles. She sighs. But Lin was right, at least the problem of Heartwood filling up with fish was dealt with.

Aislinn North Nods to Bertram. "Shite, they're used to. Fish, not so much. But once they see the results, they'll stop complaining.

Bertram Windshadow nods his head slowly before lifting a hand and rubbing the back of his neck, "So ... we should look for one of the keeper tribes out in the Shroud?"

Cravendy Hound: “Worth a shot. A lot of ‘em ‘ave been branded as poachers though, so they might be ‘ard to find. Maybe Riylli could ‘elp us get a foot in the door.”

Aislinn North offers up a placating hand. "But think about it this way. You don't have to open that jack-in-the-box of decaying fish now. That joy belongs to him." she looks to Bertram and nods. "I think that's our best bet. Especially if that man's attitude is prevalent around these parts."

Aislinn North "Aye, maybe Riylli could help, if she's willing."

Cravendy Hound smiles smugly at the thought of the man dealing with /the/ wet crate. Hopefully, he wouldn’t return the merchandise, but still. It felt good to be petty.

Cravendy Hound: “That’ll be a once in a lifetime experience for ‘im. Windy, make sure ye run at least a malm away, in case ‘e wants to open it the moment ye deliver it.”

Bertram Windshadow glances over at Aislinn at the mention of pulling in extra help. "Well, I certainly wouldn't turn down someone that's more familiar with them. I can't say I know which would be the best to approach with this sort of offer." Bertram has chosen not to think about the horrifying pandora's box of the sea.

Bertram Windshadow looks at Cravendy at *that* comment. "I'll be ready to run ... don't you worry."

Aislinn North Seeing she had successfully hit the mark with appealing to Cravendy's vengeful side, she turns back to Bertram. "We'll have to move quickly though if we don't want the latest shipment to end up in the ground again." she glances over at Cravendy. "Can you try and track her down? See if she'd help us and soon?"

Cravendy Hound: “I can catch ‘er at the next bar night. Riylli...I don’t know where she lives, actually. She’s the type to drop in and out at ‘er own schedule,” Cravs notes. “Meanwhile, Windy, if ye can find others that might be interested, other Keeper clans or otherwise. I’ve found that when ye ‘ave rules on what ye can and can’t ‘ave, there are always interested parties willin’ to pay premium for illicit goods.”

Aislinn North snorts delicately. If that wasn't the gods honest truth, she didn't know what was.

Cravendy Hound gives the two a hearty thumbs up. A job well done! Well, it was mostly Lin, and

Bertram keeping the situation from diving nose-down into disaster. But regardless, a job well done.

Bertram Windshadow nods his head firmly, "Yeah, I can do some scouting ..." his gaze drifts in the direction of the chocobo at his side, "And ... I'll keep these crates on ice as best I can."

Aislinn North glances at the crates. "We've got some more ice crystals back in Heartwood's lab. We can fill them up."

Bertram Windshadow reaches up and scratches the neck of the chocobo fondly before looking back to the others, "Compared to selling spoiled fish selling edible fish should be a breeze, right?"

Aislinn North "One would hope." she returns dryly

#ff14 rp logs #Cravendy Hound #Aislinn North #Bertram Windshadow #this didn't happen more than ten days ago and I forgot to post the logs nope!!#djkfsl guilty as charged #this was a GOOD ONE THO #FISH

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queen-scribbles · 5 years

Text

Steady

For @pillarspromptsweekly fill 71: Celebrate. Only proofread once because I have several other projects on a very rapidly approaching deadline (*cough* Christmas presents *cough*), so hopefully I caught everything. This is set the day after Shallow, but I think you could manage without having read that.

Emiri was dragged awake long before she was ready by a kaleidoscope of memories--voices, images, emotions--that she didn’t even want. She sat up, breathing hard, and buried her face in her hands while she waited for her heart to slow down.

You’re in Stalwart, she reminded herself. Not... wherever that was. One hand dropped to rub the furs for a tangible reminder. Her past life’s surroundings had been far more austere and dour than the woodsy comfort of the Gréf’s Rest.

Once she had settled, Emiri looked toward the window and scowled. After yesterday, she had been dearly hoping to sleep in. No such luck--the view outside was just starting to lighten, a pale pink glow creeping in one corner of the window. From the look of things, all her friends were still asleep as well.

So, grumbling to herself, Emiri slid out of bed. The Awakened part of her hovered too close to the surface for her to hope she’d actually stay asleep if she tried again. A pity; their adventure in Cayron’s Scar had wrung her out both emotionally and otherwise. More sleep would have been nice. But she had plenty of experience running on less than she needed. Rather then dwell on it, Emiri steadied herself against the wall to pull on her boots and then headed out to talk to Haeferic.

The tavern part of the establishment was far busier than she would have expected, given the early hour. Emiri wove her way between kith until she reached the counter and caught Haeferic’s attention.

“Ah, Watcher, you’re up early!” the dwarf greeted her with a smile.

“Not by choice,” Emiri replied, shrugging gamely. She gestured to the bustling workers. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Winter’s End,” Haeferic said, pausing briefly to direct a man carrying a cask toward the inn’s cellar. “We weren’t figurin’ on havin’ much cause to celebrate this year, what with those Iron Flail bastards practically on our doorstep.” He winked at her. “Impending doom has a way of dampening people’s spirits. But since you chased ‘em off and they ain’t a threat no more, Mayor Tarfos decided it would be good to hold the celebrations like normal. Give folks a chance to blow off steam.”

“Smart man,” Emiri said with a laugh. “So...” She hesitated. “I haven’t been in the Dyrwood long. What all’s involved in Winter’s End?”

“Drinkin’ and eatin’ and rememberin’ those we lost that year mostly.” Haeferic scratched behind his ear. “You should stick around, see for yourself. ‘Course, out here it’s more symbolic than anything. The snow don’t melt here like in other parts, and it sure as shit ain’t gonna warm up any time soon.” He smirked. “Still, any excuse for a three day party party is a good one.”

She smiled at his enthusiasm and shrugged. “We might just do that. Things were more... exciting yesterday than we bargained for, so more time to recover is probably a good idea. And it sounds fun.” It would also give more time for Hiravias’ knee to heal, and for Aloth to warm up before they went traveling through waist-deep snow to get home.

“Oh, it is that, Watcher,” Haeferic laughed. “It is most definitely that. But I imagine y’had another purpose in mind, comin’ out this early in the mornin’?” What can I do for ya?”

“Breakfast.” Emiri said, slightly scattered. “Please. For the six of us, something warm and filling.” She looked him dead in the eye. “The best you’ve got.”

He nodded, clearly getting the message. “When d’you need it?”

