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Rin128564's avatar

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Bo, the weasel


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                                        ____
                                        Abigail didn't know Max even dared look at her because she kept her eyes glued to the floor with her head slightly hung as if she were ashamed of something. The fact that she didn't want to see or speak with him made his voice sound much more distant as if he were down the hall speaking softly to her but she did manage to understand what he was saying. Why he was telling her to stay away from Kane was beyond her but she didn't question him instead she just gave a slight nod but to his surprise she also chuckled lightly. Though she spoke she still kept her head down, "I assure you that I'm used to dangerous people who don't care, Other than that you'll find me alone with Bo 100% of the time, there is no need to 'worry'."

                                        When he mentioned food her stomach had indeed grumbled but she had shoved food into her face last night so she could go without eating until the evening. Her wobbling had finally stopped and she had opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn't hungry but in the end she only stood there silently. He finished saying what he wanted and then left and when he was completely gone she too headed down stairs. Abigail had left her bag in the dinning room and so it would be a good idea to get it before anyone else found it and snooped around her stuff. It was almost a blur memory of what happened only hours ago and she wondered if that man and woman were still here but then again it didn't really matter. They would be to busy with themselves to really remember the very person who saved the woman's life. In fact, it wouldn't be the first time she healed someone and got nothing out of it, not even a thank you. Perhaps there was some sort of curse on her that she didn't know about, a curse that made everyone hate her, in exception for Bo and Max...though she wasn't sure if he was just tolerating her. There was still that memory of him wanting to take her away to a hospital while she was in her coma that make her unsure if Max was nice or not. Like Bo she had her suspicions but unlike him she gave people a chance.

                                        Now that she was in her room and a bit more sober, Abigail sat by the window and simply rubbed her temples to get rid of the head ache. She figured it would be a good idea to drink a potion and luckily she had gone down to retrieve her bag. Putting it on her lap she dug through it until she pulled her hand out, but instead of the veil she needed it, it was a cherry blossom and for some reason it was still intact. Her mind wrapped around an idea, a stupid and ridiculous idea. The spell she thought of would never work but she figured she’d do it anyway because it would keep her mind off of her head ache and maybe God would cut her a break and let the spell work. Abigail figured that if the spell were to work then Hell would most likely freeze over and that would be a disaster. Continuing to dig things out for the spell, she soon began to crush everything into a bowl before pouring in a green liquid into the power. The muddy liquid began to illuminate slowly until the liquid became incredibly clear. For a moment she stared into the water and stared at her own reflection and for a moment the image of her mother came in place of her reflection. She looked away startled but quickly looked back though unfortunately the image had vanished. It was the first time in years that she ever saw the face of her mother, so it made her wonder why she saw it now. The last couple days were off and not only did it feel like something terrible was about to happen but it felt like the future held much more pain than she had gone through. A low and long grown slipped past her lips as she put the bowl on the window sill, with the cherry blossom sitting next to it. Meanwhile Abigail hunched over and grabbed her head as it began to ache more but she also grew frustrated.

                                        It took her a moment to regain her composure as she stood up and grabbed the small flower and simply tossed it in the bowl, no longer caring about the spell but once the flower landed and floated about in the clear liquid, the spell had been complete. She dug through her bag again, her back to the bowl as she fished for the veil to get rid of her head ache. Little did she know that the liquid and flower began to glow a light green color and the most interesting thing would surely happen. For now she pulled out the proper potion and simply drank it, ignoring what was going on behind her.

                                        Location: Room
                                        Company: No one
                                        Wearing: The usual
                                        Current Theme: Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin
DeliriousInnovations's avatar

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Isil Sabjourn
____With: Abigail.
____At: Some kinda room. (who the ******** knows?)
____Wearing: Oh, you know. This.

                    Things certainly, for quite some time, seemed to be going about just sweetly. As he had left his group of dumb mules, who had thought him, of course, to be their friend... He had managed to keep hold of Orestiada's Heart, the determining factor of the war. He was quite satisfied, yes, with how fortunately well his own plan had come along thus far; and as he approached Reurith again, he found it especially impossible not to allow a smile to crawl onto his features as he was welcomed with open arms back into his country, where he would promise to lead his desperate, starving people to victory. During this time, though, Aethia had already caught onto his betrayal... Probably due to the intel they had received upon further investigation of his birthright, as well as a few informants from his group of stray travelers that had helped lead him to such a brilliant, potent artifact. Even so, Isil's determination was not defaulted, and he figured that their suspicions were a bit too little, too late... The damage had already been done. They were at war now, and there was nothing to stop him.

