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 Posted: Thu Dec 20, 2012 2:45 am
Distress and Decisions [Solo]
Rosalie comes to terms with being a Grimm
 In Mishkan, sleepy villages and cities were just beginning to wake up. Townspeople were offering silent prayers that their houses seemingly had dodged the plague for yet another night; the less fortunate workers of the towns began collecting those who hadn't been so fortunate. Shops began to open, animals began to stir. A young blonde was pawing furiously at her ragged and rather useless braid.
Unlike the rest of the people of Mishkan, Rosalie de Clare had never gone to sleep in the first place. Instead, Rose had been staring at the loose spot in her floorboards where her old censer lay hidden from any stray, brave soul that might attempt to enter and clean her room, as if the censer might suddenly leap out and begin to dance a jig across the floor. The mental image made her claw even more restlessly at her ravaged braid, which was rapidly coming undone and leaving hair sticking out every which way.
All of a sudden, as if someone had shocked her, Rosalie snarled in frustration and stomped her feet down onto the floor from her post at the foot of her bed, pushing herself harshly into a standing position. The abrupt change was not quite as menacingly graceful as she intended, however, and the sleep drunk blonde staggered and wobbled before eventually a wall kindly reared up and steadied her. Behind her the floorboards creaked; the house likely was settling, but in her less than coherent state she could swear that the damned censer was laughing at her expense. She narrowed her eyes and spun around to fix her best imposing glare on the spot it lay.
“You can keep your mouth...holes...shut, you forsaken piece of scrap metal,” she hissed. Rosalie wasn't even sure she meant it. Granted, even the socially awkward young aristocrat knew that speaking to inanimate objects was not exactly normal behavior, but would she say such things when it eventually...grew? Changed? Just trying to think of the proper word for what happened to Plagues made the pressure build between her eyes, and she sank onto the floor. Instead of pondering word choices, she did her best to turn her attention away from the rank smell coming from her floor and instead worked on undoing the mess she had made of her hair.
It worked for a moment, but she soon found herself trying to figure out what to do with this mess she had landed in. It had only been the day before that she had realized that her Cleric's old censer was far more than that now. In her attempt to salvage a token of her one friend and spiritual guide, Rose had managed to pick up the one object in the room that was a Putesco without realizing. Groaning at her own stupidity, she let her head hit the wall with a dull thump as she freed her hair from its halfhearted prison.
Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn't tell her family about this; not everyone reacted favorably to Grimms, and she had given her family enough grief just by being herself over the years. They didn't need to be involved in the crazed politics that involved Plagues because of her too. But where did that leave her to go? Rose wasn't particularly close to any other members of her extended family, and she certainly had no friends to go to with this sort of trouble.
No, Rosalie was decidedly alone on this. Just the thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety flooding through her body, her throat constricting painfully around the words she couldn't say out loud.You can't stay here with this thing, fool. She supposed people had successfully hidden Plagues from others before, but she could barely remember to put on her clothes before she walked out her door. If Rose couldn't even take care of herself, how was she supposed to pretend to not be a Grimm? No, she would inevitably make a mess of it, her family would be accused of conspiring with her, and Panyma knew what the people who got their hands around her and this plagued censer would do to her, let alone her supposedly complicit family. Her family would likely be killed, and Rosalie might not always have the best relationship with her relatives, but she could never forgive herself if their blood was on her hands. She had to leave. But the question of where lingered like a bad taste in her mouth. Even if she left the house with a small pack today, she'd be dead in a week from starvation, exposure or unseemly brutes on the road. She had never walked more than a couple of hours at once, had never tried to sleep on her own outside.
If only her mother knew what she was thinking. Just says before, her mother had been shrieking at her
--over what, Rose hardly remembered, she had perfected tuning out her mother for the sanctuary of her own head a very long time ago—and making her usual empty, exasperated threats. Only this time, Alanna had added one that had jolted Rosalie out of her thoughts.
“It's time you left these childhood fancies behind and became a proper young woman, Rosalie, and don't think I won't marry you off to see it happen!”
Thinking back, Rose suspected that would be a far worse punishment for the man who was conned into marrying her. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, which she was sure were rimmed by large dark circles at the moment. She couldn't bring herself to care. Because as much as she was always reluctant to admit that her mother had been right about something, Rose wasn't sure her mother had been entirely wrong. About marriage, yes. This Plague, however, might require her to do something she had been trying to put off for a long time: grow up.
