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knife effect Vice Captain
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 Posted: Wed Dec 19, 2012 10:52 am
ＣＨＥＣＫＳ ＡＮＤ ＢＡＬＡＮＣＥＳ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 77. ✦ ✦ ✦
stillcrest; shyregoed; solo
Lettie led Artur to his room by hand after they'd put Lord Arelgren to sleep. Artur had given the fatigued lord an outline of tomorrow's duties, and figured that Dorian would look over them on his own. After leaving the lord's chambers, Lettie had offered to show Artur to his own lodgings, which the young lord had completely forgotten. Artur, too, had temporarily forgotten that there was much to get used to in Arelgren House, Lettie's hand-holding being one of them. The steward isn't used to this intimate gesture--which Lettie didn't think was suggestive or awkward in any sense. He supposed she should have been excited to have a chance to actually speak with her. Judging from his first encounter with her, she was friendly and wise--and there was much about her that Artur wanted to know, though, unbeknownst to him, she, too, had her curiosities. He was confused when the room they entered was more feminine than he'd expected, and after eying the dress draped across the bed, Artur also realized that this was not his room, but Lettie's. There were ribbons in many places, and the smell of chocolate was stronger here than elsewhere in the manor. He couldn't tell what color the room was, but he could see faint schemes of pinks and browns in several places, but this information still confirmed nothing about why Lettie led him here.
"Wh--"
She cut in.
"You aren't tired, are you, Mr.Viseroy?"
"No. I slept earlier before making way to find Lord Arelgren."
"Hehe. I am also very much awake. I was hoping that we could have a delightful conversation, since there wasn't much of a chance earlier," Lettie said, and Artur could hear a smile in her voice.
"Not at all, milady. But I...this is uncustomary. These are your living chambers. I should not be here. Lord Arelgren would be upset, and it's unbecoming" Artur explained, his cheeks tinting. "I don't mind conversation--just--elsewhere--"
"Well! I figured that my room is very comfortable, and it's the most fitting place to talk to me!" Lettie exclaimed, confused and slightly unnerved. She crossed her arms and gave the steward a brisk frown. "Anyone who wants to speak to me deserves a good environment to do so--if that would upset Dorian, him being upset would also upset me! Dorian and I share a strong bond. He wouldn't think poorly of me if I allowed a friend into my chambers."
"N-no milady, that's not the point--the point is that this behavior--"
He almost made a sound when Lettie sat him down on the bed beside her, and they stayed seated side-by-side like that, the lantern being their only source of light. Lettie propped her hands underneath her chin, and giggled quietly, to which Artur only nervously laughed. Lord Lucien wasn't this troublesome--then again--Lord Lucien slept much later than he usually did--and Lord Lucien didn't really live with dominant female personalities like this one.
"How old are you, Mr.Viseroy?" quipped Lettie.
"34."
"Do you have allegiances to others besides Dorian?"
"Yes."
"Do you have a wife, Mr.Viseroy? Or children?"
"No."
This was getting more suspicious by the second.
"Tell me your story, Mr.Viseroy."
"...P..Pardon?"
"Your life! Start from boyhood."
"Oh. Of course." Artur Viseroy cleared his throat, and Lettie leaned into him, which he hoped was something she normally did to others (it was). While Artur Viseroy had yet to place his trust, he supposed now was a good time as any to clear whatever uncertainties he had about himself. He was more comfortable confessing to Lettie than to Lord Arelgren, and her keen interest was opportune to him. There were things he'd prefer his lord not to know, and something about Lettie told him that she would keep his secrets.
"I am not a Shyregoedian from birth, unlike my half-sister. My half-sister, Arturia, grew up doing everything together--competitively. Our brother, Abel was never too much of a factor in our lives. He liked to hunt, and didn't have much interest in lordship."
He paused and chuckled wistfully.
"My sister and I fought for our father's affections, and both of us wanted to assume his title. We were educated in a lord's responsibilities (a lady's, for Arturia), and a general education. My father didn't care for either of us as much as he did for Abel--the son his first wife gave him. He always liked Abel with his furs and songs, and he found the two of us...small."
"Too small to be trusted with anything as large as his heir, or his affections, for that matter. Our mother died in childbirth, so we could be affectionate towards nothing but each other. I hated Arturia for the first seventeen years of my life. I decided that I liked her very much when I turned eighteen, however, when she began speaking more openly towards me as a sibling instead of a simple competitor."
"She was to be married to a lord in Helios--to which she objected, and I found myself objecting against, too. I was selfish then, and perhaps confused. Arturia being married to a lord would obviously mean that I would have one less competitor for high titles. But there was rambunctious, stupid Abel."
Here, Artur sighed.
"Abel's death was an eerily convenient one. His twentieth birthday, a hunting trip, and a flick to the neck. My father grieved horribly, but Arturia and I had little to comment. We were each others' only competitors now, but by then, it became clear that Arturia would be married off to someone else--and the title, mine, eventually, so to speak."
Lettie raised a brow.
"Arturia's marriage would mend some family ties. It's not my place to speak of it," Artur hastily added.
"And besides, I loved Arturia. If she were gone, to whom would I direct my emotions, my spite, and my affections? I hated her in the same way that I loved her. Couldn't live without her in the same way that my father couldn't live without Abel."
"Did you tell her?" Lettie quietly asked, though this time, the question came slowly.
"Of course. She is my closest friend and my favorite companion. I am glad to have entered the world with her--albeit it was wrong of me to speak poorly of her potential suitors, and to have acted on my spite. I was selfish, and my love for my sister grew into something unhealthy."
