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 Posted: Wed Sep 15, 2010 9:20 pm
Well, Adal didn't want any food, but he was handed some anyway; he handled his half of the cheap piece of bread and meat with care, and shoved them into the depths of his pack of things for later. Meanwhile, Georgie bit cheerfully into his food, carefully tearing and chewing and swallowing every bit of his evening's course with hearty appreciation. Illness made Georgie uncomfortably hungry, and the cold even more so; the older Malt's appetite was rarely satiated, and his stomach was always pleading for sustenance. It bothered Adal to look at his brother when he was eating, and his gaze trailed away toward the sight of the festival before him once again.
It didn't take a great whiff of air to realize the saturation of Plagues at the event. Rare was an Anhelo before his presence, but the casual sighting of a radiant speck, an Excitos, a glowing white or black amongst the browning snowy grounds of the Colwe plaza, was a more common sight, though interesting nonetheless. It was simple to see that that was once a rarity, a strange species, was growing quickly. The Plagues were quickly becoming a people, a group difficult to overcast. An ethnic majority.
Soft music in the background blared against Adal's pointed ears, though the sounds of the thrumming instruments grew numb on him as he was lost in thoughts. Georgie brushed off the crumbs of bread on his pale fingers against the side of his jacket, smiling blissfully as he looked around the festival with a blank kind of curiosity-- was Adal looking at anything interesting?
Admittedly, it was difficult for either of the boys to hear the others around him, with Georgie having clogged ears and Adal being quite adamant about keeping to himself, though it was Georgie's casual introspection that kept the two's interactions afloat. The freckled brunette waved cheerfully at the Easterner not quite nearby-- Mister Kyon, was it-- and returned the Mage's enthusiasm with a pressing smile. It didn't take long for Adal to slowly see who Georgie was waving at, exactly, though he didn't return his tidings with a wave nor a greeting.
Something colorful was perched on his hand, though, something that smelled faintly of the oils and inks used by the masterful artisans he saw squatting in front of the church walls, painting a mural of divine deities.
"Oh, and mister Chauhn! Look, Adal!"
Georgie's hands pressed against the back of Adal's shoulders, and his vision was directed near the opposite side of the festival; a familiar face drenched in ash was inching his way away from the musical performances. Adal couldn't help but acknowledge the sight with a roll of the eyes, though in a mere moment, Georgie grabbed his wrist and dragged him onward, and the Locos stumbled afterward.
"Let go of my hand." It wouldn't have surprised Adal if Georgie couldn't hear him, as his voice was bitten with such anguish and irritation that he could barely control his voice past a mutter.
"I've gotta check on him after what happened, Adal! I haven't seen Chauhn in ages!"
"I--"
"Anyway, s'not fair if you get to see him and I can't-- Mr. Chauhn! Hey!"
Adal sighed. Bollocks.
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Posted: Wed Sep 15, 2010 9:53 pm
Goodness, Chauhn had never run into as many people in crowds in his hay day as an urchin in the rumbling streets of the Imisese coast than he did this cold winter's afternoon in quaint little Shyregoard. He apologized to whatever people he managed to bump elbows with and he rambled on a string of sincere apologies to those he accidentally jostled with the force of a wandering body. Reaching up to his hat to straighten it and dust off his frost-bitten cheeks of the ash that collected there from Clurie's coughing self, Chauhn stood awkwardly just a few steps away from the stage, where he had managed to end up again.
"The fire breathers aren't fire breathing anymore," Clurie announced sadly, pointing at the dead space that now played a solemn act of nothing on the stage. The little Phasmas slumped where he was tucked in Chauhn's collar. Then, after a few moments of watching the empty stage, Clurie spoke up again, his mouth twisted into a curious frown, "Chauhn? What's my name again?"
"It's Clurie," Chauhn said, offhandedly wrapping his arms around his shivering shoulders as he hopped a bit in place, his thick shoes already thoroughly soaked with the brown snow sludge. He paused, this time surprised and curious himself, "You do remember your name, right? You're jus' pullin' m'leg, righ'?"
"I can't reach your leg," Clurie replied pointedly, rubbing his own cheeks with his hands so that he was warm and hot even in this cold cold air.
"It's jus' a sayin'. No' too ho', Clurie, you'll burn me again," Chauhn said again, almost in mechanical reflex. He didn't have to flinch anymore when he felt the warmth gathering around Clurie's body wherever he happened to be lounging on his collar. A ring of scarred and burned skin, puffed and puckered about his neck, was testimony to Clurie's forgetfulness. It wasn't a surprise when the heat began to scorch. But just as Chauhn was about to scold Clurie for growing to hot, just after telling him not to, a familiar scratch of a voice called out his name. He froze, stretched his neck, looked about, and to his surprise and shame, Georgie and Adal were making their way to their private spot near the corner of the stage.