                    But it was during the most unexpected of moments that the situation turned completely.

                    The Heart was not for the demon-kind to touch and to wield, as had been explained to him, but even so, he had thought that his half-blood would allow him to control such a powerful weapon. Needless to say, demonstrating such abilities in front of one's own servant seemed to be betrayal; the burning that inflicted his hands was evidence that his birthright was not as he claimed to his Reurithian supporters, and once rumors were spread (despite the fact that he attempted to execute those that spoke of such nonsense as quickly as he could) an oppressed people were a desperate people. They were not willing to allow, as was to be expected, a half-elf form and lead their new society, even if he was a descendant of Reuro.

                    He was cast out from Reurith, and left to wander the cold, mountainous landscape... Mind piecing together the scraps he was left with to form another plan. He thought of many, many things... Yes; perhaps, if they sought a new King and he were elected to throne, he very well could twist and negotiate some particular branches. He could slip back within the system. He had done it before. Right? For now, though, he had to wait it out... And the very fact was frustrating. He could no longer pose as the wealthy Noble Sabjourn in Aethia, for the name marked suspicion; nor could he pose as any other kind of Noble in any other kind of land. Much to his disgrace, he re-assigned himself the name of top thief in Illyria, and once again pegged 'Ghost', it seemed that he again managed to erase himself from existence.

                    But there were always other things to consider.

                    He had been wandering the streets during the day, something he normally hadn't done, to locate a market-man to pawn his stolen goods to; this was a common ritual, and would be done at least once a week, but this particular client had requested that they work during the day. Seeing as no one knew who 'The Ghost' technically was, he figured that in such a distant land-- Away from Aethia, away from Reurith-- that he didn't need to worry about being recognized, or at least, seen as a suspicious character. He had assumed wrong. An Aethian cartographer was wandering that particular part of Illyria during that particular meeting, and as the Gods loved to toy with him, the man had recognized Isil's features. He was apprehended, and despite his efforts to escape, the Illyrian government had been particularly cruel and determined, and carted him off as quickly and efficiently as they could to Aethia, where he would be executed.

                    -------------

                    And here he was now.

                    Crowds amassed before him, faces kept barely inches away from the platform he stood upon. Angry, distorted voices called out and cried his name in insult; a various amount of belittling titles, meant to irritate him until he died. There was fear. But mostly, there was disappointment.

                    He was more than this.
                    Wasn't he?

                    The rope was placed around his neck, and he could do nothing, for his arms were bound behind him... This very fact, the illustration of powerlessness, disgusted him. Soon, the crowds were being forced to quiet their bickering and shouting and calls for vengeance, and he was asked if he wished to speak any last words. It all seemed surreal, but it was what was being done; there was nothing he could do to stop it, all that was left was to, quite simply, give in.

                    But before he could speak, a dark bag was pulled over his head, accompanied by the sounds of laughter.
                    Half-elves were not given this right.
                    How could he forget?

                    He felt the rope tighten, he felt the wooden platfrom beneath his feet give way. This was it.

                    ...But it wasn't.
                    It was during that fraction of a second-- Just as the rope had tightened, but the force of gravity had not quite allowed his neck to snap-- that an... Unsuspecting force withdrew him from that very position; what the crowds had said and done after, he hadn't an idea. Still in complete darkness because of the bag, he felt himself fall against another surface (a carpeted floor?) and immediately, the sounds of the crowds had abruptly stopped. In a frenzy to find out what exactly was happening, he could do nothing but twitch and squirm like a headless peasant upon the floor, coughing and grunting against the tight rope that threatened to strangle him.
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Bo, the weasel


