♀ MULLED WINE, Faewynd's Servos

[Faewynd]

.:A Stranger in a Strange Land:.
In which Drustan is tired of his own bad cooking and his mother intervenes.
For the circumstances leading to the events chronicled in this solo, please refer to the history portion of Cybele's profile on page one.

Drustan

Dear Mother,
I am well settled into Prybridge as you know from my previous correspondence. Several weeks ago I hosted the first winter celebration here in Prybridge and I believe that it went very well. Several new business contacts were made that I believe will please father. There seems to be a growing market for opiates and other pain-numbing drugs, probably in response to the increasingly painful deaths caused by the plague. I believe that it would be well worth our time to look into. Prybridge boasts a number of opium dens and I have made a few subtle inquiries as to the nature of those that run such businesses. There is one on the other side of town whose proprietor is like-minded and I believe I may pay it a visit and see if some sort of arrangement can't be made. I believe that we should consider investing in more "medicinal" products as those seem to be greatly in demand.

Speaking of the plague, my housekeeper passed away the night of the party. I had not even realized she was sick and I do not believe that she realized it either. She certainly gave no indication she was anything other than tired. I attempted to hire a new housekeeper but thus far have not been able to find someone acceptable. There is, however, a silver lining to this inconvenient development. A nearly empty glass of mulled wine was discovered in the housekeeper's quarters and it had begun to fester. I suspect that the item may be one of those putescos and I am keeping a close eye on it. If it proves to be plagued I will be quite pleased.

May the God bless and keep you,
your loving son,
Drustan.

Drustan sealed the letter and set it aside for the weekly post. The glass of wine sat on the corner of his desk, catching the firelight and seeming to glow slightly. The young man sighed, ruminating on the fact that the remains of the wine itself still smelled vaguely sweet, but that the odor of decay lurked underneath the familiar scents of citrus and cinnamon. It must be plagued... he was almost entirely convinced that it was. Especially since it would be the one good thing that came out of this whole bloody mess. Drustan was tired of walking to the nearest tavern for his evening meals. He was tired of watery soup and stale bread. He was tired of fending for himself when it came to sustenance, especially since Drustan was a young man who, despite his lean frame, could pack away quite a bit of food in a sitting.

It wasn't just the fact that he was hungry for a well cooked meal. It was the fact that he was newly installed in an unfamiliar town and he was alone for the first time in his life. The youngest member of the Carmody family was quickly discovering that he didn't entirely love being alone. Being lonely was not a new feeling... his whole life he had devoted himself to pleasing his parents. He had been surrounded by the people they considered acceptable for him to socialize with. He had never had any kind of truly close friend that he could recall, but there had always been people around. Maids and butlers and cooks and general staff. He'd had a nursemaid who had been by his side until he was seven and then it was an endless string of tutors and coaches and children who his mother had deemed socially acceptable. His entire life had taught Drustan to endure loneliness, but he had never actually been alone. It was an uncomfortable feeling and he didn't like it at all.

Drustan sighed, taking a piece of bread and stabbing it listlessly with the fire-poker. Holding it over the embers to toast, he felt a wave of depression. He was sick of toast. He was sick of being lonely. He was especially sick of the fact that he didn't have any real friends. Here he was, heir to the Carmody dynasty, surrounded by the social elite and he had no one to talk to. "Obscuvos save me, I'm wretchedly pathetic." He muttered in disgust. It was true, he knew. He was wallowing in his misery and indulging himself in an extremely unnecessary bout of depression. Running a hand through his hair, Drustan briefly considered getting out of the house and making an effort to meet people. There were several lovely young ladies, daughters of prominent businessmen, whose fathers would be thrilled to have him court their daughters. There were handsome young men, sons of those same businessmen, who would jump at the chance to raise their status in the world by associating themselves with someone bearing the Carmody name. And several of these lovely young ladies and gentlemen were Obscuvians. All elements his mother had always considered crucial when determining the acceptability of a social contact.

But his mother wasn't here with him. He was alone, and lonely, and he found that while he did not enjoy being alone he did appreciate the fact that no one was currently running his life. At least, not in any obvious sort of way. If he wanted to go out, he could go out. If he wanted to stay in, he could stay in. If he wanted to get blindly drunk and visit a whorehouse then nobody was stopping him. The toast was burnt. Drustan removed the poker from the fire, removed the bread from the poker and put a thick slice of cheese on the bread. He decided to stay in, eat burnt toast, look over shipping ledgers and continue wallowing. It was, after all, his life. For the moment, anyhow. Perhaps tomorrow he would go out and make some friends.

Mrs. Carmody

Drustan,
Thus far both your father and I are pleased at how you are progressing in Prybridge. We are encouraged that you seem to be maintaining those traditions and rituals that are so important within our family and that you are making the proper friends and business contacts. Your father is taking the suggestion of medicines to mind and will be considering your suggestion. I would suggest you make contact with the gentleman mentioned in your last letter and find out what you can about an array of palliative substances.