Immediately, Chauhn felt like an idiot. He had already acted so poorly in front of them before, an emotional wreck, an irresponsible kid, a passionately dumb Imisese-Mishkan boy with the ill luck of having his brother's ashes reborn as a plague...Chauhn feared to fathom what kind of stupidity he might pull in front of them now. But, a Clemmings was a Clemmings, and he had to try and hold up the Clemmings reputation! That was important to Chauhn, it was an ode to his family, one that he promised to uphold and keep.
Stretching his face into the best relieved and grateful face he could manage, for he was, at the same time, glad that they hadn't abandoned him entirely, Chauhn moved forward a step to greet them, "'Allo, Goergie, 'ow are you? Ah can't believe you're 'ere! 'N' Adal! Ah was 'opin' ah could ge' another chance to thank you for--OUCH! Clurie!" Chauhn's greeting ended with a wail and a slap to his neck.
Evading the slap of Chauhn's fingers, Clurie, the ever curious,leaned himself outside of his place in the collar and scarf. He was bright hot and every time he moved he expelled a little dusting of ash. His cheeks were bright and his hands were ebbing like embers from his self-hugging in attempts to keep himself warm. "I'm so excited! Who are they?"
With a painful rub at his neck, biting back his hiss of pain at the new little burns, Chauhn waved meekly at them, gesturing to each one in turn, "This is Adal, surely you remember him, jus' a little? 'E 'elped me save you from the cultists, remember?"
Clurie was silent for a moment. "No," he said weakly. He honestly couldn't remember.
Chauhn tried again, "He's a good fighter, Clurie, 'e 'elped me bring you back. You were a bit groggy then, but you said tha' you liked his eyes, because they were like candle ligh'." He paused, looking up shamefully at Georgie and Adal, "Surely, you remember tha'."
Clurie shook his head, shrinking a bit from the pressure of having to remember something from the whirling scraps of his ash-like memory.
Chauhn sighed in defeat and shrugged, reaching into his scarf to carefully pluck him out and into his gloved palms so he could hold him out for both Georgie and Adal to see him clearly. Clurie, rolling and falling onto his chest as he was moved in the unstable turf of Chauhn's hand, cackled like a flame, and rolled up onto his knees, before tipping his hat at Adal and Georgie. "This is my brother, Clurie," Chauhn said, giving a wry, but immensely proud smile, "'N' Clurie, this is Adal, the one with the eyes like candles, 'n' this is Georgie, 'e's very kind. They're very important, Clurie, so you better no' forget' them again."
Clurie nodded his head eagerly, rubbing at his cheeks with his hands and giving a shiver in his more exposed state, "A pleasure, I'm sure!" he piped with another tap at his hat.
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Posted: Wed Sep 15, 2010 10:08 pm
- A candlemark and a halves after the announcement. -
The last of the performances were in commemoration of Queen Valhalla. All of the podiums were now barren, and the performers who were once dressed in unique garb were now completely undressed, with faces no longer masked and decorated. They were covered in dirtied robes, thick layers of crusty clothing that hid their fanciful troupe ornaments, and whose necks were layered in scarves just as any other poor man in the Troupe. Though, few of these performers were left in such a state, to look as common as they actually were, and to sweep the podiums and plaza from the event's mess. The petite and burly clowns and bards of the later ensembles remained invigorated in their decorations, and carried themselves with an air of magnificence as they showcased themselves around the festival grounds with their talented camaraderie. They all poured out from the center stage, only to return again to the veils of its red curtains, which seemed to bulge with life as the Troupe prepared for their grand finale.
While the performances were now over with, and the janitors of the area urged the commoners away from their sight as they swept endlessly, the stands still throbbed with life. Merchants and game entrepreneurs showcased their stands to the best of their ability, and the sides of the plaza were lit with blinding colors. Young and old hovered near stands of various kinds, of merry prizes and food and guilty pleasures, many for children and adults alike, though even the children seemed to hover around the pleasantries targeted at older folk. In the last attempts to draw a crowd toward their merchandise, the vendors knew no mercy, and at the end of the day, even the young parent-less boys and girls of the crowd left with a well-earned bottle of hard liquor.
As the stark day of the tundras was overwhelmed by a hue of calm reds and oranges, and the winds grew harsher, the fires of glass lanterns at every corner lit, one by one, minute by minute. The Imisese paper lanterns were strung and neatly placed above the narrow alley of the main festival stands. Ambient music ceased to play, and the single hop and skip and a jingle of bells filled the growing silence of the troupe's commodities.
