♀ SHOFAR, chenabby's Phasmas

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Soul-Deep Stain
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir must protect what he holds dearest !

xxxxDragomir was walking through the street - he was on yet another of his shopping excursions, though this time he was more looking around than actually intending to buy anything, as he was still not yet used to Shyregoed with all the chaos that had been happening - and, despite the chaos going on, he really didn't have any other choice. They were coming closer and closer to Dorian's house regardless, so it was likely he would get assaulted no matter what he did - and he decided he'd rather get mauled doing something he enjoyed versus sitting at home like a cornered beast; if he was going to die, and he shivered just thinking about it, then he wanted to do it in style, at the very least, not shivering alone.

xxxxSince no one knew she had Chayele, he was safe at first - until, of course, he was shoved down on accident and Chayele toppled heels over head out of his pocket. The second he noticed her weight missing, he picked her up and tried to shove her back in it, but someone had noticed - and that someone was raring to pick a fight.

xxxxOf course, Dragomir had not noticed he was being watched more closely from that moment on - it wasn't until he got home, until he arrived back at his abode later that night, that two or three of them took him at once - Dragomir, little and weak, was no match; he was taken down easily and encouraged Chayele to run. It was probably in the best interest of all three of the men present that none of them had any form of blunt or sharp weapon, as Dragomir stood no chance until he hobbled into the house and managed to catch one of them in the face with a lucky elbow - he went down, spraying blood from his nose, and the others, stunned that Dragomir managed to put up any form of a fight that they stood there, staring at the raggedy mess of a man, bleeding from several facial wounds, mostly, and they took off, though Dragomir probably only needed one more hit to be finished and fall to the ground, entirely numb and abused. It was only when they left that Dragomir realised Chayele was there - the poor plague looked traumatised, covered from head to tiny foot in blood specks, she looked as though she'd never seen or been privy to anything more disgusting and Dragomir felt bad that he had done something like that in front of her, despite the fact that he knew it had been an impossibility to do anything else but fight back - fight back or be killed or seriously injured, and he figured that'd be worse for the little plague than seeing a guy knocked out. Dragomir grabbed his feet and attempted to drag him out of the house, not wanting him to wake up inside, where the pair were going to sleep. After he felt he'd brought the guy close enough to Dorian's place that he'd choose to go inside the mansion and not the pathetic shack, he went back inside and found Chayele, huddling under a desk, shivering violently. Quietly, he picked her up and held her to his chest, only vaguely remembering his first encounter and having some sympathy solely because he had been more terrified than even she was, especially when he considered the height difference.

xxxx"Come now," he murmured in a moment of almost saccharine sweetness, "it's alright. We'll go to sleep, Chayele, it will be alright in the morning.."

xxxxShe chose, above anything else, as she always did and always would, so far as she knew, to believe her Grimm.  

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| An Alarming Occurrence
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir experiences something that should have been impossible !

xxxxDragomir had just blinked when the crows were all over, all dead, no more letters there. They, however, and their persistent smell of death, disgusted the surprisingly high-maintence man, who simply wanted them gone. He had made the horrible mistake of trying to touch one - though nothing had happened, he did feel quite tired very quickly. And despite having gotten home only just a few moments ago, he collapsed almost immediately into the room he slept in and sighed quietly, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow - and perhaps even slightly before.

xxxxWhen he woke up, the entirety of his body screamed out in pain; dazedly, he sat up and looked down at himself, unable to figure out why he hurt as such. It wasn't until he unbuttoned the shirt he had been wearing before the problem stood out to him. The buboes jumped out at him, thereabout, and he noticed the tips of his fingers. He blinked slowly, at them, panic starting at the base of his spine and rocketing upward, freezing his head for a long moment. He had the plague. He had the Black Death. His eyes scanned around the room in a veritable panic, looking for Chayele. He had heard - he truly believed - that plagues were supposed to protect him from getting it himself, but here he was in pain, exhausted, swollen pus-pockets over his entire body. Tenderly as he was able, he laid himself back down, quietly, whimpering softly as one of the buboes touched the blanket. He then hissed and kept looking around, though his eyes were too heavy to do anything else. Yet again, he surrendered to a painful, fitful sleep.

xxxxWhen light yet again pierced his lids to the point that he awoke, he felt deathly hot, as though he might actually be on fire. Chayele also happened to be on his pillow, obviously fretful with the way she fluttered her hands about and was sitting next to his head. She made a curious noise when she noticed Dragomir was awake and leaned in to look at his too shiny eyes and the confusion deep within them as he looked at Chayele but saw something entirely different, a rat sitting there, peering into his face, and he hit at it. Chayele, not at all a rat, tumbled off the bed and picked herself up with a squeak. Too surprised to react, she did not get to show Dragomir the new powers she'd recieved in the past few days - or, rather, awakened ones. She whimpered and toddled off, no longer worried about Dragomir.

xxxxThe man was coughing weakly by the fourth day - he couldn't breathe and on occasion he coughed a spot of blood into his hand before wiping it away with all the minimal strength he could muster. At this point, he had resigned himself to die - he was dying and he could not say he was too sorry about it. The world had long sense faded into a strange, unreasonable delusion that he could not process, the colours too blinding and earthshattering, and Dragomir had no desire nor strength to process, and as such kept his eyes closed a good majority of the time, but the colours haunted him even there, and he whimpered on occasion, making Chayele start.

xxxxIt was on the eve of the fifth day that he finally thought of Chayele and wondered where the girl was. He had seen nor heard heads or tails of her, and he was a bit concerned in his cloudy, only semi-conscious way. However, too weak to care much more than just that. He wondered if she would be okay if he were to die - and he was sure he would die soon, with no one to care for him. He then thought of Dorian and coughed loudly, apparently in even his body's contempt for the man, his body racked with coughs and blood splattering across his mouth and hand. He collapsed back in bed - he was done thinking for the day.

xxxxOf course, around midday on the fifth day, his symptoms began to lessen - he could, at first, think in a straight line - then, he could sit up - then, he could talk. That was all he could do, but it was enough; he felt alive again, but only barely, and he sighed softly. This was perfect; he was unendingly thankful that he was not at all dying but just miserable.

xxxxOn day six he realised he had wasted almost an entire week doing nothing - he had not worked and he wondered if he held any way to make money now. He would have to check soon; but the realisation that he had just wasted a week enraged him, and so he did not note much. He certainly did not note the absence of one little girl, less than even one of his hands tall, and he did not make any inquiries as to where she was. It was, perhaps, a mistake.  