I was much distressed to hear about the death of your housekeeper and your difficulty in finding an acceptable replacement. You are certainly not equipped to cook and clean for yourself and having no household staff reflects poorly upon the family. That being said, it is also important, as you are aware, that the Carmody family only hire those who are compatible with out family values and ethics and who understand their place within our household. As such, I have sent our most recent maid, Philomena Grint, to Prybridge to serve as your new housekeeper.

Mrs. Grint is a like-minded woman who has recently come under our wing. Her family passed away tragically and she no longer has any remaining ties to Eyacre. Your father and I both thought that it might help her to be in a place where she could make a fresh start. You will provide with room and board and anything that she might need in the way of basic comfort. In exchange she will keep your house and cook for you and do her duty to the family with discretion. You will allow her one day off every week that she may attend to her personal needs. I believe you will be satisfied with her performance. Do not disappoint your father and I in this.

I am well pleased with the news that you may have a plagued item in your possession. Guard it well, for if it truly is what you think it is then it is indeed precious. Guard yourself as well, and never forget that you are a Carmody and that you represent not only your father and I but the reputation that we have worked so hard to achieve.

-Love, mother.

The woman who knocked on the door of Drustan's house and handed his mother's letter of introduction to him was short and pleasantly plump. The deep lines of worry and stress that were etched on her features made her look older than she probably was. Heartached did that to a person, or so Drustan had been told. He'd never actually experienced a great deal of heartache in his life, having been well sheltered his entire life up to this point.

Drustan read the letter on the doorstep before speaking with the woman. "Mrs. Grint, I presume?"

Her gaze should have been warm, but instead was guarded. "Yes, sir. I'm Philomena Grint. Your mother sent me to keep house for you." Her lips puckered slightly, though more in an expression of worry than of sour dissaproval. "I've worked in your parent's household awhile now. Mrs. Carmody thought that we might get on well..." Her voice trailed off, uncertain.

"Come in, please. I apologize for my lack of manners. I'm sure you're familiar enough with my family to understand my caution though."

The woman nodded her understanding, her mouth relaxing as she stepped into the house and looked about with a proprietary air. "Yes, of course. Given your family's social position it's absolutely understandable. I am, of course, like-minded and your mother suggested you might be able to help me find discreet worship here?"

"Of course, of course. I'm afraid you'll have your work cut out for you. I'm useless with cleaning and with cooking, the household has fallen into utter disrepair with the lack of a housekeeper. I must say that I'm grateful you are here and I hope that we get along splendidly. I..." His own voice trailed off as he noticed two little heads peeking out from one of the woman's pockets. "Are those Plagues?" Drustan's attempt at professionalism dissapeared into eager curiosity.

"Ah, yes." The woman coaxed the two tiny figures onto the palm of her hand and held them up for introductions. "This is Luce, and this is Seline." Both of the small feminine stunteds made shy curtseys to the new master of their mistress. "They aren't mine exactly. Not like a regular Plague and caretaker. But we are good friends and I was assured that they would find sanctuary here."

"Of course! Of course! I've suspected that there have been others here around the house but none have shown their faces. Perhaps these two lovelies will help to draw them out."

The last traces of anxiety faded from Mrs. Grint's face and was replaced with a warm smile. "Yes, I believe that will be satisfactory." The woman had been through so much and so desperately yearned for a place to belong, somewhere safe to start building her new life. A life that could help draw out the pain of loss that had haunted her days ever since her husband and children had passed away.

"Brilliant!" Drustan grinned at the woman. The prospect of good food, a clean home and the presence of life somewhere around him was enticing and he found the moping, depressed attitude he had been feeling for the last few weeks begin to dissipate. "Mrs Grint, may I show you to your room?"

"That would be lovely, sir. Thank you."  

[Faewynd]

.:Roleplay:.

Be Still
In which Drustan accepts an invitation to a strange meeting, gets validation that his wine is plagued and is then asked to make a terrible choice. After that everything kind of goes to hell in a handbasket.
Type: ORP
Status: Complete

Drustan

Dear mother,

I found myself inspired so I wrote a story for baby Josephine.
Once upon a time there was a sparrow who met a little blue cat. The cat said "follow me bird, I have something wonderful to show you!" The sparrow went with the cat to a clearing in the middle of the woods. In the clearing was a big pie full of little black mice.
"See, boy? Isn't it marvelous? let us eat and eat until there are no more mice in the whole world!"
"Help us!" Squeaked the mice. "We've been tricked! We don't want to be eaten!"
Suddenly the blue cat found himself set upon by other cats and even some mice that he had failed to catch. They broke open the pie and let all the little black mice who were able to run escape from the blue cat.
The blue cat was very upset. "This is not over! I will eat and eat all the mice I can find! If you were my real friends you would eat them too!"
I hope baby Josephine likes the story. I fear that by the time I see her again she will have grown quite quickly and will no longer be a little baby. Give father my love and tell him I continue to look after things here. Write me and tell me how everything is going at home.

Your devoted son.

 

[Faewynd]

.:Roleplay:.

Our Father's Sons
In Which: Drustan meets another young and privileged youth.
Type: PRP
Status: In Progress  

[Faewynd]

.:The Search for Emerald Blue:.
In which Drustan tries to find answers and instead finds more questions.