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                                        ____
                                        Fate had interesting things planned out for her and the worst or the oddest things would be shoved into her pathetic little life. Once example was a man that came in the body of a weasel, then there was the fact that she's been running for her life throughout her whole child, teen and now early adulthood. It seemed that it was no where near enough and as her head began to feel much better the rattling bowl on the window sill finally caught her attention. As she turned she watched as the flower rose up right before a blinding light caused her to stumble back and plop down on the arm chair behind her. Shielding her eyes she was unsure what happened and she wasn't sure if she had just blown herself up again. Once the light faded she moved her arms though all she could see was large white spots all over since the light had pretty much ******** up her eyes at the moment. Abigail didn't expect anything much but when there was a loud thud her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she couldn't help but jump back but since she was on the chair she only made it tip back and in the end she too was on the floor. Soon her vision cleared and now she stared at the ceiling before rolling onto her stomach. The sound of someone....or something squirming around made her extremely paranoid and so she crawled to the chair that sat on its side though it would provide as some sort of wall between her and whatever it was that lay on the other side. Abigail slowly began to peek over the chair and caught sight of two legs and the more she peeked over the more of the body she could see, though she was hoping it wasn't missing a limb or something, there was no need trying to help someone grow back a limb, that was even more painful then bone repair/growth. At last she sat there, hunched over the chair staring at a man with a rope around his neck along with a black sack. There was no need to ponder the current situation. No doubt he was about to get executed for doing whatever and for some damn reason her spell saved him by snatching him away from where ever he came from and now there he lay, in her room. God had an interesting sense of humor.

                                        Considering that the man was tied and vision impaired at the moment the threat of being hurt was gone. Moving the chair away she stood up and looked down at the man contemplating her next move. She could either go find Bo or she could remove the bag and rope to see who she was dealing with. The first option sounded better since she wasn't good in these situations but whenever Bo vanished for this long he was most likely sulking or dealing with who knows what. There was nothing else to do so she cautiously walked over to him and knelt down, reaching over to remove the bag. His squirming around didn't make it easy and no doubt he felt uneasy sensing a presence near him. Finally she grew irritated and rather than using her voice to calm him down she pretty much pounced on him and had his arms pinned against his sides, her knees keeping them down as she loosened the bag on his head and quickly yanked it off. Abigail looked at him straight in the eyes for a moment before reaching down to his neck to remove the noose that was so close to ending his life a couple minutes ago. It wasn't an easy task either and again frustration prompted her to tilt his head to the side abruptly. When the rope finally loosened she got it off his neck and then proceeded to get off of him. Abigail dropped the rope on top of the bag before stepping away. His hands were still tied and they would remain that way until she could trust that he wouldn't try and to kill her with his bare hands, he was after all a stranger. Her spells never did work the way they should. Instead of getting 'prince charming' she ended up with....this.

                                        "Why am I not surprised," she muttered to herself as she sighed heavily and figured she would soon be bombarded with questions, some that she probably couldn't answer. Hell, if he asked her the day, month and year she wouldn't know whatsoever. A whole year in the wild being chased after pyschotic assholes made a person forget the time, day, month and year after all. Some times she wondered that if she could make people appear like this easily, why couldn't she make herself disappear just as easily? Her life was so unfair 99.9% of the time.

                                        Location: Room
                                        Company: Isil
                                        Wearing: The usual
                                        Current Theme: Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin
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____With: Abigail.
____At: Some kinda room. (who the ******** knows?)
____Wearing: Oh, you know. This.

                        During the duration of time it took Abigail to come to her senses, Isil had been flopping about the ground, quite literally, gasping and coughing out what would only be strangulated oxygen leaving his burning lungs; the tightness around his neck was enough to strangle any normal individual to death, but Isil had always been a survivor. He truthfully had barely even been aware that the woman within the room (though he didn't couldn't pick out such details like this, at this point, because of the shameful bag) or the fact that she had been trying to assist him, but he had been too busy squirming and, for the most part (though he would never admit this loss of control) freaking the ******** out.

                        What the hell had happened, anyhow? Hadn't he been dead? Was he dead, and this was just some sort of sick, distorted game the Gods were playing on him? Could any of this be real, when not just a moment ago, he had heard the cries of hundreds of people demanding his death?

                        It was somewhere along this relentless twitching, coughing, and seemingly endless questioning that was surely maddening that he felt the abrupt force-- A weight was upon him, and he wriggled and let loose a string of menacing curses, before abruptly, he could see again. The bag was removed, and nearly white blue eyes flickered and fluttered upwards towards the face above him, snarl forming across his face, ready to lash out at a suspecting enemy.

                        A woman.

                        He became still very quickly, but his features were tired, face flushed with the need to breath; and it was only until the rope was removed and the woman stepped aside that he suddenly arched forward, curling inward and coughing spastically; he swore if he hadn't been inches away from his neck snapping before the crowds, he had nearly died of suffocation. But even his coughing fit hadn't prevented him from glancing about the unfamiliar room, which he thought, personally, to be quite barren... Of course, he didn't know that this was how modern rooms were organized, for he had never been in a 21st century room, had he? There were strange devices lain about everywhere, things that he could only imagine were some sort of foreign enchantments, or newly discovered scientific method.