She ran through her options in her head. No connections to run to, and a serious lack of survival skills to set out on her own. The Obscuvans were no choice, she wasn't leaving her religion just for sanctuary in another one. And for that matter, she should probably rule out Lucian churches as well; if someone discovered a Grimm being granted asylum in one of the churches, it could spell trouble for all of its parishioners and certainly its Cleric. She had already lost her Cleric, she wouldn't take away another church's. She wouldn't last a day in the Guard, or in any job that required extensive physical work. Maybe in time she could build a more capable physique, but the Guard still seemed like an unwise decision. The Fellowship? Again, doubtful. So that left her with the Council.
The Council. Rosalie blinked through exhausted eyes, as if she could clarify her surroundings and thus the thought that had just struck her. She could read, and write, and her father had taught her numbers, at least to the extent that he used them in his own work. It was true that she had no formal education, but she was also a Grimm now. That had to count for something, right? She had heard whisperings that all of the factions were trying to recruit Grimms to their side to see how their Plagues might benefit them. Surely scientists would be interested in taking a Grimm? The tiniest bit of relief started in the pit of Rose's stomach, not because she thought the Council taking her was a definite thing, but because she at least had an idea. Even if the Council wouldn't enroll her in courses at its university, even if she and the censer rotting away under her floor were just to be observed and studied, she'd be safe from potential persecution for being a Grimm. She wasn't even sure how badly people were being persecuted for the Plagues, but she knew she couldn't take the chance that she would be. The Council wouldn't do anything to her, right?
The new Grimm certainly hoped so. She needed more information about the faction and its work before she made a final decision. Surely she had time to send a letter of inquiry to a member of the Council before the censer underwent any changes; her family's aristocratic status would guarantee a reply was sent swiftly back to her. And really, Rosalie had to take the chance anyways, because she wasn't sure there was another option out there for her. Mind made up, the blonde staggered back onto feet almost as weary as the rest of her body...and promptly threw herself back into bed to try and catch up on the sleep the rest of the de Clare estate had gained last night.
She'd write and send that letter tomorrow.
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Posted: Thu Dec 20, 2012 3:01 am
A Correspondence [Mini PRP]
Rosalie exchanges letters with Dr. Amory Kempe about going to Trisica
A Correspondence
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Posted: Sun May 26, 2013 12:40 am
Arriving in Gadu [Solo]
Rosalie realizes how hard things are on your own
If this coach fell into a ravine and crushed them, it would be too soon. Rosalie, who had been keeping her eyes closed for some time with the vain hope that it would lead to sleep, sighed and reached up and rubbed hard circles on her temples. Just like closing her eyes, massaging her head did no good in alleviating the various ailments she was currently experiencing.
“Almost there, m'lady!” the driver called back cheerfully, and Rosalie hated him even more than she had moments ago. Peter had taken over for her first driver when they had passed through Helios, and she found herself sorely missing the stoic, silent company of Thomas. Peter had thus far educated her about his lineage and how a thrice-removed uncle or some other relative--she had yet to bother to pay close enough attention to remember such trivial details--had been a minor noble (“'til he got skewered in a jousting game, 'twas most unfortunate, m'lady.”). She had also learned more than she ever cared to know about which wild animals tasted best in a pinch if you were stranded somewhere less than hospitable.
Rosalie had yet to decide if her constant nausea from the jerking motions of the coach on rough country roads or the headache of Peter's nasal chatter was the worst part of this journey. It seemed like ten years had passed since they left her childhood home behind, and the childish part of her wished to throw a fit and demand Peter turn round and take her back at once. Every time such a notion occurred to her, however, she was once again grounded in reality by the vague odor coming from the wooden box secured under her feet which contained the censer. She had packed it well in cloth and hay before leaving home, and she continued to add new hay from the roadsides to help absorb the scent of rot, and at this point she was not sure if she could truly smell it or if the memory of the smell was just permanently etched into her senses. Neither driver had mentioned any strange smells thus far, but Rosalie, unsure whether or not they knew their exact reason for transporting her to Gadu, dared not ask. Real or imaginary, though, the stench only contributed further to the feeling that she was always one stray bump in the road away from throwing open the door and losing the contents of her stomach.
To say this had been a far less glamorous journey than she had expected was to make a vast understatement. Rosalie had been excited at the prospect of traveling, of seeing new people and strange landmarks and making a map in her mind of the winding road leading them to the Council's headquarters. She had seen little except inns that all looked and smelled alike and innumerable trees and scrubs when they stopped for relief because she was always attempting to block the windows to keep the heat of the sun out. She certainly felt no inclination to map in her current state, even if she had the faintest idea where they were in relation to the places she knew of.
