The sizzle of frying bacon could be heard dimly through the abandoned Dojo, as if someone had put a microphone to the pan to tempt any unwary listeners. Oddly enough this was precisely the case: admist the thick layers of dust and cobwebs in the dining area was a single table (the only one in the room that had not fallen over). It was scrupulously clean, as if whoever had cleaned it did so knowing that only when it was spotless it would be fit to eat on.
The chef of the hour -a woman of medium height, tanned skin and tight brown curls tied back with a ragged strip of cloth- stood at the counter over her makeshift fire. The fire was there and not on the stove because there was nothing with which to power it. She handled the food as if it were myrrh: it was the last of what she'd brought with her, and would be her last meal until the next town. She had some rudimentary skills in magic, but life seemed all the more fulfilling when work was done with your hands.
An iron lantern with thickly distorted glass made gray shadows flicker and dance on the walls. Her only companion in the dark was a small falcon speckled with brown, his fierce eyes hooded to keep him calm and obedient. If the hood was not in place than Archer was prone to being a menace.
So, that was her evening. Frying bacon in a dusty kitchen that had seen better days.
A voice would echo through out the entire lobby as the doors behind him closed. Leaving a groan of echoes which seemed to bring the abandoned dojo back from the dead for a moment. It had obviously been quite some time since any large amount of people had been here, as shown by the dust and other such things.
Oddly enough tho', the droid standing at the desk was still working. Yet it didn't seem to care to respond to the man who had entered. Just sitting there, like a dog waiting on it's master's newest orders.
What's that smell?
Sirius would blink a few times, not really believing that someone was here. Let alone making fresh food from the smell of it. Logic told him to leave before he gets caught but he figured with the looks of the place, the unknown person was probably a trespasser too.
He'd wander the long unkempt halls which lead to the Kitchen with surprising amounts of ease. Bacon was one of the strongest and delicious smells out of cooking, it was so so easy to simply follow. Mine as well just draw on the walls with markers.
Once having came to the kitchen, the man would stop at the doorway when looking at the woman.
Isn't this a bit of a dirty place?
He'd inquire, not really caring who the presumed bum had to say.
His appearance was pretty good despite being a necromancer. His eyes had darkened up a little bit, probably too much late night studying of his dark arts. The hair was very well cut and kept at a good cheek level in the 'scene' fashion pretty much. He wore a large dark jacket which held his necromancer book and ritual knife on the inside, and simple dark clothing beneath that.
Behind Manora Archer ruffled up his feathers and flexed his talons nervously. Like all animals he was perceptive to death, and the skeleton bird's presence made him uneasy. But as he could not see he did not take flight, and remained where he was tethered to the back of the chair. As for herself, life had been surprising enough for her to be unsurprised that a human companion had joined her when she had nothing to offer. The intelligent eyes that turned to meet the dark ones of the necromancer had a look of sophistication, more as if she was a dignified noblewoman than the homeless wanderer that she was. But it was obvious that she did come from well-grounded roots: her clothes were ragged but clean, and her hair did not show the signs of grease that would otherwise have been present in a person who refused to bathe. She was not too thick and not too thin, a healthy build that exuded an earthy, feminine aura. Here was a woman who was accustomed to the ways of the world, and seemed more than willing to share what she had.
Seat yourself if you're tired, stranger. I cleaned what I could in terms of utensils, but there's not much water to be found in the taps anymore. Took me close to an hour to fill a pot with water hot enough for scrubbing.
Her unquestioning eyes flickered from the bird on his shoulder to her own, still shifting restlessly on his perch. From a pack on the counter she pulled out a tin plate and cup, as well as half a loaf of stale bread and a dry, crumbly cheese. Not much, but it didn't worry her. Nothing ever did.
We'd have to share if you're hungry. Archer doesn't use a plate, so I don't see fit to carry two.
Sirius would blink gently before shaking his head. He had little interest in eating at the moment and obviously his bird companion wasn't going to be holding much inside him for quite some...well ever. He had some great necromantic ways of sustaining life and consciousness which would subsistute for food for the time being.
He could feel the old death of something young on these grounds. It helped.
No, thank you. I'm just sort of wandering a little bit here and there, not all too interested in making dinner and what not.
Despite her attitude and appearance being far less shabby than expected, he was still put off by her. He found it creepy stumbling upon some weirdo in a abandoned house who apparently lived with a bird and ate rotten food. It just wasn't all that normal or cool.