                        As the woman mentally predicted, there would be questions.

                        After regaining his breath, and calming a majority of the shakes and tremblings that came wtih near-death situations, he peered upwards at her through a tangle of dark hair, peculiarly light eyes scanning over her facial features, as if the very notion of which would lead to answers. At last, he spoke, utterances clearly toned and practiced; back home, regarded as an well-educated, snappish pacing of the wealthy,"...What do you want?"

                        It was an interesting question. He could have asked what the hell he was doing here, how he got there, or who she even was... but he didn't. Isil was a man that was straight-to-the-point, and he figured that however he got here, there had to be a reason. Everyone had their own intentions, their own ideas; and immediately, he wanted to know whether his was to live, or whether his was to die. He canted his head, dark hair shifting to reveal, upon the right side of his face, a long scar that cut across his eye; it was peculiarly memorable, and had lead him to his encounter with the stranger at the market... Which in turn, had lead him to his execution.
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Bo, the weasel


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                                        ____
                                        "What do I want?" Abigail repeated but not to him but to herself since that was an interesting question since she's never been asked a question like that even though he meant it towards what she wanted with him. Not like he was there to give her everything she wanted though even if he was half the things she did want were impossible to get and would be a stupid thing to tell someone what she wanted. Ironically it was a question she would ask those who chased her but she never got a straight forward answer and was either tortured or knocked out. It seemed that she was now in their shoes, but she was the 'good' guy'. She didn't answer him right away, instead she looked him over from head to toe trying to figure out where he might have come from but judging by the way he looked around the place like it was some foreign place she figured he must be from the past, but what time exactly she was unsure of. Where the ******** was Bo when you need him! If anyone could figure it out it would be that little weasel since he's been alive since God knows when. The scar upon the males face had caught her attention so she stood there staring at his face. The scar reminded her of her own that sat between her eyes but not vertices but diagonal. Slowly she had reached up and trained the tip of her finger long the jagged line, it had finally healed and all the scabbing was gone. Abigail began to wonder where how he received that and wondered if it happened during a horrible situation like hers. Then again not many people have had her chaotic life style despite the fact that she didn't chose to life that way.

                                        He hadn't asked the year so she would ask him the year he was from but of course after answering the question he was waiting on her to answer. "I want a lot of things, but when it comes to you I don't know. One minute my head is hurting and the next you appeared on my floor chocking from that noose. I suppose I saved your life....just like many others," she muttered the last part to herself before adding, "Judging by the way you're dressed and the way you speak, I'm guessing you aren't from around these parts...or time. What year do you think it is? Let's say that you're still in front of the crowd watching your execution, what year is it?" Depending on what he answered, Bo maybe the only one to help him get used to this era like he had to. s**t was different around here and the fact that he ended up in her room and her presence it seemed that he would probably want to go back to his own time. She wouldn't blame him, she did bring trouble to others for some reason.


                                        Location: Room
                                        Company: Isil
                                        Wearing: The usual
                                        Current Theme: Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin
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Charles was still rummaging around for a pot to boils his leaves in for some tea when He heard a voice behind him. "Oh hello there. I came in last night from the forest. I had talked with Abigail and she let me sleep in her room last night but she never came back after trying to get me some food. I already ate this morning and chopped some wood outside in payment. Right now I'm looking for a pot to boil these Spruce leaves in to make some tea. If you want some I have plenty here and it's very good, and good for you. When I wasn't able to get food at times tea is how I would stave off my hunger while I lived in the forest. Oh, I completely forgot to introduce myself. My name is Charles. Who might you be?" Charles then went back to looking because he felt that waiting for a reply would be a waste of time that he could find use to search for a pot. He didn't understand that this might be considered rude to some people because he had lived alone for so long but he went ahead and continued his work anyway.
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          Ezzy lingered in the kitchen’s doorway as her silvery orbs glanced through her dark and loose tendrils. Her head lightly tilted to the side as she stared at the peculiar man sitting and rummaging through things in front of her before her hand rose and lightly pressed up against her temple. Her head shook softly in protest as her lids moved to close. The blurry vision was starting to give her a bit of a headache and she could easily see why. Certainly it was messing with her equilibrium and, in not seeing so well at the moment, she would only express her frustration with a soft sigh before her lids would lightly flutter back open. A part of her desired to go back to bed, if anything to just lay there as she was far from tired, but her stomach most certainly would not allow such at the time.

