"You've just recieved your paperwork to have the child. The child approaches you, looking very sad, but eager for something. Tugging on your clothes a little, they seem to want something. But what could it be? What item of yours do you give them? You choose an item and hand it to the child. It hugs the item and smiles as a light envelopes the child. When the light subsides, the child seems fine, but the item is gone."
Hísime sat in a pub right in the middle of Hinale Village's main street. It was a family affair and less likely to host brawls. She had just made a sale and her pockets were happily full. Now she was working on filling her belly, and she wanted peace and relative quiet. When she was about halfway through her meal, she became aware of a disturbance outside. She stopped a bar maid with a wave and asked, "What's goin' on outside? Do y' know?"
"No, sorry."
"Hm." She nodded and turned away from the woman. What could it be? she wondered, taking another bite of her food. She would wait until after her meal before investigating. She had paid good money for better than average food tonight! And she was determined to eat every last morsel.
Later, Hísime asked around and discovered that several patrons had been toying with a little girl outside. Enraged and thinking the worst, the half-elf stormed outside. She found several men surrounding a small child. "What's amiss?" she roared, startling everyone, even the child whose dead eyes had suddenly come alive.
"We're just havin' a bit o' fun, ain't no harm in it. Mind yer business, wench!"
That sent Hísime over the moon. She would not be called wench by anyone. The men had already turned away when Hísime approached the small crowd. She kicked the backs of one man's knees with one continuous arch. He fell to the ground easily and she slapped him upside the back of his head. Similar actions brought two more down before the rest of the milling crowd slipped backward like one oozing organism.
"How dare you mess with a child? Did your mothers not teach you anything? I don't believe it!" No one was hurt but her point got across perfectly.
Mild expletives followed behind those men as they retreated.
She approached the child. "What's yer name, girl?"
"Uh."
"Come on, what izzit?"
"I...don't know."
"Whaddya mean you don't know? Did you ferget?"
The girl nodded, on the verge of tears.
"Well don't go bawlin' yer eyes out. I don't care what anybody says, ya gotta be strong, even if yer a girl. Where are yer parents?"
The girl shook her head.
"Don't know?"
The girl nodded. This time she sniffed the tears away.
"Okay. Well..." Hísime was full; it made her feel generous. If Cullo could see her he would be laughing in his childish way. "Let's get ya something warm t' eat. You look like yer starvin'."
As Hísime turned back toward the pub, a sheet of paper slipped out of her pocket. It was a letter she had-- "What! No, give it back."
The girl picked it up and held it before her. She began to read the carefully penned stationery. As she finished it, she looked up at Hísime in astonishment and with a flash of light the letter disappeared.
Hísime swore under her breath. The girl was a meta! Noooo. Hísime growled and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. But there was nothing she could do. She had "given" the girl the letter. The letter was now the girl's possession.
"I guess that'll teach me somethin'. Girl, do you even have parents, or did someone make you? At a lab?"
The child watched her, baffled. "I... I think I had parents. They were scared."
It was Hísime's turn to be baffled, but she wasn't going to expect much out of the girl. "All right. I'll give ya a name and a roof over your head. But first, let's get you fed."
The girl nodded and followed the woman inside.
The girl was not elven, rather some kind of ghost and angelic hybrid, but that was the best Hísime knew. Human, angels, she wasn't knowledgeable of them. But elves she knew. Half of her was an elf, after all. While the child ate, the elder pondered names. Eventually, she tried them out on her. "How about Firnriel?" She wasn't going to say that it meant "dead crown."
"Okay." The child nodded and grinned around a mouthful of food. "I rikh it."
"All right, Firn. You're going to live with me and my son. I'm Hísime and he's Cullo." Hísime had stuck her nose in where it didn't belong. She had no way of knowing where Firnriel belonged and the girl wasn't talking. So the only thing that was left to do was to take responsibility of her meta child.
Posted: Sun Apr 24, 2016 2:37 pm
01: "A journal for me," Firnriel 15 April 2016
Given a handful of money and a list of required materials, Cullo ventured out with his new siblings. At first, Firnriel's eyes reflected no interest, her face no expression. She seemed slow to realize that there was something in the stationery isle just for her. Eventually she slipped one volume off the shelf and glanced at the older boy, a hint of hope flickering across her features.
Cullo lit up with a grin. "Like that one?"
Firnriel looked down at the journal, her tiny fingers sliding across the cover's smooth surface. She nodded gently.
"Open it. What's inside?"
Strands of the girl's hair fluttered around her face while Hendugaul watched over her shoulder. He was almost as tall as Cullo, even if he was younger than her. She glanced back at him with a brighter smile, if brief.
Opening it slowly, the journal's binding crackled softly; she was the first to open it, but this would not be the last time. Inside, the pages were crisp white, with black lines alternating with blue dashes. They only covered the bottom half of each page.
"See that, Firn? When you write in your journal, you can draw a picture to go with it."