“In a couple hours, I guess,” she said, biting her lip. Hopefully her friends wouldn’t be rudely awakened by nightmares and could get a decent bit of sleep. “Yes, two hours should be good. More or less.”

Haeferic chuckled. “That’ll run you... three hundred fifty pands.”

“Sounds fair,” Emiri nodded. “Add it to my tab?”

“Of course.” He gave a sharp nod. “Need anything else? If not, I need t’ get back to supervisin’ preparations.”

“Nope, go right ahead. I’m sure things are a bit crazy, with it being a last minute decision and all.”

Bobbing his head in both confirmation and gratitude, Haeferic swiveled back to barking directions into the milling crowd of workers. Emiri watched for a minute or two before heading back to her room. She didn’t hear anyone moving around as she approached, and so was very careful to be quiet as she slipped back in. The room was still dark, the fire banked to low embers. A quick glance towards the beds confirmed most of her friends were sleeping.

The one exception was Kana. He sat at the table, positioned so his body blocked the rest of the room from the light of his candle as he rapidly filled the pages of a spare blank book.

“Surprised to see you up,” Emiri commented.

Kana turned and flashed her a toothy smile. “There’s too much to write down. I was afraid I’d forget parts if I waited much longer. We learned so much; about Ondra, Abydon, the Engwithans. Such knowledge is worthy of preservation.”

Emiri nodded as she walked over to sit across from him. “That it is.”

A moment passed, her picking at her bracelets, Kana rolling his pen between thumb and index finger, heedless of the ink it flicked along his sleeve.

He spoke finally, softly, as he set down the pen. “Why do I feel what has you up at this hour is far less benign?”

She sighed, looked at the table instead of him as she answered. “...It’s the dreams again.”

Kana wordlessly reached over and covered her hand with his. His fingers smudged ink against her skin as he gave a gentle squeeze. Emiri’s face warmed and her halo flickered brighter at his silent support.

“I feel I owe you an apology,” Kana said softly. He rolled on before she could protest. “The other day, when I asked about you being a Watcher, I fear I may have been... rather tactless. I didn’t really understand what was involved. Is it hard on you, hearing the spirits all the time?”

Yes. But she didn’t want to burden him, and definitely didn’t want to ruin a moment that involved Kana holding her hand, so Emiri hunched her shoulders in a not-quite shrug and mumbled, “It can get a little overwhelming.”

Kana cocked his head, eyes narrowing, and squeezed her hand again. “You needn’t soften your words on my account, Emiri, if it ever gets to be too much. We’ll find the means to cure you. You’ve my word on that.”

Alright, the past three minutes alone are worth the lost hours of sleep. Emiri ducked her head. It was a futile gesture, with how her halo glowed. She wasn’t hiding anything. “I... thank you, Kana.” She shifted her hand so she could squeeze back. “I appreciate it, truly. And you weren’t being tactless, you were being curious.” You were being you. “I didn’t mind.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Kana said, giving her another smile, more serious but somehow more honest than the one a few minutes ago. “If I ever do overstep, please tell me.”

Emiri nodded, fully aware there wasn’t much he could do she would consider overstepping. “You, um, you should finish writing. Before everyone wakes up and there are distractions.”

“A sound plan,” Kana agreed. He withdrew his hand, picked up the pen, and returned to his writing, filling page after page with rapid but mostly-legible script.

Emiri dug in her pocket until she came up with enough thread--white, pale blue, dark grey--to start a new bracelet, then settled in to pass the time until the others awoke in companionable silence.

>>><<<

Hiravias was the next one awake, nearly an hour and a half hour later, popping up with a growled curse as he rubbed out a cramp in his leg.” Hound’s teeth, that’s a lousy good morning,” he grumbled. “’Specially since that’s the same one got fucked up yesterday.”

Emiri winced in sympathy. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He shrugged and winked at her. “In fact, you’re the reason more of me didn’t get hit by falling rocks, so you really don’t need to apologize.” He limped over and boosted himself into the very much not orlan-sized chair. “So do we have a plan for food or anything, Watcher?”

Emiri laughed. “I talked to Haeferic when I got up. Food should only be another half hour or so. And I paid for the good stuff, but we’ve seen how that can vary by location, so... we’ll see.”

Hiravias grinned and ruffled one hand through his hair, somehow leaving it a worse mess than it had been previously. “Sounds good. I guess I can hold out that long. And you know I’ll eat anything, but ‘good stuff’ does sound appealing today.”

The food did indeed arrive as predicted, and smelled so good it dragged the other three out of bad, though Aloth and Pallegina didn’t look truly awake until halfway through their first cup of tea.

Haeferic hadn’t been kidding when he promised her the best he had. Emiri wondered if anyone else in Stalwart--including the mayor--was eating this well. But it was good to have a meal that was actually satisfying and filling and made her feel warm inside after so long trekking all over the White March eating jerky. It was even better sharing it with her friends(who were all still here, despite Ondra’s best efforts).

“So, what’s the plan? Miri?” Edér asked once they’d all eaten their fil.

“I know stopping Thaos is important,” she began, playing with the bracelet she’d made. “But I feel like another day or two to rest would be good. For some of us” --she nudged Aloth’s knee under the table and shot Hiravias a meaningful look--”more than others.”

“I like this plan,” Hiravias chipped in. “But what’re we supposed to do while we’re here?”

“I did mention rest,” Emiri emphasized, looking him dead in the eye. “Which is probably an especially good idea with that knee of yours, before we go tromping down a mountain through waist-deep snow.”

“I see your point,” he said, idly snapping the strap to his eyepatch. “Anything to avoid more piggyback rides. But what if the thought of being stuck in here makes me itchy and I want to take it easy somewhere else? Does this... charming place have anything interesting to offer?”

“Funny you should ask that,” she said, laughing. “They are getting ready to start some festival...”

“Winter’s End!” Edér interrupted with a grin. “I’ll be damned, how’d I forget about that?”

“We have been roaming all over the frigid mountainside for the last several days, ac?” Pallegina pointed out. “I believe you can be forgiven for losing track of the date.”

“Right kind of you,” Edér shot back, slouching more comfortably in his chair. “But really, there ain’t no party in the Dyrwood like Winter’s End. It’ll be fun, even if they are throwin’ it together all last-minute.”

With that ringing endorsement from a local(or local-adjacent), the plan was all but settled. Emiri did notice, however, that Aloth seemed less enthused than the others. That was hardly surprising.

She leaned close and murmured, “I know how you are about big, loud parties. Feel free to stay here with a book or something if you’d rather.”

He half-smiled and twisted one of his rings, something like relief glimmering in his eyes. “That was my plan, yes. I may join you later, though.”

Emiri laughed. “I was about to say the same thing. You know how I am about big, loud parties.”

Aloth nodded. “I do indeed.”