A boy, tall, with soft features that seemed to carry little impressions, pressed against the bodies of the ongoing festival-goers, his worn soles clumsily stepping into the bite of the snowy dirt below him. His head was hung low, his eyes covered by a dirty, brown mop that was his hair. He looked nervously back at his precious pack of bells, strung meticulously around his back; he skipped nervously along when he brushed even ever so slightly against a stranger's shoulders. Yet, his voice carried a booming confidence-- it was a scratchy, hoarse voice, which had not yet reached maturity.
"Come forth to the final performance of Troupe de Panymium, folks! Step lively toward the stage with the red curtains, yes, don't miss the performance of the century! An' come buy your bells here, folks, a tribute to Panymium's favorite troupe, only one Shilling each..."
(( The next NPC post is going to mark the start of the final performance, and will be posted on Sunday! From then on, NPC posts will be coming every other day, so be on the look out, and get your replies in promptly! ))
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Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 1:22 am
"There, M'lord," The quiet monotone of Hayat, where she stood securely on his shoulder, a hand to the lobe of his ear, alerted the young man to another, brushing too close to him.
Yizhaq cleared his throat as he stepped out of the way of a dirty young boy, one who clearly worked for the troupe he'd been so interested in seeing. Following quickly behind the lad, the young Lord was brought through the crowd toward the center of the throng and to the actual stage, red-curtained as it was.
He frowned to hear that it was the final performance of the Troupe. Once per five years, and he had missed the majority of the event. Such was married life, one might say, full of obligations. Bhakti was a fickle creature, and though initially excited at the prospect of attending the show, she had become adamant that Altair, their toddler son, was not in well enough health for the journey. As if!
Shaking his head, Yizhaq's pale eyes habitually scanned the crowd, his brows raising in interest at the sight of a familiar mop.
"Chauhn," The warmth in his smooth voice was clear as he clasped the boy's shoulder, gaze finding its way to Adal's, rather than Georgie's. "Ah, so you have found yourselves reunited, I take it? Have I missed much?"
Hayat blinked at the group of males surrounding her Grimm. She, of course, had a much better memory than the plague of ashes. "Mister Clurie," She summoned him, her dry tone both a greeting and an admonishment of his very existence. She did not greet Adal, though her gaze, like her Grimm's, was upon him.
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Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 10:42 am
The trace of a smile lingered around the flower plague’s mouth as the minute girl continued to speak with a level of exuberance and childishness that Claudia would never exhibit. This Blaithe girl was as childish as her petite stature and with an inner condescending tone but a perfectly acceptable outwards impression she nodded along with the paintbrush’s glee at the concept of drawing. Admittedly the flower was rather interested in how the smaller vibrant girl could manage to paint the surface of her human’s hand. Her hair was braided and tied into brush like shapes and the flower pondered if the little phasmas had been using them to produce her childish doodles... It made her wonder; would her heritage give her any interesting quirks such as that?
“Clur?” The flower rolled this name round her mouth, as if she was tasting it before digesting the snippet of knowledge. The little girl’s owner was a mage... And if Claudia was jumping to the correct conclusion this ‘Clur’ character was another excitos. Although not exceedingly useful this gave the caedos a small insight into the activities of the mages. This little girl at least knew another excitos by name – whereas Claudia had met no non-stunted plagues in her stay at the cult’s headquarters. Did that mean the mages had a stronger community of plague’s in their possession?
Hoping for more information to slip from the minute mouth of the plague Claudia decided to humour Blaithe and bare the cold to show off her pristine white dress. However this required a little help from her Grimm, floundering around with the wool whilst attempting to keep her balance on the human’s shoulder would most likely result in an embarrassing fall. She certainly wouldn’t make a mockery out of herself in front of this other plague.
Whilst the two plagues had been enjoying their conversation the humans had continued to interact as expected. In regards to whether she was enjoying the festival she wrung her hands, glancing at the stages. “I... I am enj-joying it... y-yes.” Her eyes lingered on his foreign features, what he had said about coming from the east playing curiously on her mind. She wasn’t a racist, but what with her fragile disposition she was intimidated by unfamiliar things. “T-they are very d-daring! D-did you see the knife juggler?”
It was at this point, just before she was about to answer the latter part of his inquiries, that Claudia butted in. “Felicity, put me on your hand like Blaithe.” A little confused at why the flower wanted this Felicity hesitantly plucked the excitos from her seat and allowed her to balance in her hands. Unlike the tiny Blaithe Claudia required both hands placed flat next to each other to form a platform and in this awkward position Felicity set about constructing an answer to Jin-Ho.