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Life-Changing Event
xxxxxxxxin which Chayele attempts to please her God, Obscuvos !

xxxxIt was strange for her. She had never held very much power at all. At least, she never thought she had. And now she did. And she wasn't sure how she did, only that she did, with no knowledge of what to do with it, except the burning desire to serve Obscuvos and Andromeda. She knew it was Andromeda that gave the power to her and she giggled, happily, at the thought. She wiggled in her skirts, impatient and upset, however, at the burning desire within her, and she stared up at the bed. Dragomir had been there for a long while and she was vaguely worried. She heard him coughing and mumbling to himself, and she wondered if he was okay. Maybe he had made a friend in his head, like Chayele had done before she met Lettie and Hoppy. They had always been nice to her. She wondered if Dragomir's head-friends were nice to him. That would be very nice, she thought to herself with a small nod. Dragomir needed friends! Chayele resigned herself to the fact that maybe Dragomir would be up in a day and waited - but he wasn't, so she crawled up onto his bed and sat there, waiting. When she caught sight of Dragomir, her mouth turned severely downward; he was gross and sticky and sweaty. If she'd had a nose, she would have scrunched it up. She sat there anyway and waited for him to get up. When he did, however, he was meaner than usual - he mumbled something about a rat and then hit her off the bed! Chayele wasn't a rat! She was a plague. And a pretty one! And- ... Andromeda told her so! She huffed and crossed her arms. Apparently, Dragomir wasn't going to help her! She stood up and fixed her skirts, dusting them off and made a resolution to herself. She would go make Obsc.. Obscuvos happy on her own. She huffed as she stormed to the door, wiggling out through a crack, as though she were eight feet tall and not the dainty four and a half inches she actually was.

xxxxIt only occurred to her when she felt like she was an eternity away from Dragomir's house that she had no idea what to do! She kept in as many shadows as she could, darting around, her skirt's beads making tiny clickity-clacking noises as she moved like a small eddy of wind, virtually unnoticeable unless she stopped for any amount of time. She blinked when, however, loud shouting caught her attention. She made a worried, tiny gasp and darted over towards it, hiding next to a building as she peered out. There were two men who were being mean to someone with a birdie mask. For a moment, she thought it was Andromeda and she huffed loudly before realising that the person-in-the-birdie-mask did not have her pretty fire hair. So it wasn't Andromeda! She was relieved. If people were hurting Andromeda, she would have been very angry! But Dragomir had a birdie mask like that. And so did the people in the church and Chayele remembering it being very important to the people Andromeda liked, and Chayele liked Andromeda. She thought that maybe this would make Andromeda happy and so she would stop feeling so strangely. She concentrated and worried her lip as she managed to manifest wind into a solid, actually powerful, gust. One of them was knocked off his feet and the person-in-the-birdie-mask stumbled away before attacking the remaining man. She covered her face with her sleeves, not wanting to look or see it. Suddenly, before she knew what happened, she was swept off the ground and when she uncovered her face, it was the person-with-the-birdie-mask holding her. He had it off now, however, and she looked on in confusion at the new man holding her.

xxxxShe started. He was not very pretty - he looked mean. She was instantly very scared, despite him being the person she had saved. She wiggled in his hand and made a quiet noise, flicking her head around, trying to find a way out. She decided to just leap from his hand and hobbled down the dark way she'd come from, hiding and moving quickly and quietly as she could, sticking to the shadows. She waited, wedged underneath some unknown debris, until he went away. She whimpered silently - the fall had hurt her, and she had to make it home. She hobbled for a little, but she was lost, hopelessly lost, and it was cold. She shivered anyway and whimpered quietly. Her dress was dirty and she was scared. She wondered where Dragomir was, she missed him. It felt like an eternity - the sun and moon changed places several times before she finally made it home, worse for the wear thanks to some stubborn animals chasing her down even as she hobbled at her top speed and tried to smack them with small gusts of wind. She hid in her cranny, curling up silently on the floor as she did so. She wondered if Dragomir had missed her. If she had been able to, she would have been crying, but she couldn't; she made pathetic, pleading, whimpering noises instead.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Different Skin
xxxxxxxxin which Chayele has an appearance modification !

xxxxDragomir had just found Chayele when the dove came - he was helping her bandage her tiny foot and ankle, but she was making it hard. It seemed as though his every touch, even as delicate as he was actually attempting to be, hurt her, and she wiggled away and stared at him as though he'd bite her before shyly returning. It was a long process and he was a little relieved - he had thought it would be a cultist bird, but it wasn't; a beautiful white dove stood before him and he put the little white strips down as he listened.

xxxxTo make a Plague human, it started, and Dragomir heard no more. He stared at the weighty feathers in his hand and wondered if such a thing was possible. Chayele, who wasn't listening, looked up at Drago and the feathers, curious. She reached for one, but Dragomir gently hit her hand away and took it. Using as much force as he could, he ground the tip of one into a small amount of dust - just enough, he hoped. Caring little for the consequences, he wrapped his hand around his little Plague's body and, rubbing his finger into the powder, forced his smallest finger as much into her mouth as possible. Wiping some of it off successfully, he let the squirming, coughing plague go and cleaned his hands on his pants as thoroughly as possible, wanting to risk as little as he could getting the plague again, especially with Chayele "turning human," if the dove wasn't a liar. It occurred to him, then, a little too late, that if she died or was otherwise harmed because of it, the cult would be displeased. Downright pissy, actually.

xxxxHe sighed, looked around, then went off. Chayele was still coughing and curled up on the table she had been left on - she did not want to move anywhere; she hurt too badly, to severely, to have any desire to go anywhere. Dragomir came back to the room 20 minutes later - he had destressed outside after the little girl's fit at being bandaged and he thought that he heard the coughing subside, so he wouldn't be tempted to throw her into the Shyregoed cold, even this late in the season, by listening to her annoying noises. What he saw, however, was not what he expected. A girl was sitting there.

xxxxA girl was sitting there.

xxxxHe stood there, staring at the girl. Bright green, surprisingly intelligent, eyes peered back, evenly, at him; her small feet kicked off the edge of the table. It took him a long, long while to realise that she was naked. He blinked.

xxxxSo did she.