It was not as though she had never traveled by coach before. The family had taken multiple trips to the the summer and winter estates of various other lords and ladies to play politics and get acquainted with their children to see if any matches could be made, and she had been to Helios many times to see her family that still dwelled within the capital, but until this trip she had never traveled as far as Gadu. Nor had she traveled in such a coach; her family tended to hire luxurious coaches, and this one, while certainly not the worst of them all, was far more practical in nature. It went without saying that thus far all Rosalie had learned was that she should amend her idea of how Grimms were treated. People whispered that, even with the increased danger of persecution, Grimms were lauded above everyone else in society. She had a suspicion that all of those rumors would amount to nothing, although Rosalie knew that if nothing else her noble status would serve her well in both Trisica and the city.
As the sun began to reach its late afternoon peak, Rosalie felt the road under them turn into smoother cobbles. For all of his inane talking, Peter seemed to have at least spoken the truth about how close they were to the city. In spite of the sun, she pulled back her covering on the window to look outside as they passed into the city. They were still in the last vestiges of the working class buildings, and she did her best to ignore the curious and mistrusting looks the citizens gave her as the coach passed by. At least they were soon part of a long convoy of coaches and wagons going further into the wealthy parts of Gadu, and more lavish coaches soon caught their attention.
Finally, they were surrounded by the more intricate stonework of the city proper, and Rosalie did her best not to look like a slack-jawed fool. She had been to many cities, but for the first time she would be calling a city her home for more than a month in the summers. She lived here now, and the countless people and shops and buildings and all of the noise threatened to sweep her away even while she was safely in the coach. She promptly dropped the curtain back across the window and slunk down in a most unlady like fashion. Rosalie knew that, surely, one day, she would know her way around this place, but at the moment she felt ill-suited for life in the city, and all of her confidence in her abilities to navigate sank like an anchor. It was trouble enough that she could hardly, if ever, form friendships with others; now she was doomed to be lost in a world of stone that all looked much the same to her eyes.
Rosalie stayed lost in her anxiety-ridden thoughts until at last the coach stopped for the last time. She was no longer it was such a bad place to be, really. It was familiar, and even Peter could not hold a candle to all of this noise. Perhaps they could merely keep journeying until they reached the very edge of the continent, and then she would simply herald another coach back home, crawl under her favorite pair of well-washed sheets and curse herself for ever being such a silly little girl who thought she could survive the world on her own. But even as she calculated the amount of money she had with her and if it was enough to convince Peter to keep going, he opened the door and offered his hand to help her down.
She took a series of deep breaths, both to calm herself and to stall the moment where her feet hit Gadu ground and she had to admit she was truly here. Peter seemed to be able to sense this, and he gave her that ridiculous, gap-toothed grin of his that all of a sudden did not seem so ridiculous. “It won't always be so confusing, m'lady,” he whispered, and bless him, Rosalie felt her feelings for the driver shift towards the positive. After another steadying breath, she took his hand in a vice-like grip and stepped down onto the smooth street. The heels of her traveling boots clicked on the stone, and with that final sound, she was truly here. She kept her grip on Peter's hand until it seemed improper even to her, and she reluctantly let go to smooth out her dress, letting her mother's familiar lectures about looking neat and confident in front of strangers guide her for the first time in her life. It seemed more important to look the part of a young noblewoman here than it did in Mishkan, and Rosalie had the unfortunate feeling that she would have to dredge up memories of all of her mother's prattling lessons to successfully survive here.
While Peter took care of unloading her belongings from the coach, Rosalie spun on her heel to take in the city on all sides of her. It was vast, and even though it should have felt claustrophobic, the grand architecture made her simply feel small. She felt smaller than even the tiniest cog in a gear, and she wondered if that feeling ever left you. It certainly did not dissipate as Peter paid off two men outside the inn Dr. Kempe had instructed him to drop her off at to help carry in her things. Trying to maintain her wits, and only succeeding to the smallest degree, she strode forward and took the box with the censer herself, doing her best to pretend it was not heavy.
One of the men gave her a skeptical look that also lingered too long for her comfort, and Rosalie channeled her mother's demeanor as well as she could. “What I do with my belongings is no concern of yours, sir,” she told him, and when she turned around and marched into the inn to pay the keep for her boarding room she grinned proudly at how cool and collected she had sounded.