Lettie managed a small "Oh."
"I was sent for a steward's education, and now I am here."
"And what of her?"
"I do not know. She was the one that suggested my stewardhood to my father. We have not spoken nor written since."
"Do you find your situation dramatic or terrible?"
"I find many things dramatic and terrible, and this is not the worst of them."
He paused.
"But what of you? You've told me nothing about you. This isn't very fair."
"Curious, Mr.Viseroy?"
"Mm. I suppose that's up to you."
"A lovely answer. I began from a cup of hot cocoa. That was my putesco form. I came to Dorian during the most frigid winter of his life. He didn't know his father nor mother then, and his closest companion had died. He called me his 'little ghost', and I'd sing for him and play with him. I was all he had left, and I was his little princess then."
"It seems that you still are."
"You think so? It wasn't always so. He abandoned me at one point, because I was too cruel to him. I was ignorant of what he needed to confront, and I'd wanted him to be violent to achieve his ends. Dorian is not a warrior; he's a guardian. He's the perfect Grimm. We're together again, and I hope to amend the coldness that keeps hopes and dreams frozen."
"Coldness?"
"Yes, the blackest coldness: the Black Plague. I've buried many victims. But I must be warm, because Dorian needs me to be. No, everyone needs me to be." Here, she smiled into her bow. "I'm a healing Plague. It's what I do."
The steward gave her a tired look.
"Not entirely. You're a burying Plague. You've buried more than the Panymian dead. Charity can ruin a woman," Artur said with a sigh. Lettie's hand closed around his, but it didn't unsettle him this time. He looked at her, his expression stone-set. "If I had the plague, would you heal me?"
"Yes."
Artur gritted his teeth, and his fists automatically clenched, too.
"Even with the knowledge that I've sinned before?"
"Does death discriminate against trivial details?" Lettie softly asked, and placed her hands on either side of Artur's cheeks. She tilted her head and sounded very sorry. "Look at you. Life didn't discriminate against you, and the Black Death most certainly will not. There are men who've sinned less than you, and the plague had taken them regardless. Why would you be any different?"
Silence.
"You won't be treated separate. None of us are treated separate--except for me. I'm an exception. I came from the plague, but I atone for it, too. I'm what remains of its sympathies, or so I'd like to think."
"The black plague doesn't know how to apologize. I believe that's why Servos and Locos are born. To receive forgiveness, and to give apologies. Come, you've grown weary, traveler. It's time to return you to your bed."
Numbly, Artur Viseroy was led away from Lettie's room to a smaller, well-furnished one, which he assumed was indefinitely his own. Still, Lettie did not leave, and before he could question her, she'd leaned up to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
"For Arturia," she explained, and left for bed.
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Posted: Wed Dec 19, 2012 12:26 pm
ＢＥＡＴＩＮＧ ＷＩＮＧＳ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 78. ✦ ✦ ✦
stillcrest; shyregoed; solo
Dorian rose early to familiarize himself with Artur's instructions, which he found weren't impossible. He signed several letters of correspondence on behalf of his would-be fur trade, and he was enthused to use his Shyregoedian lands as hunting properties. This much, Artur approved of, and Dorian had the letters delivered posthaste. Still, he had cultist matters to attend to, and he didn't want to be tied down by his domestic requirements. This would be troublesome to explain to Artur, and the Arelgren scion was still debating on how to conceal his cultisthood. He was uncertain if Artur knew that Lucien was an Obscuvian, but risks were awful on the long run. Dorian planned on having Artur remain on his estate while he would leave to introspect his lands. He wanted to go to Mishkan himself, and he'd prefer having Lettie watch Artur to ensure that he was as trustworthy as Dorian initially thought him to be. Dorian seated himself at the dining table, having made himself a cup of cocoa to cope with Shyregoed's morning. He had one hand wrapped around his cup to absorb the liquid's warmth.
Artur's entrance was subtle, but enough to startle Dorian. The latter jumped a little before giving a meek "Ah. Good morning" as the steward entered the dining room with a few scrolls tucked underneath his arm. Artur's lips tightened into a rare smile.
"Good morning milord. I see you've busied yourself to the maps and letters." Artur nodded curtly, and his smile slipped a bit. Both lord and steward had yet to adapt to one another, but a mutual sense of appreciation was extant. Dorian wiped his mouth before giving his steward what he thought to be a decent reply.
"Mm. I've also recruited several Shyregoedian huntsmen." Dorian smiled peevishly and patted his own cheeks. "They're precise, or so the innkeep tells me. The trade business should be complete within two months or so."
He pushed himself from his chair, and pushed his arms through the sleeves of his coat after grabbing it. His words grew hasty, and his feet, too. "I'm departing to Mishkan this evening, and leaving you in Lettie's care. I've got...business to attend to. I need to find a mage's service for the greenhouse--and shipmakers, too."
Dorian grinned faintly, pausing only to wait for Artur's approval---anything supportive, really. His jade-green eyes were still focused on the door behind his steward.
Artur's lips twitched at the sound of 'Lettie'. He didn't forget what she'd done the night before, and neither did she. She appeared from a corner leading from the kitchen's hall, a plate of innocent pie in hand. It seemed that she'd slept in the clothing that she evolved into, for Dorian had yet to invite a dressmaker to the Arelgren estate. The Anhelo gave a small "Good morning, Mr.Viseroy" of her own, and wrapped herself in a nearby shawl. Returning to his senses, Artur quickly caught up with what he'd begun.