xxxx"... Ah..." Dragomir started, lamely, not sure what to say in a situation in which he walked into his own house to find his Plague gone, replaced by a prepubescent girl, entirely devoid of clothing, who also seemed to be mute. In the meantime, however, the girl had startled and begun touching at her eyes. Something about them seemed upsetting to her - she made agitated cooing noises as she touched every inch from her browbone to her cheekbone and back again, until she stabbed herself, accidentally, in the eye with a finger.

xxxxShe screeched, and Dragomir about jumped out of his skin. She held her eye closed with one small hand, and whimpered loudly. It lasted only a moment though, and Dragomir watched as her small hand went back and checked the sides of her head - she had been looking for something, but judging by the horrified look on her little face, she had not found it. She squeaked and started to rock herself a little, and things finally began to click. "Who are you..?" He murmured softly.

xxxxShe blinked up at him and tilted her face to the side - "Shaaah," she murmured, gravely, an odd sound to hear in her small, kitten voice; something about it, however, didn't click right to her, and she repeatedly muttered the syllable, trying to shape her lips to the sound she heard in her brain. Dragomir was in pain just watching it.

xxxx"Chay?" Dragomir supplied, trying to end this scene. The girl nodded emphatically, her dark hair bobbling with her head, and she clapped her hands together happily. Chay, yes, that was it! He did remember her!

xxxxOf course Dragomir remembered her. Remembered her so well that he began to mutter obscenities under his breath. She blinked, then giggled, finding them incredibly amusing. After minimally reconciling himself with the fact that his plague was now a human child that was muttering baby talk at him, he remembered yet again that she was entirely in the nude. He rested his face in his palm as he wondered what to dress her in, not having anything that truly fit him, much less the girl who was about a foot shorter than him. He knew he had items with which to sew somewhere, owned rather ashamedly because of the fact that he often tore his own clothes while walking on them and with no other female in his life, he had to do it himself. Taking clothes he happened to own that he no longer wore but had not thrown away nor had found a use for, he carelessly tore them apart and stitched them together clumsily, though as best he could. It ended up in something that looked vaguely like a dress and covered her well enough to make her decent. She wasn't, however, happy, and thrust some small, shiny trinkets that she had located into his hands.

xxxx"What do you want me to do with these?" He sighed, put upon. She patted them, then pointed at the bottom of her dress. Chayele muttered insistently, then pointed repeatedly, emphatically. Dragomir attempted to add them, though they were unevenly hung.

xxxxIt was good enough for Chayele, who pulled the dress over her head as quickly as possible and marveled at how pretty it was, knowing nothing of how it had been intended to look. Dragomir stood up, expecting to go be alone, but was intercepted by the blur of a dark head embracing him, her small arms locking around his side.

xxxxNow that she was his size, it was harder to knock her off and keep moving - not for sentimental reasons, but purely for size. He tried to dislodge her, but anytime he'd remove one of her milky arms, she wrapped the other back around tighter. After a small eternity, she let go and set to wandering around the small house, finding everything very claustrophobic in her new size. Uncomfortably, she rubbed her arm to calm herself down, but each time she accidentally brushed her hair, she startled. Eventually, wondering why such strange feeling things were attached to her head now, as well as Dragomir's and every other person-that-sized's head, she took a piece and curiously drew it across her finger, then her face, before opening her mouth and curiously placing it on her tongue, nibbling lightly. Finding texture and taste suitable, she continued to lazily nibble as she walked around, touching everything.

xxxxOccasionally, she would recognize something and would, rather unintelligibly, babble at it, and then at Dragomir, as if he were supposed to understand it. Though at first he had merely closed his eyes and allowed it, occasionally nodding as if it made perfect sense, it soon got irritating. He tried to stand it, but it was difficult; he had no patience for many things, much less Chayele.

xxxx"Hush!" He snapped, a bit too harshly; her fingers, closed around a small trinket, opened and it fell, shattering, to the floor. He sighed, in yet more irritation and again swore an oath under his breath. "Sit still, sit down, and stop fidgeting. You're being a nuisance, Chayele."

xxxxThe look of pain on her face was so acute that his heart immediately began to ache and he wondered if he'd been to harsh on the undeniably young girl. "Chay," he started, but this time it could and would not be fixed by the calling of her cutesy nickname - she turned away and made awkward, sniffling noises. Cold rocketed up Dragomir's spine - was she -- was she crying? He shifted from foot to foot and when he reached out to gently take her by the shoulder and console her, she'd taken off running, scrubbing at her eyes as she went, across the way, to hide in or near Dorian's house, regardless of the cold.

xxxxDragomir, sensing that he had, in pleasant terms, possibly irreparably screwed up, let her go and calm herself down while he did the same.

xxxxChayele did not like tears, she discovered, as she ran. At first she had only teared up, but then fear of the fact that the painful, seeing things were bleeding or leaking or oozing made her cry harder, which frightened her more, especially with how much they burned. She ran out, not paying attention to where she was going, and instinctively dashed over to Dorian's house, where she always went when she was afraid or angry, and hoped that Lettie would be inside, even though Lettie was probably still little. Maybe she could talk to Dorian? She scrubbed her eyes harder, sniffled and coughed, and tried to figure out her way in, her fingers playing with the trinkets Dragomir had hung only a few hours prior. Chayele never, never understood why Dragomir changed his mind so often; she just wanted some form of affection from him, and tried her hardest to get it.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Chaotic Mess
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir proves his dedication to the cult yet again !

xxxxDragomir wasn't quite sure what to think when he opened the door to a cultist. To ... make his faith known? That was to die. That was to die, especially here in Shyregoed. Dragomir did not want to die. He closed the door cleanly in the idiot's face and Chayele, as human as ever, bounced up behind him and hugged his leg. "Whooo?"

xxxxHe shook his head. "No one, Chay. Go." It was an even request, not cold, not ordering her, as he normally would have, just calm. Just calculating. Just thinking. What could - what would - he do? To admit his alliance was to sign his death warrant; to keep it secret was to enrage the cult. And when he considered all he would do to stay on the cult's side, he knew this was just one more thing. He thought of the feel of a heart, feebly struggling to beat in his hand, even as it was disconnected from the rest of its body. Was this so much in comparison? Was it?

xxxxHe shuddered violently and closed his eyes. It wasn't. It wasn't because he wouldn't let it be. Even as he resolved this to himself, his hands were shaking. He feared dying more than anything, and he had just been asked to stare it in the face and laugh at it. Chayele, though she had been told to go away, noticed the fact that his hands were shaking and her two wrapped around one of his, holding it tightly, and she nuzzled her face into the calloused skin there. "Draa.." She breathed, frowning, worried.