Still, she was curious. And if the Dyrwood was to be her home, as she planned, it would be smart to familiarize herself with the customs. So she’d go for a while, have fun and relax, but there was a safe have she could retreat to if it became too much.

>>><<<

Even with the early start to the preparations, it took a few hours for word to spread and the people of Stalwart to turn out for the festivities. Once they did, however, the atmosphere picked up quickly. There was a lot for them to celebrate, after all. And the amount of alcohol present helped. Edér hadn’t been exaggerating when he said there wasn’t any party like it in the Dyrwood.

Emiri enjoyed herself quite a bit, even if she only sampled most of the food and nursed a single drink--wyrthoneg, Edér had called it, saying it was perfect for someone who didn’t drink much. She appreciated his looking out for her, but even the watered down mead had enough alcohol in it to make her go slow. She was just finishing her first round as Hiravias and Edér plunked down with their third.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Emiri teased.

“Absolutely,” they chorused.

“Anything like the ones you’re used to?” she asked Edér, reaching for another piece of the savory pie Keydy had plunked down in front of them with a wink.

Edér considered for a moment. “Not quite as loud as the ones we use’ta have in Gilded Vale, but maybe that’s just ‘cause me an’ Woden use’ta see which of us could whoop louder, which usually spread to everybody our age.”

She rolled her eyes and bumped his shoulder. “Why am I not surprised?” He just laughed and shrugged, so she turned to Hiravias. “Do you have any celebrations like this in your tribe?”

He snorted and downed half his drink in one go. “Course. We usually wait until the first sign of thaw to do the real celebrating, but there is a pretty big feast to mark the beginning of winter.” His gave drifted to something over her shoulder and he grinned. “’Bout time. You get bored?”

Emiri twisted around just in time to see Aloth half-shrug in answer. She broke into an ear to ear grin and scooted closer to Pallegina to make room on the bench. “Ignore him. Though I am glad you decided to join us.”

Aloth nodded, playing with the sleeve of his sweater. “I figured a little while wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m glad,” Emiri said. She narrowed her eyes when she saw him shiver. “Are you still cold?”

“Perhaps a little,” he admitted, “though I’m sure that has more to do with being outside in a village halfway up a snow covered mountain than it does-”

“Almost drowning in an icy lake?” Emiri finished for him.

“I’m fine, Emiri,” Aloth said, smiling as he accepted the mug Pallegina nudged in his direction. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s unnecessary. There are no lingering ill effects from yesterday, I promise.”

“Alright, if you’re sure,” she murmured, lightly bumping her shoulder against his.

His smile widened, and he leaned in to the brief touch. “I’m sure.” His gaze flicked between the members of their group as he took a drink. “I see we’ve lost Kana.”

Emiri giggled. “No, he wanted to talk to people, learn more about their local traditions and how they maybe differ from say, Gilded Vale.” She winked at Edér. “You know, being Kana. He’s right over-” She turned to point toward where she’d last seen him, but he was gone. “Well, he was there,” she muttered, raising her voice instinctively to be heard over the swelling music. “Maybe I have lost him.”

As if summoned by her sheepish admission, Kana swept toward them out of the milling crowd of locals. “How goes it, my friends?” he greeted them, grinning ear to ear. “I trust you’re enjoying yourselves as much as I am?”

“Absolutely,” Emiri confirmed, her heart skipping a beat. He looked so happy it made her grin even wider. “Hearing good stories?”

He nodded. “The kith up here have certainly found ways to make this celebration their own. They fully embrace all the important parts, but put their own twist on the traditions and even added a couple. It’s fascinating to learn about.”

“I’ll bet it is,” she said with a laugh. “I’d ask you to stay and regale me, but Aloth got the last seat, and it doesn’t seem fair to make you stand.”

“Oh, no worries,” Kana laughed, eyes dancing with mirth. “I’ve no need of a seat. I just wanted to see how all of you were faring, and rid myself of this” --he set his empty tankard on the table with a thump-- “before asking you a question.”

“Me?” Emiri raised an eyebrow and her halo pulsed brighter.

He nodded and held out one hand. “Dance with me?”

Her mouth was suddenly very dry. “I...”

Kana smiled encouragingly. “I think it would be fun, in the spirit of things. And I know the songs are unfamiliar, but this one at least sounds close enough to a sarabande I’m sure you’ll manage with no trouble.”

“B’sides, ev’ryone’s drunk an’ won’t care if you fuck up,” Hiravias chipped in helpfully.

Maybe it was his encouragement, or the festive atmosphere, or even the small amount of alcohol she’d consumed. Or maybe something else, deep inside her, didn’t see a problem with throwing caution to the wind just this once. Whatever the reason, it did sound fun.

“Alright,” Emiri nodded, grinning as she took Kana’s hand and let him help her up. She heard Edér and Hiravias whoop as she and Kana skirted the table to join the other dancing couples.

“Just have fun,” Kana whispered as they set palm to palm and fell in step with the dance. “There’s no call to impress anyone this time, and no one who will care if you miss a step.”

Hearing the reassurance helped, as did Kana’s steady and exuberant presence, and Emiri relaxed enough to lose herself in the flow of the music. Kana had been right; there were a few extra steps, and the tempo was much faster--not to mention the different instruments--but this song was just a variation on the sarabande. She may have flubbed the new steps, but it was exceedingly fun. And gods knew she needed fun after yesterday.

The dance finished far sooner than she expected or wanted, and Emiri huffed out a sigh.

Kana chuckled at the reaction and didn’t let go of her hand. “Want to dance another?”

Emiri nodded, grinning wide around her breathless, “Yes, please.”

The next dance was unfamiliar to them both, and they messed up every few steps, but she didn’t care. Neither did anyone else. They offered encouragement and pointers, but the holiday was for fun, so enjoying yourself was the only requirement. And Emiri certainly met that. All told, she and Kana danced to five songs--with varying degrees of skill, but steadily increasing enjoyment--before they dropped, breathless and laughing, into seats near the rest of their friends.

Edér pushed drinks toward them with a grin. “Looks like you two could use this.”

Emiri nodded as she took a hard swallow and shot him a grateful smile. More wyrthoneg. She wasn’t much for alcohol, but this was sweet enough--mild enough--she enjoyed it.

The warm glow from dancing held steady in her chest through the next couple hours of conversation with both her friends and Stalwart’s people, overwhelming enough Emiri wondered if it was visible to everyone.

The answer proved a resounding yes when Edér grinned and pointed out, “You look like you’re tryin’ to outshine the stars, Miri.”

She grinned back and shrugged, gesturing toward her halo. “It gets brighter when I’m happy.”

“Good,” Aloth chipped in with a smile of his own. “You deserve it.”

Emiri shot him another smile. “We all do.”