The innkeeper was less appraising of her body as she reached the counter, and he hardly noticed as she stood on tiptoe to drop the box onto it with a dull thunk. Good. Perhaps he was the type to simply accept money and not ask questions. Rosalie could get along with such a person.
“A room for the month, please,” she told him as she pulled out her money. She figured she could always pay him for a much longer stay if she found the place decent enough later. He nodded and told her the price for one of the rooms overlooking the city, and after using what knowledge she had of inns to judge that as a fair price, she paid him and picked up the box once more as he led her upstairs. If he saw her wobbling precariously with its weight as she climbed the narrow stairs, he said nothing, and Rosalie again felt this man could be at least trusted with basic knowledge.
He opened the door and set the key on the small table inside the room, then nodded his head in respect and left. Peter and the others arrived with her luggage as she slid the box under her bed and put it all in the corner where she instructed. Soon Peter was the only one left, and once he closed the door behind him Rosalie would lose the only person she knew in this forsaken labyrinth of a city. She pulled his payment and a little extra coin out of one of the trunks she had brought with her, and, after biting her lip and considering one final time asking him to continue their travels, Rosalie finally dropped the bag into his open hand.
“Thank you for your help, Peter,” she said, and Rosalie was surprised to find she meant the sentiment. “I do hope your cousin manages to find work once more with his one hand, although I would think he should probably avoid farming equipment from now on.”
He laughed his loud, booming laugh that could shake windows in their casing, and Rosalie knew that at least tonight she would miss the sound. “I'll tell him y'said so, my'lady,” he grinned as he pocketed the money. “I hope you enjoy your schooling. Just keep sense about you and you'll do fine in this rat maze.” And with that, he left and shut the door behind him, leaving Rosalie alone for the first time in a long time.
She stood frozen in place for some minutes, before numbly locking the door and moving to sit on the bed before shaky legs gave out on her. Deep breathing was all she could do, and Rosalie spent some significant time focusing on steadying herself where she sat, gripping the edge of the bed in both hands. It was a bed, a bed was familiar. Furniture in general was a known. So long as she pretended this was her much larger room in Mishkan, and imagined that the voices from downstairs and below the window were actually the workers on her family's estate, she could get through this first night.
As darkness came over Gadu and the lanterns were lit out on the streets, she lit the candle on the bedside table and finally reached under the bed to pull out the censer's box. Rosalie opened the lid after a long pause, and although she gagged at the overwhelming smell, she carefully lifted it out and cradled it in her hands. It would need to keep living in the box so long as she stayed here, but for now, she help close the only piece of her cleric she had left. So long as she had this, infected as it was, she had him, and all the advice he had once imparted on her. If she could remember her mother's lessons on society and his lessons on spiritual matters, perhaps she could become a Council member after all.
“I miss him,” Rosalie whispered to the inanimate gold metal in her hands, which she would need to polish before she slept—if she slept. The putesco couldn't understand her, of course, knew nothing of the cleric she spoke of, but it still felt like she was talking to a friend in a strange way. “It's just the two of us now, though.” She choked on tears for the first time since she had seen her home vanish behind the coach, and one fell onto the censer before sliding off to splash on the wooden floor. “Welcome to our new home.”
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Posted: Mon May 27, 2013 3:49 pm
Faction Mission [Solo]
Rosalie seeks entrance into courses at Trisica University
"Dear Lady DeClare,
Though I very sincerely wish for us to meet soon, I am afraid that current events have made me quite unable to consult with you regarding your educational path at Trisica. Instead, I must ask that you meet with various department heads and speak to them about their subjects to see what interests you best. While Trisica normally requires students to participate in classes from all disciplines during their early years here, due to the streamlined nature of the course we offer for Grimms, we are unfortunately obliged to skip such footdragging in your case. Within this envelope I have provided a letter explaining your circumstances, presenting this to whichever departments you may be interested in will provide you with ample time to speak with scholars within those departments about their disciplines. Enclosed is also a list of the departments housed in Trisica and brief descriptions of each. I apologize that I cannot speak with you about them personally, but I hope that at least some of them will be passing familiar to you through your own experience and that speaking to those in charge of those departments will not be too tedious. Once you've decided upon a discipline to study, please deliver the contract of study located within signed by the head of that discipline to the administrator's office in the north tower, and you will be enrolled in lectures within that discipline at once. My sincerest apologies again for this dreadful inconvenience, and I hope that this letter finds you well.
Sincere regards,
Doctor Amory Kempe"Rosalie de Clare, a Mishkanite noblewoman, was most assuredly not lost.
No. Not in the least bit.