xxxx"I'm alright, Chayele." He waved her off, and she frowned more, not believing him for a second. She let go however and bounced away to look at the various shiny items that Dragomir owned, finding them more entertaining than Dragomir standing there silently staring at his feet as though they would tell him the answers to everything. Chayele had stared at her own feet for many hours before and they had never spoken to him. She frowned, finding the shinies less interesting - her attention was taken up when Dragomir stormed in quickly and moved past her, grabbing his familiar Obscuvan mask and ran his fingers over the curved mask.

xxxxHe placed it over his face and Chayele excitedly grabbed his hand, assuming they were going to mass. She wanted to go! She had not seen Andromeda in awhile and she was most excited to see if she could find her friend this time. When Dragomir shook her hand off and firmly told her to stay put, she was confused. She stubbornly clung to his hand.

xxxxHe told her no again and left her there, for once thinking of her safety. In his mask, with the glares that he received from those around him, he felt little protection. He felt vulnerable. For some reason, it seemed intelligent to cut through a side, back alley; a man came up to him, muttered something about "Damn Cultists," and he reacted perhaps the wrong way - he narrowed his eyes behind the mask and entered a defensive state; he pulled his hand back and it became a fist. There was no way out, as much as Dragomir might have wished there was.

xxxx"Obscuvos isn't something to be mocked or taken lightly," the lies burned his tongue but he uttered them anyway; he would not fail the cult. Not now, not after all this.

xxxx"And who the hell do you think you are?" The other man snapped. Dragomir remembered that he said his name, but the other details were lost on him. The next thing he could remember was being knocked to the ground, mask thrown off, and he hit his head against the nearest building; his head ached considerably, and his knuckles were bleeding. Summoning strength from some place in the pit of his stomach, he threw a punch which happened to knock the other man down - perhaps just because of how unprepared he was for a blow of any considerable strength. He didn't get up; Dragomir knew he was still alive (he was making pained, groaning noises), and he took off running, grabbing his mask as he went, dodging through the crowd that had gathered from the sounds of the fight; he murmured as he ran, loud enough to understand and be heard several people away as he jumped and fled as quick as he could, "I am Dragomir Meschke -- and I am an Obscuvan."

xxxxOnce he was free of the crowd, he slowed down, breathing heavily, bleeding from his forehead, his cheek, his hands, bruises sprouting all over... He dragged himself back to the house, where Chayele gasped in surprise, covering her face as entirely as she could - oh, how she hated the sight of gore! He bandaged himself up with some difficulty, and Chayele finally came over to him after she felt he was presentable enough.

xxxxA surprise to both of them, he squeezed the little girl close to his chest. He hoped that this had been enough to protect them both; he wanted harm to come to neither of them so much as he could help it.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Unlucky Pair
xxxxxxxxin which Chayele meets death firsthand !

xxxxDragomir had not noticed that the people around him were getting sick. Mostly, if not entirely, it was because he had no one around him except those at the church, which he still regularly went to; he was glad that Chayele was back to normal now, a plague that was able to be carried in his pocket, which he returned her to, regardless of what she wished (which was to be carried anywhere but there), and she enjoyed going to mass again and listening to the hymns of the believers, enjoying especially that Dragomir's voice was now able to be heard in their deep, dark verses, a fact that charmed the poor little dear beyond what it probably should have.

xxxxIn fact, it took several days for someone to die. And when they did, Dragomir was more than a little surprised. But he, of course, did not correlate the connection between his presence and the death. Chayele heard the man hit the ground and she was confused - she had never seen a human lie so still before, especially in such an uncomfortable position. She squirmed and wriggled, climbing down his pants leg to get to the ground.

xxxxShe made it over to the still warm corpse before Dragomir could stop her; she tugged on his sleeve, wondering if he were asleep under that weird birdie mask like the one Andromeda had. She tugged and tugged but he would not react; he only moved a little in response to the tugging she exerted. Eventually she realised that, for some reason, this man would not get up. She went over to Dragomir and tugged his pants, getting his attention, where he had previously just been watching, inscrutable behind his mask. Chayele continued to pull and began to point emphatically; most of the cultists were just watching and Dragomir scooped her up easily. Back in his pocket she went, and Dragomir was most unaware of how upset she was, in his pocket. Unfortunately for them both, Chayele had realised that there was something incredibly wrong with the man and would not let it go. Though she remained quiet throughout the mass, perhaps soothed by Dragomir's voice, even as they were walking home she struggled to get out and speak to him, to make him tell her why that man would not wake up no matter how Chayele's small hands tugged at his shirt.

xxxxDragomir himself was distracted by the realisation that everything smelled of death. Everything felt like the cold, dead skin of an individual a few days after they'd passed away. It was unnerving. Even his mouth tasted of death - he wondered how he had not noticed this before but couldn't say he was too torn up over it; if anything, he wished he had that sort of obliviousness back. Anything to get all this death off of him. He shuddered, thinking about it.

xxxxWhen they arrived at home - or, rather, the place in which they unwillingly inhabited, at least in Dragomir's case - Chayele again nagged at him, tugging at his shirt, then falling over to mimic the human. Dragomir sighed, wondering how to best approach this - sure, he could tell her the truth flat out, but he didn't exactly want to scar the poor dear, a fact which, although it sounded nice, was only because Dragomir didn't want or need a murmuring, frightened plague living in his house.

xxxxHe sat her down in front of him (a feat on its own), and gently explained to her death and its implications - if she understood it, she didn't show it. It was quiet, that night, and Dragomir went to sleep with a sensation of being followed by Obscuvos.

xxxxHe had nightmares in which he incited the unending anger of the God he was most familiar with. When he awoke, he clasped his hands together and prayed aloud for safety, for protection.

xxxxAn ominous feeling overtook him, making his whole body tremble wildly for a moment. He hoped he would not die; he could not die, he prayed. He hoped, and hoped quite a bit, that Obscuvos would instead protect him.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Strange Visitor
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir realises nothing is sacred !