“Well, this is the place for it,” Hiravias said, holding up his fourth--fifth?--drink in a toast of sorts. “They sure know how to throw a party, I’ll give ‘em that.”

“Right generous of you,” Edér laughed.

“I’m in a charitable mood,” Hiravias shot back, grinning and bobbling the drink in wordless explanation. “Don’t expect it to last.”

The evening rolled on amid similar banter, punctuated by various locals seeking out the Watcher to thank her for keeping them from having more people to remember this Winter’s End. She chatted with Thyrsc and Suldrun, gave Mylla the bracelet she’d made before breakfast, and waved off Mayor Tarfos when he tried to offer her a reward for chasing away the Iron Flail. By the time they all turned in for the night, Emiri was almost as tired as she’d been the previous day, just for a much better reason.

She smiled into her pillow as she settled in to bed. It had to be her imagination, but she’d swear her hand still felt warm from holding Kana’s. I definitely like Winter’s End, she thought drowsily, before drifting off to significantly more pleasant dreams.

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #emiri #kana rua #hiravias #eder teylecg #my poor poor smitten kitten #she's got it so bad for kana guys #SO BAD

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purkinje-effect · 6 years

Text

The Purkinje Effect, 23

Table of Contents

“Name y’poison.” Geek slurred and poked at one of the Neighborhood Watch ghouls. “S, ss’on me.”

“I think you should go sit yourself down,” the cockney-programmed Mr. Handy interrupted, nonchalantly cleaning out a glass with a dish rag and its pincers as it balanced a bowler on its domed top. “…After buyin’ this fine gentle-ghoul a beah.”

“Ssh, sure thing, Charlie. Anything for you, you sh– shiny bastard.” The pink ghoul slapped fifteen dollars on the counter in front of the guardsman in a three-piece suit. “Y’want a Gwinnett? He’s got all the Gwinnett you can chug.”

The ghoul thanked him, unsure as to the correct response.

The Third Rail wasn’t especially large, having once been the loading platform to the Blue Line. Down the stairs and to the left, one found the stage act, and to the right, the VIP lounge which had once been the station general store. The bar itself was straight ahead through a smattering of mismatched kitchen tables with a variety of chairs. A thick arch of smoke, from tobacco and Jet alike, veiled the ceiling, and lent a unique vaporous aroma to the thriving hub.

Geek sat himself on a pool chair in the corner with a bottle of whiskey, next to Hancock. Hancock had resumed the mayoral frock and tricorn Geek had come to know him for. The two melted into the furniture and soaked up the jazz noir the Rail’s own red flower, the sequin-gowned Magnolia, filled the place with.

“You do know this is my bar, right,” Hancock murmured into Geek’s shoulder. “You just dumped all your hard earned cash into Goodneighbor’s coffers. Keeping this place running funds upkeep on the city. Such generosity, such beneficence. Today, you’re the Patron Saint of Goodneighbor.”

“Are you tryin’ t’tell me gettin’ drunk here has a purpose?”

“Hey now.” Hancock shoved him playfully. “Don’t it always?” He took a swig off his bourbon. “You… you holding up all right? Breakfast of champions, am I right?”

“My only complaint is that I find myself even harder t’get drunk. Guessin’ it has somethin’ t’do with scar tissue and all that ss, stuff.”

“If this is a ghoul thing, it’s only partly that. Heh. Why do you think I do everything to excess? Every ghoul I’ve ever met has had something about em’s louder than any human. Demeanor, interest, appetite. Aspirations. Even good ol’ Kent over at the Memory Den, my man’s thing is potent and grandiose memories. The nerve just don’t work the same after the radiation damage. It takes a lot to… properly stimulate a ghoul.”

“Are you proposin’ the kinda experimentation I think you are?”

“I wouldn’t be against it, whenever you felt up to it, that’s for damn sure.”

“I’ll drink t’that.” He did.

“I’ll drink to you drinkin’ to that.” He did.

“And I’ll drink t’you drinkin’ t’my drink.” He did. “Keep this up an’ I just might actually get drunk tonight.”

“…All jokes aside, I’ve been meanin’ t’ask ya. Been eatin’ at me since we headed back this way.” Geek looked to Hancock expectantly. “Did you… know that shot would do this to ya?”

“–Fuck no. This is probably just about the last thing I could’a expected. But I figure anything could’a been better’n how I was goin’. …Ss, sorry if that sounds ss, ssh, selfish.”

“I’m sure you woke up to the lot of us yelling at each other. We thought you were dead. I… I was struggling with the idea you’d died so quick after meeting you. To be perfectly honest, traveling with you has been one of the smartest decisions I think I’ve ever made. I haven’t always been the smartest, or the bravest. I’ve made mistakes. Heck, I continue makin’ ‘em.”

“Hey now. I don’t fault ya f’what happened cause of the sS Psycho. You mean it, though? You actually like bein’ around me?”

“I continue to see myself in you more and more with every passing day, and to see you thrive with things I feel we have in common brightens and warms me as much as a good glass of bourbon. You’re like sunshine.” Hancock smiled privately after another sip. “What kept me together in the fuss was hoping, ah. This ain’t an easy thing to admit, even with the liquor. Even going into it, it sounds selfish. Since the night at the gravel pit, I couldn’t stop thinking about you turning ghoul somehow, so we could do this long-term. I can’t help but feel like I willed this on ya.”

“There’s a lotta power to a man’s dreams.” And nightmares. Further comment was drowned out by more whiskey.

“…I told you about my run-in with Vic, but I never really explained me going out into the ruins on my personal Renaissance. You know I’m not stranger to the chem life. I came across a hit of an experimental radioactive drug, last hit of its kind. I knew what it’d do to me. I did it anyway. I figure if I couldn’t see the bastard in the mirror anymore that I was before the drug… All the terrible things I let happen that I felt I had no agency to intervene in… Maybe it’d end it for me. Best hit of my life, I gotta tell you. But… every ending is a new beginning. If anything, you of all things have proven that to me. Reflecting back on my life, I’m ready to stop running from myself, thanks to you bein’ in it.”

Geek stared into the mouth of his now-empty whiskey.

“Guessin’ this might a made me more attractive to ya. …Heh…” The pink ghoul looked up at the beautiful singer at the mic on stage across the room. “Could’a ended up with any girl in the Commonwealth, an’ ya got stuck with me.”

“I could say the same to you.” Hancock reached over like he was trying to grab the whiskey bottle, but grabbed something else instead, eliciting a wheeze. “I don’t think the injection did all too much to that.”

“That’s… some Halloween costume, Blue.”

Geek and Hancock straightened up to find a familiar dark-haired woman in a newboy cap and red coat standing before them, her face not quite visibly frozen in alarm. Geek glanced dismissively to his Pipboy to check the date. He regained eye contact while he picked at his empty socket not unlike one might pick his nose, detachedly fishing a finger around in it.

