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 Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 10:42 am
Table of contents will go here. orz
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 10:47 am
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Day in the Life
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir does absolutely nothing !
xxxxDragomir walked by the small table, almost upending the Shofar sitting upon it. A pulse sent through his skull at the thought and he carefully set it back where it was, staring at it from a few steps away. He felt like the gleaming of the red, blue, and white stones inlaid in the horn's surface were looking at him somehow, as if the horn had multitudinous eyes, all watching him, hoping for his downfall. His arms crossed absently over his chest, following the swirls etched into its gold surface. Again, as they had so many times before, his fingers itched to grab the horn by its still smooth surface, meticulously cleaned by Dragomir before he developed his unreasonable hate of the inanimate object taking up more of his tiny little house than Dragomir himself did. He stared at it for a long moment, waiting, thinking. And why shouldn't he take this thing and throw it into the street to rot and deteriorate alone in the rain or sun? Was there a single reason not to?
xxxxNot that Dragomir could reasonably concieve of. He shook his head before tilting it back, thinking. So why didn't he? Why hadn't he a long time ago, when he first had the inclination that the thing sitting on his table, a bad piece of decoration (though a hell of a lot prettier and more fashionable than anything else in his cluttered house), was sinister? Because something told him to keep it. What it was and what it meant, Dragomir had no earthly idea. He just knew that whenever he got close to throwing it away, the overwhelming feeling that this stupid item would find him again somehow was foremost in his mind and he always decided that the Shofar wasn't even worth that much effort.
xxxxHis thin fingers, shaking with fear and anxiety on where these feelings came from, reached out and ran over the delicate swirls in the gold inlay. So beautiful. He wondered what it had looked like whenever it had been in good repair. Whenever it had been gorgeous, a musical instrument - he knew that much about the horn - instead of a table decoration, when it inspired... good feelings instead of the fear that chilled Dragomir's very soul. He thought to himself as he pulled his fingers back that he would have much liked to have heard it then, in its peak, instead of the bitter shell that was left, the tortured instrument he heard being half-heartedly played in the market-place as it gave a feeble fraction of the once-great song it had played.
xxxxHe shook his head at it before shivering again. Whatever it had been, it wasn't now. What it was now was something that sent unexplainable chills down his spine and, again, he despised it. Again he conteplated throwing it out the nearest opening and watching its fragile self shatter against the ground. But again he was stopped and he hissed softly at it, "I'm going."
xxxxIt was strange, yes, that he was talking to said sinister inanimate object, but he felt he owed it that much courtesy. He shook his head, then, at himself, and shrugged as he left, closing the door behind him. He would go, then, and entertain himself elsewhere for the day instead of feeling oppressed and overwhelmed in his own house. His fingers tightened around his pants in an attempt to keep the damn things in place - of course, considering the things were probably meant for someone who was nearly a hundred pounds heavier and half a foot taller, it really wasn't surprising that the things wanted to do nothing but pool around his ankles and make a fool out of him. He shook his head, one hand darting to smooth his hair before lazily and casually holding onto his pants again, pleased to see they'd gone nowhere. What to do today?
xxxxHe glanced up into the sky, taking a second to gauge where it was and what this meant - it was a pleasant day, by most people's standards, and early in it too. He had a long while left before his small abode's siren song would lead him home for sleep, just to begin this vicious cycle again. His dark eyes scanned the street in front of him, watching the stream of people grow into a river of constant motion as he stood there for what must have been an eternity, one small, trembling hand still holding tightly onto the oversized pants. He took a breath, deep and steadying, and he allowed himself to step into the torrent of people and motion and breaths and heat and words and excitement and he already had a damn headache and he'd been up for an hour or two at the most.
xxxxDragomir let it carry him, content to just pick up his feet and be taken somewhere new, somewhere exciting, perhaps, or perhaps just someplace that he knew and was comfortable in. Without warning, however, he was thrust out of the throng of people and he felt cold and ... empty, suddenly, to be so alone, everything felt so quiet. His fingers curled and uncurled reflexively as he bit his lip, thinking. What would he do now? Though that period of walking had also felt like an eternity (he was at two eternities spent in the course of this day now), it had been no more than a hair's breadth worth of time in reality -- the sun had not moved in the slightest. He grit his teeth and cursed silently up at the damn thing before looking back down and scanning where he was. Curiously, his hand shot into the pocket of his pants to find some amount of shillings jingling in his pockets - perhaps he had somehow (unlikely, but evidently what had happened) forgotten they were in there the last time he had worn them - and his face lit up in some level of shock mixed equally with surprise.
xxxxWell, if he had money jingling around then he had money to spend! And it was thus that his day was decided. He would go shopping for some equally useless trinket as all the others that cluttered his house and he would enjoy himself doing it. It was rather pathetic, really, his inability to hang onto money once he realised he had it, but it was something he had no want to change about himself. He peered around himself yet again, locating a shop that appeared to have cheap items that he could pretend himself richer than he was while doing so.