"Milord," Artur carefully began, "Those are a servant's obligations. You have a duty to your land. You must familiarize yourself with it. The forests where they envelope, and the hunters that live on (or will be living on) your lands, too."
Artur ended up saying all of this rather quickly.
Dorian frowned. He coughed into his cocoa, and Artur instantly rushed over to pat his back. Lettie reached over to share her shawl with him, but Dorian raised a hand to politely refuse her.
"I'm fine, you two." Dorian laughed, pleased that he was so easily loved. "It's all the more reason for me to be personal about my countenances and appearances. Servants create distance. I'm confident that I can carry out Arelgren tasks in my own presence. I'm a Shyregoedian noble, after all."
"But milord--"
"Mind your words, Arty. Mince them often."
"Milord--it's just...leaving...Lettie here with me. I'm not sure I understand."
Lettie laughed a little at this, and Dorian gave a graceful switching of his left leg over his right. He gave Lettie a knowing chuckle, and she returned it by correcting Artur's misconception.
"Dorian isn't leaving me here with you. He's leaving you with me. I doubt he'd leave Mishkan without either of us, I hope." Lettie explained. "Arelgren Manor has never been much of a permanent home--and we're establishing it as one. You aren't needed to operate here until preparations have been made. Dorian's most likely speaking to the hunters tomorrow firsthand, to see that their transition to his lands and forests are smooth ones. You'll be leaving Mishkan with us, knowing Dorian. Am I correct?"
"As precise as always, Lettie. You read my mind well. I will be departing today, but ah, I would prefer your company, Arty, during our Mishkan adventure. Something seems to be on your mind." Dorian pinched Artur's nose, causing the latter to twitch.
"Come now, this is no place to keep secrets! I'll tell you mine, and you'll tell me yours."
"A-As..as you wish, milord."
"I'll begin with mines," Dorian loftily said, raising a finger to the ceiling. "I have a fond preference for men."
Lettie grinned.
A silence filled the room, and Artur Viseroy mustered a tolerant smile--hoping that it didn't appear forced. It wasn't as if he'd expected this, but he wouldn't put such a confession beyond the young, Lord Arelgren. The latter was very different to start with, even if his sexuality was just a minor aspect of how...how different he could be from literally all the other Shyregoedian nobles that Artur had ever encountered. Artur clenched his sides, and looked away as he made a (hopefully) tactful reply: "I-it's fine--I'm not one to judge your orientation--or preferences--I'm a steward--not a---"
"I was only joking Arty." Dorian laughed, to which Artur looked increasingly more embarrassed and slightly uncomfortable.
"But in all truthfulness, my Plague and I are Obscuvians. The fact that I'm a moderate and a reformer, is what makes me different, even among Obscuvians. Will either of these factors be problematic to your servitude?"
"No. Obscuvos is my overseer."
A second silence filled the room, and it was Dorian who looked flabbergasted this time. Obscuvian politics had only worsened lately--but to which standpoint did Artur Viseroy take? Dorian considered himself a moderate radical--someone strongly against extremism and supportive of diplomacy, too. He wasn't sure if his steward would find such a perspective to be "good" for a noble member, but discussing this second concern was not a priority.
"Ah. Well. Your turn, then, Arty," came Dorian's faltering reply.
With a gulp and deathwish, Artur slowly turned to Lettie instead this time, and said while dropping to a knee: "I...kissed her last night. Or she kissed me, I don't remember. I don't know what the gesture meant, but I don't mean to hide anything. If such skinship insults you, or makes me appear as a threat, I'd rather you have me disposed of while our bond is still young."
Artur's eyes were fixed on Dorian's, troubled. The steward was begging to be dealt with somehow--for the better or for the worse. Lettie understood why Artur would feel the need for this, he, a victim of emotional stimuli. His own history had been testimony enough to Lettie, but Artur had shared nothing with her Grimm. Lettie was unaware at this point, if Artur was ever planning to expose his entire history to his master, but the plague only watched.
Rising then falling to his own knees, Dorian gave his steward a startling embrace.
"And lose myself of a humble servant?" Dorian cried, his own jubilant feelings made audible. "Never. You are an honest man. Lettie had only given you sympathy." He gave his servant a second, melodramatic squeeze.
"Mrmph--B-but milord--how derd you--"
"I don't know what the kiss meant, but I am certain that you did not initiate it. You are far too meek, and you spoke so little of yourself that Lettie must have asked to save you dishonesty. Neither of us understood you in the beginning, but you've made your allegiance clear."
"I'm grateful milord--but I'm but a lowly servant. Embracing me--"
"Does death discriminate, Viseroy?" Dorian asked, and released his steward. "Death will embrace you with unkind arms. When was the last time that someone that loves you had embraced you? Let now be more time than any--for Lettie and I are in your care. Why create distance, when the plague has already torn so much away from us?"
"Dorian's feelings are my feelings, Mr.Viseroy." Lettie chimed, and kissed him again. "You weren't born into servitude--nobody is. You're born to pursue a purpose unique to you. Please find it while you're in our company."
Artur Viseroy was wrong from the beginning. He had absolutely no idea of what to make of Dorian and Lettie Arelgren, except that they were far more unusual in more ways than one--and were very...tangible individuals. But he found himself growing attached, too, even if by a little bit--and he allowed himself to be lifted back to his feet by the Grimm and Plague, as he would be for many years to come.