He’d wanted to know where she’d come from. The truthful answer would have probably been to have mentioned that they had only recently returned from the south... However, considering they’d been tasked with going undercover in a way... Acting like normal sherygodians... It didn’t seem wise to the woman to freely admit she’d recently been in the area rumoured as being the hub of cult activity. Thus she banished as much nervous tremor from her voice and said; “Oh... n-not far! I l-live just outside C-cowle...” Her lie was convincing... She just had to hope he assumed her skin was naturally less pale than the usual amongst the frigid northerners and that he didn’t recognise the touch of tan donated by the south’s warmer climate.
With her new platform Claudia was able to rid herself temporarily of the clinging jumper and expose her pristine petals to the other girl. Her legs were still snared up in her baggy socks and she felt a little foolish. However she did not let this show.. Instead she smoothed her garb out and waited for a compliment from Blaithe. She was pretty indeed. Prettier, she hoped, than any other plague the tiny thing had seen.
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Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 2:27 pm
Beatrix couldn't feel any pity for the Plague in front of her, because she did not see the man in front of her as anything other then the embodiment of the plague trapped in human form. She would never have considered whether her words truly hurt him and wound him so, and if they did, that was not her concern. After all, so much had been taken away from her and been inflicted upon her because of the plague, one way or the other.
Her life had been ruined by the plague, there was no other way for her to look at it. And she'd yet to have the opportunity to vocalize those thoughts, but as she looked upon Sloane now she did.
But though she might not have considered his feelings, it was still hard for her to watch a person in pain, which Sloane clearly was. Her eyes had moved from the Plague to the ground, staring at the candy he had dropped. Beatrix had managed to stop shaking, but her eyes still looked teary as he apologized to her.
She let the silence linger, instead listening to the announcement about the fact that the end of the performance would be soon. As her gaze looked around the crowd and the merriment, she felt a tug. Beatrix was not a malicious person and instead had been brought up to try and make people feel better, rather then worse. And while her father had been dying she'd been the one to comfort her mother, rather then herself even if the times had been just as trying.
"Would you like a bell?" Beatrix asked softly, looking up at Sloane. It seemed probably like a silly question, but it clearly seemed like saying yes would make her feel better. As if looking up a child who was ailing, she wanted to make them feel better. And in turn, she would as well.
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Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 4:15 pm
The words from the young man carrying the bells flew in one of Sloane's ears and out the other, not allowing the Plague to hear a word of it over the jingle of bells, applause and cheering as the final act was drawing near.
He didn't care about that, but they were still to stay. Likely the carriage drivers on the outskirts of the performance were waiting until it was over anyhow and there would probably be an uproar from them if they were forced to leave early. Not to mention he hadn't had a chance to say hello to Chauhn or Clurie yet, nor ask if Blaithe was enjoying herself.
Tragic.
The silence between the two was thick and heavy, leaving Sloane feeling lethargic. He did not want to move and he did not want to look at her, so he kept his eyes glued to the crowd, watching happy faces bob in and out of view, none familiar.
"Would you like a bell?"
Despite himself, Sloane looked at Beatrix, catching her eye. What was she attempting, here? Silent reconciliation or merely a distraction? Was she so two faced that she would try to make it up to him and then drive him back into the dirt later or was this a genuine matter on her part? He couldn't tell. He didn't know her that well and humans were far too unpredictable.
Still... A souvenir of sorts did sound nice. Minus that bad conversational lapse just a few moments ago, it really hadn't been that bad of a time.
He scoffed, shaking his head but a wry smirk appeared. It wasn't very strong, this smile, but it was there nonetheless and he nodded to Beatrix. "I would love a bell." Perhaps after this they could get back into a proper swing of things and upon their return to the North Base he could have assistance in explaining just what she had in that matchbox.
If Lady Estratus were not in hiding, surely Beatrix would believe her? But if not for the Obscuvan attack and attempted assassination of his Lady, he and Beatrix would have never met to begin with. Cruel and twisted, fate was, cruel and twisted.
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Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 4:28 pm
After the fallout in conversation Beatrix truly didn't feel like staying that much any more, but she doubted that she'd have much luck getting out of here anyway, and it would be a long walk with Sloane, then. A silent, awkward walk.
And so she'd stayed up, as wandering about probably wouldn't do her any good either. Beatrix wasn't familiar with the streets like the Plague was and she might get a lost and then, well, that probably wouldn't go over well. The only thing left was to patch things up.