“It’s not too real, is it?” He rubbed the oil he’d found, around between his fingers, eye shut in thought. “…Tch, funny. Hadn’t heard anybody mention Halloween in ages.”

“Eugh. I just… I had to find you again. I had to know if you were okay. And when I heard a rumor a pink wastelander had taken up in Goodneighbor, I had to investigate. Turned out to be true.”

“More like y’had t’know if I’d figured out more of the bullshit going on in my vault. Like how the paste turned out t’be just plastic? That’s a real hilarious one. A dogged reporter told me that one. Y’might a heard about that, though.” He lit a cigarette and let out the first breath through his gashed nostrils. “Y’lied t’me ‘bout that doctor bein’ a bad lead.”

“If you don’t mind, Miss Wright, we were in the middle of a private conversation.”

“Pardon me, Mayor. Unlike you helping him drown himself into alcoholic oblivion, I want to figure out what’s wrong with his vault, so I can help him fix it and get his folks better!”

Hancock straightened forward, intensity in his rigid features.

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about what’s going on between him n’ me.”

Incredulous, she gesticulated aggressively with her hands a moment, then pointed accusingly at the mayor with a sharpened brow and a snarl.

“I know he probably wouldn’t be your pink lookalike if it wasn’t for you!”

Glass erupted with a bang. Geek had thrown down the whiskey bottle between his feet.

“Are y’tryin’ t’start a bar fight? Because it sounds like y’steerin’ for a bar fight.”

Piper softened, nearly sorrowful at being shut down like this.

“Have you completely given up on saving your people, Blue? Just feel like detaching from reality instead of addressing the real life threatening issues you’ve got going there? I traveled all the way up here, on a hunch, just to check in on you, and I find you a wad of pink ghoul jerky chewed up by my SECOND least favorite mayor in the Commonwealth.” Her tone spluttered into bitterness. “When’s your flavor gonna run out, Blue? When’s he gonna spit you out… or swallow you?”

Geek just stared at her a good bit. Needing another hit off his cigarette was the only thing that unstuck him. He looked down at his glass mess and nudged it with his feet.

“What do you really want.”

“I want answers. And I thought you did, too.” She shook her head slowly at him.

“I found my answers. You should find the door. This is a celebration, not a pity party. Do I look miserable t’you?”

She slapped her legs and threw her hands up.

“Fine. If you’re going to just… give up. I’ll go. I’ll go myself.”

If Hancock hadn’t formed a reflexive iron grip on Geek’s thigh, the pink dreg would have shot right up into her face. The mayor nonchalantly finished off his bourbon, and calmly set down the bottle on the coffee table in front of them.

“YOU CAN’T GO THERE!” Geek slouched back into the couch, withdrawing into his own ferocity. “You can’t. Y’won’t find answers in 82. Just more problems.”

“You’re a mess. Coming here was the worst thing you could have done. All I can hope is that it helped, me telling ya where the Vault-Tec building was. If you even got that far…” The reporter helped herself to a Nuka Cola off the coffee table, and tipped her hat brim at the two ghouls. “Forget you.”

Once Piper had ascended the subway stairs and exited, Hancock let go.

“The fuck was that?” he asked Geek.

“She… We met in Diamond City. She wanted an interview. Fascinated by me. After, she was convinced she had t’take me to the HQ building herself, personally. Things didn’t get that far, clearly. My compulsions, and security, got to me first.” Geek pulled the cork off a bottle of vodka with his teeth and swallowed it, and started in on the liquor. “More I see of that girl, more I’m convinced she’s just a morbid-curious driver slowing past a seven-car pile-up on the interchange. Keeps takin’ the exit just t’loop back around for a second look, too.”

“She means well. She’s just too pointed when her heart’s in it. She’s been like that since she was a kid.”

“You know her? Like, actually know her?”

“I’m from Diamond City. Course I know her.” He leaned into Geek, and draped an arm across his shoulder. “She’s gotta point, y’know. A real misguided one without all the details, but. You think you can safely say that serum evened you out and you feel healthy again? I know you well enough by know to suspect you’ve been trying to fabricate a plan to take Tinker Tom out to the Deep South of the Commonwealth.”

“They’re probably better off dead.” He let it linger too long without elaboration. “Poisoning an’ starvation are a hell of a way to go, but being alive two hundred years, when you’re too scared to come up top so you just lock yourself in y’bedroom unless it’s mess hall hour? With the same twenty-three books to read over and over. The gym equipment is worn to annihilation. Y’try t’create t’pass the time… but then when you’re done with your grand opus two years later, whadda y'do with the next ten? And now… now I’m sure this serum made me a ghoul? Am I gonna live another two hundred years? What do I do with that?”

“You’re up top now, for one thing. And… and you’re with me, long as you want me to be. There’s a whole wide wasteland to sightsee. And a whole lotta wickedness that needs its head bashed in. If they don’t know they’ve got this choice, they don’t know they have a choice. You felt trapped there. Went crazy inside your head a bit, ‘cause you’re intelligent. But you came all the way out here to Scollay Square to find answers, and I feel like you’re onto finding a solution, too. We really should figure out a way to at least pitch Tom’s serum to them, and make it your folks’ choice.”

Geek chugged the rest of the vodka in one go, set the bottle down, and stood.

“I’m not the only one who went crazy inside his head in Vault 82.”

Then he walked off to clear his head.

#fallout 4 fanfic #hancock #piper wright #fo4 fanfic #fallout 4 o #fo4 oc #fallout 4 #geek #the purkinje effect #excessive alcohol tw

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fadedgilt · 4 years

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Eatin jerky, listening to old country, and getting ready to do some yard work

#gonna rip up my gardens:/

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kittlesandbugs · 7 years

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Title: A bump in the night Pairing: None, just some bonding between a kid and her new Krogan grandpa Rating: E for everyone Notes: No spoilers unless you’ve yet to play like the first hour of the game. XD Takes place shortly after Drack joins up.

Drack cracked an eyelid open at the sound of a cabinet door gently clicking shut. His hand instinctively twitched towards the assault rifle resting within reach on the table next to the bench he’d sprawled out on and claimed as his space. He woke lucid, knowing exactly where he was, and was reasonably certain no one on this ragtag group would try to kill him in his sleep.

The source of the noise, the young and intrepid human Pathfinder, was rooting around in the fridge now. She pulled a container of synthesized milk out of the fridge and set it next to the bowl on the counter. It was probably some kind of ridiculously processed human cereal.

He sat up and decided to address the intruder. If she could be called that, it was her ship. The creaks of his rusted synthetic joints went unnoticed as she focused on being quiet.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, kid?” he drawled.