Perhaps if she kept repeating this mantra to herself, it would be true.
Rose scoffed incredulously at the notion, ignoring the looks a couple of passing students gave her as they warily bustled by. She had at least attempted to look presentable today for her meetings with various department heads, but the blonde was quite sure that her hair was more akin to a hay bale than anything remotely approaching acceptable for a human. Unfortunately, it seemed that even needing to appear calm and collected could not stop her nervous habit of dragging her fingers through her hair.
There was no need to even mention the state of her clothing. Rosalie was fast looking more like a madwoman the scientists might study than a potential member of the student body; trekking back and forth through the halls of Trisica, coupled with her utter lack of grace, had attracted every particle of dust to her dress. In short, Rose was bedraggled and lost and wondering what in Panyma's name she had gotten herself into. It was sorely tempting to retreat back to the small room she now boarded in and check on the censer tucked away in a box under the bed; she was taking all precautions to make sure no one who did not need to discovered her status as a Grimm until she was more situated in Gadu. But as nice as her bed and people watching out the window sounded, Rose recognized the need to get this task accomplished so that she could actually begin her studies instead of sitting around the boarding house being reminded that she knew no one in the city.
Besides, she was a master of mental maps (at least in her own head), and she simply needed to better walk this one out to form a more complete one. She could find her way around this labyrinth in no span of time at all. Satisfied with her own intellect and naturally above average skills, she blew a ragged section of hair out of her eyes and continued down the hall she was in to meet the first department head.
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Perhaps claiming to be a master of mental maps had been a bit of an overstatement. Rose sank down onto a bench in the university courtyard, wincing as her feet reminded her that more comfortable shoes may have been a wiser decision today. Unfortunately, they were not yet done walking today, but a small respite outside and a chance to at least slightly fix her hair were much needed at the moment as Rose wallowed in her frustration.
At least she had managed to find several departments already, and it was not even yet late afternoon. That, however, was the only comfort she had at the moment. None of the departments—Rhetoric, Literature, and History—had appealed to her. History had sounded promising at first, but Rosalie found herself tuning out the department head as they spoke; never a good sign with her. She was naturally inclined to retreat to her head when bored, and she knew it was important to enroll in a subject that kept her engaged. No matter her mother's opinion on the matter, Rose had not decided to completely leave her comfortable and familiar life in Mishkan on a whim; rather, she had come here to Gadu to take advantage of a chance to receive an education, and she was not about to let her flighty tendencies undermine her ability to successfully complete her studies and join the Council. Rose belonged here, and if she was to be of any help with a cure for the Plague, she needed to focus. With that in mind, she began to review in her mind the other departments she wished to visit as she began the tedious process of attempting to braid her hair back with only her fingers.
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This was it, then. Rosalie stood outside the door of Father Henteloue’s office, having been redirected here from the Theology department head’s office because she was busy at the moment. She knew nothing about the priest inside this office, except that he was high up in the department and willing to talk to potential students. The fact that he was also a Panymisian was, of course, comforting. Her family might belong to one of the church sects, and not the main body church itself, but she had not talked with any sort of fold member since she left home and missed them. So, surely, this would not go too poorly. With that in mind, she took a deep breath and knocked—only for the door to open in her face.
The first thing she noticed about Father Henteloue was that he was tall, at least compared to her. Since he had nearly walked into her, Rosalie was close enough that all she could see was his chest, and upon realizing this, she stumbled backwards to keep an appropriate distance and take in the rest of him. It took everything in her not to immediately start stumbling into nervous apologies even though it was really no one’s fault. Instead, she distracted herself from faltering on her words by smoothing out her dress and eventually looking up to make eye contact.
“Er—eh, good afternoon, Father Henteloue,” she eventually managed to spit out, mentally kicking herself for her perpetual awkward behavior. It normally did not concern her, but it would be useful to be able to push it aside at times like this. “My name is Rosalie de Clare, I'm looking to become a student at the University, and was instructed to talk to you about the Theology department?” That sounded so abrasive, and she internally cringed. “Um, if you have a moment to spare, of course, I'm quite sure you must be terribly busy...”
The quiet chuckle from the older man pulled her back to looking at him, although she hadn't realized she had been staring at a knot in the worn wooden door of his office. “Good afternoon, Lady de Clare. I was told to expect you today regarding our department. In fact, I was just stepping out to come find you, as it has been some time since I was warned about your arrival.” She flushed scarlet at the knowing look in his eyes. How was anyone to know their way around this place, honestly? He offered an inviting enough smile, however, and stepped aside to allow her entry into his office.