Truly, genuinely.
For just a moment Sloane was just some sad, broken being - which was very much an upgrade in her eyes. She knew how to act around people like that, what to do. It was one of the few times she could truly bond with another person, when they were ailing. And Beatrix wanted to do her best to make them smile.
And once her Plague companion seemed a little brighter a small smile came across her lips as well. "Well, come on, then." She said and made her way through the crowd to the boy who was selling them, the jingling filling her ears. She expressed her interest to purchase one, what would be a lasting souvenir.
A memento of what she hoped would be a good memory.
For the both of them.
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Posted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 10:43 pm
An amid grin escaped Georgie as he made his final step in catching up with the Clemmings brothers, and he replied with an airy, tired voice, "'Ello, Chauhn! It's been a while since I've seen you, hasn't it?"
Adal watched as Chauhn spewed an fountain of words at them as they came to a full stop, responding at first with only a curt smile and a half-lidded stare. The ends of his lips twitched with amusement when Clurie stung his Grimm on the neck, and he finally responded with an exasperated sigh and a short reply to follow. "Mister Chauhn, Clurie."
He paused for a moment-- to lie, or to simply keep it at that? He chose the former. "The pleasure's all ours, little one."
He hadn't seen Chauhn since the incident at the coasts of Imisus so long ago, and there was something different about him; despite his ragged clothes, the urchin seemed heartier and healthier, and bits of his once soot-ridden hair showed signs of cleanliness. It didn't take much thought to take Clurie into account for the puffs of ashes around Chauhn's collar, though it wasn't much excuse and he wondered why, exactly, Chauhn would stuff his impudent little 'brother' into a pocket of his clothes to effectively dirty them. And, all of these points aside, what made Adal wonder the most was why exactly the two were at Shyregoed in the first place--
Ah, of course.
The Locos glared at the oncoming lord and the monochrome Plague perched atoped his shoulder, its face more solemn than the ones he'd seen at the festival by far. His brows furrowed as he returned a half-intrigued stare at the Servos, whose almond eyes merely stared right back, then snapped his attention momentarily back at the lord. Their silent greeting was good enough, and Adal was pointed enough to return silence with silence, a suspect frown upon his lips, as he heard the Servos greet Clurie with her wispy voice.
"Ah-- Lord-- Lord Yizhaq? The Lord that invited us to dinner, right, Adal?" Georgie mused, as he nudged Adal with a thinly gloved hand. After a snap realization, the brunette blinked and bowed before the lord, and pressed against Adal's shoulder so he would do the same. How silly of him, to forget his etiquette before a nobleman...! "Greetings to you, sir! Was-- Chauhn, hey, are you really the Page the Lord is talking about?"
Adal pulled Georgie's hand away from his shoulder, and bowed on his own account, though his stale expression didn't seem to change, nor did he want it to. He noted quietly, "You've grown, falcon."
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Posted: Fri Sep 17, 2010 12:29 am
For the first time in months, Chauhn was talking with a fellow youth who didn't want to smash his head into a street corner or, with ill intents, intend to steal any and all valuables that he had on his person. He could hardly believe it, especially with it being Georgie and Adal. By all appearances, it didn't look like they were ashamed or disappointed in him in any way! Well, Georgie for one, Adal excluded. Chauhn was slowly beginning to realize that Adal's perpetual state of intolerance and aloofness wasn't just coincidence or caused by his own naive fumbling. Chauhn felt a little hopeful. "A while, yes, Georgie, since the beach 'n' the apples, righ'? Ah wish we could see each other more often. There aren't many Grimms m'age, I've come to find, 'n' it would be nice ta--"
His lonely plea was suddenly cut short by a hand that touched Chauhn's shoulder.
Of course, the first one to forget his manners in front of the nobleman, was none other than Clurie. At the sight of the familiar tall man squeezing a quiet and stern hold on Chauhn's shoulder, making the lad jump at the sudden and unexpected touch, Clurie was the first to shout and wave, his cheeks warming up at the sight of the person and Plague he had been living with for a relatively long time.
"Oh, why, hello there," Clurie piped and sputtered, coughing on a lump of ash that he caught with the fold of his arm over his face. He clapped and waved, a freckling of sparks accenting his fingers as he gestured back to the falcon Plague perched nobly on Yizhaq'a shoulder, "Hi, Hayat! You missed the fire dancers. I'm going to be a fire dancer, breather, whipper, snapper, sparker...sparks...Wait, what were we talking about? Hey, I hear bells!" He strained his ears to hear, suddenly and entirely distracted.
