like old times
Fall 1410- Shyregoed. On the route toward Imisus.
Fall 1410- Shyregoed. On the route toward Imisus.
Adal started out of the Doctor's rickety caravan into Shyregoed's vast expanse. It was loud and crowded and smelled of musk inside of he and Georgie's room. It was just like old times.
The caravan wasn't big, but it was of a size just big enough to warrant sweeping. It had a narrow hallway that lead into three rooms, the biggest one at the back and two facing each other. The biggest one was obscured completely by a wooden wall and curtains, and were someone fool enough, it would easily be mistaken as the end of the caravan. That was the intention, fortunately.
Even the back room, though, was just barely big enough to squeeze in a table and three rather malnourished people. The two other rooms, visible to one another through delicate glass panes, were just enough to squeeze in a small, small bed, which was just big enough to sit on or lie down on with knees bent, a chair, and two people.
The Doctor's room held much more than it could possibly bare without threat of breaking, but he did it for a good ten years, and none of it really changed. There were bookshelves laden with texts of multiple languages, a sizable desk (with journals and ink), and three chairs. Nothing remained in there without touching one another. The only time the Doctor's client felt any remote comfort at all was if they were the size of mice, or children, and even then they had to crouch.
The last time any child came into their caravan was miss Sage Estratus. Adal looked over his shoulder at the Doctor's office, frowned, and resumed staring out of his room's window.
Just like old times.
Georgie caught glimpse of Adal while he was sweeping the floor. The caravanner they'd hired made a rather unfortunate sharp turn and the Malts both held themselves against whatever brittle frame of the caravan they were nearest to, with Georgie staring woefully at the back room. There were a lot of fragile material in there, as it were, and the clanging of glass and sploshes of water were not good signs.
The caravan did settle, though, and it was back to the regular bump and discomfort of travel. Adal was already looming back towards the window. It was like old times. What Georgie noticed, though, was the rusty color of Adal's bandages, laid afresh around his neck, arms, and legs.
“Adal,” Georgie poked his head through the glass pane, which he moved aside. As it were, any bits of glass around the caravan were easily displaced, which Adal didn't appreciate one bit.
“Do you need a change in bandage? I can dig up the gauze for you.”
The Locos scowled at Georgie and stopped tugging mindlessly at the gauze around his wrists. He didn't respond immediately, and instead nuzzled himself deeper into the bed, “Leave it. I should be good.”
"Right." Georgie scowled and wrung the broom around his hands, nodding complacently. He tried to wedge himself into the room but could only get himself halfway before he was shot down by Adal staring at him with that loaded look of his, so the older Malt simply placed the broom against the side of the door frame and backed away, staring awkwardly from one end of the hallway to the other. He sighed-- just like old times.
The brunette was very well done with it, though, as was obvious by the lilt in his heels and the bite of his lips. He let out another intake of breath, again, as if trying to catch Adal's brief attention once more. "Well, then, you know. How are other things going? Like the magic?"
A scoff followed. Adal didn't bother to look back at Georgie this time, though. "It's cruel how you even bother to ask."
Georgie stifled. "I bother to ask at all because I worry about you constantly, Adal. And I haven't seen very much of you since we stopped our training with Mister Kyon."
"It's going horribly," Adal snapped, glaring, "Is that what you'd like to hear?"
"N-no! I wanted to help," Georgie stammered, choking back some anger, "You were having such a hard time when we were doing basic practice, but you've helped me with all of the technical bits, so..."
No response. Georgie gulped and pressed on, "I have an obligation to ask my brother how he was. You can't deny me that. And I wanted to ask, well, because--"
"Because what? Because you're off training with the Mages while I'm off doing the Doctor's bidding? Don't be so solemn, now, brother dear," Adal hissed, with marked graveness. "I won't be long."
The two stared off at either window of the caravan, until they stopped traveling completely. Like the sharp turn before, their arrival was by no means elegant, and Georgie winced when he heard a few glasses breaking from the backroom. Adal simply (and sourly) dismissed it as an echoing splash of water, made obvious when he didn't move at all while Georgie took a peek into the dark crevasse.
As he did, though, the caravanner poked his head in from the front. His head was wrapped in so many things that his scarves formed a perfect circular helmet around his bed of hair. "Here we are then, sirs. City gates of Freykeep, an' I ain't obliged to keep here any longer. Pullin' the caravan in'll be another four shillings."
Georgie turned around and rubbed his neck, "We'll take the caravan the rest of the way out, sir, thank you very much. Ah, the rest of your dues," he fished into his jacket pocket and thew a considerable amount of money at the caravanner, who caught it with a strange amount of grace. Georgie near sprinted to and back out of where Adal was to grab his backpack and a thick shawl. Georgie was always the one in charge of pulling the oxen, were the Doctor not there, and he was quite skilled at it.
He didn't have to for a while, though, and Adal thought, again, of old times.