He had a word. A phrase, really. Hard-won from his mother's coded response to his recent letter. Emerald Blue. It could be a person, or a place or a group... he really had no way of knowing. At least, he hadn't. He had spent days scouring the city of Prybridge in an effort to discover who or what this mysterious thing was. All he knew was that it was supposed to be able to help him and offer guidance. Or something. It had only recently occurred to him to ask the street waifs that hung about his dockside warehouse if they knew anything. The children were discreet in exchange for a bed in the stables and a coin or two.

It was based on their information that Drustan now found himself standing before a building set close between two other buildings. Unassuming and small with shuttered windows, it didn't look like much. But there was a sign hanging above the door that had a painting of a blue-green gemstone swathed in what looked to be a ring of smoke. He had been standing there for a good fifteen minutes and hadn't seen anyone else enter or exit from the main entrance. Which may or may not have been a bad thing. Taking a deep breath, Drustan pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The interior of the building was dim and redolent with thick aromatic smoke. He immediately felt a pleasant lassitude begin to weave it's way through his muscles as he recognized the smell. Opium. His mother had sent him to an opuim den. His lips twitched in a faint smile as he inhaled deeply, remembering the first time he had ever experienced opium as a child. He had been fretful and prone to nightmares and one of the maids would blow a thin stream of the blueish smoke towards his face, easing him to sleep. Pleasant memories. Soft, gentle memories.

"May I help you?" A tall and slender man stepped through a curtained doorway into the entry where Drustan stood. His face was painted like a woman's, though in rich jewel tones that Drustan hadn't even known could be applied to the face. The man's voice was slightly high and feminine, his expression open and serene.

"I was wondering if you sold canaries here." Drustan asked, giving the code phrase.

The slender man's smile widened even as his eyes closed slightly in an unnervingly sensual expression. "Why yes, I might have one. If you'll follow me?" He turned and made his way back through the curtained door as Drustan followed. The room he was led into was quite large, larger than it should have been given the way the outside of the place had looked. It was divided into cozy nooks and crannies and intimate little alcoves. Figures could be dimly made out in the smoky room, reclining with pipes or passed out, drifting their way through pleasant dreams. Beautiful women seemed to materialize from the smoke to refill a goblet or a pipe and then fade back out of existence. Drustan followed the man to another curtained door which led to a set of stairs which, in turn, led down to a stone basement.

"Now tell me, little bird, what do you know of canaries?" A slender, painted eyebrow rose slightly.

"My name is Drustan Carmody. My mother sent me." There. It was all out on the table. Drustan found himself holding his breath slightly. He knew he wasn't in danger, he had given the passcode and gotten the response. But he had also been raised with a certain level of paranoia that was difficult to ease entirely when conducting a clandestine meeting with a stranger.

"Ahh, yes." Crimson lips smiled. "We have been expecting you. You may call me Jasper. The Emerald Blue is my place of business. You may come here in an emergency or you may go to my sister's place, the Garnet and Gold. Depending on where your... proclivities lay." The smile grew deeper. "There are secrets below the streets of Imisus and she and I have commandeered a very small portion of them for our own use. I am to offer you our protection, should you ever need it. Your mother did us a favor once, long ago. And it appears that you are to collect the debt, should it ever come to it."

Drustan didn't know what to say. Questions built up within his mind but remained unspoken. He knew better than to ask unwanted questions of someone who owed his mother. The mere fact that this man owed her was enough for Drustan. One did not betray Devlin Carmody. Instead of asking, he offered the effiminate man a polite bow. "I thank you, Jasper, for your offer of assistance and will remember it. I am sure that I will call upon you again."

"You are welcome here, little bird. Under any circumstances, they do not have to be dire. Indeed, I am sure that the two of us might even work out some other... arrangements that may be mutually beneficial. If you are anything like your mother you have a keen business sense."

"I... I believe that could be discussed." Drustan agreed, not really knowing what else to say. He had found Emerald Blue but it only provided him with more questions and more mysteries. Nothing, it seemed, would ever be simple again.  

[Faewynd]

.:Roleplay:.

Little Black Book
In Which: Drustan runs into a notorious thief and an unexpected alliance is forged.
Type: PRP
Status:Complete  

[Faewynd]

.:Where There Is Ruin:.
In which Drustan does something for his God.
Part one of Drustan's faction mission

House of Obscuvos

Drustan, your family's loyalty and dedication to The House is highly valued and has never been doubted. Your line may not be well famed for their open acts of religious devotion or activity but we are well aware that business and religious life sometimes come into conflict or must remain separate. Never the less, sometimes we must ask things of our followers - special requests or tasks that can only be completed by specific members of The House. The thing we must ask of you will involve slightly more active participation in House business than your family is used to, but we are sure that it will not soil the professional and unbiased reputation that is attached to the good name of Carmody. Children are the key to the future and one of Obscuvos' greatest wishes is to nurture fledglings into brave and truthful crows wherever possible. You were lucky enough to grow up under His wing but others are not always as fortunate. In the town of Prybridge there is an orphanage for poor parentless souls... Within this orphanage is a child in possession of a Plague. Normally we would simply encourage an Obscuvian couple to foster the child and bring them and their plague into the folk through that route but it is slightly more complicated than that. In light of the Emperor's recent call for Grimms to hand over their Plague the matron of the orphanage is encouraging the innocent and malleable child to surrender their companion and in the mean time is halting the usual adoption process. We would ask you to approach the child and convince them to abstain from submitting to the foolish wishes of the matron. If possible we would like you to take the child under your wing until further arrangements can be made. There are many good prospects for him: an education, spiritual guidance, a roof over his head. His future is far brighter in The House but we just need you to win his trust and buy us time. We trust you will not fail us.