Falling forward into a bow and fighting the urge to step back and give him his space when he was quite obviously help in place by the hand on his shoulder, Chauhn swallowed past the cold scratch of air in his throat. Setting his shoulders straight and his spine even straighter after the sudden appearance of his master, Chauhn immediately programmed himself into Page mode despite the warmth in Yizhaq's voice. His face bled itself free of the friendly urchin that it was before and he instead molded himself as polite and charming as he could possibly look in his shaggy attire. He even straightened out the ash-covered palm that he was holding Clurie out with and pointed out his toes.
"M'lord, 'ello. You have missed the beginning and middle acts o' the show, but you 'ave made it 'n time for the gran' finale," he said, in a tone of voice that obviously strained the clear and correctly pronunciation of each word. As a Page, he tried hard to do his best whenever he was around Yizhaq. He glanced with the barely noticeable tilt of his head towards Adal and Georgie as they bowed in turn, and he gave a slight nod, accented with a shy smile, "Ah am 'is Lord's Page. After getting kicked ou' o' the Council, ah was found by m'gracious Lord 'n' taken 'n t'be 'is Page 'n exchange for shelter, clothes, 'n' food. 'E is kind t'me. Ah'm very lucky."
Clurie, paying no attention whatsoever to the conversation going around about his head, was still listening to the shimmer and chime of the bells. They weren't anything like the crackle of fire, but they were wonderful sounding nonetheless! "Chauhn," the Phasmas asked, "What's that? That sound?"
"Bells, Clurie," Chauhn said, lowering his voice so that the others didn't have to entirely hear his patient answering of Clurie's ceaseless questions.
"I like them, brother!" Clurie announced, then he grinned up at Adal and Georgie and then to Yizhaq and his fellow Excitos, "Hayat, you like them too? I like them. Do you like them Adal? Those bells! I like the sound a lot!" He shivered and shuddered with anticipation, shedding and shucking off chunks of ash into Chauhn's palm.
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Posted: Fri Sep 17, 2010 1:03 am
"Excellent, Chauhn, excellent," Yizhaq had quickly released the boy, clapping his hands together as his hazel green eyes wandered back toward the stage, before settling on a familiar face. Interesting.
Glancing back, he smiled, though his gaze was more than a little distracted, and nodded to the other young boy. "Adal, wasn't it? And young master Georgie. How pleasant to see you both in good health."
"Take care not to burn m'lord's home, Mister Clurie," The falcon on his shoulder cast her gaze only briefly to Clurie, knowing that his attentions were soon to move on to something more exciting than she. Tilting her head, she watched as Adal bowed, seeming to fit this fitting.
"No, I have shrunken. You, however, remain the same." He was not pleasing to her, yet, however, she minded him just slightly less than she minded Clurie.
Breaking a bit of the tension, Yizhaq spoke up, quite suddenly, "Chauhn, you will not mind if I leave you, briefly, to enjoy the festivities? I see Sir Sloane over there, and I should like to speak with him. You are welcome to join Hayat and myself, of course, as I know you are fond of him, but it is not required."
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Posted: Fri Sep 17, 2010 8:27 am
"Yes! Clur is ashes! He's bigger than me... like you! But we're all the same!" Blaithe couldn't seem to be anything other than excited, it seemed. Jin-Ho hadn't seen her any other way since she had grown!
Felicity was from here, huh? It wouldn't have surprised him, really. Most of the people at the festival were local, given the location. It honestly almost disappointed him that she was local. Meeting people from far off was always fun, and it would have been interesting if she was from elsewhere. "I see! Do you get out much? I haven't seen you in town..."
Jin-Ho was in town at least every other day, between going to the market and going to his tutor. He was often assigned different arrends that involved shopping, and sometimes he just went out on his own for supplies or just to get out.
The knife juggler...? He had to think; he had a bit of trouble keeping up with the Troupe as they performed, his attention mostly on Blaithe and others. Not being able to walk much on her own, especially in such a large and crowded space, Jin-Ho was, of course, her main way of getting around and seeing everything.
Hearing of the jugglers, she chimed into the conversation between to two Grimms, her voice small and chiming. "Oh! The juggler! He almost cut himself! I saw!"
Jin-Ho laughed, offering Blaithe into the hand of Felicity. So long as he was able to keep an eye on her, he would trust her to the woman before him. Knowing Blaithe, he was sure she wanted to be closer to Claudia.
Before he could place her, the announcement for the last event was called, making Jin-Ho faulter. It was getting late in the evening, and with the festivities dying, he needed to get back to Sloane and the Lady. Retracting his hand and the small Blaithe, he apologized, though Blaithe was just as excited as the other Excito removed her garb. "Oh, wow! You're very pretty, just as I thought! You're too white, though! You'd be even prettier with lots and lots of color!"