Andi bit off a curse and dropped the spoon she’d just pulled from the drawer. It clattered across the floor and came to rest at his feet. She whirled around with a hand on her chest.

“Christ, Drack, you scared the shit out of me.” Guilt flashed across her face. “Did I wake you?”

He chortled. “You don’t get to be as old as I am without being a light sleeper. S’my fault for taking the mess to sleep in.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here during sleep cycle.”

He waved a hand, dismissing her apology. “Don’t sweat it.”

Drack considered her with a more critical eye. Her short hair was plastered upright on one side of her head, indicating that she had been asleep at some point. It clearly hadn’t been a good sleep. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy. She looked more tired than she had when she’d retreated to bed early, citing a long day. He’d spent enough time with humans to know when one was upset.

“What’s eatin’ you, kid?”

Andi stiffened and looked ready to argue. Then her gaze took on a far off look, like she was listening to something he couldn’t here. She wilted. “I guess,” she muttered.

“You guess what?” he prodded, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He was the opposite of equipped for dealing the possibility of her hearing things. That was a problem for the doc next door.

She shook her head. “Sorry. SAM was talking to me.”

Drack made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. She rolled her eyes at him, apparently expecting that response after their chat about the AI the day before.

“And what did it say?”

“He thinks I should talk to someone. I… had a nightmare. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t want to wake Lexi up in the middle of the night, like some little kid,” she muttered, scratching the back of her head sheepishly.

Ah, now this was something he was equipped to handle. It’d been a while, but he was no stranger to talking kids down bad dreams. Kesh had them frequently when she was a tyke. He pat the bench next to him in invitation.

She gingerly took a seat next to him and stared at the floor.

“So, what was it? Kett?” he prodded gently. She shook her head. “Remnant?” Those vaults sounded terrifying from what he’d heard, but she gave another shake. “Something from the Milky Way?” Another shake, but delayed. He was getting closer. “… your dad?”

She gave a jerky little nod. Her shoulders began to quake, and she sniffed wetly.

“Oh, kid,” Drack sighed and dragged her over against his side with one arm. “C’mere.”

Andi stiffened at first, probably indignant at being manhandled, and then deflated against his side. She threw an arm across his torso and curled against him. He knew he wasn’t the softest thing to cling to, but the kid clearly needed some physical comfort. He let his arm rest across her shoulders and raked his clawed fingers gently through her hair as sobbed against his breastplate.

“That’s it, kid. Just let it out.”

Several minutes passed before the flood slowed to an occasional hiccup. He handed Andi a napkin with his free hand, which she accepted with a small “thanks,” and extricated herself enough from him to blow her nose. The crumpled napkin landed beside the waste bin, but neither moved to pick it up. She fell back against him, limp, like all the energy had been drained from her.

“Can I ask what happened, or would you rather not talk about it?” he rumbled, curious.

She frowned. “Thought you said Vetra told you.”

“She told me that he died on Habitat 7 and you became his successor. She didn’t say how.”

“My helmet got smashed. The air was toxic, and I was suffocating. The shuttle was too far away. He gave me his helmet.” Andi shuddered at the memory. “Almost died anyway.”

“Can’t fault him there. I’d do the same for Kesh, in a heartbeat.” He gave her arm a comforting pat. “But I’m sorry you were left alone and saddled with this mess. That’s rough, kid.”

“The pictures you sent helped a little. Thanks for that, Drack.” She yawned hugely and shifted against him. “You’re… really sweet under all those bones.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered.

Silence was the only response he got. He glanced down to see that the human had fallen asleep. He sighed and accepted the fact that his hip would probably be stiff as hell in the morning. This wasn’t the worst position he’d slept in. The kid needed this. She reminded him a little of Kesh, just a small fry lost in a galaxy determined to see her put down.

He’d keep this one going too.

#kitbug writes things #me:a #nakmor drack #andi ryder #ryder #space grandpa is good at taking care of kids

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saxspielercaderface · 7 years

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Fic: Welcome Home

This was a a short writing prompt that turned into a 6 page long fic hoooo boy.

This serves as part of a re-work of Finley’s backstory/childhood, specifically detailing part of the aftermath of Blood Runs Deep and the whole Dagannoth/Fremennik war. As a warrior/raider, Finley’s seen and been through some shit during that time, and it takes its toll on her, hard.

Once again, a huge ty to Shady for the prompt, ideas, and proofreading!

I’ll put warnings here for drug abuse, addiction/withdrawal, vomiting, implied physical abuse, suicide ideation, and general unpleasantness. Dead dove, do not eat.

No one recognized her at first when she stepped off the boat from Rellekka. Normally assured, confident strides reduced to dragging shuffles, once proud shoulders slumped forward, and bright eyes dulled, the only indication that the figure was indeed Feurhildr Lartinsdóttir was the pair of massive wolfdogs heeled at her side.

Regent Sigvald Lartinsson met her at the docks, hustling her up the coast to Miscellania Castle, where the rest of the family waited to welcome her to her new home.

They passed the massive gatehouses and worked their way through the bailey. Sigvald, never releasing his sister’s shoulder, nodded in greeting to his subjects - the artisans, farmers, even the flower girl skipping about by the blacksmith’s stall.

Soon, the massive doors of Miscellania castle loomed above them, embossed with a sprawling relief of an oak tree, a grizzly bear and a direwolf standing rampant and supporting its trunk. At Sigvald’s command, they swung open on well-kept hinges, welcoming the pair inside.

They stepped across the threshold, all regality and poise sloughing away, leaving only Sullivan Bannbreker and his sister, Finley, behind.

“Welcome home, Fin,” Sullivan said, giving Finley’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Finley, however, didn’t respond. Her gaze was distant, and not even the arrival of the rest of her siblings - minus one, she reminded herself grimly - and their subsequent dogpiling of her made any difference.

Not even Liam taking her into his arms and assuring her that this, too, shall pass seemed to sway her at all.

***

Weeks went by.

Finley remained sequestered in her room, Eir and Nanna growling whenever anyone strayed too close to the open door for comfort.

Unlike Rosta, the two wolfdogs were very much war animals, bred and trained to protect their master and neutralize all approaching threats, and they did not take kindly to any of the Bannbreker’s attempts to check on Finley’s condition.

It took days of Conor’s budding animal handling skills, Maeve’s soothing lyre playing, Breandan and Aideen’s combined ruses involving bits of yak jerky and distracting noises, and, finally, an incident involving a fox, an imported watermelon, and Liam’s old wolf-head hat to get the two wolfdogs out of the castle and allow Sullivan to enter Finley’s room at last.

Immediately, he wish he hadn’t.

What first hit him was the smell. Daggermouth blood. A putrid, poisonous stench laced with saltwater and rot, barely masked by the woody bite of alcohol and the energizing bitterness of bilstyggr holly berries.