          Her light orbs glanced back up as she curiously watched the man in front of her. His hands moved quickly over a few items, in search of a pot for tea, and this brought her to move out of the door way and over towards another set of cabinets. The image, as before, was quite blurry, but, in kneeling down and becoming abnormally closer to the stationary hold devices, she was able to open the door and search through them. Smiling, and extending her hand forth, her fingertips wrapped around a sturdy handle before she pulled it out, stood up, and moved it back towards the other man who was busy introducing himself and going on at a quicken pace.

          Tea. It sounded delicious enough to bring a soft smile to her lips as she turned around to hand him her findings. “I believe this pan would make a worthy holder for your tea, Charles. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Esmeralda.” She offered him as he took the pot from her. Her lithe frame would walk away from him and towards the fridge. She lingered in front of it for a moment, feeling a bit rash about opening it, and then turned back away. It wasn’t her fridge and prying into such would surely show some possible rudeness. Instead, she turned back away from the fridge and walked back towards her safe spot in the door way where she would begin to lean lightly against the frame. Such was easing the oncoming headache. His words continued and she simply did what she did best and that was listening. While she wasn’t the most sociable person, as she often remained silent, her ears were always open and her mind always alert.

          He would continue to describe his situation. Being a new patron, invited by a woman names Abigail that she had yet to meet since her arrival. Yes, she may have crossed the other from time to time but the actual introduction had never occurred. That, and up until now, the majority of her free time was spent with Nivek and she had yet to see him today. The sense of which, was still weighing heavily on her through guilt alone. She still had to apologize for the kiss. It was abrupt and there was no pre-warning to it. Yes, he had managed to steal a kiss from her, and she wanted it. But, when she did it, had he truly wanted the kiss back? Silence, as it normally did, began to overtake her as she stood there.
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Charles didn't notice the women leave the kitchen and was still searching for a pot desperately when he heard the women say that she found one and when he look at her he saw that she was indeed holding a pot out for him. "Why thank you. I was starting to believe I would never find one. Why on earth would you keep the pot out side of the kitchen. Anyway we should have enough enough tea for the both of us if you want and it should be done in about five minutes. I like it nice and strong." Charles said as he placed the leaves in the pot after tearing them up a little into slightly smaller pieces and then poured the water in the pot. He then placed it over the stove and let it boil. "By the way it is very nice to meet you as well Esmeralda. Would you like something to eat as well. Judging from how you hold your head and the fluttering of your eyes I would assume you are having some headaches. The tea will help with that but I would suggest some food as well though. Is there anything you would like to eat?"
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          The silence continued as her mind began to run away with her. Emotions upon emotions, something she wasn’t really use to expressing, would rush through her like tsunami waves. Starting all the way in the buried depths of her mind and growing, emotions feeding them, until they were brought up front and center, now in their full colossal glory. Her head lightly shook, with the poor attempt to rid such, just as she heard his voice again. He had thanked her for the pot and, with that, she would respond with a light nod of the head while kind lips pressed into a matching smile. “You are most welcome…” She stated. She never mind helping someone out and, compared to the creepy alternative, standing there and watching in silence was just plain awkward.

          Her fingertips lightly pressed against her temples once more as her silvery orbs moved back towards Charles. She gave a light nod. “Yes, I don’t know where it came from to be honest…but…perhaps tea would help. Thank you.” She offered back in return, smiling lightly, though only for a few moments before she allowed her lids to shut. He mentioned food, causing her lids to open lightly, after the short silent. Again, her head lightly shook. She could wait until a meal was made and, besides, the tea would do well to sedate her hunger for a longer period of time. Not to mention, it would be better for her to wait until the course was made so she could eat then instead of being rude and picking just a little. However, the tea would surely be enough to fill her. “I’m quite alright, thank you. I believe the tea will be more than enough. May I ask…what kind of tea it is?” She would hardly ever turn down a cup of tea but it was still always a good idea to know what kind it was and where, if possible, it came from.
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____With: Abigail.
____At: Some kinda room. (who the ******** knows?)
____Wearing: Oh, you know. This.

                        What the hell was she talking about?

                        It seemed that this was one of the few occurrences where Isil would allow himself to feel the full-effects of being absolutely confused. He tilted his head to one side as she spoke to him, light eyes attempting to decipher what it was she was trying to say. He had picked up on all of her phrasing, but he hadn't known what to make of it; there was the minor detail about saving other's lives, there was the indication that how he was dressed wasn't normal, and then there was the inquiry. What year did he think it was? She spoke it as if whatever he guessed would be wrong. Why was that?