She meant no harm, but Jin-Ho shushed her. "I'm terribly sorry, Claudia and Felicity. You're very beautiful and it was a pleasure. I'm sorry to have to go so suddenly..." He nodded behind him, "I must get back to my group; they had called me back several minutes ago and it's getting late."
With his free hand, he took Felicity's and bowed, gently kissing her knuckle.
"It was a pleasure, miss Felicity. Maybe we'll meet again in town."
Without another word or pause for reaction, Jin-Ho turned and started toward Sloane. He and the Lady were moving... looked like toward the bell boy. He followed, Blaithe nestled quietly in his hand, already drawing on whatever she could reach. He wanted to get to them before the final act had started, quickly dodging between people and booths. He wasn't a big person, actually rather on the thin side, but everyone was so close together it made it a little difficult.
"I'm sorry, Sloane, someone's Excito saw Blaithe and I got stopped." Jin-Ho offered, reaching for Sloane's shoulder with his free hand. He had reached them before the final act, thank goodness.
"Sorry!" Blaithe chirped, obviously unaware of why apologies were being made.
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Posted: Fri Sep 17, 2010 10:22 am
It seemed Beatrix was wasting no time when he seemed to brighten, but he did internally feel so torn about the matter.
So hateful, spiteful against Plagues she was that she would blame the entire race on an action likely caused not by any one of them, but by the raging disease from which they were born. So consumed with her vengeance in finding her cure, and yet... when he showed emotions and acted human as he so appeared, twisted though it may have been, she relented and had pity.
But there was no pity in her for the small one she kept locked away.
Following her silently, the small smile he had offered her was gone, replaced only with uncertainty. He did not know how he was supposed to feel about this situation, but it twisted up his insides every time he thought about it and thought about her. He would picture himself in that tiny prison, what it would have been like if his Lady had done the same thing to him. No... If she had done that to him, he would have still become an Infitialis, but he was certain he would not have retained his spirit of duty and chivalry, but become a malicious force that Beatrix did see all Plagues as. He would have come out hating the world and wanting it to be infected, rotting and dead.
If he did not find a way to release the candy Plague from her prison, it was certain to him that she would not grow into the cure that they both so wanted.
Sloane was jerked out of his thoughts, casting a surprised glance to Jin-ho which, in the heat of the moment, looked more frustrated than anything. He eased up a moment later and nodded, looking down at Blaithe as she apologized in turn. "It's fine," he said briefly, walking with them now before they stopped as Beatrix approached the bell seller. In a sudden desire to distract himself, Sloane attempted conversation, idle banter, "Enjoying yourselves?" It somehow came out sounding spiteful. Unintentional, but so many emotions were running wild throughout him today that it was hard for him to keep anything straight.
Not too far off, there was a shifting in the crowd and he saw someone else familiar approaching, Lord Yizhaq. Sloane's expression sunk more into vague agitation. Bringing her into a public setting, this was the stupidest thing he could have done and no doubt the black knight back at the North Base would give him a good lecture as to why. The Lord had not been brief about Lady Estratus' stand in, Beatrix Amaranthe, and so he deeply hoped that the falconer did not intend to speak with her.
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Posted: Fri Sep 17, 2010 1:29 pm
With a spout of cackles that brought to mind the cracking and popping of a fireplace, Clurie laughed at Hayat's warning, taking it as a joke instead as the quiet threat that it was was. He waved at her with a limp hand, his smile grand between his red cheeks.
"Not to worry! I haven't burned down anything yet!" he chided, but then, after a moment's thought and a tap at his chin, he muttered a guilty question, "Unless...It was me who burned our room in the Council...Oh wait. That was me." Self-editing himself was a frequent thing and when he motioned again at Hayat, trying to dissuade her from thinking the worst of him, he raised his voice to catch her attention, "Wait, I DID burn down a room, but it was by accident! I'll be careful not to burn down m'lord's room too. I'm getting better at controlling my cinders." To demonstrate his point, he began rubbing his hands together in a furious fight for friction. The sparks blazed and with a careful breath or two from Clurie's little mouth, he breathed the flame alive to the size of a candle's well-fed flare, which was, all in all, quite large for Clurie to hold. He held it out for everyone's inspection, his chest puffing up with pride.
"See?" he beamed.