"I'll be taking leave to visit the huntsmen. Please prepare our supplies for the Mishkan trip, Lettie, Mr.Viseroy."
Both Lettie and Artur nodded to this, dazed, and Dorian made himself busy.
"And Mr.Viseroy," Dorian called in mid-scrawl. He looked up and met his steward's anxious gaze. Dorian's back was turned, but the steward could hear the frown in his voice. "A word in private, if you please."
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Dec 19, 2012 12:26 pm
solo in which artur explains what lucien didn't have time to do
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:23 am
feb 8 2012 lmao ill make this pretty when ih ave time here have a solo LETTIE AND ARTUR BON D I N G TIME PART 2 LETS GO TO CHURCH LETS PLAY
Lettie Arelgren and Artur Viseroy sat in the company of Obscuvians, the cathedral's ceiling casting an atmospheric darkness from overhead. To any other brother or sister, Lettie resembled a specter wearing a nightingale mask, and Artur a similar specter wearing a silktail mask. The only mask missing from the Arelgren trio was a peacock's. Dorian would return at sundown, and thusly, Lettie had proposed to bring Artur to an Obscuvian gathering, which he did not mind. His attendance towards cultist gatherings had decreased since stewardhood. If now was a good chance as any for spirituality, Artur would give himself the privilege. A sermon was being given, though the steward didn't think too much of it, much to his chagrin. Lettie appeared more engaged, for she had her hands criss-crossed over her lap, and she hadn't moved for over half an hour. Artur grinned a little at this as he turned away from her. An inanimate Lettie was strange to see, but her faith was evident. When she finally spoke, he wasn't paying attention.
"Was it strange for you?" repeated Lettie, referring to the double-embrace from a few hours ago.
Artur considered this question, though he was still staring ahead at the crow-masked priest. He nodded truthfully because he couldn't find the audacity nor disrespect to explain his feelings. Questions like this were pattern in his conversations with Lettie. The plague genuinely wanted to make him feel more comfortable, but she was more successful at achieving the opposite. The steward had yet to explain to her why. There was a plethora of reasons, and most of the reasons were influenced by his time spent under Lucien Arelgren's lordship. Lucien was an...elusive man, but he was a good one, even if his child-raising methods were questionable. Artur had known his own father since childbirth, but it appeared as if Lord Arelgren knew his own more, even if the Arelgren scion had lived apart from Lucien for the majority of his life. Regardless, Lucien had never asked Artur to relate to him. The elder Arelgren's expectations were high, and he always gave Artur a hellish amount of work to do--even if he accomplished many things on his own. Lucien's son, however, diligently processed Arelgren responsibilities on his own.
"Milord is different than his father," Artur quietly said. "He's very considerate."
"Yes," Lettie agreed.
Lord Arelgren's soliloquy about death still remained deeply ingrained into Artur's mind, and he could still conjure his lord's voice and gesticulation as the latter persuaded his steward to be more tolerant. Lucien had always treated Artur strictly as a steward--and Artur had been comfortable being a servant because his goals were assigned to him. Lettie and her Grimm, however, encouraged him to seek his own, and he didn't quite know what to do with himself at this point--especially since lordship had become a ruled out possibility. Even if Artur was given the opportunity to become "Lord Viseroy", he wouldn't have a reason to. It was only now in the confines of his pew that he realized that he never had a decent reason to want to assume lordship. He just wanted to be what all the other impressive Viseroys were.
House Viseroy held renown for ceremonious deaths. House Arelgren's was a different matter entirely.
- - - - -
After the sermon had concluded, Lettie and Artur lingered in the cathedral, masks removed, their breaths visible in the cold. Lettie's arm was looped around Artur's, who'd become accustomed to this sort of contact and didn't exceptionally care. Today was his second day among the Arelgrens, but it still felt like the first. He had many questions, but was afraid of asking them, and afraid of what his questions could mean.
"Lettie," he started, to which she replied, "Mm?"
"Auh...am I...useful so far?"
Lettie made a snorting noise, and punched Artur's side with a very Ainsley-like expression.
"Definitely not! You are horribly incompetent!" Lettie laughed, and Artur found himself chuckling lightly beside her, his own ripples of laughter shy-sounding and indelicate. She was avoiding answering his question, and Artur couldn't understand why. He stiffened and tried harder to sound serious.
"I didn't have a reason to become a lord," he admitted. "And I didn't have a choice in becoming a steward."
Artur was quiet again, and Lettie looked solemnly at him. Her smile had faded, but her fingers tightened over his.
"Look."
Lettie pointed a finger at the cathedral's ceiling's apex, and Artur followed her gaze. He made a "H" sound. He'd never scrutinized the cathedral's aesthetics before, but was awestruck at the artisan's handiwork regardless. There was a carving of Obscuvos and several fowl Excito. The glutton god was surrounded by the dancing plagues, and his arms were placed criss-crossed over his chest, his beak agape. Lettie closed her hand around Artur's, and intertwined her fingers with his. Artur's shoulders stiffened then relaxed, and he looked at her.
"See. It's proportional." Lettie said. "The ceiling is high above to remind us of how small we are."
She closed her eyes and inhaled. "I like that. It's nice."
Artur replied with an noncommittal "Mm. 'Spose."
"Reaching physical heights is attainable, Mr.Viseroy. You'll find a ceiling one day," Lettie confidently said.
"Serving Lord Arelgren?" Artur murmured.
"Serving the Arelgrens." Lettie corrected.
"Mm."