Firnriel gasped softly. She looked up at Cullo with her mouth open, as if to speak. But she was interrupted.
"I like it too. Cullo, I want Firn to pick out one for me."
"All right. Firn, will you pick one out for Hen, too?"
Surprised, she glanced between the two boys. "Okay," she murmured. She glanced around helplessly for a moment, then with a sigh she decided to begin again from the beginning. Which should she choose for her brother?
Standing with his arms crossed, Hendugaul's stubborn expression gradually grew more and more sour. He watched with growing impatience. "I'm bored. Why is she taking so long?" He noticed her flinch without looking at him.
Cullo put his hand on Hen's shoulder. "She's picking out a good one."
Hen's complaint did nothing but stress her further. She moved stiffly, her new journal pressed to her chest, on the edge of tears before she finally found what she was looking for.
The volume she chose was compact and sealed with a lock. The key packaged with it was made of flimsy metal. The cover was an owl with feathers, wings and horns, the facial features and chest feathers embroidered with brightly-colored thread. It was purple, like hers, and more importantly, it was an owl.
"An owl journal," she said, offering it to Hendugaul with reverence.
To Hen, it was obviously a little girl's diary. Cullo hiding a snicker behind his hand only confirmed it. "I hate it." With a snarl, he slapped it out of her hand and stomped off.
Cullo stepped back to retrieve the diary from the floor and dusted it off. The qwills of the feathers had been broken, but it was otherwise unharmed. When he returned to her side, silent tears streamed down Firnriel's cheeks.
"He didn't like it."
"It's a good one, Firn. And it's his, even though he's a dummy and doesn't deserve it. Right?"
She nodded slowly, even if she didn't agree with him.
He reached out to her and clasped her free hand. "Come on, let's go pay for these."
02: " He trusts me with it," Firnriel April 2016 (backdated)
Hendugaul entered the "bedroom" he shared with Firnriel. It was tiny, barely enough to fit two cots and a desk. Aside from that, he was not expecting what he saw. "What are you doing to my journal?!"
Firnriel jumped and leaned away from it. "Nothing. I..." She stuttered, trying to find the words to speak. "It's soft," she sighed. But she got up out of the chair and retreated from the desk they shared, leaving the two journals stacked in the center, otherwise untouched. She sat on her bed, clearly hurt by his insinuation.
The boy watched his sister disbelieving. "So, what... you were petting it?"
She nodded. "Feel it," she added suddenly, a moment later. Surely he would understand if he touched it.
Hendugaul felt a little silly, but he approached the desk and complied. His brightly-colored, owl-shaped diary was indeed soft. "Okay," he offered begrudgingly. "I mean, I already knew it was soft."
"Did not. All you did was hit it out of my hands!" The memory was still fresh and so was the wound. She had done her best for him, and could not help but retaliate.
"I could see that it was soft!" Hendugaul growled. So what if he didn't know how it felt in his hand until just now? It was only a couple of days ago! Not much time to touch it at all.
"Oh."
What? She agreed? "Ahmph. Y-yeah." Hendugaul practically tripped on his tongue. He glared at her. "Did you open it?"
Firnriel grabbed a strap around her neck and snapped it. In her hand was the key to his diary. "NO. Do you want the key? I don't want it." Firn was sick of holding his stuff for him. He was paranoid and ungrateful.
"No... It's safe with you," Hen mumbled, looking away.
For the moment Firnriel was speechless. "Okay fine, I'll keep it." She pouted, feeling hot and confused. She lay down in her cot with her back to him.
Away from her watchful eye, he stroked the furry surface of his diary. After a moment he sat down with a pencil and glanced up at Firnriel's back. "Hey Firn, give me the key."
"Make up your mind!"
"No, um... I want to use it. The journal."
"Oh."
"Yeah." When she removed the key from around her neck, he unlocked the diary and began to write.
Melomar
Wind-up Waffles
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Melomar
Wind-up Waffles
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Posted: Sat Aug 29, 2020 10:09 pm
Roleplay "Firnriel" Players: Hisime, Cullo, Firnriel (Melomar). Discord RP; file: here Alternately, see below, in spoiler, for entire roleplay.
"You found someone like me?" Cullo tittered, "What luck you have!" The child sat cross-legged in the sparse grass outside their home in Belosh. He rocked forward and back while holding onto his ankles. He wore his usual dark robe with sash belt and sat beside the current volume of his journal.
"Yeah, luck. That's what 't is. Now I want you t' watch over her an' make sure she has what she needs. Don't let 'er misbehave." Hísime could not believe she was putting the care of a tiny child into the hands of another older child who was little larger than the toddler. Any number of problems could arise while she was gone. Why, she could bowl him over if she threw a tantrum.