But before things got the chance to waltz out of control, Chauhn Clemmings cupped his hands around Clurie, stealing away the flame's source of air and effectively dowsing the potential accident. Glancing up apologetically at Yizhaq and Georgie, and, dodging a look from Adal, the Page boy nodded hurriedly at Yizhaq, "Yes, m'lord, ahm fine. Ah will meet with you when the finale act is done. Ah wan' Clurie to see it as best 'e can, 'n' all. Carnivals dun happen often, sir, and ah don't wan' 'im to miss any bi' o' it. Besides, ah can stay 'ere wit' Georgie 'n' Adal. But ah wouldn't like to go 'ome alone, wit' the attack 'n' all. Ahll find you when it is over, m'lord, if'n that's alrigh'."
Another nod of approval, Chauhn relaxed. He opened his hands again, revealing a frayed and rather disoriented Clurie, who was sitting on his palms and coughing up fitful puffs of ash. It looked like Chauhn had smeared his hands on the inside of a dirty chimney wall because his palms and fingers were now entirely black. Chauhn sighed again, helpless to his effort of staying clean.
As Lord Yizhaq walked away, Clurie swallowed the last of his coughs as best he could and plucked his hat off his head, waving goodbye with it to the Hayat and Yizhaq. "Hey! If you're going, I want a bell!"
"Hush, Clurie, you don't ask such things o' Lord Yizhaq!" Chauhn hissed.
"Don't forget a bell for me, Yizhaq! Thank you, sir!" Clurie turned his attention back to Adal, who, for some reason, suddenly entertained his fancy. Without thinking, he jumped off Chauhn's hand.
"CLURIE!"
The Clemmings boy gave a gasp, his body reacting faster than his mind could think and he lurched forward to try and catch him with his arms, but when Clurie's body fell into his arms, he burst and scattered about in a fitful of ashes, a prompt and little explosion of black and gray flakes, alive with a core kind of burning at the edges. Chauhn's eyes immediately welled up with tears and he tried to claw and catch the ashes back in his hand, like pressing them back into themselves would force Clurie back into shape. The ashes, though, seemed to have a will of their own, and they fluttered with the subtle breeze to Adal's shoulder where they descended and collected with a quiet sucking motion back into Clurie's shape. He was back to normal, not a fold or curve out of place, and he was immediately satisfied in his new position on Adal's shoulder.
"GEE," Clurie piped, giving a cackle as he stretched himself as if waking up for the first time. He didn't seem bothered at all by the fact that he had just changed composition. Instead, he merely looked curious and he patted himself, to make sure that he was solid again, "That was weird, but hey! Hey, Adal. I hear tell that you're a hero for me like Sloane is a hero for Chauhn." he reached up and tugged at Adal's earlobe, "Did you know that? I can't remember it, but Chauhn says it happened, so I'm trusting him. Ha ha! We both have hats."
Chauhn, on the other hand, was less enthused. He was blinking away the tears of fear that had sprung into his eyes and he was struggling vainly to keep his cheeks from burning up to visible redness. He would've dove and snatched Clurie back to him if he hadn't been on Adal's shoulder. Approaching Adal with the kind of crazed desperation that Chauhn was prone to resorting to when Clurie was apart from him, was not something that Chauhn wanted to do. So he held himself back and forced his shaking hands to pin themselves to his side. Breathing...He regained his breathing.
Wrangling his composure back into place was not an easy thing to do, but he did his best in front of Georgie and Adal. Taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair, he glanced at both of them with clearly expressed confusion, "Ahm sorry...'E's....Clurie's never done tha' before."
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Posted: Fri Sep 17, 2010 2:46 pm
Agreeing to meet with Chauhn later, Yizhaq was clearly free of his company, his expression settling from good humor to something more neutral, more reserved. The attacks had been weighing on his mind, and it was good to see the Lady and her Sword, as they had much to discuss. Yizhaq felt compelled to offer his talents, further.
"Sir Sloane," He nodded politely to the knight, his gaze moving past to the hooded figure. Only part of her face was visible, and he tilted his head, to find her smiling, as she purchased a small bell.
Passing the youth money to gain several bells in his possession, Yizhaq reflected on the oddity, tucking the objects into his pocket when Hayat failed to express an interest. Odd. In the many years he had known the Lady, she had remained near as blank as a statue. Much like the small lady on his shoulder. Choosing to speak to her directly, he raised his arched brows, looking back to Sloane.
"I trust you are well, my Lady? Might I introduce you to my Hayat?"
The Servos in question glanced briefly from Sloane to the Lady, her face blank as she tilted her head. Something was definitely at odds, not that they could place it. No, Yizhaq would have had to touch either Sloane or Bietrix to discover such.
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