Artur scratched his chin without giving his lady an expected reply. The duo returned to the Arelgren manner with the aftertaste of smalltalk to compensate for the awkward silence.
Unbeknownst to Artur, the steward was an objectified "thing" to Lettie because he's the first non-Grimm that exhibited honesty towards she, a Plague. He didn't see himself as someone worth much attention; he saw himself an invisible loom that seamlessly weaved his lord's needs. Yet, to Lettie, he was another addition to her small family, he, lacking a sister, and she, having recently lost a kinsmen. Artur hadn't spoken of how Lucien's death affected him, but his stewardship under Dorian had molded something new. As someone who's naturally skilled at ensconcing his own feelings, Artur hid this away too. Lettie could only pretend she didn't care.
They breached a crossroad.
"Oh!" she started. She looked towards the direction of Arelgren manor, and back to Artur."I'll need dresses for Mishkan."
A silent nod.
"Of course, milady."
- - -
When Dorian returned, he was greeted by a flurry of scarlet and the smell of cacao. He almost fell backwards from Lettie's tackle, for she'd grown heavy from her evolution, and was no longer the small Excito from a week ago. Lettie gave her Grimm a brisk embrace, and he spun her around before setting her down on her feet, he, smiling, and she, out of breath. She twirled some more to highlight the Shyregoedian seamstress's handiwork, and Dorian couldn't help but nod approvingly with a comical smoulder and a few clacks of his tongue.
"So!" he shouted boldly. "Who was the lovely young magpie that made such a lovely selection?"
He grinned knowingly at the retreating figure behind his Plague's shoulder. The steward was occupied with recording and ensuring food supplies with Mishkan. Having his thought process interrupted, he gave up and gave Dorian an answer nonetheless.
"I did no such thing." came Artur's dry reply, to which he paused and added, "And how was the forest observation, milord?"
Dorian's face fell at this, and Artur, amused, saw that Lord Arelgren, for once, looked embarrassed. He looked incredulous. It became instantly obvious to Artur that his lord hadn't wanted to discuss this topic, despite being zealous about it earlier. The forest observation suddenly became impeccably interesting to Artur Viseroy.
"Well. About that--" Dorian reluctantly began. "--the forests on my properties are...are all inhabited by rabbits. ******** rabbits."
"It's incredible. No bears--wolves--very few deer." He flung himself over the small, wooden chair by the front door, and threw his hands up in exasperation. "...Rabbits!" muttered Dorian. "How in the name of Obscuvos, will I be able to profit off rabbits?"
Artur opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, seeing that his lord was not finished.
"...Didn't even think those furry abominations could live through Shyregoed frost." Dorian continued with distaste.
Lettie, inversely, sounded horribly pleased.
"Rabbits!" she whispered. "But that's wonderful, Dorian! Rabbits in the snow---just imagine--"
"Lettie not now. I'm not sure if the hunters would fancy--"
"The hunters will fancy whatever their landlord prefers them to." Artur cut in. "They hunt as their lord commands."
He stood up from his own seat and asked softly, "What color are the rabbits?"
"White."
"Ah. Those are popular in a nobleman's kitchen. Rare in Shyregoed, too. You could make many a shilling, milord."
"R-really? That's...that's good news...!"
"Aye. Rabbits may be small, but don't underestimate their value in correspondence to their size," Artur said with a soft smile, remembering. He had his own, white rabbit as a pet when he was thirteen. The beast's name had been "Charles", and it was the sleepiest fellow he knew. Lettie who had been quiet for some time, ripped him from his reverie.
"And the same to you, Mr.Viseroy." she flatly said, looking abashed. "Don't underestimate the value of something in correspondence to their situation or occupation."
"That's not a fair thing to say," the steward quietly defended.
His comment made things worse. Turning a heel, Lettie, who had been enduring frustration for some time, wordlessly disappeared into her room. Confused, Dorian stared after her, bemused. Clearly there was something neither his plague nor steward were willing to share, but Dorian figured that the two of them must have their reasons.
"Penchant," commented Dorian sardonically. "And she got herself a lovely dress too."
Artur said nothing.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:26 am
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:26 am
ＡＮ ＵＮＦＡＶＯＲＡＢＬＥ ＴＥＭＰＥＲ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 78. ✦ ✦ ✦
stillcrest; shyregoed; solo
Lettie stood impatiently among stallions, shillings clenched tightly in a fist. There were leaves tangled in her hair; mud splatters decorated her coat. She stood between a knight and a breeder, the latter having a surprisingly more furious expression, especially after Lettie's prior tirade. The knight remained apologetic-looking and seemed close to suggesting a compromise, an idea which Lettie hoped to suffocate before it could surface. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lettie Alregren was much faster. She'd never felt this livid before, and she isn't certain if her temper came from a new, humanoid place, or if living with hypocrites had finally woken a rising heat. Pushing the knight aside, Lettie placed herself intimidatingly before the breeder, nostrils flared.
"I'm an Arelgren. I find it difficult for you to believe that a mere knight could mount a higher price for a single stallion, when I--bless me--pay thrice the amount for triple," she started, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Is business foreign to you? Patience is an invaluable virtue, but it fails me here."
"Perhaps you misunderstand what I intend to do with the horses?" Lettie continued, her voice climbing shrilly. "I intend to keep them safe from harm--which is the last priority of a knight, with glory and battle over charity and civil service--when his service is paid--!"
"N-no--" The breeder argued to which Lettie responded with a hollow "I see."