                        He took another moment of pause, letting himself observe her completely one last time. She wasn't dressed in anything particularly strange; a cloak was considered a normal piece of attire for travelers or likewise. Despite how barren the room was, in his opinion, and how the room emanated with lingering mana, he immediately associated her with the magical. Perhaps she was a conjurer or sorts? A sorcerer, an occultist, a necromancer? But what would such a being want to do with him? She didn't even seem to know, or at least, that was what she was letting on. For all he knew, even that could be a fabrication... Perhaps she was pretending to be unaware, so as to incite certain reactions within him?

                        He narrowed his eyes, a rather recognizable feature of growing suspicion. Obviously, she didn't have the purest intentions of saving him, now did she? His arms were still bound (though of course, that didn't mean he was completely powerless) and she seemed reluctant to answer his question directly, or at least, this was what it seemed to be. 'Wanting a lot of things' wasn't a particularly direct answer, and he observed this clearly.

                        Even so, he couldn't really do a lot of anything. He knew that if he chose to answer her, he very well could be leading himself into another twisted plot... But on the other side of the spectrum, if he didn't answer her, he may be obstructing a process that would, in turn, reveal much truth to himself. He supposed it all depended on the type of character she was, and whether she was one to play tricks and to deceive, or to promote honesty and truthfulness. With the information currently provided to him, it was rather hard to pin such titles to her.

                        Sighing lightly (his head hurt a bit from over-thinking, paranoia, and lack of oxygen), he at last met her eyes once more, and a strange, long smile cracked onto his thin lips. "What do you suppose the year is, ma'am?" The comment was a bit on the cocky side, but he didn't seem to care; for the next of his movements was a shake of his head, and another quickly spoken answer, "I would assume that we are still early in the month Maritius, the leaves still green, the wind scattered." Though Isil was unaware, his particular world hadn't even shared the same sort of calender as this particular plane of reality. He let out a small chuckle to further explain himself, for he felt, in that moment, the peculiar strain that he wasn't being clearly understood. "...Springtime." He simply illustrated, before he continued on with the direct answer to her inquiry,"The year is 1301." Nor did his realm share the same particular lineage of years; it seemed he was from a completely different reality in all, one that hadn't expressed their calendar in accordance to a God... But a Goddess. It had been, apparently, as he had been raised and taught to know... One thousand, three-hundred and one years since the Goddess Orestiada had birthed mankind.

                        As he awaited the woman's answer, he fidgeted a bit from where he sat on the floor, peculiar smile lingering about his thin features, before he let out another exasperated chuckle. "...A rude way to treat ones guests, wouldn't you suppose?" He of course was implying the bonds about his arms, and he lifted a brow, awaiting a satisfying reaction.

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"Well then I won't bother you about food then. Oh it's spruce tea. It is very good I have it all the time and it helps with all kinds of things. It is full of vitamin C and is also good at a worm bait for fish." He noticed that the tea was at a boil now and he turned down the heat a little so it could steep in the warm liquid to get all the taste out of the leaves into the water. Once that was done for a little while he poured the tea into a couple of glasses and there was still a little left behind. "Here you go please enjoy."
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                                        ____

                                        While the man sat there thinking over what she said and growing suspicious over her, Abigail had zoned out for the time being. He could always be sent back from whatever world or time he had come from but the catch was that only the person who summoned him here would have the power to do so. There were so many rules to magic it was irritating but braking any laws would cause a magic user to become truly corrupt and no longer be a human but a monster or a demon who only wished for power and destruction, hence the reason the leader of the group chasing her was able to do things she or any others would be unable to do. The question now was whether she would be able to send him back or not though she had a feeling that she would be unable to do so for quiet some time. For one, she was bad with magic as others could vouch her on that fact and one other major reason was that if she emitted too much magic then he would be able to locate her much easier. Abigail realized then and there that the spell that brought the man here must have emitted quite a lot and fear began to grow throughout her body. She began to shake ever so slightly and if he hadn't spoken she probably would have had some sort of panic attack.

                                        Snapping out of those thoughts she looked back down at him and would discuss the issue with Bo later, for now she had to deal with the current problem. To think he thought it was Springtime though she would show him how far off he was and when he had said what year it was she could merely shake her head.

                                        "s**t," was the only thing she uttered as she walked around him and instead of untying him she simply helped him up.