xxxxDragomir was not at all ready for a visitor. Neither, by her surprised squeak, had Chayele. Dragomir blinked slowly, stepping forward and offered a cautious, polite hello. He was greeted by an automatic greeting, and he was confused; he dragged the small plague close to himself, not wanting this spectral man to have any access to her in case this was some form of witch-craft he was not familiar with -- he sighed quietly and hugged the small girl closer to his chest. When he started speaking with no prompting, Dragomir nearly jumped out of his skin, unbelieving that this spectral thing was able to speak to him at all, much less with fluidity and intelligence. He wondered what magic was powering it, distracted to the point that Chayele was almost able to topple from his hands - he immediately snatched her back.

xxxxHe kept the girl close, even as Chayele reached for him, to touch his odd looking body, to see what he felt like, and would not let her go despite her struggling and kicking; he wouldn't let anything more happen to her, not after that odd incident in which she'd come back injured beyond his own ability to believe such a small thing could be hurt.

xxxx"It was a pleasure to get to know you these past six weeks, but I'm afraid it's my time to go. The Plague Doctor has a new competitor-- I am him, and it looks like you and your Plague might have to get used to more visits with your new ally." He spoke without listening to Dragomir protesting - he did not know Dragomir and Dragomir did not know him; he did not know the Plague Doctor and this spectral being was certainly not his ally and Chayele would not meet him - Dragomir tried to tell them this but if he was capable of thought and processing this knowledge, he didn't show it. It infuriated the blonde man more than he could handle; he wanted this apparition to listen to him! Chayele was his Plague and she wouldn't talk to this - this thing, whoever he was, not without Dragomir's say so! He clutched the girl tightly to his chest, though gently, and she happily snuggled into his warmth, closing her eyes.

xxxxWhen the spectral man disappeared, Dragomir could not help but feel a certain pride - as though he had been the cause of the disappearance when he knew he had not been, as though his words had made the man disappear when they had done nothing and not even torn any form of recognition from the other - it didn't matter, really, it only mattered that he felt overly important. He smiled smugly and nodded to himself, keeping Chayele safe and warm there. The girl did not mind; if she had known what Dragomir had been thinking, she would have nodded in affirmation just to keep him happy.

xxxxThe pair went off on their way; though the appearance of the man upset Dragomir and made him fret about what the hell had been happening the past six weeks and what it had really meant, he was in a better mood for the sensation that he had won against the there-but-not man, and it was apparent in his demeanor; Chayele was treated in a much nicer manner than she would have normally been.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Comedic Chase Scene
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir fears for his life !

xxxxDragomir had thought it strange when the crows all died. He had, at that point, not learned that curiosity did indeed sometimes kill the cat, however; he touched them, wanting to remove them but also to see them, and he had been rewarded with the plague for six agonizing days. If nothing else, that the crows were something to be wary of. This lesson was exactly why, when the crows started floating, he was beyond worried. Before, when he had gotten the plague, they had been heavier than probably even he was, but now they floated? It was odd; it was strange; he accepted it. He had no other choice, really. He would not touch them and he could not willingly impose death on another by employing someone without a Plague, someone who was susceptible to death of plague, by entreating them to go touch the eerily floating crows.

xxxxChayele, on the other hand, wanted to touch them. As usual, she found the method or idea that Dragomir considered to be the most useless, reckless, or just plain stupid and attempted to implement it by whatever means necessary. Several times she had stuck her head out above his pocket, trying to curiously peer at them, as though they would give her all the satisfaction she'd ever need by simply staring. That simple satisfaction was soon and quickly replaced by a burning desire to touch; maybe the glossy black birdies felt strange to the touch, since they didn't look off, and she merely wanted to test it.

xxxxHe grimm, as always, had found this desire to be meaningly, futile, and possibly dangerous; perhaps the crows would harm plagues even as it had hurt him, and though he would have to admit he would actually miss her if something happened to her, he did not relish the thought of caring for her through a week as she attempted to overcome an illness. It was as such that the two were at a stalemate of sorts, though Dragomir was clearly the superior force at work. However, they didn't stay in such a position for long - the crows, of all things, melted. The black goop seemed to cover the streets and Dragomir existed in a constant state of fear and apprehension, a foreboding feeling. It was undeniable now that Dragomir was too curious and he was tempted to let Chayele go and investigate, to stick her hand in the goop and see what came of it, but it seemed as though it was an incredibly bad idea, and it was as such that Chayele was unendingly confined to Dragomir's pockets, no matter how much she attempted to get out.

xxxxAnd then they turned into strange ghost versions of Obscuvan cultists. It had taken all of Dragomir's willpower to process this... before they started chasing him. He had blinked when they started coming after him, then took off running. Poor Chayele, pouting in the depths of his pocket, hadn't been prepared for him to start moving so violently, and she was quite nearly thrown out all at once. She screamed (or screeched) and grabbed onto the material, half in and half out of his pocket, the only thing keeping her from smashing against the ground. Then, of course, she went toppling out when he ran faster; her horn, luckily, caught on his pants and helped her have a place to hold on at, which was one of the reasons she had not actually gone flying.

xxxxThough Dragomir had recently invested in pants that fit him a bit more appropriately, as previously discussed, they were still loose enough that the extra weight pulling on them and tugging them down were more than they can take and he stumbled as they slipped; when he looked down, he was more than a little surprised to see the little plague flapping in the wind - he immediately snatched her up and cradled her tightly to his chest, not wanting to lose her. On that brief glance back, he'd counted four or five; he must have picked a few up as he ran, and they were gaining on him, so a sense of overwhelming urgency overtook him and he swung sharply around a corner, barely missing knocking himself in the head with a building, and kept going. Not strong, not able, he was at least fast; he was at least crafty. It was only through many many turns, many of them unexpected, even to himself, that he managed to increase the gap between the spectral House members trailing him - and when Dragomir finally fell, crawling and struggling to his feet, it was in his luck that only one of he house members got anywhere near him, it collapsed to goo, only landing on the tip of his shoe; Dragomir had to take a moment to remember what breathing was in the aftermath of the incident, and though he sat there, silent other than his heavy breathing, he eventually stopped shaking enough to stand up, he wondered what would have happened if it had touched him, back to his original curiosity. He wasn't curious enough to test it, though, and so slid Chayele back into his pocket, and went home.

xxxxHe looked back one last time at the House member now reduced to a pile of goo, with the sick smell his shofar had had for the longest time before Chayele appeared, and wondered, yet again, what the hell was happening; knowing it wasn't worth it, he hurried along -- after all, what if the goo re-solidified and attacked him again? Well, he'd offer Chayele as a distraction and go on running, of course. He laughed, a bit sadistically, amused by that thought - it cheered him up, even though he knew he would never actually throw her to those beings like that, at least not when he couldn't be sure he could stop and watch what they did, since they seemed to be related - at least by smell they were.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Unlucky Sole
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir meets death firsthand !