"It's because I'm not Lord Arelgren--because I'm a plague--a vessel--isn't it? Because an item cannot purchase ownership over another item--"
The knight finally cut in, much to the breeder's relief and Lettie's chagrin.
"These horses will bear Sir Locke's burdens. They are Destriers. Young miss Rachel here made a contract with him last season, and holds her honor over her treasury." he softly said, as he patted Lettie's shoulder. He had a weary look in his eye, and Lettie caught herself. She clenched her fists tighter and retreated a few steps, grimacing. "You must be kind, milady."
"You understand honor?" asked the knight lightly.
"Of course." replied Lettie flatly. "I've destroyed because of it. I've labored for it. And I've made countless sacrifices to preserve it. What's it to you."
"It's more to you than it's to me. I have a knight's honor, and you, a lady's. We must both play our roles, and we must allow miss Rachel to play hers."
His thoughtfulness struck her as something wonderful, and with a fevered bowing of the head, Lettie ducked.
"I musn't come here again." Lettie forcefully said. Her cheeks were redder than they'd ever been. As trivial as her tirade may have appeared, it was a massive display of a lack of character, and Lettie, for the second time in her life, betrayed herself.
"I'm sorry for my words earlier. They did not come from an Arelgren's honor, but from an unmastered temper."
Leaving home hadn't been an unwise idea, but her prior arguments were admittedly baseless and uncharacteristically harsh. She draped her hood over her head and turned heel to leave on foot. Sometimes she hated Shyregoed's outskirts, granted, Dorian probably didn't expect her to have ventured out so far away from home due to a brief frustration. Artur Viseroy had had it coming to him, and Dorian's incompetence didn't make anything easier. Her eyes were wet with angry tears, but Lettie's determined fervor kept them from falling. Arelgrens didn't cry.
"Wait, milady." came a small cry, and Lettie stopped mid-way. She forced herself to turn.
The girl called Rachel was staring nervously at her hands which held the Destrier's rope. Squirming, her eyes traveled from the knight, to the Destrier, to Lettie. The knight kindly nodded, and gave her a gentle push forwards.
"Wh-what." Lettie mumbled as Rachel shoved the Destrier's ropes into the Arelgren plague's hands.
"A gift." smiled the knight. "On behalf of miss Rachel, it would be quite detrimental if her ranch becomes an ugly memory. Now, Ms.Arelgren, can you smile?"
Lettie shook her head and allowed the rope to drop from her hands. It was just as unbecoming to take it as it was for her to smile.
"I cannot accept. I refuse charity from others in order to give my own." she solemnly said, her tone growing more firm with each word. Despite being decorated with foliage, Lettie still managed to appear impressive enough to be dismissing when she needed herself to be. Her voice softened when she mustered the bravery to apologize. "It is I who should be concerned about leaving an ugly impression on miss Rachel. I am sorry, and I pray that my words do not reflect poorly on the Arelgren title."
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
The knight responded with an expression of surprise, which melted quickly into a neutral, blank look. "I see. Godspeed then."
"Godspeed."
Lettie clenched her hands and felt the flesh of human-like fingers.
- - -
"Does she usually...?" Artur began, and Dorian shook his head.
"No. Lettie hasn't been angry in quite some time." Dorian quietly said as he laid his quill to rest. He'd finished looking over Artur's papers, which detailed the Arelgrens' travel plans for Mishkan in addition to the potential fur trading business. Yet despite everything, all Dorian could think of was Lettie's burst of...character, and it troubled him. It clearly troubled Artur too; he rubbed his index fingers against his thumbs, flustered.
"Was it something I said?" the steward mused aloud, to which Dorian could only shrug in response.
"Don't fret too much, Viseroy." Dorian quietly said. "Just fulfill your role."
He'd have to fulfill his role in Auvinus on his own.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:27 am
ＴＨＥ ＰＥＮ ＡＮＤ ＴＨＥ ＰＥＮＷＯＭＡＮ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 79. ✦ ✦ ✦
stillcrest; shyregoed / locke castle; auvnius; solo
Lettie shivered as she ventured horse-less through the Shyregoedian woods. She ducked when head-level branches came into passing, and pulled her hood over her head. The maiden wasn't in any particular hurry, and her matured form made traveling much more feasible. Birdsong floated from above, and snow crunched from underneath her boots. Snow seemed to never ceased falling in Shyregoed, and Lettie's lips curled upwards at that. The woods smelled different as an Anhelo. Taller. They looked taller, and smelled and less like the soggy ground and more like the alpine air. Several birds landed on a branch over her head, and cocked their heads curiously at the non-human below. Surprised, Lettie halted in her tracks. Birds rarely populated this area during this time of year. They should have all migrated to Mishkan, Lettie thought before looking up again. Two snow buntings peered back through beady, black eyes.
"Hello," Lettie shyly chimed. "I'm Lettie."
As a gentlewoman, she hastily curtsied for them. The snow buntings squeaked a medley of chirps before circling overhead twice. When they'd finished, they alighted on Lettie's shoulder and chirped louder. What friendly birds! Lettie thought, flattered and no longer angry.
"Good day to you too," Lettie said, delighted, squeezing her shoulders together. This was the closest she'd ever been to birds, even as an Excito. Yet, she wondered if animals's fondness towards her was an ability that came with becoming an Anhelo. She hesitantly began petting one with an index finger, and when it rubbed its head against her touch, her lips parted in intrigue. Yet, she couldn't help but notice how their chirps grew more frustrated. Their unusual behavior was outputting, but interesting as well.
