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 Posted: Tue Jan 29, 2013 11:53 am
"Sorry, am I supposed to understand what that meant?" His head tipped to the side, his eyes amused, and just a hint of the aristocratic creeping into the tone -- in these flash moments, it was easy to see what Ever had once been, his long-lost status. In so many ways, he has washed it off: the battered clothing, the still-lingering hint of a black eye and bruised lip, the smudge of dirt across his cheek. Some things, though, are harder to abandon.
It lurks in the dry tone of voice. It lurks in the sarcasm. He leans against the counter.
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Posted: Wed Jan 30, 2013 3:05 pm
"No," says the hedgewitch, and there on the tip of his tongue is something truly mean, something designed just to hurt. Instead, he shrugs and hands Ever the little sachet, taking some solace in the hefty weight of the little purse in his pocket. He's already been paid -- he can resist a snot-nosed ex-noble comment or two, at least for now. "I didn't expect you to. Tell her to take the tea twice a day, for a week, without skipping any. If she doesn't, I charge a lot more for midwifery."
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Posted: Fri Feb 08, 2013 4:44 pm
"Twice a day, for a week." He raises an eyebrow, slow, somewhat mocking; the emphasis more than Ever really needs. Said once and he'll remember. If he choses to. Though certain things tempt him to be forgotten...
"Will there be a bloody mess to clean up, after?" This could be another pain in the a** noble comment but -- it's said too seriously. Genuinely curious. Ever's witnessed at least one miscarriage in his life. His mother never was a strong woman.
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Posted: Sat Feb 16, 2013 9:19 pm
Striga shrugs: this is not his problem, not yet .. unless Ever comes a-calling later in the week because the little girl has forgotten to take her tea. "If she's not careful, yes."
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2013 8:53 pm
"I imagine I should warn her of that, then." And Striga should have warned Ever,. As it is, he must fumble along and ask questions. He shakes his head, maybe disapproving, and shoots a look around the place. Considering.
"Do you have any relatively inexpensive charms that actually work?" His eyes resettle on Striga, dark, with something kindling in them now. "Gift-sized."
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2013 9:14 pm
He grins, and it's a little sharp -- do his charms work. The snappy answer is right there on his tongue until he remembers that this noble kid hadn't a bloody clue what the rook was, or what it meant. The grin quiets down and he gestures airily to the case in front of him: inside are rows of small charms. Some are carved, out of bone or wood or a couple made from carefully-chipped stone. Some are little sachets. "Depends on what you're looking for. In that basket over there," he gestures to a bookshelf crammed full of books and other things, "are luck-charms, and they do work. On the cheap end of the scale."
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Posted: Mon Feb 18, 2013 9:21 pm
Luck. Is luck really what he wants? Ever doesn't comment, for the moment. Instead he just settles down in front of the case, eyes scanning the supplies of charms, expression settling into something more and more serious as he looks. His eyes settle on blue, on gold, on colors that he thinks would appeal to Zac, and it makes him wonder what the hell he's doing. Again, perhaps, the feeling will spill over onto Striga, unintentionally:
Affectionate, nervous, and frustrated. Confused, certainly.
He looks up. "How about honesty?"
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