Daggerblood swill. Dammit.

His cloak brushing the floor, he made his way across the still unembellished room, nudging stinking, empty, and broken flasks out the way with his boot.

The stark emptiness of the walls and shelves struck him, and he realized that its occupant had not brought anything from Rellekka. No mementos from the old house. No trinkets from Geilir’s place. No reminders of her service. Not even an axe to hang decoratively on the wall.

Dust hung in the air, covering everything except the bed and the chest next to it, its lid slightly ajar.

Wary, he approached the bed, poking the lump under the three fur blankets with his finger.

A low groan answered him, and he began to peel the blankets back.

“Finley?”

Another groan, this one trailing off into a hiss.

The final blanket pulled back, Sullivan stared down at the tangle of emaciated limbs and matted hair that just barely passed for his younger sister.

The stink of daggerblood swill clung overwhelmingly to her and, as he manhandled her into a sitting position against her headboard, his hands came away coated in a thin layer of what he assumed to be her expelled stomach contents.

“V’s sake, Finley…” Wiping his hands on his trousers, he knelt and brushed the hair from her sunken, red eyes and turned her head to face him. “Ye tryin’ to kill yerself or something?”

She wrenched her face from his grasp and closed a hand around a half-empty flask set beside her pillow, raising it to her lips.

Sullivan snatched it away, the deep red liquid inside sloshing out and over the blankets.

Finley backhanded him across the face with a snarl, snapping his head to the side.

He balked, but not from the pain.

More from the lack of pain, the lack of strength behind the blow.

And far more from the fact that Finley, of all people, perhaps the only Fremennik to hold reservations over slaughtering the Daggermouths, had just struck him out of anger.

“Ye BASTARD!” she spat. “That was my last one!”

Her voice was steely, grating, no longer the bright lilt he was used to, and he snagged her wrists, holding her in place as she began to spasm and scream. Fingers curled around bone - Sullivan felt as if he could’ve snapped her wrists clean in half with little more than a thought.

He had to calm her down.

“Finley, STOP!” he cried, face still stinging where she had struck him, her own sobs and wails starting to echo. “Stop, please!” She shook and shook, coughs replacing sobs, and, with a great yank, threw herself out of Sullivan’s grasp and over to the other side of the bed.

Thick retching followed, liquid splashing on stone.

He watched, his own stomach crawling as he caught sight of her ribs and spine, showing starkly through her tattooed skin.

He waited.

Soon enough, the retching gave way to painful-sounding coughing, then to feeble spitting and wheezing. With a sigh, Sullivan eased his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over Finley’s, sitting her back on the bed in the process.

He would need to have it washed later, but that was hardly a priority now.

Finley drew her legs up to her chest and pulled the cloak tighter around herself, still shivering, and the sight ate at Sullivan’s heart. To see her like that, small, starving, and shaking - it was unnerving and wrong, as if something alien had skinned her alive and taken up residence.

He had started to comb Finley’s hair back from her eyes again when a set of frantic footsteps approached.

“Sully?!?” His gaze shot toward the doorway - Teague stood there, a half-skinned fox slung over his arm. “I heard screamin’ - what’s all this about, then?!?”

“Teague! Go get some water and hare broth from the kitchen, now.” Sullivan jabbed a finger toward the hallway beyond to drive his point home, and Teague nodded.

“Aye!” With that, the doorway was empty again, and Sullivan turned back to look at Finley.

She was wiping her face on the hem of his cloak, the fur and fabric soon damp with tears and sick.

Having the cloak washed shot up several rungs on the priority ladder, but Sullivan did little but grit his teeth and shake his head.

“Ye haven’t eaten anything in weeks,” he began. It wasn’t a question - meals brought up to her room came back untouched at best, devoured by the wolfdogs at worst. From the state of the room, and her, he guessed that all she had even tried to touch was that damnable swill, which led him to an actual question. “How did ye get a hold of this infernal piss-water anyway?”

She shrugged, mumbling something about Ragnvald sneaking flasks of it in for her, and only then did Sullivan notice the makeshift bucket lift hanging out the window.

“Dammit, Fin-”

“...hurts.”

“Wha?” He barely caught her voice, quiet as it was. “What was that?”

“It hurts,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes. “Everything. Need the swill. It makes everything-” she gestured broadly to nothing in particular- “not hurt.”

“Ah.”

Sullivan worried the inside of his cheek as the term entered his mind.

Blood-sickness.

He’d seen the warriors and raiders back in Rellekka. The more worn ones, especially, who depended on daggerblood swill to keep their energy high, to numb the pain of their wounds, and to build up a resistance against the Daggermouths’ poisonous saliva. As they got older and inevitably retired, they would try to stop drinking the swill. But most who tried, couldn’t.

They would fall ill with a high fever and tremors. A single touch could have them crying out in pain. Any food they ate had a good chance of coming right back up.

It was as if their strength had been sapped from them, and the only thing that could replace it was more of the swill. A dependency.

“Is this all ye’ve been drinkin’ or eatin’ for the past month, then?” he asked. “Just to get rid of the blood-sickness? Bukalla’s balls, Finley, it’s a wonder yer not dead yet.”

“A bloody unwelcome miracle,” she coughed, refusing to look at him and white-knuckling the hems of his cloak.

Sullivan felt as if he’d been slapped in the face all over again - no, he would rather be slapped in the face all over again if it meant he didn’t have to hear Finley confess that sentiment.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, and instantly regretting the action as his hands were still soiled, he sighed, aching to get to the root of the problem.

“But it’s not just the blood-sickness, Fin. Something else’s eatin’ at ye, I can see it.”

“Aye,” she sighed, shrinking further into the cloak as if trying to disappear.

“Right, then. What is it?”

She shook her head furiously, scowling.

“Fuck on off, Sullivan! Ye wouldn’t understand, aye?”

Sullivan returned her scowl, cuffing her lightly across the shoulder.

“Language, ye great, smelly dog-walker.” He grasped her arm, gently turning her to face him again. “Look, if I don’t understand, then who might? Koschei? Thorvald? Ah...that woman you were seeing? Valka?”

Finley looked hard at him, eyes mattering at the edges, and he immediately regretted mentioning that final name.

“Right, maybe not. But if not her, then who, Finley?”

She sighed, looking away.

“Athrhan. She’d understand.”

It took all of Sullivan’s strength not to roll his eyes and scoff.

I don’t think she’d understand anything that you’re feeling, Finley, he thought, just barely keeping the words to himself - she’d need to hear them eventually, but not now. That beast couldn’t understand anything but her own twisted definition of suffering. That, and her need to carve everything she didn’t like apart, bit by bit.

“How?” he settled for asking, crossing his arms.