xxxxThe actual act of locating and purchasing the item was a sort of rush to him, and the next moment he was really clear headed he was just outside the shop, protected from the stream of people that still showed no sign of ebbing - but, as he looked up, the sun was higher in the sky and it seemed as though he wasted more time than he had intended to in that shop - but not that he really cared, he had nothing planned for today, as it was his only day to himself for quite awhile. He tapped his fingers on the coarse, uncomfortable material of his pants and he checked for what change was left. It appears whatever he had bought (he was afraid to look for fear of regretting yet another impulse buy) had not taken used the meagre sum of shillings he had had in his pocket, and so was challenged to find some other activity to take them up; but, inexplicably, his head ached as though something had sponaneously combusted inside of it and he lowered his face into his palms. He'd been thinking of going to the bar but a hangover ontop of this migraine-esque pain was something Dragomir didn't even begin to need. So he would go home. He would, perhaps, sleep early and enjoy a few extra hours of the blessed, elusive thing, before having to return to the drudgery of lower-class work. Yes, he would sleep, away from the horn, and he would enjoy it. He allowed the faceless, formless, swelling mass to pick him up and deposit him where it may, which was, through careful planning and sidestepping, only a few streets past his home.
xxxxHe went in, glanced at the horn, quietly wished it a good day before glaring at it and reminding it as he always did that he despised the useless thing, and made his way to the back area he had reclaimed from the clutter as a room for himself, in which he curled up and was almost instantly asleep, without even removing his day's clothes.
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 1:45 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Joining the Obscuvansxxxxxxxxin which Dragomir does something morally unforgivable!You have been a member of the house practically since birth and it is clear that the devotion that your parents show runs within your blood also. However, there comes a time where everybody within the house must show their personal dedication - regardless of whether they have been part of the great flock of Obscuvos since birth or not. We have watched you ever since you were a mere fledgling... but your voice has never rung out above others in hymns nor have your hands been flung out in prayers howling to the glutton god. We see great potential behind your quiet eyes... All we ask of you is to show your devotion. Draw from your lifetime of servitude and lead us all in prayer for one service.
xxxxDragomir stayed quiet, reading it again and again. Lead us all in prayer? He stood there for a long moment. He did not blink, nor swallow, but when he did, both were heavy. It felt as though a weight were hung around his neck and the Cult knew that he was not firm in his belief and wished to kill him with it; great potential behind your quiet eyes indeed! He sat down, weighting his hand in his palm, and reached around, groping blindly, for the bird mask, not ceasing until he chanced upon it. His fingers closed slowly around the beak of it and he felt reassured by its presence - it was familiar. He had been through hundreds of these services back when he was a child and still unshakingly believed in the glutton god, so he knew he would be able to do this. But he was not captivating, he was not believable, he was not any of those things. He was simply Dragomir, for once shaken to the point of physically trembling over something non-physical, and he knew not what he would do. Prayer? He wracked his brain, hugging his knees lightly, dragging them up onto the chair he was sitting on, despite that being more uncomfortable than the chair originally was.
xxxxWhat would he do? What could he do, to prove his worth to the Cult, to be accepted as a member of the House? What was always impressive to the members - there, that was a better question. What would impress them? The answer came instantly, chillingly, and he felt his blood run cold and bile stab at the back of his throat. A sacrifice. No - no, he couldn't! But he would have to. Not an animal either, unfortunately, he remembered. He would have to use a human sacrifice to show his devotion to Obscuvos. His stomach set to roiling and he hugged himself through the severe shudder that rocked his body. He swallowed again and again, willing the bile to return to whence it came. He placed the mask on his face, holding it there for a moment, finding its presence slightly calming.
xxxxHow dare they expect this of him! He did not preach Obscuvos! Anything else he could have done; but to insinuate that they wanted him to sacrifice someone, not something, someone. He shuddered again and knew that when he slept tonight, it would be filled with the howling of the Obscuvians and the screams of the dying. He would never sleep again. Slowly, his eyes slid to the shofar and he felt a calm reassurance, almost, eminating from it. Maybe - maybe this item would give him another idea. If only it could play as it once did; he would use it to supplement the hymns and as a call to chaos. But it did not, it made sour notes, and he would not risk it giving a rare good performance when he felt as though his very life hung upon the balance of this sacrifice, as though if he failed it would be he tied to the table next.
xxxxIt was not the next day, nor the day after that, that he gained the nerve to go out and face this mission with resolve to complete it. Dressed in the slimmest black clothes he had, he approached a fellow Obscuvan that he knew from word of mouth rather than fact, and he discussed quietly with the plan for the next meeting, allowing him to spread the word of the service for the following week, which gave Dragomir time to plan. He knew he would not be able to capture the sacrifice himself and so approached yet another Obscuvian to do it for him, pointing out the non-believer he believed would be appropriate for this, a virile (at least, to Dragomir's inexperienced eye) male... A perfect option to offer to Obscuvos. The cultist seconded Dragomir's opinion, congratulating him on the blessing of a chance to lead service and good eye for sacrifices. Dragomir, for his own credit, remained quiet, smiling faintly in thanks for the praise though internally he damned the man.