"But you two aren't from around here, are you? Buntings don't frequent here." Lettie inquired, head tilted.
"No, they're not from here," came a tired voice, and Lettie froze at its sound t. "Please, you must listen to them."
The voice came from the branch the birds had come from, and when Lettie looked up, an angry stunted glared back. A brown, hooded cloak kept the stunted's small body warm, and feathers were sewn into the hood's caped portions. There was a look of recognition in the stunted's glowing eyes. The stunted knew that Lettie wasn't human, though how she knew, Lettie had yet to discover. The stunted leaped onto Lettie's opposite shoulder and cried, "Plague. You must come."
"Come, friend, if you'd kindly consider yourself one." the stunted urged. "The birds' master is wounded, and I cannot carry him myself."
"And, you are?" Lettie hesitantly started. Her shoulders tensed.
"There's no time for trivial questions!" the stunted cried, despite that Lettie could come up with a million of them. "A boy could die. My sisters and I have done all in our power, but we fear it's something even we cannot fix." She lowered her voice and pointed to beyond the clearing. "He is not far from here."
"You have the eyes of a healer. You must come."
Lettie agreed, and understood what gave her away.
- - -
There was nothing welcoming about Locke Castle. Its gothic architecture pierced the skies, and nature used all means avoid it. There was no greenery surrounding Locke Castle; soggy dirt and stone was all there was to see. The castle's inhabitants were rumored to be more inviting than their home's exterior, and Dorian found comfort in this irony, for it wasn't much unlike the irony with his home and family. Outside the castle, he fidgeted with the fur coat that Artur had purchased for him. "That fellow," the acolyte grimaced, "has yet to know the meaning of 'too warm'." He was sweating profusely beneath all his layers, though he acknowledged that some sweat should also be accredited to anxiety. He straightened up when a squire came to accompany him in, the boy looking more nervous than he. The shadowy presence behind him, however, was enough to explain why.
A tall, raven-haired woman loomed over her boy.
Dorian compared her beauty to the edge of a sharp knife, and her painted lips, a wolf-stained smile. When she spoke, Dorian felt as if she was speaking at him rather than to him. He figured that it was probably natural for writers to address people with words in such a way.
"You must be Lord Arelgren," the woman nodded. "I am Lidia Locke. Your plague is absent, I see."
"She has business elsewhere; she sends her apologies," Dorian curtly responded, admiring the lesser furs she had around her shoulders.
"I see. Follow me. I've received your letters, we have much to discuss."
Dorian respectfully dipped his head and followed her into Castle Locke's warm, lit halls.
- - -
Lettie had expected someone much older, but the "boy", Necrodiah Peace (or so his satchel read), looked to be younger than Ezekiel North. The snow-hollow pen that the stunteds created for him reeked with the same plague that decorated him. The stunteds had inlaid the pen's interior with leaves and cloth for insulation, but even their great efforts could do nothing to minimize his pain. One look was all it took for Lettie to understand why the stunted needed her assistance, or anyone's assistance, truly. "The plague," Lettie whispered, and the stunted nodded. It ruled over the boy's skin and colored his lips with its dominion. His breathing was labored and he kept murmuring a word--no, a name. "Florence," he croaked, to which the stunted replied, "Shh, child. I'm here. I've brought a friend."
"He's only been with us for a day," a wary stunted added. "He was alone when we found him."
Florence ushered Lettie closer, and Lettie plucked a flower from her hair, and laid it over the boy's vest. When their eyes met, Lettie felt her heart grow colder than Shyregoed's snow, and her cheeks grow hotter than Auvinus's sun. It was the same sensation she felt when Lucien Arelgren died, but this time, she felt restless--as if there was something she could...no...should...do. But she didn't know what. Her gaze darkened, and she thought of what a healthy Necrodiah might have been like.
"Your eyes," the boy fought to say. His were a diluted gray color, Lettie noticed. Dark, like soft ash.
"You musn't speak," the Anhelo whispered. The boy was small enough for Lettie to lift. She slipped her arms under his waist and carried him into the sun, for the stunteds couldn't carry him very far, and if the plague didn't kill him first, the cold certainly would.He wrapped his arms around her neck instinctively, and nuzzled his face into her hair. She smelled like cocoa. Like festivity. Like family. Like everything Necrodiah had quickly lost. "Home will come," Lettie bravely promised. The least she could do was let him die comfortably.
"My home is not far from here," Lettie said to the stunteds. Then tentatively added, "Would you...would you like to accompany me?"
They looked to Florence for an answer.
"We will go," Florence decided.
The stunteds murmured in agreement, and Lettie felt her breath hitch from underneath Necrodiah's weight.
- - -
Artur hurried to remove the plagued boy from Lettie's back once she stepped foot into her home. She was taken aback that he hadn't fussed over her like he usually did. Part of her was glad that he didn't look at her with confusion or anxiety because of the incident from earlier. His eyes said that he disapproved of what she was doing, but his lips said otherwise. He snappily ordered stunteds around the to gather basic, remedial herbs and bandages while Lettie kept Necrodiah warm. She murmured something into the boy's ear before joining Artur in the kitchen.
"Did you promise him?" Artur wearily asked, barely looking up from his own handiwork. The pestle was busy under his touch.
"Promise him what?"
"That he would live."
Lettie's fingers twitched, and for a moment, the steward thought that she was going to remain silent.
Her pestle stopped grinding, and she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "No. I promised him that he would be home."