                                        Abigail was still unsure about releasing him and would only do so when she felt that he was trustworthy enough. Once he was on his feet she gently placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him to the window. The curtains were open wide and he would be able to see the dark heavy clouds in the sky and all the bare tree's, their leaves long gone. Winter was upon them and so there was no sight of the green leaves he spoke of.

                                        "You and I live in two different worlds," Abigail stated as she dropped her hands to her side and stood beside him, staring out the window as well with her arms crossed over her chest.

                                        Taking a deep breath she took a guess on what year it was. "As for the year, I believe it is 2012 and I also believe that it is November..." she had remembered the month only because her birthday had been on Halloween after all and after that it would have been the month of November though who knew if he knew what 'November' was since he seemed to be from God knows where. There was a time where she felt like he would feel soon enough. When she spent years in the wilderness with Bo, she had no idea what type of advances happened within civilization so when they had finally arrived in a city she was completely and utterly lost. Watching him have to adjust soon would be interesting to watch then again he may throw a fit and demand to be sent back home, to the place where he was almost killed. Then again in Abigail's opinion he was better off there and here, especially around her. Lord knew she was some sort of disaster waiting to happen.

                                        After a moment of silence she glanced up at him and repiled to his 'a rude way to treat ones guest' by saying, "I've never had a 'guest' before so I guess you really can't say it's rude. Plus, better safe than sorry. Considering the things I've dealt with for quite some time I'd rather not take my chances."
                                        Location: Room
                                        Company: Isil
                                        Wearing: The usual
                                        Current Theme: Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin
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          Ezzy lifted her head lightly as the clearness of her pondering finally came just as he mentioned the type of tea that would soon fill her cup. Spruce Tea. Her dark brows furrowed lightly in questioning as her head tilted, ever so slightly, to the side. Her feature filled with a curious essence as she parted her lips to speak lightly. Her tone soft and faint. She was hardly one for much conversation and, when she did speak, she spoke in a lower tone that was hardly ever noticeable in a crowd unless someone was standing directly next to her.

          “Spruce tea…baits hooks?” She inquired, her brows still furrowed in a curious notion as her blurry vision continued as she glanced off to the side. Trying to decipher the logic behind drinking tea that would do such to a hook. The smell, of which, was quite extraordinary. Her lids closed lightly as she slowly inhaled. Taking the fine aroma in thru her nostrils caused her lips to create a soft smile, only lingering for just long enough until her lids open, where her smile vanished as her vision remained just as blurring. She shook her head lightly, her fingers pressed tightly against her temples as a small pain began to travel throughout her head.

          As the pressure was applied to each temple, Charles had assured her that the tea was now ready. Her silvery orbs moved over towards him as her lips pulled into another soft smile. Reaching for the glass, she gripped the side lightly before bringing the rim of her glass up to her soft lips before sipping it lightly and taking in the delicious dark liquid. “Mmm…” She smiled softly as she parted her lips after lowering her glass. “This is..delicious..”
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"Well thank you for the compliment." Charles drank some of his tea and looked at her curiously. "Hey I was wondering, why are you here? I'm here cause I found it looking for food in the forest. You see I have lived half my life in the forest. The only reason I'm staying is cause I don't feel like going back yet." Charles was there sitting at a counter drinking his tea and thinking he needed a nap.
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____With: Abigail, Ezzy, Charles.
____At: Some kinda kitchen.
____Wearing: Oh, you know. This.

                        He heard her curse under her breath, and just the mere notion caused his brow to lift once more, a peculiar expression illustrating his lightly amused state of shock; it wasn't a normal or lady-like thing within his society for women to swear, and to see one so freely and without hesitation decide to do so was a bit... Interesting, one might say. The action caused a low hum of laughter to fill his throat, but such soon dissipated when he realized she was moving towards him; though her movements were not tensed nor did they imply any menace, he watched her carefully, eying her for any small weapons or threatening intent. She did nothing but help him up, and as she did so and he realized that this was all she had planned, he eased up a bit, and straightened onto slender legs. It was at this close vicinity that he recognized that she had a rather long scar marking her tender flesh across her face, something, again, that was a bit abnormal for women to wear; rarely did they ever have any sort of imperfections against their skin, for they rarely set out, unless ill fortune provoked it. It certainly made him curious, but the next he knew, his thoughts were being lead elsewhere; as she nudged him in a given direction, he paused only a moment to carefully decipher what it was she had intended, before turning into the guiding movement and facing the window.