xxxxThe week passed in a blur, too fast, the speed of it seemingly sickening him as it went; he tried as he might to slow it down, to make the day of reckoning take longer to arrive, if it ever did, but it was, of course, to no avail. It came as quickly as it pleased, and Dragomir did not appreciate it. It was dark that morning, gloomy, drizzling lightly, as he got dressed in the same slim black clothes as before, mask held lightly in his already trembling fingers, and he could barely garner the spine to leave the house and face what he would have to do to prove his worth to the House. He walked slowly, dragging each step out, but eventually, as with the passage of time, came face to face with the table and the seemingly sleeping sacrifice tied down there. He closed his eyes and approached, standing there, quiet, as the cultists came to gather around him, quiet, watching. It was a short eternity before Dragomir gained the strength to open his eyes.
xxxxHe glanced down at the form tied to the table in the half light. There was a weak struggle, but nothing too severe. He had been dosed heavily with the drugs usually reserved for Obscuvans and Dragomir could not vocalize his gratitude for this small favour. He hummed the beginning of a hymn softly, and the Obscuvan nearest him took it up, another vocalizing the words. The knife trembled with the effect of their sound, their simultaneously holy and demonic noise, but slowly he forced himself to lower it just below his sternum and cut slowly, but surprisingly deftly, to his belly, completing the I-incision with two swift motions. The sacrifice, because Dragomir could not do this while remembering that it was a human he was slicing, made a soft whimpering noise, squirming in a dazed manner under the knife, but he continued regardless, because he must. He had never been more grateful for the mask covering his face than now, so that none of the Obscuvans could see the almost assuredly green tint to his face. The two near him him did Dragomir a favour of monumental size and moved the skin out of the way as though this man were little more than a cow.
xxxxHe paused as he considered what to do next. What was next..? Apparently, one of the cultists took the pause as what was necessary and the knife was removed from his hand and something that appeared disgustingly like a nut-cracker but oversized appeared in his hands and he knew the next step, but the bile rose quickly, yet again, and he realised, absently, that blood coated his hands. He shuddered slightly but pushed the thought, and all thoughts, from his mind, and focused on what he had to complete next. The tool slipped between his ribs and cracked them - the sacrifice gave a cry of pain at this, and struggled strongly, as though the drugs were not enough anymore, and Dragomir nearly lost it then, only his will kept him going and not crying or vomiting, and again his tool was switched for the blood soaked knife, and Dragomir cut the heart in several quick strokes and held it up for the cultists to see that it was removed. Someone in the depths shrieked, and Dragomir wished to join them in madness and not in prayer as they did. He placed it, slowly, hesitantly, in the tray offered to him, and it was taken away, and Dragomir was grateful. Until he became keenly aware that the struggling beneath his fingers had ceased. He was dead, but Dragomir had to do something else. The larger knife - hell, the sword was placed in his hand, and he acted without thinking, swinging downward with enough force to feel the wood underneath the body, and the head was seperated from the sacrifice's torso. He acted without thinking and closed the gaping eyes from staring at him, from accusing him, from judging him. There was a pause in which the torso was removed and the head was placed on a pike for everyone to see, and then Dragomir hit his knees slowly, resting his head against the altar, loudly saying so that everyone could hear, "Non-believer, go in death and know that He is your God, as you did not in life."
xxxxHe stayed there and the Obscuvans followed, all praying madly, some crying out in hopes of Obscuvos hearing them, but Dragomir prayed quietly, silently, for forgiveness, and it was then, during the prayer, that he cried finally, the tears slipping down his cheeks in heaving gasps. But, for now, it was alright; he was merely overcome with the magnitude of the service he had just done for Obscuvos. They stayed this way, howling, shrieking, and screaming, Dragomir the odd one out as always, for what felt like an eternity, before Dragomir gained the nerve and strength to stand again. A tremor, however, was undisguisable in both his voice and his body, as he spoke the closing words, "And let us go, to spread the word of Obscuvos as well as His chaos, my brothers, my sisters."
xxxxWith that, regardless of it perhaps being insufficient - he really couldn't remember anymore - he turned and walked away. And it was less than four steps away that Dragomir realised the magnitude of what he had just done, and he fell to his knees, unable to bear it. He shrieked, though he was far from aware that he made the noise, and he trembled severely there for a moment. From there, he fell to his face, unconscious, and his body twitched even in that state, unable to be restful after that sacrifice, and his brain resigned that it would never be rested ever again. And thus he was an Obscuvan. There would be no going back. And to the rest of the nearby cultists, who did not drop a beat of their hymn, The Glutton God spoke to Dragomir in His own way; that was why he had fainted as such, and Dragomir would never do anything to contradict that.