The priest seemed to have a rather peculiar sense of organization. Not particularly haphazard or particularly immaculate, his office fell into a strange limbo between the two, with small sections of clutter and scatter and mess and others that looked as if he had not touched them since the day he first occupied to room. Plenty of dust showed itself in the sunlight streaming through his one window at least, and Rosalie at least felt like she was not in danger of breaking of valuable things if she so much as breathed. It was a comfortable, if eclectic, room, and she offered the best smile she could as he gestured for her to sit at the desk taking up a majority of the space across from the window.
“I am afraid there was not much time for the Dean's assistant to tell me about your situation,” Father Elias apologized. “May I ask why you are not simply enrolled in the typical University courses?” Rosalie was more dense than a cow when it came to subtlety and innuendo, but even she could see the priest offering a way out of discussing the exact reason for her entrance into accelerated courses.
She was tired of the secret lurking under her bed. “I have recently become a Grimm,” she told him, and it was a relief to have finally said out out loud to someone other than her parents. Others knew at the University, but either they had been told in writing or by someone other than her. “Accelerated courses, I have been told, are best for this...situation,” Rose continued with a tired sigh. It had been a long and often stressful two months since she had discovered her censer was plagued, and quite frankly even now some part of her just wanted to sleep soundly for an entire day—no weird dreams, no paranoid checking on the rank box with the censer in it, no thinking about what in Panyma's name she was supposed to do. Did all Grimms feel this lost, or was she merely an incompetent fool?
Father Henteloue gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, I am happy to help you as much as I am able, at least on this particular matter.” He reached into the creaky drawers of his desk and shuffled around before pulling out a small stack of pages and handing them to her. “This is a list of the courses you have the option of taking with the Theology department, and some other small bits of information you may want to know,” he explained. “Our subject matter is not simple, especially as you enter into more advanced courses, but the general idea is. We analyze world matters through the lens of religion, of course primarily Panymisian.” A nervous twitch at that part as he rolled a seal stamp through his fingers, but Rosalie knew better than to ask him to elaborate. “You will be introduced to philosophy, ethics, history and logic at times, as they are relevant to fleshing out the meanings and context in theological texts and how they should be applied to everyday life and the church both.”
He set the stamp down and sat up straighter, and Rosalie found herself sitting up with him. This was the same basic information the other departments had given her, but something about Father Henteloue's description pulled her in. “I should warn you, of course, that there are no real true answers in this discipline,” he added. “Some theologians will try to convince you they have the right of it, but here at Trisica we are slowly beginning to look at religious topics with a more critical eye, to examine and hopefully rectify flaws. Even then, we can never truly say what Panyma intended with absolute certainty. If you are the type of person who cannot handle gray areas in your study, I would suggest looking into the sciences.” He seemed to be done at that point.
Normally full of questions, for once Rose was actually left without any. She was sure as she was at home a multitude would come to mind, but for now she knew what she wanted to do. It was a nice change from the last months of feeling lost even inside herself. “I only have one question, Father Henteloue,” she said, struggling to suppress her sudden nervous, excited energy that made her fingers and toes want to wiggle about.
He cocked his head to the side and raised his brow slightly, looking far more inquisitive than anyone ever had in her sleepy little corner of Mishkan. “What is your question, Lady de Clare?”
Another fight to push down the bubble of energy, and she smiled hesitantly. “Are you able to sign this contract for the Dean, or shall I try to catch her to gain her signature?” He laughed in a way that reminded her of her father and gestured for her to hand him the contract that she had rolled up and tucked into her belt.
“Normally you would need the Dean's signature, but I believe we are altogether far more willing to make exceptions when it comes to enrolling Grimms as soon as possible,” the priest explained as he placed his elaborate, flowing signature on the contract. “If the administrator does now allow it, come find me with a clean copy of the contract and I will have it sent to the Dean for you.” Rosalie was almost certain smiles could not get much friendlier, or more reassuring in such an intimidating place, than the one he gave her as he passed her the contract once more.
“Thank you,” she breathed, and her future was suddenly this document in her hand that felt both feather light and as heavy as the amount of luggage she had brought with her to Gadu.
“Of course,” he nodded as he stood up from his desk to escort her out of the office. “I do hope you enjoy your time in our department, my lady. I myself find it to be most fulfilling.” He opened the door for her and dipped his head briefly as she stepped out once more into the hallway, which somehow felt a little less frightening now.