“She fought. She was there - she saw what I saw, saw everyone...torn up.” Finley shivered violently, eyes glazing over before she buried her head in her hands, tugging at her hair. “The blood, the bones, everything. Gods-” she dry-heaved- “I just want all that out of my head, aye?”

“And how would Athrhan help that, then? By bashing yer skull in like she always threatened to do?!?”

“AYE, MAYBE!” Finley snapped, tearing out a chunk of hair and tossing it aside.

Feeling his teeth grinding together, Sullivan released Finley’s arm, an ugly and perhaps misplaced sense of relief prickling the back of his mind.

Well then it’s bloody well good that she’s not around to do that anymore.

He glanced to the mess that was Finley’s right shoulder, just barely covered by her mane of hair. The gaping axe wound there was beginning to scar over - soon, it would just be a reminder of another Athrhan-related ‘accident.’ One of perhaps hundreds.

Sighing, he fished for the right words.

“Look. Finley. I know you miss Ma and...Athrhan.” He spat the latter name, wanting nothing better than to never speak it again. “I do too.” A half-truth. “And, yer right. I don’t fully understand what yer going through right now. So, help me to understand. If that’ll help ye get past all-” he waved a hand at the flask-littered room- “this, I want to understand, aye?”

She didn’t answer besides a nod of the head and a resigned sigh, but Sullivan could tell the words had sunk in.

Satisfied, he stood, yanked the bucket from the window, and began filling it with discarded flasks. It did nothing to rectify the lingering stench in the room, but at least the floor was clean. Carefully setting the now full bucket just outside the room, he approached the bedside chest, cracking the lid.

Ah, there they are, he thought, smiling slightly as he looked over the contents. Finley had brought things from Rellekka. She had just hidden them away.

One by one, he took each object from the chest, showing them wordlessly to Finley before placing them around the room.

A pair of worn dolls from her early years, one a warrior, the other a Daggermouth.

A hat, knit by their mother.

A bone hair comb, whittled by their father.

A drinking horn, made from the hollowed out claw of a Daggermouth - Thorvald and Koschei owned very similar ones.

Several intricately-carved runestones in a woven bowl, from her time with the Moon Clan.

A pair of mitten and sock linings, felted from Rosta’s shed fur.

Rosta’s old collar, damaged heavily by salt and chewed in half.

A sheath-knife, it’s antler handle carved with the likeness of a moose - the only thing of Geilir’s she kept.

A necklace, the charm a piece of driftwood carved in the shape of a fishhook and inlaid with protection runes. A gift from Valka, when times between her and Finley were better.

Her waraxe and shortsword, both blunted from years of use.

A strange staff that smelled of cinnamon, humming with magic.

After everything had been placed, the room seemed a bit brighter, a bit more welcoming. More of a part of home than a prison to waste away in.

The smallest of steps forward, but a step forward all the same.

“Right.” He pulled the now empty chest closer to the bed and took a seat on the lid. “So. Are ye wantin’ to talk about what’s eatin’ ye and help me understand it all?”

Finley sighed, a low, rattling, defeated sound.

“Seein’ all that. Everything. The war, fightin’ in it. Everyone bloody and torn apart. I still see it all.” She buried herself deeper in the cloak. “All the time. Every night. Every day. Can’t sleep. Can’t talk to anyone, can’t bloody think sometimes. I’m scared, I’m hurting, I’m...I’m alone.”

It was a while before Sullivan could even pull together a response, his mouth flapping open and closed uselessly in the interim. Eventually, however, he managed to say something semi-coherent, squeezing Finley’s shoulder.

“Look, ye might feel alone now, but I don’t know what else to say other than...yer not? Yer home, Fin. You’re safe. And we’re all here for ye, aye?”

And that bloody beast can’t hurt ye any more, he added mentally.

Finley just nodded, sniffling slightly, and the two sat in silence.

***

Teague returned sometime later with a mug of water and a bowl of warm broth.

“Should I bring the others up?” he asked, handing the mug and bowl to Sullivan. “They’re fussin’ over this quite a bit, especially Da.”

Sullivan shook his head.

“No. Not now. The last thing she needs is to be overwhelmed, aye? Tell them they can come up one at a time later on.”

“Right.”

With that, Sullivan returned to Finley’s bedside. It was an arduous process, getting the water and broth into Finley and not all over the bed, but she kept it down well enough, drifting off into a fretful sleep once both the mug and bowl were empty.

Another small step forward.

Two down, perhaps a thousand more to go, and none of them easy.

Weaning her off the swill would no doubt be harder than a stroll through Waterbirth’s cave system.

Convincing her that Athrhan’s absence would do her good in the long run would be harder still.

And he wasn’t particularly looking forward to that.

***

“Fin, are ye done in there?” Sullivan called, knocking hard on the door.

“Aye, give me a minute - bleedin’ trousers won’t stay up.”

A few curses and exasperated sighs later, and the door cracked open to reveal Finley - bathed, combed, and finally clothed.

“A dress might’ve worked better, ye know,” he said, watching her fumble with the belt tied around the loose-fitting tunic she wore. The thing was a sack on her now - made to fit a much broader and healthier Finley. “At least ye wouldn’t have to worry about yer trousers fallin’ down.”

She shrugged, tying off the belt.

“‘M cold.” She shuffled back to her bed and proceeded to bury herself back under the heap of - now washed - blankets. Sullivan followed her into the room, glad that it no longer stunk of swill and vomit, and took a seat on the trunk once again.

“How was breakfast?” he asked. She dry-heaved, making him flinch.

“Came back up,” she mumbled, tugging at her collar. “Just like dinner.”

“Ah.” Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair.

Progress was slow, if even existent - every step forward seemed to be followed by two steps back, and Sullivan would be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly frustrated by the whole mess.

Yet, he still kept hold of some hope. Especially today, what with the rest of the family finally allowed to visit her.

One by one, they all crowded in, expressions ranging from concern to fear. The tension was palpable - Sullivan wrung his hands, jaw clenched, waiting to see what would happen.

The only one to approach the bed was Liam, who sat on the edge of the bed, took Finley’s hand in his, and drew her into a careful hug.

“Hi, Da,” she choked, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Welcome back, Finley,” he said, starting to sob into her hair. “Welcome home.”

The tension dissipated, Sullivan releasing his held breath and allowing himself a small smile.

Finley’s road to recovery would be long, hard, and painful. Perhaps impossible. Yet, one step forward would become two, then three, then four.

And now, at least, she had eight more pairs of feet to help her along.

#sax writes stuff #fanfiction #world guardian finley #here comes the angst #fremennik #drug mention #drug addiction #withdrawal #emetophobia #ptsd #suicide ideation #implied abuse #the long road to recovery #horrific implications time #dead dove do not eat #ANGST #ALL THE ANGST

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