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 1:47 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Memory of a Day Past
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir reflects on what he has done !
xxxxDragomir did not dare to look up for any reason over the following few days, and simply remained curled up under a pile of useless items that had fallen over onto his back, giving him a blanket of sorts. He was overly pathetic at this point, unwashed and uncaring, but if he was already in such a state of disrepair then Dragomir saw little to no problem staying like that a little longer; it wasn't as though he could hurt anything. He knew without moving that he would need a new job which the realization of depressed him all the further - he hadn't liked his job but he hadn't wanted a new one. However, there was jack-s**t he could do about it now, so he would continue to mope until starvation proved him otherwise.
xxxxHe couldn't - just couldn't - deal with what he had done; he knew he had had to do it in order to be considered a true Obscuvan - which he had to be since there were little other options - but... He had killed a man! He couldn't just non-chalantly stomach that. And, as Dragomir had little experience handling matters in an emotional sense, he took the most manly route he knew of - entirely shutting down, emotionally.
xxxxSomething landed on his head. Part of Dragomir was willing to simply say that it was another useless junk item hitting the back of his noggin as plenty of others had (as evidenced by the fact that he was lying under an actual pile of them), but the pattering of miniature feet made him think differently. He sat up, instantly, and looked around - he saw a flash of red, but then it was gone; he was more than a little confused and whatever had landed, landed hard and his head was starting to ache in that not-quite-pain-but-still-irritating way.
xxxxSomething was here. He looked around, suspicious, worried. A mouse? Some other disgustingly diseased animal? He didn't want or need the plague, obviously, so he was quite scared that some little carrier of that dreaded disease was traipsing around in his equally as disgusting home. He hugged his knees slightly before getting up and going over to the shofar sitting on his table accusingly. He lifted it up and peeked behind it and under it, even going so far as to shake it lightly - he thought he heard it squeak, but there didn't seem to be anything inside it.
xxxxHe put it down, entirely unnerved. Well. It looked as though Dragomir would be going out; he had grown accepting of the shofar after spending all of his time with it with his refusal to leave the house, but now..?
xxxxIt was time to find a job and hope that ... whatever it was didn't find him. Anything it took to get the hell out of his house and away from that creepy thing. Why, exactly, did he keep it again?
xxxxHe really, really wished he knew a reason other than the fact that something seemed to be different about it. A good, interesting different; and Dragomir always liked a good secret.
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 6:10 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Party of the Utmost Pity
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir meets people in the same situation as him !
xxxxThe meeting was... Interesting, to say the least. After getting drunk, Dragomir met Dorian Arelgren and Wickwright Finch. Dorian kissed Dragomir, which led to Wickwright helping them get out of a very .. precarious situation, neither young male much wanting to get burned alive for being homosexual. Dorian stayed behind, though Dragomir quickly left. He was helped home by Wickwright, to whom he revealed the fact that he had murdered a man.
xxxxThe meeting ended with Dragomir meeting the plague Hopkin. He decided that the plague was cute enough and, for a moment, wished for his own, unaware of the taint his shofar carried. It served the unintentional purpose of bringing these three characters together in a most strange play; set the stage for the three to become closer than any one of them originally intended.
xxxxHowever, it also served the purpose of dragging Dragomir a little out of his self-imposed depression over his murder in the name of the house of Obscuvos. Which was what he really needed. Although he claimed to hate Arelgren with a fiery passion, he knew that it was also this man's fault that he was recovering, ever so slowly, from his downward spiral.
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Posted: Sat Feb 26, 2011 9:15 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Changing Scenery
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir makes a lifechanging decision !
xxxxHe had to move. He had to. There was no other choice. After that incident with Arelgren, he could see no other way of being safe. And, to be honest, he needed to speak to Arelgren to make sure that neither of them would ever - ever - talk about this to anyone. He didn't want or need this getting out to anyone else other than the three - four, because of Hopkin? - of them that were present at that ... rather demonic - in his opinion anyway - night. Dammit, had he and Arelgren really - really ... He blushed too furiously just thinking about it. He also had no desire to be burned alive - this was a defining factor of his decision, to be honest.
xxxxEither way, he had to decide quickly. He would be moving to Shyregoed as soon as he humanly could, which meant as soon as he had the funds. What little money he had saved away was not nearly enough, and he had to vend most of the things cluttering his house to someone - there had to be someone who would want it, even if it was for considerably less than he had bought it for - in order to be able to afford anything on the long trek northward to Shyregoed. He stared at his belongings for a long while, wondering what he should take with him and what he should sell. He mentally glanced over the room, wondering how hard it would be to sell something if it was broken - or how hard to pawn it off - before his eyes settled on the shofar sitting on the table, rocking slightly with a breeze only it could seem to feel.
xxxxHis brain answered almost instantaneously. "It's coming." Then came the doubt. Why the hell was he bringing it with him? It was useless. Pointless. He didn't need it, had no idea how much it was worth -- and it was coming. That was never in doubt, strangely enough, and a fact that was unnoticed by Dragomir Meschke himself. Only the reasons were doubted, but never once had he considered that he would sell it. Even if it were useless - and he was pretty, nearly, extremely positive that it was so - it was worth something much, much more important. Intrigue. It would take the place of whatever other trinkets he would have otherwise taken, only his clothes as additional luggage, not wanting to be naked in the freezing expanses of Shyregoed. No.. He knew he would probably have to buy new clothes on top of it. This was... most unfortunate. He damned that fool who had kissed him, intoxicated, ruining the life he had made for himself, fisting his hand and struggling to not punch the nearest structure, as it was solid and he was more than aware that he would quickly regret it.