“Oh, Lady de Clare?” She turned to look at him, and was surprised to find an almost mischievous look on the priest's face. “The north tower is that way,” he indicated with a chuckle, pointing her in the right direction. “Go left from here and you will be going straight to the north. You cannot miss it.”
Rosalie flushed again but managed to says her thanks and bid him farewell before bustling down the hallway with new purpose.
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Posted: Fri Jul 05, 2013 12:05 am
What's In a Name?
Gabriel accidentally scares a few years off of Rosalie's life
This world was very new, and so far very dull. A tinny-sounding sigh escaped, died off in the strange material poking—him, yes, him. It was hard to become aware of one's self and what one's self was in all of this uncomfortable, scratchy darkness.
Suddenly a muffled new sound. Dark eyes tracked the sound as it came far away, then closer, then far away—the sound stopped for several moments—back right over him. It still did nothing to make all of this wretched darkness go away, and he sighed in frustration again before hitting the hard surface he could feel through the scratchy material with a tiny fist. It was a satisfying sound, at least to him, if only because it wasn't silence and he knew he was the source of it, and so he continued to do it in an attempt to cure his boredom.
Yet another sound, only this time the darkness was going away as the hard surface above him suddenly started to move away. He squinted against the sudden light and caught a flash of yellow hair before all of a sudden there was a loud, ear-piercing screech that he found himself returning in earnest in his own surprise—the darkness came back, and the sound of something hitting the ground hard outside what he now realized was a box.
Well, this was awkward.
–----
Rosalie sat frozen against her door, and she was stared back at by...by...it before it went back to nonchalantly plucking hay from its robes. She knew what it was of course, but she had expected a sign that the censer in its hay-filled box was going to change, or at least some sort of strange dream that seemed like it was caused by bad meat but was really prophetic about what was about to happen. Even her recent interactions with the plagues that wandered around Trisica had not prepared her to come home to such a greeting.
It had been a long day attending lectures. Although Rose was not the furthest behind in her lessons, she was fast learning that she was not as advanced as she had thought herself to be either. It was difficult to take such hits to one's pride every day, especially because she could do nothing but swallow her words and agree when she was told she was wrong. It went against her basic instinct—which was to be contrary—but she knew that she could not afford to be removed from the university; there was nothing waiting for her back home but ridicule and the possibility of an arranged marriage. All she had wanted was to arrive back at the inn, change into comfortable pants and her father's shirt she preferred to sleep in over more typical nightclothes, and sleep the rest of this embarrassing day away.
She had been well on her way until she started hearing noises coming from underneath the bed. It had initially sounded like a rat that was perhaps in the walls or under the floor, until she investigated further and realized the noises were coming from the box her censer was in. Suspecting a rat had chewed its way into the hay (and not really wanting to confront a plagued rat if it chewed on the censer—if such a thing could happen), she lifted the lid—and was greeted with a wave of a tiny hand. Although she was pretty sure it had screamed back when she did, Rosalie could not be entirely sure; she had been far too busy dropping the lid back down and flailing her way to the other side of the room to try and find a weapon to defend herself. She had been close to closing her hand around a candlestick on the small table where she ate breakfast before tripping on her riding boots and meeting the floor with her face.
That was an hour ago. Rosalie had spent roughly fifty minutes inching closer to the box to take the lid off and free the new excito (now that she realized that was indeed what it was) and then promptly retreating again. When she had finally plucked up the courage to do so, it climbed out after sparing her one glance, and it was now perched on the edge of it with one leg primly resting on its other knee as it continued to remove hay from itself. She had scooted back to the door when it came out, and it was just now occurring to Rose that she was in only the loosely fitting pants she chose to wear in private and a strip of cloth wrapped around her chest; she had not managed to put on her father's shirt yet when she opened the box, and it was now in a tangled heap somewhere on the other side of the room. It was probably proper to be wearing a shirt of some sort right now, but she was caught between recovering from the surprise of now being in possession of a living thing and being transfixed by said living thing.
It was intricate, in a way she knew to not be typical of all the other excitos she had encountered thus far. The robes it was wearing were made of some soft, shiny material, although the detail work even from this distance appeared more metallic. It clearly had developed some fondness for its expensive looking clothing already, as it appeared to find the presence of even small bits of hay distasteful.
After another long span of time filled with oppressive silence, it looked up at her, and although Rosalie had decided that she was merely very shocked and not really afraid, she still had no idea how one dealt with a new excito. Could they speak? Did they have names? Was she going to have to teach it like one taught a child? She could barely manage herself, how was she supposed to take on the task of teaching a plag--
“Are all humans so prone to complete silence?”