She spoke with a harsh emotion like anger. He could not identify it. Perhaps she did not like the new child. Cullo waited for more information from Hísime. She was in the bad habit of not speaking her mind and so Cullo was left guessing what he needed for her to say. When it was not presented, he asked, "What is her name?" He thought it a fair enough question considering he was going to be responsible for her. Who didn't know the name of their own sister?
"Firnriel." She stopped her fidgeting with her pack's straps and looked him full in the face. The child had been named on the spot when and where she found her, just like Cullo had. This was close to becoming a habit. "But no more!" She blurted out. "Two children is enough," she continued in an undertone.
"Dead crown. Dead crown? It means 'dead crown.'" Cullo laughed. Why would anyone name a child such a terrible name?
"You will see why I named her that." She slung her pack fully onto her back, making as if to leave. She shot him a look to ensure that he would not move without her notice, then went and disappeared behind the building. She was gone for several minutes before Cullo could see or hear anything.
Perhaps it would make sense, but perhaps not. It was hard to believe, but Cullo nodded in acquiescence. Okay, let's see what the cat brought home, he thought, to turn a phrase. Not that she was particularly catty or anything, that her human side showing quite clearly, but she was gruff to say the least.
"Ere she is. Come on, Firn." The short half-elf woman appeared from behind the side of the house. She urged a little girl out alongside her. Hísime stood at the short end of five feet tall, and the girl reached to her elbow.
The girl crab-walked with her hands gathered together in front of her. She was pale and wore patched hand-me-downs that had lost their color, for the most part. All were a dingy grey-shade of what they once were. Were they old clothes that Hísime had herself worn as a child? Why would she even keep something little better than rags around? So, they were the girl's clothing that she had worn the night they met in the street.
Cullo's first impression was that she was absolutely adorable. She was short and slender with a round little face. Her hair was a messy shag, but Hísime had seen to it that she was clean. And shy, did she ever seem shy, staring down at his feet. His second impression was a vague one that he could not quite put his finger on.
Firnriel's black eyes looked void of expression and shallow, the same way some people's eyes can seem depthless. She stared at a hazy point near the faery boy's shins. Her face was expressionless but worse than that she seemed almost tired. Striking, very bleak. So what had first struck him as shyness might not be anything of the sort.
Hísime, standing a little behind the small child, waved at Cullo. She tried to pantomime proceeding with the conversation. This was him meeting his new little sister. They should build some form of rapport before Hísime left for her intended destination, the Pawnshop she owned and managed downstairs from their small apartment. So her destination was back inside of the building and the children were to play outsideorsomething. But not in the street!
Cullo was quick to pick up the cue. He approached the two females and stopped in front of Firnriel. From out of his sleeve popped a folding fan that he tapped on his chin and nose. Then he tapped himself on the chest lightly. "Hi, I'm Cullo. So your name is Firnriel? That's a pretty name."
She liked it, not knowing what it meant. Hísime had told her, but she still did not understand what "dead crown" was supposed to mean. Firnriel slowly blinked her eyes, and then nodded gravely. But she did not look at him at first. When she did, he would see nothing but pain. The tangent about her name was but a small distraction from her overwhelming grief.
"Are you okay?" Concerned, the faery boy leaned closer, folded fan touching his lower lip. His wings flittered a little behind him. They made little snapping noises as they tapped together.
Firnriel stared at his wings, both seeing and not seeing them. They were beautiful. Deep rust and brown with splashes of black, white, and glowing blue fluttered in and out of her sight. Still staring at them, she shrugged slowly and tilted her head to the side, finally away from him.
She was alive but dead, broken, and it had nothing to do with her ghost lineage.
"Can you show me your hands?" Cullo asked suddenly. He put his fan back up his sleeve and held his hands up in front of him, palms facing skyward.
It was a strange request. But Firnriel unclasped her hands and put them out in front of her. Curious, she mimicked his movements, holding her hands palm-up.
He rotated his hands so that they were palms-down. Each of his hands slid above hers and lowered to grasp one of hers. "I'm your brother now. If something is wrong I will try to help. I will protect you."
Firnriel's brow furrowed and tears welled up, burning in her eyes. "That's what they said," she muttered. She blinked the tears away, seeing them drop to the ground, disappearing into the dry, sandy soil common in the desert of Belosh. She shook her head. "They're gone."
"But I'm not. I want to." Cullo had decided. "I will protect you. Come to me if anything bad happens. Okay?"
Hísime sucked in a breath. She had never seen such a fierce expression on Cullo's face. Never. Always he seemed detached, even apathetic and amused. But this new child had brought out a fire in him that could be formidable one day. For today, it still was striking.
Firnriel, ignorant of that truth, still detected an emotion gripping him as fierce as her grief. She didn't know what would happen from now on; already she had learned that just wanting and just trying did not always get you what you wanted. It didn't get you what you needed. But if someone could protect her, he would. After several moments of deliberation, she finally nodded. "Okay."
Cullo hugged her tightly. He did not ask, he did not warn, he just grabbed her.