xxxxDragomir had really not noticed the spirit following him, sentient being that it was, although he had felt watched, if nothing else - which is to say, he had not noticed the God following him until the goop had attacked him also joined in the chase - then it was creepy. Then he noticed. Then he saw the neck and the beak, opened and Dragomir learned what terror was, yet again.

xxxxIt reminded him of Andromeda which only added to the panic - it reminded him of how sure he had been that she was about to eat him or end him as easily as a weed was pulled from the ground. He could not move, could not think, could not function beyond staring in abstract terror as the jaws came toward his neck and just when he thought he would surely have his head cut off by the vice grip of Obscuvos' beak - but no pain came. He was most surprised, and he opened his eyes, though he was soon to find out that this was a bad idea; the beak was no longer at neck but at his chest, and he blinked, terrorized, and gave a sharp, short sound of terror before the beak scissored through his chest and crushed his heart before ripping it out -- Dragomir felt pain shoot through his entire body, hot, razor sharp pain that erased every other thought and sensation until Dragomir wasn't sure he had ever known anything other than pain, wasn't sure he had ever lived without pain, wasn't sure he was a living being and not just a white, flaming hot sentient ball of pain. He was crying, the tears hot, heavy and unending, though he was not truly aware of the tears, just the burning of his eyes and was partially convinced that the strange, living idol of Obscuvos had eaten those too, up until the moment his eyes finally cleared and he saw the bird God there, beak closed sickeningly gently around Dragomir's heart, which was beating, thumping, pulsing in terrifying slow motion. He whimpered and struggled, the pain fading to apathy and numbness, starting from the place of the wound itself to the tips of his toes and fingers. There, with nothing to think about, no pain to consider, he realised that the panicked hyperventilation he had been suffering through had not solely been because he was terrified, but also because he simply could not breathe, no matter how hard he struggled to do so; the collapsed lung prevented him from inhaling at all. In stark contrast with his previous, almost overwhelming terror, Dragomir was calm, prepared, resigned to death. If he had died right then, it wouldn't have mattered much to him - and he did. His breathing stopped slowly, and his eyes filmed over, and he was, all at once, all in that one moment, at peace.

xxxxHe still shot out of bed, however, and felt as though he were in the worst cold sweat of his entire life; he tried to wipe it off, but when it persisted and tainted his hands, he struggled his eyes open and looked down at himself - when he saw the black, he screeched. It had to be a dream, it had to have been, but this goop did not say the same tale; Chayele was not in bed, as she always was; something was strange. But so far, it did not matter; he was alive, at the least, though covered in death, as it seemed, and he dredged himself from the room to go clean himself up somehow, to scrounge some water to use. If the dream were any inclination of the day ahead, it would be a very, very long one - he was not quite prepared, not yet.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Dubious Gifts
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir wonders if he's being conspired against !

xxxxDragomir blinked when he noticed the bottle sitting on the table and was immediately suspicious of its black, deep depths. He, of course, did not know what the bottle contained or who delivered it, but it was ominous enough in appearance that he really wanted nothing to do with it; he left it there, sitting on his table, and stared at it for awhile, saying nothing as he thought. Chayele, for her part, saw nothing wrong with the bottle and wanted to see it - she attempted to climb the table by means of the leg of it, but Dragomir caught her and snatched her up, cradling her close to his chest. She wanted to see and did not want to be held by Dragomir - she struggled and wiggled, making low, frustrated noises as she tried to get free, but it was to no avail; Dragomir had her tight enough in one hand that she couldn't go anywhere but loose enough that it, for once, didn't hurt.

xxxxHe didn't truly want to get near the bottle, and so took Chayele into another room - at least, far enough away that she could no longer see it - and after awhile it seemed as though both people, Plague and Grimm, forgot about its existence entirely. It was only a few days from then that Dragomir not only seemed to remember the bottle but wanted to inspect it much closer - he made his way over and looked at it. It was then that he noticed the note and he gingerly slid it out and opened it. "Keep this safe," it whispered as though it were in his ear, and he blinked in surprise - keep it safe? Immediately, he considered throwing it out the nearest window, just to see what would happen, though he quickly decided against it; as he didn't know who sent it, there were two options - it could be by someone harmless, which Dragomir truly hoped it was, or it could be by someone quite deadly that would end his life. Dragomir, always one to consider his own safety above all else, decided that not doing anything to it was indeed the best way to handle it - at least then, even if they were harmless, he would be safe. He didn't think that was such a miserable thing, not really. Chayele, on the other hand, had creeped back up the table and was staring in the swirling, black depths.

xxxxDragomir snatched her back up again, and held her close, a bit too tightly. She wiggled and whined and struggled against his hand as best she could, in slight pain and wanting to stare into its depths, depths that reminded her of the fun game that they had previously played with the cultists chasing them - though, of course, it was only she who thought so; Dragomir was still a little scarred by the goop and the creatures that came from it.

xxxx"No, Chayele!" He snapped, holding her, fearing that if she were allowed to be near it, she would some how manage to topple the bottle that happened to be taller than her. Chayele, surprisingly, immediately fell still and wiggled, pouting slightly. She made a frustrated noise but settled down; Dragomir was grateful for this small reprieve from things that would otherwise lead him to consider and fully contemplate the murder of innocent creatures. He carried her into the other room and set her down again; she stayed there for a long while, and when she got up, she did not even consider climbing the table, though she merely wanted to look at it. Dragomir was, again, pleasantly surprised.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| The Night Things Changed
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir is confronted with who he truly is !

xxxxDragomir sighed as yet another crow arrive; he had not seen them in the past week, but he could still not help worrying that these idiotic crows would bring him more hell, more pain - and though he was right, it was not nearly in the way he was currently anticipating.

xxxxThis time, however, it seemed different; he had to take the parchment and tease the ribbon off of it, while before he had not. It was a subtle change, but Dragomir noticed it. The laugh also caught him off guard, but he kept ahold of the paper, wanting it to have no chance to do something strange or have the very paper itself attack him, as he wouldn't have put it past him for this simple piece of paper to launch at his face and grow teeth, especially with it crumbling in his hands, with the way the dead crows had been acting and treating him. "What a successful trial this was. I must say, all you Grimms are a troubled lot."