Orphanages that were not sponsered by the House of Obscuvos should not be permitted to exist. At least, that was Drustan's initial disgusted thought when he read the cryptic letter that had arrived at his home two days ago. That someone would be bullying a precious, helpless child into giving up a priceless Plague... well. Reasonable people (as in Obscuvians) would never even dream of such blasphemy. Everybody knew that both children and Plagues were treasured by the God. Then again, there was no indication that the little orphan had any knowledge of the House. His parents had clearly been led astray by the world at large and had not opened themselves to the sweet embrace of Obscuvos. If they had, they would likely still be alive (though Drustan really had no idea how they had perished) and the child would not have been put in an ignorant and sub-par place.

“Mrs. Grint,” Drustan said, carrying the letter as he strode into the kitchen seeking his housekeeper. She was elbow-deep in a pot of soup, humming sweetly to herself. Three tiny stunted Plagues were clustered nearby on the counter chatting rapidly in their high-pitched voices, though their chatter stopped immediately when Drustan entered the room. The stunted all seemed helplessly drawn to Mrs. Grint, sharing a close and affectionate relationship with her, but they were warier around Drustan. Perhaps it wasn’t so much wariness as a cautious respect. He did, after all, provide the roof over their heads. He felt himself smiling, though. The kitchen, which was Mrs. Grint’s undisputed territory, was the warmest and most pleasant room in the house though for propriety’s sake he rarely spent a large amount of time in there. It held a welcoming aura and Drustan couldn’t help but feel his tensions relax a bit. “Mrs. Grint,” He repeated, a little louder this time.

Her humming ceased and the lady in question turned, wiping her damp hands on her apron and smiling at her employer with an expression more appropriate for a sweet old aunt rather than a housekeeper. “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?” She watched Drustan intently, feeling pride at what she saw. Philomena Grint had been employed by the Carmody family for a time before they sent her to look after their young son. In Imisus she had begun to blossom as the tragic deaths of her husband and children began to fade to a more tolerable level of pain. She took the well-being of Drustan Carmody very seriously. His triumphs were her triumphs and his sorrows hers as well. She knew he would go far in the world, she had every confidence in him.

“Mrs Grint, I’ve received a letter from the House.” He began baldly, running a hand through his hair in a typical nervous gesture for him. “They have set me the task of rescuing a little child from a secular orphanage. Apparently the child is a Grimm and the matron of the facility is trying to force him to surrender his Plague.”

“But that’s terrible!” Mrs. Grint exclaimed, shaking her head. “Plagues and children are beloved by Obscuvos!”

“Indeed they are.” Drustan agreed gravely. “This is why I have been charged to rescue the poor thing and explain to him what it means to be a Grimm. We will be hosting him for an unforeseen amount of time. I would request that you set up a spare room for the child. He is male, from what I gathered. I would like him to have something warm and comfortable. Not too opulent, but in keeping with the Carmody status. As I turn him towards the bright chaos that Obscuvos offers to all his children, I want him to understand exactly what kind of life we are offering him. It will please the God if we can start this little fledgling’s education before the House finds a permanent home for him.”

“Of course, sir! I will begin making arrangements immediately!” Mrs. Grint’s eyes shone brightly. A child in the house! Oh, even if it wasn’t for a terribly long time she still looked forward to it. She missed her own children deeply and the thought of a soft little boy to nurture and coddle appealed to that maternal instinct she had been sundered from.

Drustan smiled warmly at the obvious pleasure Mrs. Grint expressed. “I do believe, Mrs. Grint, that between the two of us we might do quite well by this child and by the God.”

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

The orphanage was a stark, severe place. While it was tidy, it was also somewhat threadbare. It looked as if it had been used until it was worn down to its very bones. It was not like any of the Obscuvian orphanages that his family donated to. The matron and the children also had a used-up look about them, and Drustan felt a wash of pity. If only they would see the light, they would not suffer as they did. Obscuvos took care of his own, after all. But it was not Drustan’s task to rescue all of these children. Indeed, he had been sent here to rescue one very precious child who possessed a very precious burden. And that was what he would do. It was pointless to weep for the other heathens… but perhaps after this ordeal was over he might find a way to bring the rest of the little children into the fold. The God knew that it was their only true hope for survival in these troubled times.

The matron of the house introduced herself as “Coraline Bushings, sir. And what can I do for you today?” She had a thin pinched face and her gaze took in Drustan’s expensive clothing and his noble bearing hungrily. Perhaps she wished that he was here to rescue her.

“I find myself in need of a helper. “ Drustan said, feeding the woman the story he had concocted prior to making his way to the orphanage. “I am a successful business man and I require a page. Male. Young enough to learn and quick enough to be useful. Do you have any such children?”