xxxxThe preparation was long and hellish, only able to vend a few items in any one place before running out of things to pawn off or getting run off as taking too much out of their profits - he hated every second of it. He felt like even more of a third-rate citizen than he really was, using a large majority of the pittance he was paid to fund his move, what was left going to food, and it wasn't long before Dragomir began to lose weight. Not much at first, but then more and more until he was weak. He realised, eventually, as foolishly unobservant as he was wont to be, that he was starving himself; the rest and recuperation took longer than he expected, weeks added to the time to move, and he hated, loathed himself, every damned second of it. When he was again well enough that he no longer felt as though small trips made him wish most keenly to die, he began preparations again, selling, collecting, saving money, the coinage collecting in piles around the shofar, which seemed to guard it as diligently as a dragon might, despite the fact that - yet again, it was an inanimate object. Dragomir caught himself thinking this only once and went to lay down, thinking himself crazy.
xxxxIt seemed to only last an eternity before Dragomir bid the house he had known almost his entire adult life good-bye and started on his way, traveling by foot until he could not anymore and finding a caravan of sorts to where he could pay or work his way to Shyregoed (similar to the offer Wickwright had offered him; he thought fondly of the older gentleman and his plague, for a moment, then had to return to working), and stayed on that for the entirety of the way. It was hard; furthermore, it was unpleasant, Dragomir forced to simper to people less intelligent as well as physically inferior (a rare feat). But, of course, due to his babyish face and the sympathy of the matronly woman who seemed to have spawned all the people in the caravan (including Dragomir, strangely enough), he didn't have to pay nor did he have to work as hard as some of the larger men - all for the sake of saying "Sixteen, mum," whenever anyone asked him his age.
xxxxHowever, the work served to save him coin and it kept him healthy, constantly getting back to his more normal weight as he traveled with these people to whom, he must admit, he felt some affection to in the strangest, most annoying way. It was for this reason that he was ecstatic to be rid of them.
xxxxThe first thing he noticed was that it was cold. Freezing. "I want to go home," his wind-chilled bones shouted, but he couldn't. He started walking, the shofar tied to his back, wiggling discontentedly in the cold. He had a long way to go. He knew it, too.
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Posted: Fri Mar 18, 2011 7:56 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| Strange Companions
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir meets a new "friend" !
xxxxDragomir had just been settling in - it had been a long trip, one that he was sure his fingers and toes only narrowly survived, so he'd taken a good amount of time to allow himself to warm up beneath a pile of some objects he owned, objects that allowed him to keep his body warmth in and slowly multiply. The shofar had been set aside once he'd gotten inside, as its pointy angles and stones would have simply served to stab into him and put him in an even pissier mood than he was already in. And he could've stayed there, in a dark pile of miscellaneous objects and cloth, (and had perhaps been intending to!) really could've just never moved again and allowed eventual death to take him, except there was this soft skitter, the too-soft sound of footfall that Dragomir chose to take as the sound of someone tiptoeing.
xxxxStarvation was a death he could handle. Being robbed - stabbed to death - that was another thing entirely. Cautiously, at first, he lowered some of the stuff that was blocking his vision, and wished that he could see accurately in the dark. Reluctantly, he lit a candle instead, hoping that whoever had broken in wouldn't zero in on him from the light across the room. He debated calling but decided against it; he wasn't sure he could make his voice work how absolutely terrified he was, so there was no point in trying and shaming himself when his voice squeaked and gave like a young boy. Eventually, he slipped from his pile, his comfort, and listened to his own soft-whisper of feet falling on the floor, of his own quiet movements.
xxxxThere was no other being - at least not one human sized - and Dragomir had just started to calm down enough, just started to relax, to accept that it had probably been a rat looking for warmth or something of that kind. And then there came the clearest, tiniest giggle, the smallest bell, from somewhere. Completely taken aback by the sound, by how little it was, by what a memory that stirred in him, he dropped his candle and it fizzled, quietly, left him even more in the dark.
xxxxAnd then she appeared. She moved as though she was dancing; she moved with an innate grace, the movements of a dancer, of one who knows what their body looks like and how to control it. She gave a small pirouette when she arrived at Dragomir's feet and - had he not been so thoroughly disgusted - he would've been taken by her grace. She pushed, in a way that could only be said as dedicated, on the candle, tried to stand it back up; her Dragomir had dropped it, and he would need it back, as it was very dark... And when she succeeded, he snatched it back up and relit it.