xxxx"And you are much better, piece of parchment?" It felt ... cathartic to speak to the parchment in such a tone; he hadn't gotten to use it much lately, with Dorian being gone as he was. If it could hear him, it did not answer, merely continued fading to dust.

xxxxWith bright terror in his eyes, he watched as the black ribbon melted and acted strangely - though he could not consciously remember saying it, he told Chayele to get back, out of the room; he didn't know if she did or not, but he heard her squeaking. His eyes never left the twitching, gripping ooze on the floor; most of his attention was directed at it entirely, only being diverted when the voice began to speak again.

xxxx"You see, I've learned something from all of you, what two-thousand and growing lot there are, and what few hundred have seemingly passed my trials alive. This aura, this Furvus Elixir, it's truly what you make of it... and I've been deceived all along, and so have you. Welcome to my world of smoke and mirrors."

xxxxDragomir could not help but blink in confusion - "Smoke and mirrors?" What could the voice mean by that? However, his question did not remain unanswered for long - instead, something he never would have expected, something even the shrewd, calculating Dragomir Meschke could not predict, appeared in front of him.

xxxxHis parents. His mouth opened in surprise and he gaped, for lack of a better word, like a fish with simply how unexpected it was to see his parents, his dead and gone parents standing before him, calling him son, talking to him - his dark blue eyes grew brighter, lighter, with tears that he choked back as quickly as he could. "Mama." The word escaped him before he could control it and he bit back a sob, his thin arms twining around his parents .

xxxx"Son," Mama murmured, her eyes closed like she always did when she was pleased with him - Dragomir remembered that look well and he could feel his heart flutter oddly as though he were only five again, only a small boy, nothing more than a little boy beaming his proud smile up at his Mama, wanting nothing more in the entire world for her approval.

xxxxWhat he would have paid to be so again! What he would have traded to want nothing more than the warmth of his Mama to make him happy! "You're serving Obscuvos well..."

xxxx"Am- Am I?" He answered eagerly, wishing this were real more than anything, wishing that her eyes were not those white circles, that her mouth were the same soft pink it had been in his memories. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, in hopes that this would make it real, but then his father, then Papa, began to speak and Dragomir would not ever interrupt him, not even now that he was in his mid-twenties and more than an adult, and it shut and left his brain.

xxxx"You've made us proud," he leaned back to look at him, and Dragomir smiled, a genuine smile that he had not shown anyone in the world for so long, finding the praise what he'd wanted for so long but had not realised - was it the praise? Was it his parents? Were they not the same thing? His eyes again wrestled with their own tearducts and came out victorious. "Prouder than even the Glutton God can be."

xxxxMama kissed his cheek then and Dragomir smiled, grinning at her yet again - he had missed this so much, more than he had even allowed himself to realise since their deaths. Various feeling swelled up and crashed at the walls of the box he had kept them in for so long and Dragomir knew it would burst soon - when they started to walk away, a dread panic rose from the very tips of his toes to the tips of his hair and, in a fit of near hysteria, he called, "Mama! M-Mama, Papa, I love you!" He sounded like a child, but he had spent years feeling as though he had not told his parents that he loved them nearly enough, not after they had already been gone; he knew it was futile, he knew. He sounded like a child.

xxxxHe felt like a child. He felt emotions he had not felt since he was a child, constantly underfoot in services back when he had undenyingly loved and believed in Obscuvos: happiness, but also such a profound sadness that he thought had been lost to time - but the waves crashed at his heart, harder and harder until the barriers he had built so long ago burst to pieces and it immediately overtook him.

xxxxThe moment his parents returned to the goo, he could not help but fall to his knees. Chayele had heard the talking, heard the exuberance and panic in her Grimm's voice, such levels as she had never heard before, and stood in the doorway, watching silently, wanting to interfere but feeling as though it was over her head (the small plague was certainly not wrong in this thought). It was there that Chayele saw something she never thought she would - Dragomir, crying, sobbing almost uncontrollably. As he knelt there, the tears fell hot and heavy down his cheeks, in a seemingly unending stream. He had not cried for at least fifteen years, but as he knelt there on the floor, it was as though he were determined to make up for all the time lost. His breath came in pants and was hard to steal even the occasional one and force it into his lungs.

xxxxChayele, surprised and scared by what she was witnessing, eventually crossed the room and curled up on Dragomir's hands, ignoring the hot tears raining down on her smooth head, and hugged his arm as best she could. The girl made small whimpering noises, struggling against her body's urges, forcing herself - even though her face consisted of only her mouth, the strain was evident even on the usually flawlessly smooth skin there as she worked her mouth, gaping like Dragomir had only a few minutes earlier.

xxxx"Draa.." She finally murmured, missing when it had been so easy to say something like that, when she had been human. Nothing more was said; nothing more needed to be said, however, in either of their eyes. They, Grimm and Plague, stayed like that for awhile. When the tears finally ceased, Dragomir picked her up, quietly, and held her to her chest, as gently as he could.

xxxxChayele was scared; she had never been treated this gently before. She could not, however, say she did not like it; quite the contrary, she was excited, her whole body tingling. Nestled against her chest as he walked, she hummed softly, a quiet lullabye, trying to ease his pain, a pain far beyond her simple scope of understanding - perhaps if she knew that those two were Dragomir's version of her ... of her Grimm, of him, of her Daddy, she would have understood. But she did not, and had no way of asking, and so attempted to soothe as best her little voice and hands patting his chest could.

xxxxIt did nothing - it was not his Mama, Dragomir had to admit - but he appreciated the effort. He went to lay down in bed and set the small girl in bed with him. She eagerly curled up next to him and Dragomir's eyes, tired and swollen from the tears, fell closed easily. It was a fitful, uneasy sleep for him and her, as she had to avoid his sprawling body, but it was together.

xxxxAnd to the plague, at least, nothing else matter than her family being together. Dragomir just wanted some semblance of family after seeing his parents taken from him yet again, and used the plague as a sick mockery of a little sibling he had never had. It was perverse, but it worked. His heart did not ache so badly; feelings did not feel nearly so vibrant and uncontrollable with no barriers to keep them contained, no icy facade to beat them down with. Chayele prayed to Obscuvos, as Andromeda had taught her, that Dragomir would not change; she had heard one of the plague-people speak of it to him.