Ms. Bushings gave a small little shrug. "I have plenty of little boys, sir. I’m sure that one will serve your purposes. The children are all playing in the yard out back. Would you care to see them?” Drustan nodded his assent and followed the thin woman outside.

There were dozens of children, both boys and girls, playing at various games in loud, shrieking masses. Drustan frowned, examining each male child from a short distance. He shook his head as one after another failed to be the child he was seeking. None of them had that special air about them that subtly screamed Grimm. He knew that the child was aware that he had a Plague, as the message from the House clearly stated that pressure was being put on him. But even without a physical description of the boy he sought, he could tell the child was not there. “Ms. Bushings, is this all of the children?”

“All of the suitable ones, sir.” She responded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“What of the unsuitable ones?” He asked, keeping his voice calm and neutral as if he had no real vested interest, only vague curiosity.

“Oh, well. There’s only the one boy. He’s terribly sullen and disobedient, though.” Ms. Bushings shook her head. “You wouldn’t want him.”

“I believe I should like to meet him.” Drustan said in the same neutral tone. “I don’t see any children out here that particularly impress me. Sometimes a strong-willed creature, once properly broken, makes the best servant.”

Ms. Bushings eyed Drustan for a moment, the suspicion not leaving her gaze. “Well,” she said finally, “I can’t fault your logic I suppose. Children need to be properly disciplined. But there’s another problem with this one that might scare you away.” She added darkly. “He’s got himself one of those blasted plagued things. I’ve told him over and over and over that he must be a good citizen and relinquish the awful thing to the Emperor. But he remains stubborn.” She shook her head. “You can have him if you can convince him to do his civic duty and give over that wretched doll…”

Drustan had to physically push down the angry comments that tried to rise to his tongue. He swallowed, his lips pinching together in a brief expression of distaste. “I am a prominent citizen of this town.” He said his tone more pompous than usual. “I will make the boy do his duty as a citizen. Take me to him.” The words almost caught in his throat, but Drustan was a skilled liar and Ms. Bushings was convinced.

“This way.” She said, her expression even more sour than it had been before. Up the stairs, she opened the second door on the left-hand side of the hallway. “The boy’s dormitory.” She said, walking in. The room was as severe and worn as the rest of the place, a dozen or so thin little cots lined up against one wall dressed in drab grey and brown blankets and sad little pillows. Seated hunched over on the farthest cot was a tiny, bony figure with white-blonde hair. “Gideon.” Ms. Bushings said sharply. “Gideon, come here. There is someone you need to meet.”

Reluctantly the small boy rose, shuffling with his head down towards the place where Drustan and Ms. Bushings stood. Clutched tightly in his hand was a limp little ragdoll, it’s features spotted with what looked almost like black mold. The stench it emitted was one that Drustan recognized and was grateful for. This was clearly the child he had been looking for. The boy, whose name according to Ms. Bushings was Gideon, stopped his shuffle and turned his gaze up towards the two adults. His skin was pale and with his nearly white hair the boy looked almost like an albino, save for his eyes. They were so dark they appeared almost black, and they burned with pride and wrath.

“Hello Gideon.” Drustan said. “I’ve come to take you home. ”  

[Faewynd]

.:There Is Hope For Treasure:.
In which Drustan does something for his God.
Part two of Drustan's faction mission

In the end it hadn’t taken much to gain possession of Gideon and his plagued doll. Drustan hadn’t even needed the full amount of coins he had brought along as a bribe. In fact, it appeared that getting access to the boy had been the easy part. The hard part would be convincing him that he could put his trust in Drustan and the house. The whole carriage ride home the boy had been disinclined to speak, sitting on the bench opposite Drustan clutching the doll closely to his chest. The lines of his body were tense, speaking eloquently of his fear and distrust though his eyes continued to blaze with some sort of fierce emotion.

“I won’t try to take it from you.” Drustan had said gently when they had first entered the carriage. “I only said that to get Ms. Bushings to back off. That doll belongs to you and I want you to keep it.” Those were the only words spoken the entire drive. Gideon did not deign to respond to Drustan’s comment, though some of the hostility in his face was replaced with reluctant curiosity.

“Here we are!” Drustan said, forcing a cheerful tone as they arrived at the town house. His nerves were rather shot from the whole ordeal of finding the boy, rescuing the boy and coming to the realization that the truly hard part had only just begun. Drustan’s life had not been an easy one exactly. He had grown up in a volatile home full of politics and pitfalls where one parent would often use him against the other. He had, even to this day, a deep and burning need to prove himself. To please his parents, his peers, his church. But all of that aside, Drustan had always had a comfortable life. He had never wanted for anything and his whims had always been granted. He had never had trouble accomplishing something that he put his mind to, catching on quickly and easily. His move to Prybridge had been a challenge, but he had risen to it and was starting to overcome his crippling homesickness and loneliness. Especially now that Mrs. Grint was in the house. But this little boy… Drustan didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to go about gaining the trust of such a proud, fierce creature. What had he expected? A meek, malleable and agreeable child? Someone as easy to shape as Drustan had been at this age? Clearly that was not the boy sitting across from him with the wary, predatory gaze.