                        Her statement wasn't taken easily.
                        Outside, he saw; the trees were barren and leafless, branches curling in a uniquely jagged manner that was characteristic of certain trees. Though it looked like the property was well-maintained, there were leaves scattered everywhere, the sky was gray and overcast. But that was not all he payed particular attention to; beyond, there were trees, yes, but leading inward was a gray.... Road, constructed in a manner he had never seen before. How did they get the cobblestone so flat and crease-less?

                        He seemed rather distant for a moment, something that he rarely allowed himself to do unless he was attempting to be particularly convincing in one way or another; white-blue eyes staring outward across the gray-toned, foreign landscape, he echoed the unfamiliar phrase,"November..."

                        What the hell was a November?

                        The rest of her words fell on near-deaf ears, and were nothing but mere echoes in his distracted, numbed, distorted array of thoughts. He began to piece certain pieces together, a maddening habit birthed by the severe paranoia he had experienced since early childhood, and after a moment, he began to speak... Words quickened by jagged, misplaced thought-processes. "Was this all an accident? Is that what you're implying?" His eyes remained on the landscape, before he turned to her abruptly, eyes holding an intensity that hadn't been achieved before, at least, not within her company,"What realm is this?" He nearly demanded, before his eyes fell to the floor again, pupils dilated by an unknown force. "Mm... I see now." He nodded like a madman, thoughts ticking away like a clockpiece attached to an explosive. "This is all a trick, isn't it?" His gaze raised to hers once again, a sudden epiphany visible both in his words and on his facial features, "There's no other place this could be..." He murmured, and for quite a few moments, he convinced himself that this had to be true; he had to be dead, his body hung to be mutilated and degraded outside the Citadel... Surely he was dead, and now, his soul sent to the underworld. At this realization, his heart quickened in its pacing, and once again, he fell to one knee, bowing his head, dark hair nearly touching the carpet below. His voice was a desperate hiss, an attempt to maintain control over something he knew he had no control of. "...Great God Zulfi, our deal is not yet compromised... You've been betrayed. Blame the satyr for that!" To those like Abigail who hadn't known, Zulfi was the God of the Underworld, Orestiada's brother, the devilish character depicted in religious works that ultimately betrayed and killed the lovely goddess. He was convinced, at this point, that all of this was just some sort of imaginary depiction that Zulfi was controlling to manipulate him (it wouldn't be the first time this had happened) and that, it would ultimately lead to his soul's demise... Or something worse. "I've been loyal, Lord... Just as I had promised. You must understand. The Heart was within my possession, I just-- There was an Aethian in Illyria that recognized me, and I--"

                        Isil had gone temporarily insane.

                        But he stopped speaking abruptly, and remained frozen for quite a bit of time, before his head slowly raised and his eyes narrowed upon the figure above him.

                        Something in his mind clicked, and drove him to reaction.

                        Quickly, and with a force and a peculiar stealth that hadn't quite been illustrated before the young lass, he leaped to his feet and made a dash for the door, a long leg extending to kick the annoying layout of wood down and out of his way. It would be hard to fight in bonds if needed, but it could be done; Isil was a sort of trained professional, if one could dub him anything, and he very well knew how to handle inconveniences such as this. Even so, he knew it would be beneficial to him if he found a way to release himself from these terrible ropes, and so, he dashed down the hallway (a rather misplaced sight, if one had seen it) and made his way into the lobby. After a quick, frenzied glance around, he found nothing, and quickly shifted his direction to an area that would be far more helpful in his situation... To his fortune, he found a kitchen. Ah, yes! A place filled with all assortments of sharp and pointy tools, at least, he hoped... He wasn't quite sure if kitchens were the same in this realm.

                        ...They were surely different, for there were pieces of machinery that he didn't recognize, but the layout was similar enough for him to realize not only did he know where the knives were kept, but he was also not alone. There were two other figures, seemingly about to enjoy their tea if not already, something that, too, seemed quite surreal and yet... Familiar. But he hadn't quite adjusted out of his maddened, panicked state; and quite quickly and efficiently, he was able to approach the nearest knife-holder, prop himself against the counter, turn around, and enable his hands to grasp one of the blades... With a few movements of his hands behind his back, he would attempt to cut the ropes from his arms, though it would take longer than he had hoped.

                        Until then, he needed something to defend himself with.
                        Lashing around once more, his teeth found the handle of another knife, and backing into a corner to resume his concentrated work, he snarled and gritted his teeth in menacing warning towards both the individuals that were within the kitchen, and the other woman, if she had followed. He wasn't going to give in so easily.

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