xxxxDragomir believed in Obscuvos more than ever; the crows had mentioned him, the crows had turned into spectral versions of his followers, their goop into a semi-tangible version of the god himself - and now it gave his parents back to him for one short moment, one horrific and seemingly world-shattering moment, and he believed.

xxxxHe saw no other option. There was no one else to believe in. Obscuvos had given him his parents back, if only for a few moments; what else could he do?

xxxxDragomir believed.
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Missed Chance
xxxxxxxxin which Chayele must accept who she is !

xxxxDragomir had not moved from bed; it seemed to be an echo from the time he killed a man, he realised, and then he wished he hadn't - he thought of the man he had knocked out, then of his own death that fateful day that had just been pushed aside, and he curled up tighter, surrendering himself to thoughtless sleep yet again. Dragomir seemed scarily intent to do nothing but waste away, yet again, but this time he would almost assuredly bring Chayele with him into the depths as she had not left her Grimm. In fact, she was still curled up under a portion of his arm, using it as a source for warmth. While usually Chayele could not sit still if she were forced, held down, and fastened to the floor by means of ropes, it seemed as though even the small female plague were wasting away, to the point where Dragomir himself was dredged from his stupor to notice how poorly the girl seemed to be doing; which, while one considered the Grimm was faring no better, was one of the biggest acts of sympathy and compassion he could bother to express.

xxxxPerhaps, in some equally perverse way to the small plague being his new sister, he believed Obscuvos would do something to help him, if he had really done something to deserve being chased and killed before being taunted with his parents made from the seemingly same goop, so they were obviously correlated, at least to his already slightly delusional mind. If He cared, He would do something; if He hated him, why would He not just kill Dragomir? It sounded reasonable enough to him, and he curled up tighter, Chayele following without question or hesitation.

xxxxThe days themselves dragged on for seemingly weeks, and Dragomir did not ever know if he was dreaming or awake, or if he were dreaming or not, and everything as in its own special kind of haze. Though he could not say it was a bad thing; the pain he knew was still stinging at his heart, the heart he should not have, the heart that Obscuvos had taken from him seemingly both figuratively and literally, was too far removed, too distant, to matter to Dragomir's mind. And this was not a bad thing, he had to reiterate it to himself, because he could not remember if he'd come to that conclusion or not, and he knew that the fact that he was so far gone that he could hardly remember his own thoughts was far less than positive -- but, to be frank, he couldn't care less even if he had genuinely tried to.

xxxxChayele, however, had not shut down like her Grimm had - though she wasn't faring well from utter inactivity, her brain was as hyper as ever, if not more so to compensate for her body's decline. She thought of all and every topic in detail, scary detail for the normally flighty little girl, wondering on the way the world worked slightly before deciding she didn't know enough and gave up; she wanted to know more though. She wanted to learn, and she needed to find someone to teach her. Finally turning her head up from the place it was resting, under Dragomir's forearm, she looked up at him, at his prone and sleeping form, and gently patted his arm as if to tell him it was all alright. She couldn't, wouldn't, try to get Dragomir to help her, at least not until he was better, until he got up out of bed and she could do the same. She was not in the bed, as Dragomir occasionally had the lucidity to think of, because she was tied to him and had no other option, but rather because she was genuinely concerned for her Grimm, whom she loved, and hoped her presence could do the least little bit for him. She was not owned by him, she realised, and she had her own free will - only because of the time to think and to do without Dragomir berating her every few minutes or without having to spend the vast majority of her time and concentration hiding or getting away from him did she realise this - and though it was a small thought, relegated to the back of her head almost instantly, it was an important one, it was a demanding one; already, it was devouring all it could get its hand on until it would soon be the only thing she was capable of thinking about, one thing: "Dragomir does not own me, I just love him."
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Saving the Day, Yet Again
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir is awoken from his stupor !

xxxx reserved for an internal enemy
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Deviousness
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir takes a trip with Wickwright !

xxxx reserved for roadkill
 

[chenabby]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Revelation
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir is faced with a challenge he cannot handle !

xxxxDragomir could not believe the letter. Delivered by crow, perhaps, or maybe just coincidentally delivered to him in the middle of the night.. He knew not how it came to him, nor why it was here, nor why it was so damnably evil and preyed so mercilessly upon his fears and his terrors. It didn't seem to matter; he didn't care, he didn't question, he didn't even consider. He knew only the terror that blackened his visions at the edge and the trembling of his hands made audible as the paper rustled ever so slightly, ever so quietly, in both hands. Lowly, softly, under his breath, he whimpered once. Only once, but it was enough; Chayele came out from her spot, her hiding place, and rested on his foot, peering innocently up at him, some of his fear bleeding, as though it were contagious, as though it were the plague she had been born from, into her. She tugged quietly at his pants, not making the slightest of sounds, and tried to climb up to his lap, wanting to console him.

xxxxHe shook his head and moved his leg so that she couldn’t get to him; he didn’t want her right now. He didn’t want anything but to fall into the depression that had claimed him so long ago, when the Shofar was just a Shofar. He breathed quietly, reminding himself of the steady in-and-out, that he couldn’t throw a fit here. He had Wickwright here, someone he respected, someone he wanted to respect him; he had done enough to damage that, curled up like a child after the raids, and he would not harm it now.

xxxxHowever, he remembered his discussion with Wickwright over his previous… murder (the word tasted foul in his mouth, though maybe that was just the bile from his overwhelming fear and the sensation of being trapped).. And he remembered the promises. He knew - or he thought - that maybe if he talked to Wickwright.. Maybe he could help him, help him find a way out of this path. Or.. Or maybe he couldn’t; but what harm could talking do, really? What could he ruin, could he turn to coal, as it was? So far as he saw it, everything was going to hell anyway - it seemed as though nothing he could do would cause anymore damage, just speed it up or slow it down.

xxxxLegs still shaking like leaves in tandem with his hands, they attempted to give out on him when he finally stood up, the lurching of the wagon as the ox - Tristam, he remembered for some reason - pulled them along. His hand shot out and held the table. The movement of his body contrasted with the steady movement of the wagon made him even more sick to his stomach than he already was; he struggled to keep everything down and not panic, but it was hard. Yet again he refreshed his memory on the rhythm of breathing and concentrated solely on it until everything else was calm. He took one more breath, deep and fast, and held it through his first steps.

xxxx“Wickwright?” He asked quietly, too quietly for him to have heard it, and then repeated it, louder. “Wickwright? Can we talk tonight?”