Drustan got himself out of the carriage the moment the driver opened the door and then held a hand out to escort Gideon. The little boy glared at him and hugged the doll closer, cradling it in both arms so that there was no hand free to take Drustan’s. Ah well. “I think that Mrs. Grint might just have something tasty waiting for us when we get inside.” Drustan remarked, continuing to force a falsely cheerful voice as he led Gideon towards the front door. At least the child followed him obediently. Drustan, while well versed with street-waifs, didn’t fully grasp the pride and fierce independence that some children adopted to protect themselves from the larger world. He suspected there might be something softer underneath the thinly veiled hostility, but he didn’t have the first clue about how to break through this child’s barriers and help him understand how much better his life was going to be.

Luckily for everyone, Mrs. Grint was a mother. The tragic loss of her children did not change the fact that her maternal instinct was strong and the fact that she reeked of the comforting scent of baking bread had a tendency to make vulnerable creatures quite fond of her. She had single-handedly begun to tame all the little stunted Plagues living in the house and the moment she fastened her gaze on Gideon she began to tame him as well. “Oh! Oh!” She exclaimed as they came through the door, taking Drustan’s coat for him. “Oh you dear sweet little thing!” She didn’t seem to have a glance to spare for her employer, but rather knelt down and held her arms out. Drustan’s jaw dropped nearly to the floor as Gideon shuffled into Mrs. Grint’s warm embrace, his emaciated little frame starting to shake with silent sobs. “Oh precious precious boy. You’re safe now! You’re safe here with me and Mr. Carmody. Don’t fear, my little bird. My own little sparrow. You’re safe.” Mrs. Grint stood, lifting the child in her arms. “Now, lets go to the kitchen and get something to eat. You both must be famished.” Drustan trailed after the woman and the child, unsure of how things had gotten so derailed but also grateful that Mrs. Grint had taken over so successfully.

Gideon put away the beef stew and thick, crusty bread like a child who had been starving for years. He was rather drastically in need of some fattening up and Mrs. Grint continued to fill his trencher until the little boy couldn’t hold another bite. Once he had slipped into sleepy contentment, Mrs. Grint gave Drustan a smug smile. “There now sir. Why don’t you carry the sweet wee thing to his room and tuck him in. He’s had a big day and could use a good sleep.”

Gideon didn’t struggle at all when Drustan lifted him and his doll from the chair and carried them both gently into the small room just off Drustan’s study that had been set aside for the boy. It was deliciously warm and the small bed was piled high with the loveliest goose down pillows and warm blankets. Gideon nestled into the bed, making a soft little sigh of contentment and then turning sleepy eyes towards Drustan. He was relieved to see that the hostility and fear had mostly been replaced with a tired look of contentment.

“Will you keep me then, sir?” Gideon asked softly.

“For awhile, until the House finds you a place to live with a mother and a father and maybe some brothers and sisters.”

“Sisters…” The little boy clutched the doll even closer to him, pain evident in his face.

“Was that doll your sister’s?”

“Yes. And she… the mean lady… Ms. Bushings… she tried to make me give it up. But I can’t. It’s all I have to remember them. Any of them…” Gideon sniffled.

“Rest assured little one, nobody will ever take it away from you. Nobody will ever ask you to give it up again. I’ll see to that.”

Gideon smiled a grateful, sleepy smile. “Will you stay here until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” Drustan smiled, reaching out to stroke the child's pale, silken hair. This whole gaining trust thing was going quite well, due largely to Mrs. Grint’s own knowledge of children. But Drustan was pleased with his own efforts as well. Today Obscuvos was surely proud of him.  

[Faewynd]

.:Roleplay:.

Breaking and Entering
In Which: Drustan once again meets Artemis Kalends and they get into terrible trouble, much to Mrs. Grint's annoyance.
Type: PRP
Status: In Progress  

[Faewynd]

.:A Star Is Born:.
In which the Mulled Wine dismisses it's glass.

It started not with a bang, nor a whimper, but with a sigh. A soft, languorous sigh as if someone were just waking up from a very pleasant and relaxing nap. It was a quiet sigh, as if made by something very small. So quiet that Drustan, ensconced in a comfortable chair with a book, didn't hear it at all. So there was nothing to cue him to glance up at the glass of wine that had been sitting on his desk for months.

The wine was no longer wine. Not exactly. The colors swirling in the glass had taken on a more solid texture as if fabric had been suspended in the liquid. A long, slender arm raised upwards, feeling around the edge of the glass. Then a long leg stretched up as well. The tiny hand ran itself over the leg as if inspecting the smooth texture. This gesture was repeated with another arm and another leg until finally a delicate figure pushed herself upwards to stand within the glass that had once contained wine. Now, it held a Phasmas of about four and a half inches tall. She perched herself on the lip of the glass and took stock of things.