xxxx"Who are you?" He hissed, lowly, softly, voice venomous with hatred, and Chayele was taken aback by it. This human was hers, she knew. Without having to say it, without having to think about it, she knew. He was Dragomir and he was hers and she was his and this was not right! She had wanted to help, and she had helped, and she had thought perhaps he would pat her on the head or tell her she had done a fine job. She did not understand this hatred, nor where it had come from, and she knew only that it existed and was aimed at her. "I asked you a question," his voice raised a bit and trembled, she heard, and she wanted to pat his hand - to console him, his fear, his anger - but she was frozen in place, caught mid-step. "Who are you -- what are you?"
xxxxShe gave a small frown, a hesitant expression, the soft plane of her face contorting and wrinkling as though she had brows to draw inwards, and she made a gesture at her throat. Her mouth opened, but she made no noise, and continued trying to do so until it was clear they were both frustrated. "Well, I guess I know what you are. Disgusting. Monstrous."
xxxxChayele had been alive only minutes; she had known the world was wondrous for mere moments, and she had thought that her Dragomir would show it to her and explain it, unfold it for her, but she could see now that this wasn't the case. In fact, mere minutes into her existence she was all but positive that she had experienced the most sadness anyone could feel. She felt empty, almost, strangely hollow as Dragomir backed cautiously away from her. She took steps forward, multiple for his ones, and her cream fingers knotted clearly in the warm green fabric over them. A sound of desperation, but clearly a note of music, escaped her mouth as she kept up the approach, but Dragomir wouldn't slow, so she eventually, for lack of anything else to do, made an emphatic gesture at her throat, her mouth. She could not speak, could not force words, and thus could not answer his question. She was his, she said, in a motion where she reached for him, and he was hers, in one where she pulled him back to her. She could tell, instantly, that he didn't understand. His backing away slowed, then stopped.
His voice had more strength when he spoke again. "Can't you speak?" Good! Her face smoothed and her mouth lifted as she shook her head, emphatically, in the negative. He did understand! She was delighted, ecstatic, and she moved for him, a soft, light-weight tune coming as she did. "Good," he sneered, and even Chayele's vision, clouded by love as it was, could not say that the expression was anything but ugly, "the first plague I've had to see in years, and it's a half-wit."
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 4:40 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| The Oddest Reunion
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir sees someone he has missed !
xxxxreserved for a reflection of checking up with the joneses!
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 4:41 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Tainted Rose
xxxxxxxxin which Chayele meets a new "friend" !
xxxxreserved for a cold and broken hallelujah!
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 4:46 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| An Unsettling Letterxxxxxxxxin which Dragomir suspects everyone around him !xxxxDragomir and Chayele were amusing themselves as they usually did. Of course, that meant Chayele was running around giggling, carrying something Dragomir desired, while Dragomir cursed her as loudly as possible and tried to get his fingers around her body to yank her back to him. Yet, as always, the small girl was too quick and slippery to be easily caught, and she put up a good chase until Dragomir sat down and plead with her to come back over. Relenting almost instantly, Chayele skipped over and patted his knee, setting the item on his shoe. She had just been prepared to bounce back off, entertaining herself elsewhere for a little, but Dragomir's small but lithe and deft hand shot around her body and picked her up.
xxxxHis blue eyes were dark with fury when she squirmed wildly in his hand to turn herself around. A cold pang of fear shot up her small body and she cried weaker and more pitifully, smacking at his hands halfheartedly, just wanting out. If she had eyes, they would have begged with all her strength. Dragomir, however, was at his breaking point; shaking with rage, he shook her all the more, actually moving his hands, and Chayele wailed quietly, afraid. She had never been afraid of Dragomir before, but she was now, the world blurring as she was shaken and her insistent wails turned to actual, noisy sobs.
xxxxIt took a second before Dragomir learned he had crossed a barrier not ever meant to be crossed and he immediately stopped, wishing someone would shake him, and he put her down, not able to look at her. No apology was uttered and Chayele ran off, not able to turn her face towards him, to see the face she had loved transformed almost instantaneously into a monster. For a moment, Dragomir felt terribly about it. He wondered what he had done to the girl, but in that very moment he seemed to become aware of the crow sitting insistently at his window, staring at him, scaring him. He shuddered quietly, then walked over and stared at it, curious on the roll of parchement in its beak. Slowly, almost as if possessed, he walked towards it, his hand slightly extended. It was only a heartbeat more before he had the letter. The crow was gone. Fingers shaking slowly, he opened it - when it spoke to him, his heart stopped.
xxxxIt whispered on and his ears were finely focused on the letter as it spoke the words that chilled his soul colder than even Shyregoed's winter.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx"Dragomir Meschke,
xxxxIt is a heavy burden, to take the life of another, is it not? To beckon the final breath from their lips so they will never again speak. It is as it should be with heretics and Remnants, Mr. Meschke, and you did quite well for your first time.
xxxxIt is one of the things in this world that becomes easier with practice. You'll need to do it again, stain your hands with red in His name so you may protect yourself and that darling little Plague of yours. Obeying does yield certain rewards."
xxxxWho had told? The only man who knew of his murder of that innocent man was Wickwright; the cultists did not know where he had moved to. He froze. Would.. Wickwright tell anyone? He didn't think so. Of course not. Who else, then? He bit into the knuckled of one of his fists thinking. What would he do? What did this letter - was it real? Did it truly know these things? Dread froze his limbs.
xxxxHe couldn't kill again. It would destroy him. The memories of his last murder scared him, it terrified him how callous he had been; he couldn't do it again! He knew he couldn't.