While Sirius was just a perverse man who broke into houses and kept a dead bird around. Totally less weird.
I'm sorry, I'm Sirius and this is my old friend Red.
He would introduce himself before pointing to the skeletal bird on his shoulders. The bird seemingly would come out of a daze before jumping up and down on his shoulder almost ecstatically. It sure was full of life for something that died years ago.
He enjoyed the damn thing, always kept him company in his dark nights. The one's where he spent many hours worshiping or reading text books. Expanding his great necromantic knowledge so he could find a purpose in himself.
Manora nodded briefly and munch absently on a crispy sliver of bacon. Her food was not rotten, but it was obviously very close to approaching that point. But it was all she had. She stepped into the wan light provided by the lamp and -instead of sitting in the chair she'd labored over cleaning- bent down to lift a dusty one upright. It wobbled unsteadily as she sat down but didn't seem to be very close to falling apart.
A thin, humorless smile stretched across her full lips.
There are less fitting names in this world.
She was, of course, referring to the dead bird that hopped about so animatedly on his shoulder. Manora knew something of the arcane but was not a strong practicer in it. In anything, really. Probably why she was a drifter who lived on her own out of a leather pack and a dry sense of humor.
As if sensing his apprehension she smiled, and her face seemed to radiate a heightened degree of kindness. Not a maternal one, but a sort of,"You and me, we're different, see?".
I don't know what it is, nor where. Obviously people lived here at one point, but they're all dead or gone or somewhere in between.
I don't recognize the enchantment that keeps your bird alive, necro.
He'd inquire, not entirely catching her humor. It had pretty much whiffed right past him, rolled a one in D&D terms. Yet it was okay, he would simply roll with it and begin talking about other things with her. He was at least a good conversationalist despite his profession.
Well very few people have died here, I can say that much. The thing that has died here was a pretty small child, it's very faint.
He would speak almost in a matter of fact way. Considering he was in touch with the dead, it wasn't that hard for him to just say who had died there. Aside from like ancient indians and the assumed. Animals and whatnot. That was far easier to depict from true sentient life.
Blinking, he'd hold out his bird before grinning.
A work of art I say. While technically not living considering that it has no working organs or anything, it's pretty much as good as new. A testament to my years of studying that I don't need to practice every damn thing I read.
Was it necessary to have such gory festivals? He often wondered.
She was pleased that he was seeming more at ease, and in turn Manora's smile broadened to one that was friendlier. Warmer. Her rough demeanor did nothing to hide her soft interior, for she avoided discussing or commenting on the child he said had died in this place. Inwardly, though, she questioned what sort of place it had been to allow such a precious thing to lose its life.
She finished her food in silence, which probably lasted a good two minutes. After that she went to her bag and drew two thin cigarettes from a battered pack of them. The lamp sputtered as she lit the end of one on it and then drew a deep, intoxicating drag from it. Manora held the unlit one in his direction, mindless of the vulgar image her smoking portrayed. If she were dressed differently it might have been sexy. Funnily enough she did not look like a smoker: her fingers and lips were unjaundiced, and her teeth were as white as new pearls. The gleam of a newly found addiction was in her eyes; it could not have been more than a few days since her first.
The question was innocent enough, even if the act itself wasn't. While waiting for his answer she took another draw from her own and directed the exhale in Archer's direction. The bird shook its head and sneezed.
Death was flying over the sea with his wings streatched straight out as he watched the water rise in fall in medium sized swells. everyonce in awhile he would flap his wings once or twice so that he didnt fall into the ocean. His eyes reflected the ocean slightly as the electricity flowed through them.
Death had been flying for awhile because he was far from this place he once called home, but then finally he could see the island in the distance. He smiled some as he flapped a few times to get moving faster. His electricity then pulsed as his speed greatly increased. Before you could blink he was at the beach of the island.
"Wow it's been awhile."
He said to himself as he looked up at the large building. It had been so long since he had been here he could see that most of the droids had stopped their duties on the outside of the building since weeds and shrubs where all overgrown. He expected about the same inside as far as cleanliness went. He made his way to the front doors. He then held his hand out infront of him as he walked. Before he even got the doors they began to open from his telikinesis. Once the doors where open he looked on the floor. He saw a bunch of dust and foot prints in the dust which ment there was some one here after the place became abandon.
He then made his way back the hall following the foot prints.