Long legs that went from a warm burgundy tone to a honey color met with a satisfied smile, as did the slender arms and neck. Her clothing, after a bit of adjustment and a slight brush down to remove a few errant bits of sediment gained approval as well. Though the Phasmas had not yet seen her reflection, she had nevertheless come to a certain conclusion about herself. I am beautiful. She thought, running her hands over the smooth white planes of her face. Just as I should be. And everything seems to be in it's place. Having come to this understanding, she set her gaze to her surroundings. They also met with her approval, as she was in an opulent though understated room full of darkly gleaming wood and the smell of books. She did not recognize that smell yet, but she would soon. The little Phasmas had not expected anything less, inasmuch as she had been able to "expect" anything. Her glass had been made of very fine crystal and it therefore stood to reason that the quality of her surroundings should continue to be quite fine.There was only one thing remaining, then. She clenched her hands together. It was the Most Important thing and it's presence called to her like a beacon. Her gaze found itself sliding over to where Drustan sat. There he was, her Grimm. Her caretaker and her companion. Nothing else mattered - if he was not a person of quality then truly, nothing else mattered. She knew a little about him from the conversations that had taken place when she had still been dreaming. But she found herself very gratified to see that he was also attractive. She arranged herself on the lip of the glass- dress hanging just... so. Ankles crossed just... so. "Ahem." She coughed delicately. But her Grimm didn't seem to hear her. "AHEM." She repeated in a significantly louder voice. The Grimm finally glanced over and the Phasmas smiled at him, blushing rosily and batting her eyelashes. "I believe you belong to me?" She said in a soft, clear voice.

___________________________________________________

A tiny sound tickled Drustan's ear. He ignored it until it repeated again a moment later at greater volume. Someone seemed to be trying to get his attention. He turned his head, thinking that perhaps one of the stunteds had wandered into his study, though they usually didn't speak with the lord of the house often. They preferred Mrs. Grint's straightforward and friendly demeanor. It wasn't a stunted after all. Drustan's eyes widened, taking in the gorgeous little creature that sat on the edge of the wineglass. Did that mean... was this... The creature spoke. "I believe you belong to me?" Drustan rose slowly, walking over to the desk and taking a seat. He marveled at the thing's minuscule perfection. "I believe I do." Drustan replied, wonderingly. "I'm Drustan."

"I know you are Drustan." The Phasmas replied, smiling sweetly at him. "Will you tell me who I am?"

"Who you are? You're... yourself, aren't you? You're my Plague. Right?"

"I am a Plague. Your Plague." She blushed further at this admittance, smiling with a combination of delight and shyness. "Yes. That feels right. And you are Drustan. You are my Grimm." Her words took on a decidedly triumphant tone. He was her Grimm. Hers. The thought of it made the little creature's heart soar. "You may call me Cybele." She added.

Drustan's face broke into a giddy grin and he extended his pinkie finger for her to shake. "I think you are the most beautiful Plague I have ever seen, Cybele." He said, meaning it.

"I know." Cybele responded complacently. "And I'm very glad you are handsome as well."  

[Faewynd]

.:Sorrow and Sentiment:.
In which Drustan and Cybele argue, and a trip is planned.

The statue stood silently in the graveyard, a sorrowing woman, a relic of a time when people had the luxury of mourning their dead without fearing for their own lives. Her grey stone face is streaked with stains that look like tears and moss grows in the folds of her carved gown. Cybele stared at her thoughtfully from her perch on Drustan's shoulder. Outside the gates of the graveyard and just beyond the walls that surrounded the town came the acrid stench of burning flesh. Where there had once been an expanse of fields, now there were ditches. Mass graves that never stopped smoldering, hungry for the next plague victim.

Cybele wrapped one of Drustan's curls around her tiny fist and shook her head, her nose wrinkling ever-so-delicately at the smell. Even her own ever-present aroma of cinnamon and spices was not enough to drown out the burning. Decay she did not mind, but the smell of singed hair was a crime against nature.

"Why are we out here?" The little Plague inquired of her keeper. "It smells terrible." She added, as if he should have taken this fact into account and put out all the grave fires before bringing her so close to where the bodies were being burned.

"Two of the boys died yesterday." Drustan replied quietly. He was rather fond of the waifish little rats that haunted his stables. He provided them food and shelter when they would accept it, but their lives were unpredictable and, all too often, brief. "The plague. I..." He shook his head faintly. "I had been telling them about the God when they would listen, but I guess I just didn't get through to them." His faith in the devouring god was unwavering, but he still sorrowed over the loss of those he cared for.

"Perhaps their deaths had nothing to do with the god. Perhaps they just... got sick and died." Cybele suggested. She didn't really care one way or another if she was being honest with herself. The fact that Drustan did made her want to smile and shake her head in the sort of tender way an exasperated lover does when her partner is being foolishly sentimental.

"Everything happens for a reason, Cybele. Everything happens for his own purposes. You're proof of that."

"I know, I know." She responded, her voice sharp with irritation and impatience. "But why should we care that he chooses two meaningless little orphan boys? In the grand scheme of things, they are much better off dead than alive." She paused, then barreled forward. "And don't you dare get all weepy and sentimental. No matter how much you care for every little stray you find, most of them are heretics. And you know what fate awaits those who aren't pure."

"I thought I could reach them."

"Maybe you did. Believers die, just the same way that heretics do. And it's none of our concern who the God chooses. If you came all the way out here to this stinking place, I wish you would take me home. You can be sad just as well back at the house." She didn't add that back at the house Mrs. Grint would have the fire going and the whole place would be redolent with some sort of delicious cooking smell. She wasn't generally so irritable, but the stench was starting to make her tiny little head hurt.