------------
xxxxChayele had not left her corner. It had been hours and still the little plague did not move from the corner. What had she done? It was the same as always. Yet Dragomir had never done this before. He had been mad at her before but never hurt her. Her limbs still trembled and, had she been human, her torso would've been one large, black-blue bruise from the force he exerted on her small sides. Her head hurt from the shaking. Her head hurt from the fear. Her head hurt from trying to understand why Dragomir hated her. He had never before! Never!
xxxxShe trembled, wringing her small hands together. She hated this. She hit at the walls with her hands, making soft whimpering noises. She had to make it up to Dragomir. She had to! She would find something to make him happy!
xxxxShe stood up, determined. She would! No questions about it. Her sniffles gradually quieted as she looked around. She needed to do something so that Dragomir would think she was useful. Chayele loved Dragomir. And if she was useful, Dragomir would love her too!
xxxxShe was sure!
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 4:47 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Tumultuous Heart
xxxxxxxxin which the pair share an oddly sweet respite during times of chaos !
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxRiot.
xxxxDragomir could hear them and he knew that the House of Obscuvos expected him to help them out and to take part in them - but Dragomir had no desire to do so. None at all. He shuddered a little, thinking about it; those riots were beyond chaotic, beyond dangerous, and the letter spoke volumes to him. To protect Chayele? He would allow no harm to come to the little Plague; his own outburst, in which he had shaken her, only a few days previous, to the point that she had sobbed for hours was too fresh in his mind. That event had been most upsetting to him; he had hurt her, and she was his - he was her protector, was he not? The person she followed diligently? Then he would do his best. And Chayele, the simple creature that she seemed to be, would get hurt during them - he could not, would not allow this.
xxxxHis fingers tightened around the girl-Plague, who had fallen asleep on his palm after awhile of them just sitting there, staring at each other, listening to the sounds from outside, the occasional noise of chaos. Chayele, still sleeping, wriggled slightly, and Dragomir released the tension, allowing his hand to fall into his lap. His navy blue eyes fixated on the little girl and his other hand fixed her skirts lightly. When she was asleep, when no one could hear him, when she was staying still, she was cute. He sighed quietly and closed his own eyes. Things were getting worse; he wondered if he shouldn't have stayed in Imisus instead; at least then he would've had some safety, in their old house.
xxxxAbsently, Dragomir wondered if Chayele had any memory of the time she had been stuck in the shofar that he had kept on his table; if she had any memory of the words and conversations Dragomir had with her, unknowing of the true nature of the shofar to which he spoke.
xxxxThere was a crack outside, interrupting his thoughts, and Chayele awoke with a start, shuddering til she sat up and hugging herself; she, it was apparent, knew more about the source of the noise - or thought she did - than he. Still, he said nothing, not even a snide comment, able to feel how afraid she was; he merely closed his eyes and Chayele believed he was asleep; she climbed his shirt with an odd amount of dedication for a creature so small, and she draped herself over his chest where she could. He waited for a moment, but she made no other motion. He waited more until he was sure she had gone to sleep, then cupped his hand gently over her; she made a soft, pleased noise - he wondered if the candle had been bothering her. He licked his other hand's pointer and middle finger, then put the candle out, settling them both in darkness.
xxxxAnd there, when no one could see him anymore, he made the resolve. These riots, despite being his own religion's doing ... He would stay out. Chayele would not be harmed. Then a sickening thought came to him; what if he had to, to protect Chayele? His bones were chilled, but the answer had only a moment's delay. He would. He would sell himself to Obscuvos because she couldn't. He had to, to protect the being too small to protect herself.
xxxxHe could, however, and would, hope that the House would not realise his refusal to act; to be honest, though, he had little faith in this. If they had truly sent him that letter, a few days since, they would find out. They always seemed to. He shuddered, in unadulterated terror, before closing his eyes and trying to sleep, trying to ignore everything for his one, brief, peaceful moment, Chayele curled up with him.
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Posted: Thu Mar 31, 2011 1:33 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Wake-Up Call
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir realises he is not alone !
xxxxDragomir felt followed. It was the most curious feeling, that someone was watching him, wondering what he was doing at all times. He hated the feeling. Chayele, for her point, didn't seem to care at all; she dealt with Dragomir's jumpiness just as he always did. The crows scared him most of all; why did they keep dropping these ribbons off? Why? What had he done? The letter had seemed like it had been sent by the House, so why were they tormenting him? Because he did nothing to benefit Obscuvos? That was the only reason he could think of. It was late, though, as he noticed how dark it was outside and how high the moon was. He made his way to the room he had claimed as his own and saw the pile of ribbons he had made of what the crows had dropped off and Chayele was making them into a dress for herself, holding them as she spun herself, making them wrap around her complicated outfit, and she giggled, clapping her hands pleasantly.