Well, that answered one question. It could certainly speak. Its voice was quiet, probably because of how small it was at around the height as her hand, but it sounded vaguely metallic and deep, like a large cathedral bell. It was jarring, as the plagues she was most familiar with belonged to Father Henteloue, and they all had high, squeaky voices. Apparently there were more differences between plagues than she realized.
A small heel tapping pointedly and repeatedly against wooden box alerted Rose to the fact that she had disappeared into her head. “Um..n-no....?”
The smallest, most strained sounding of sighs. “How fortunate I found my way to such a reticent one.”
Rosalie put away her surprise at the excito's already broad vocabulary to puff up in indignation. “I speak quite fine, but it's not every day one finds a living thing waving at them in a box that used to contain nothing living.”
It slowly and cautiously worked its way down onto the floor to explore. Little feet carried it all around the room as it chose to ignore her defense, before eventually it came to a stop in front of her haphazardly sprawled out legs. It took one look at them before hopping onto her shin and beginning to walk its way up her leg, and Rosalie prided herself on only the smallest of flinches when it first touched her. It finally came to a stop on her thigh, and it craned its neck to look up at her.
“I am not a thing, you know,” it said after a pause, and she regarded it more carefully. It was more intelligent than she had realized such a new creature would be, and so she probably needed to treat it with more respect.
“What are you, then?”
It took a very long moment to consider that. So long, in fact, that in the middle of contemplation it sat itself down on her leg and pulled at the fabric of her pants with tiny, delicate fingers. Rosalie allowed it and began to drift as it sat there thinking; it had been a long day even before the excito made its presence known, and in the more comfortable silence that had befallen them she found herself slipping further and further towards sleep. After a time, the tugging became more insistent, and then finally a jab to her exposed stomach startled her into paying attention again.
The hands retreated from her to settle on its hips in frustration. “What are you?” it groused, and Rose realized that perhaps it needed some guidance on the topic of self.
“My name is Rosalie de Clare,” she explained, and it visibly lightened up at the idea of a name. In spite of the events of the past hour and a half, she smiled at this first sign of actual excitement. “I am a woman, and a student. I study the religion you came from.” She couldn't help herself and tapped it lightly on the head, and an actual giggle escaped her mouth as it squawked and scrambled to straighten its hood back out. After huffing in annoyance for the tap, it began to think again, but this time it did not take as long to figure things out.
“I am a...a male. I'm not a student. I'm yours.” It—he--looked back up at her once more, and Rosalie was reminded in that moment less of a strange new creature and more of a kitten whose eyes had opened for the first time and needed help exploring its new surroundings. “Do you name me?”
Rose honestly hadn't considered that before, but judging from the earnest expression she was receiving, he wanted to be given a name, not choose one for himself. She sat up a little straighter and scrubbed roughly at her face with both hands to try and wake up more; the last thing Rosalie named was her family's new hunting dog when she was thirteen, and she had named the poor gray and black dog Butters. She could not afford to mess up with a name here.
Silence settled into the room yet again as Rose considered him. She ran through a long list of male names before finally narrowing her choices down.
“You look like a Gabriel to me. Does Gabriel feel right?”
He cupped his face in both hands and rocked his head side to side in a strange motion, then stood and started pacing in tight circles around her thigh, all the while letting out a low, tinny hum. It was much more childlike than anything he had done previously, and already Rose felt a fondness for this less abrasive side of his personality.
“Gabriel. Gaaabriel. Ga-briel,” he sounded out, and he continued to do so, twisting the word this way and that way in his mouth as he paced his track on her leg, trying it in different tones of voices and even at one point spelling it out. Realizing she had somehow ended up with quite the little handful in this plague, Rosalie waited patiently—a new accomplishment for her—until at last he sat back down and settled himself into the small crook of her body where her leg and torso met and got comfortable, although he notably took care to keep his robes neat and straight before doing so.
“My name is Gabriel de Clare. I'm not a student. I'm yours,” he proclaimed definitively, and Rosalie let out a tired chuckle before deciding she was perfectly content to just stay here and sleep while he continued to ponder the mysteries of the universe, or whatever it was he had been thinking so deeply about.
“Welcome to the world, Gabriel. We'll go see more of it tomorrow,” she yawned, and he settled in closer, apparently also content to let the day be over now.
For the first time since she had arrived in Gadu, Rosalie didn't feel painfully alone as she finally fell asleep.
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