The caravanner waited at the side of the coach, counting his coins out, for Georgie to replace him. The Malt boy noticed the Shyregoedian man's sniffling and quietly offered him a cloth and a cup of warm water, which the caravanner took in kind before hopping off of the carvavan.
Georgie braced himself for the hard winter of Freykeep of the Shyregoedian-Imisese border with an adequate amount of layers, and while Adal usually accompanied him on the coach, the Plague didn't bother this time. Georgie decided to shrug it off and caught the caravanner before he went too far up the city gates.
"Ah, Mister Shrewsbury? You can ride with us into the city, if you'd like. I didn't realize you were going there yourself."
"Y'dull, lad? It takes an eternity to get checked into a city as a puller, is why I'm not bothered to pull your's in," Mr. Shrewsbury stood there for a minute, sniffling and drinking his hot water, "But ah, if a boy offers the service."
The caravanner hopped back into the caravan and finished off the remaining of his warm water. Georgie pulled the oxen reins and pulled them up next to the Guardsmen, who wordlessly went about searching the insides of the caravan. Adal sneered at them as they perused the hallway.
"Thank you for the hot water, lad," he gave Georgie back the cup, who set it to the side. "Amazes me how you could stoke a fire in this mosshold of yours."
"It wasn't any trouble," Georgie smiled, preening a bit, "It was just magic, really. The fire kind, so I just had to heat the cup while focusing."
"You don't need anything else for it?"
"Ah, no, fortunately. It just takes a lot of effort and will-- lots of Fellowship nonsense, I suppose."
"Amazing what a good leanin' can do you."
Adal could hear all of this from the back, which wasn't very pleasant. The Guardsmen exited the caravan and gave men up front a loud "clear," which signalled for them to roll up the bronze gates of Freykeep.
When they rolled into the city, Adal quickly packed the remainder of his things and climbed in and out of the coach. Georgie wearily glanced at Adal while he left, and pulled the oxen to an abrupt halt.
They were no more than a few feet from the city gates.
"I could get you closer to the stables, Adal. Ah, please get back in the caravan--"
"I'd rather not," Adal shouted through the fray, walking backwards while shooting Georgie an impatient glance, "I don't belong here."
"You'll be safer!"
"I'd be safer anywhere else," Adal hissed, gripping his things tightly, "I've made myself clear already. I despise all this Fellowship nonsense."
The Locos turned and disappeared. Georgie, too tired to debate, continued on his way, towards the heart of Freykeep and a safehaven for Mages.
"Awfully stingy fellow, isn't he?" asked the caravanner.
"He's a bit tired," Georgie explained, as he always did, just like old times.
The caravan wasn't big, but it was of a size just big enough to warrant sweeping. It had a narrow hallway that lead into three rooms, the biggest one at the back and two facing each other. The biggest one was obscured completely by a wooden wall and curtains, and were someone fool enough, it would easily be mistaken as the end of the caravan. That was the intention, fortunately.
Even the back room, though, was just barely big enough to squeeze in a table and three rather malnourished people. The two other rooms, visible to one another through delicate glass panes, were just enough to squeeze in a small, small bed, which was just big enough to sit on or lie down on with knees bent, a chair, and two people.
The Doctor's room held much more than it could possibly bare without threat of breaking, but he did it for a good ten years, and none of it really changed. There were bookshelves laden with texts of multiple languages, a sizable desk (with journals and ink), and three chairs. Nothing remained in there without touching one another. The only time the Doctor's client felt any remote comfort at all was if they were the size of mice, or children, and even then they had to crouch.
The last time any child came into their caravan was miss Sage Estratus. Adal looked over his shoulder at the Doctor's office, frowned, and resumed staring out of his room's window.
Just like old times.
Georgie caught glimpse of Adal while he was sweeping the floor. The caravanner they'd hired made a rather unfortunate sharp turn and the Malts both held themselves against whatever brittle frame of the caravan they were nearest to, with Georgie staring woefully at the back room. There were a lot of fragile material in there, as it were, and the clanging of glass and sploshes of water were not good signs.
The caravan did settle, though, and it was back to the regular bump and discomfort of travel. Adal was already looming back towards the window. It was like old times. What Georgie noticed, though, was the rusty color of Adal's bandages, laid afresh around his neck, arms, and legs.
“Adal,” Georgie poked his head through the glass pane, which he moved aside. As it were, any bits of glass around the caravan were easily displaced, which Adal didn't appreciate one bit.
“Do you need a change in bandage? I can dig up the gauze for you.”
The Locos scowled at Georgie and stopped tugging mindlessly at the gauze around his wrists. He didn't respond immediately, and instead nuzzled himself deeper into the bed, “Leave it. I should be good.”
"Right." Georgie scowled and wrung the broom around his hands, nodding complacently. He tried to wedge himself into the room but could only get himself halfway before he was shot down by Adal staring at him with that loaded look of his, so the older Malt simply placed the broom against the side of the door frame and backed away, staring awkwardly from one end of the hallway to the other. He sighed-- just like old times.