xxxxDragomir sighed, annoyed, but said nothing. He didn't have the energy. Chayele, however, was looking up at him, almost expectantly; she craved the compliment, even a, "Cute," but when he noticed it, he scoffed and moved her aside, albeit gently, with his foot. She hit the ground and her small hands lost ahold of the ribbons they were holding. They went flying, splaying a black corona around her pale cream head. She blinked on her back and made a small, surprised noise, before curling up and wrapping the ribbons about her face. Dragomir felt bad, crouched, and picked her up. Chayele, however, was in no mood to be placated; she curled up on the ground again and shook her head, refusing to unwrap the ribbons from her face, holding them taut.
xxxxHe stared at her, opened his mouth, "Chay.." he started.
xxxxChayele immediately let the ribbon go and looked at him. She cocked her head and made a soft noise, inquisitive, regardless of her determination only moments before.
xxxxDragomir looked sheepish for a long moment, before quietly saying, in the tiniest voice he had, "I'm sorry, Chayele." He touched her small head with only one finger.
xxxxChayele looked as though she had just been told she were the prettiest thing in all of Panymium; her face lit up, despite being eyeless, and she clapped her hands. Reaching up, her fingers locked around his hand. Dragomir kept his hand very still, only barely fighting off the urge to knock her away. Eventually she let go, and he pulled his hand back, patted her swiftly and, saying nothing else, went to bed. After he wet the candle's wick to put it out, he thought hard. He had to prove he was worth something to the House. Almost unwillingly, he realised: he would have to go to church. He groaned audibly.
xxxxChayele mimicked the sound.
xxxxDragomir only barely refrained from telling her to shut up.
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Posted: Thu Mar 31, 2011 1:34 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| An Eye-Opening Encounter
xxxxxxxxin which Dragomir must choose a course of action !
xxxxreserved!
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Posted: Thu Mar 31, 2011 8:29 pm
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx| A Strange Present
xxxxxxxxin which Chayele enjoys the gifts of her friend !
xxxxDragomir was pissed off. That was the easiest way to say it; he had been threatened, stalked, kept track of, and was building enough ribbon to actually make Chayele a dress other than the ones she fashioned herself. It was frustrating. Chayele, on the other hand, had been confronted with gifts and lavish presents that made her face light up. She knew, just knew, they were from her friend. Her face lit up with each gift and she kept them in a place where Dragomir could not find them; she often disappeared for hours at a time, just by herself, where Dragomir had no idea where she was. It had been unnerving at first, but he had accepted it recently; she would disappear, but come back, and there was nothing to do about it but wait and call for her.
xxxxChayele was enjoying herself. Andromeda had been sending her lots of pretty things, and some flowers - she never got flowers! It was too cold to find many, so the flowers she got were prized snacks that she nibbled on only as delicately as possible. She ran around the small cranny in the wall that she had made her own, as Dragomir had reclaimed a room from the must for himself, and all of the things she had been accumulating over the days prior were lying around. As Andromeda had, she sung to herself, wringing her hands. She longed to see her friend, but Dragomir had recently began leaving her at home when he went to church, no longer fearing that the House would hurt her. As he'd thought, her presence drew too much attention to the pair, but to the contrary, the reason why was overwhelmingly positive; they seemed to love her, as they loved all other Plagues. He didn't want, nor did he need, any attention, positive or negative, from the House. It made it harder to make his act convincing in the defense-lowering smoke permeating every inch of air in the church; his mask was close at hand wherever he went now, however. He couldn't deny that.
xxxxShe didn't, of course, understand why; she couldn't conceive of why Dragomir had been so against the House before; if they were all just a fraction, just a hint, as nice as Andromeda was, Chayele didn't, couldn't, understand why anyone wouldn't love them. She hummed and darted out, blinking at a piece of colourful, purple ribbon lay on the floor, just outside of her cranny. She jumped up and giggled, her hands closing around it and dragging it back inside with eagerness; she draped it over a few of the shinier objects, then rethought it and pushed and shoved a few items until they were ontop of the ribbon, holding it taut. She wiggled around for a moment before sitting on it, wondering if it would collapse under her. She sat with hesitance, though, moving slowly and putting a little weight down at a time, though she didn't weigh that much in all. It didn't, however, and she grinned, wiggling around more in her new, purple chair. It was beautiful. She applauded her own genius. She would have to sing something pretty for Andromeda the next time they met, the next time she made Dragomir take her to that nasty, smoky place and she could see her pretty lady with flame hair. She couldn't, absolutely couldn't, wait. In the least. She was practically vibrating with energy just thinking about it. She giggled musically, squirming in her ribbon-shiny chair, making it sag a little, until she was happy. She stood up and darted out, waiting to go see Dragomir.
xxxxMeanwhile, outside, things were worsening. Dragomir could feel it in his bones. Chayele felt nothing but pure excitedness. She couldn't wait for the next gift; she had never been so loved, and never loved someone as much.
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