"Home. That reminds me, I've had a letter from my mother."

"Oh?" Cybele was always interested in Drustan's mother. Mostly because the woman frequently praised Drustan for being the keeper of a Plague and always inquired after Cybele.

"She would like us to come for a visit. She would like to meet you and make introductions."

"Oh!" Cybele exclaimed in pleasure, all irritation at the inconvenient odor of burning bodies evaporating. "That means she will want to throw me a party!" The idea made the little Plague so gleeful that she bounced up and down on Drustan's shoulder several times. The man smiled indulgently, glad that his precious companion's mood had lightened, even if his hadn't.

"Yes, I imagine there will be a party." He said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

"Can we leave soon, Drustan? I wouldn't want to wait too long..."

"Yes, sweetheart. We can leave very soon."  

[Faewynd]

.:Family:.
In which our party arrives at the Carmody Estate

It had been a long and very slow trip. At least, that’s how Cybele felt about the whole thing. They had been traveling in a very nice carriage in the midst of a caravan of merchants. Which meant that they had to stop just about everywhere in order to trade, barter, deliver and pick up goods. The vain little servos did not care a great deal about the family business, and because of this she had become impatient and a little bit snappy every time they stopped for more than a day or two. Cybele believed that they shouldn’t be dawdling so. There were parties and the like waiting for her at the end of their journey and, as she so frequently told Drustan with a little stomp of her tiny foot, it was bad manners to take so long. It hardly mattered how he responded, Cybele was bored and therefore she was bad company.

Thank heavens for Iris, the little snowflake stunted who had appeared seemingly out of the blue late into the trip. Her quiet demeanor had soothed Cybele in a way that Merriweather’s gossip (which was all about the stunted at home – details that Cybele had already heard a dozen times) failed to do.

It had been a long trip for everybody, but the end was blessedly nigh. “Oh! Oh! Oh look look!” Cybele cried from her perch near the carriage window. The curtains had been drawn back to let in the light of day, and she stared at the glittering snow-covered grounds that surrounded the house on the hill. It was a big manor house, imposing and elegant all at the same time. The seat of House Carmody. “Oh it’s so beautiful! Drustan, is that it? That must be it.” She said decisively, not waiting for her Grimm to answer. The grounds, though covered in snow, were still lovely. The naked skeletons of the decorative trees and shrubberies were iced over in frost, making a sort of fairy wonderland. The carriage turned up the winding drive, leaving the merchant caravan behind.

Drustan let out a sigh as the manor grew closer and closer. He began to fuss with his hair and pat down his shirt and fiddle with his sleeves. “Drustan, darling what’s wrong?” Cybele cooed, her mood all roses and sunshine now that they had finally reached their destination. “Here, let me help you with that.” Climbing onto his shoulder, she smoothed his hair down with her tiny hands and tugged at his collar in an attempt to straighten it.

“It’s just… Oh Cybele, I love my family. But they’re… well. Perhaps you’ll change everything with them, too.” He said, cryptic and distracted.

“Well, you ought to just adjust your attitude a bit.” The servos said sternly. “You are a Grimm. Is anyone else a Grimm? No. Just you. No matter what they have said in the past, your parents are beneath you now. You have vaulted so high, now that you have me in your life, let them celebrate us!” Cybele knew that Drustan had not always felt loved or appreciated by his parents, but at the moment she didn’t particularly care. He was a Grimm. He was her Grimm. That was all that mattered. His parents were mere humans, though she was still looking forward to meeting them despite what she considered to be their low status. “Now, tell me how I look.” She demanded, delicately smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles from her dress.

“You look perfect as always, sweetheart.” Drustan said, finding a tired smile for her.

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

“Drustan, Dahling, it’s so lovely to see you! We didn’t expect you for another week!” Devlin Carmody was a handsome woman with golden curls and a delicate bone structure. She was much shorter than Cybele had expected her to be, coming up to just below Drustan’s chin. But her smile was lovely and the little plague reserved judgment for the time being. “And who are your companions?” Devlin asked, taking in Gideon who stood slightly behind Drustan and looked at Mrs. Carmody through narrowed, mistrusting eyes. “You must be the little orphan boy.” Devlin crooned, holding out a hand towards Gideon. “Come, let me have a look at you.” Reluctantly the little boy took two steps forward, allowing Devlin to engulf him in a rose scented hug. His spine was stiff as an arrow with discomfort. “We will have Cook make you up a little snack, hmm?” Devlin said, either not noticing or not caring about Gideon’s discomfort. “And this… this must be your Cybele.” Devlin addressed Cybele directly where she was perched on Drustan’s shoulder. “You are a beautiful little thing, aren’t you?” Devlin asked.

Cybele beamed at the woman. If she could have glowed, she would have. The servos absolutely basked in the light of praise. She was so pleased that she was the only one who was totally oblivious to the fact that, under the saccharine sweet compliments was some dark undercurrent. Lust, perhaps. Or greed. Whatever it was, Cybele was unaware of it’s presence while Drustan and Gideon both got chills running up and down their arms.