The brunette was very well done with it, though, as was obvious by the lilt in his heels and the bite of his lips. He let out another intake of breath, again, as if trying to catch Adal's brief attention once more. "Well, then, you know. How are other things going? Like the magic?"
A scoff followed. Adal didn't bother to look back at Georgie this time, though. "It's cruel how you even bother to ask."
Georgie stifled. "I bother to ask at all because I worry about you constantly, Adal. And I haven't seen very much of you since we stopped our training with Mister Kyon."
"It's going horribly," Adal snapped, glaring, "Is that what you'd like to hear?"
"N-no! I wanted to help," Georgie stammered, choking back some anger, "You were having such a hard time when we were doing basic practice, but you've helped me with all of the technical bits, so..."
No response. Georgie gulped and pressed on, "I have an obligation to ask my brother how he was. You can't deny me that. And I wanted to ask, well, because--"
"Because what? Because you're off training with the Mages while I'm off doing the Doctor's bidding? Don't be so solemn, now, brother dear," Adal hissed, with marked graveness. "I won't be long."
The two stared off at either window of the caravan, until they stopped traveling completely. Like the sharp turn before, their arrival was by no means elegant, and Georgie winced when he heard a few glasses breaking from the backroom. Adal simply (and sourly) dismissed it as an echoing splash of water, made obvious when he didn't move at all while Georgie took a peek into the dark crevasse.
As he did, though, the caravanner poked his head in from the front. His head was wrapped in so many things that his scarves formed a perfect circular helmet around his bed of hair. "Here we are then, sirs. City gates of Freykeep, an' I ain't obliged to keep here any longer. Pullin' the caravan in'll be another four shillings."
Georgie turned around and rubbed his neck, "We'll take the caravan the rest of the way out, sir, thank you very much. Ah, the rest of your dues," he fished into his jacket pocket and thew a considerable amount of money at the caravanner, who caught it with a strange amount of grace. Georgie near sprinted to and back out of where Adal was to grab his backpack and a thick shawl. Georgie was always the one in charge of pulling the oxen, were the Doctor not there, and he was quite skilled at it.
He didn't have to for a while, though, and Adal thought, again, of old times.
The caravanner waited at the side of the coach, counting his coins out, for Georgie to replace him. The Malt boy noticed the Shyregoedian man's sniffling and quietly offered him a cloth and a cup of warm water, which the caravanner took in kind before hopping off of the carvavan.
Georgie braced himself for the hard winter of Freykeep of the Shyregoedian-Imisese border with an adequate amount of layers, and while Adal usually accompanied him on the coach, the Plague didn't bother this time. Georgie decided to shrug it off and caught the caravanner before he went too far up the city gates.
"Ah, Mister Shrewsbury? You can ride with us into the city, if you'd like. I didn't realize you were going there yourself."
"Y'dull, lad? It takes an eternity to get checked into a city as a puller, is why I'm not bothered to pull your's in," Mr. Shrewsbury stood there for a minute, sniffling and drinking his hot water, "But ah, if a boy offers the service."
The caravanner hopped back into the caravan and finished off the remaining of his warm water. Georgie pulled the oxen reins and pulled them up next to the Guardsmen, who wordlessly went about searching the insides of the caravan. Adal sneered at them as they perused the hallway.
"Thank you for the hot water, lad," he gave Georgie back the cup, who set it to the side. "Amazes me how you could stoke a fire in this mosshold of yours."
"It wasn't any trouble," Georgie smiled, preening a bit, "It was just magic, really. The fire kind, so I just had to heat the cup while focusing."
"You don't need anything else for it?"
"Ah, no, fortunately. It just takes a lot of effort and will-- lots of Fellowship nonsense, I suppose."
"Amazing what a good leanin' can do you."
Adal could hear all of this from the back, which wasn't very pleasant. The Guardsmen exited the caravan and gave men up front a loud "clear," which signalled for them to roll up the bronze gates of Freykeep.
When they rolled into the city, Adal quickly packed the remainder of his things and climbed in and out of the coach. Georgie wearily glanced at Adal while he left, and pulled the oxen to an abrupt halt.
They were no more than a few feet from the city gates.
"I could get you closer to the stables, Adal. Ah, please get back in the caravan--"
"I'd rather not," Adal shouted through the fray, walking backwards while shooting Georgie an impatient glance, "I don't belong here."
"You'll be safer!"
"I'd be safer anywhere else," Adal hissed, gripping his things tightly, "I've made myself clear already. I despise all this Fellowship nonsense."
The Locos turned and disappeared. Georgie, too tired to debate, continued on his way, towards the heart of Freykeep and a safehaven for Mages.
"Awfully stingy fellow, isn't he?" asked the caravanner.
"He's a bit tired," Georgie explained, as he always did, just like old times.