She crushed the cacao beans faster than she usually did, her fingers blind and frustrated. It was one thing to deliver a sick child to her home. It was another thing to endure watching him die. Her songs could keep him warm, but nothing could chase away death. Lettie fought to keep them in, but her tears dampened the mixture between the bowl and pestle.
"I should never have been cross with you, Mr.Viseroy," Lettie angrily said as she transferred the mixture. "When I thought myself bigger than I am."
She looked at him with an expression that did not belong to her. She looked at him with disbelief. "We are small."
"Perhaps we are," Artur tersely agreed.
He followed her into her room where Necrodiah rested, and watched as she helped the boy imbibe the hot chocolate. She reminded him of gentler Arturia, with her saintly smile and her encouraging personality, but perhaps what made him draw the connection between the two women the most were their backs. His father had always said that Arturia's back was her armor; if she turned her back to you, you couldn't read her at all, and you'd be scared to approach her. Lettie was just the same. Lettie's back was always what Artur found to be her most striking quality, from the moment he first met her. He watched her back as she bent over Necrodiah and kissed him gently on the forehead in the way she imagined his mother would. There's a heavy atmosphere that surrounds her, and Artur knew better than to lighten it. As morbid as it was to admit, Artur acknowledged that it was best for Lettie to distract herself with the boy's soon-to-be death over her own insecurities.
Lettie's gasp snapped him out of his reverie.
"M...Mr.Viseroy?"
"Yes, what is it, milady?" Artur astutely responded.
Lettie's back straightened. Then, it tensed.
"The plague's...receding...He's breathing again--"
"Obscuvos's Wings!? Is this true?"
Artur rushed to her side with Florence at his heel. The stunted had returned from the kitchen with more hot chocolate in her arms, but stopped at the foot of Lettie's bed, where Artur had pantomimed for her to.
Sure enough, Necrodiah's complexion was turning from green to a waxy pink. Some of the bruised black was no longer visible on his skin, though traces of it were still there, light as they were. Lettie stood, fingers shaking.
Her eyes glowed opal.
"It's the hot chocolate!" Lettie cried. "Quick, Florence, we must give him more, I'm sure of it!" Her cheeks were hot again, but this time from something different. When she ran out of hot chocolate, she rushed back into the kitchen to produce more. The stunteds obeyed her every command, inspired by her magic. Soon, Necrodiah could speak again, and Lettie, in her own stifled happiness, was caught on his every word. She wanted to know everything about him, this miracle that she felt she owned, but he could only say so little.
"I'm home. I'm home. I'm home." repeated the ten-year old boy before he grew tired again, and fell asleep.
Artur retired to his bedroom, hoping that by next morning, Necrodiah would be alive, and that he'd be in bed, dreaming.
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:27 am
ＴＨＥ ＦＬＯＣＫ ＡＮＤ ＦＵＲＹ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 80. ✦ ✦ ✦
???; auvinus; solo
wip also wow dang Lidia raised a finger as if she had something to say, but dropped it before raising it again altogether. Instead, she let her arms fall to her sides as she sat herself in her husband's seat at the head of the dining table. Dorian seated himself a comfortable three seats away from her, remembering her wolf-smile. He busied himself with studying the table while Lidia rallied commands to her husband's squires, though by how she spoke to them, one wouldn't have known. The table itself was made of oaken wood, and had the Locke's family tale carved into its skin. A knight raised his blade over his head at every corner, and at the table's center, painted in gold, a crown of amaryllis. At this moment, Dorian recalled Nancy once telling him that impeccable craftsmanship could "sing".
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lidia dreamily noted, snapping the acolyte from his awe. Dorian quickly recomposed himself, cheeks tinting. He looked up, but only enough so that he wouldn't catch her gaze. The penwoman laughed a sound that didn't quite match her image, and folded her hands when she found it appropriate to speak.
"The Locke Tablet." she fondly explained, and waved a dismissive hand over the massive pulpit. "Is a family heirloom so large that it had to be modified in order for it to remain in the castle. Truly a spectacle, but nothing more. Moving along."
"My condolences for your father, but you are Lord Arelgren now. Let us discuss the present." she stated matter-of-factually. Previously, she'd been "Lidia Hawke", but she didn't live on Arelgren land then, and so Dorian didn't care for what she was then either. But she did, and her paperwork did too.
"Milady, whereas I must admit that the your land is my pretense for coming, I have other favors to ask of you," Dorian timidly cut in, pleased that it even managed to come out of him. Lidia seemed relieved at this, for she'd much rather her husband handle anything that wasn't pertinent to her expertise.
"Please." Lidia said with relief, surprising the acolyte, but exciting him nonetheless.
"I apologize if I come off boldly, but I wish to become more than just an acolyte, and I know you...you have been known to foster dreams. I have a dream. I can't call it much more than that with the power I have now." Dorian continued, hoping that whatever impression he was making was a good one. "A manticore's dream."
Lidia chuckled warmly at this. "Manticore? Bolder and bolder, Arelgren." She propped her elbows on the table. "But you are correct. I am the Sorceress of Dreams, the Hawk-Eyed Bishop, and other less flattering things. But share your butterfly dream, and I might just lend...some manticore 'magic'. Go on. Spit it out."
Her eyes, clear as they were, were less inviting than the stone walls of her castle. Yet Dorian pressed forwards, knowing that if he didn't do so now, he might never have a chance at it later. Lidia Hawke was known to be generous for her political favors, but not necessarily charitable with her patience. She was measuring him, he knew. She said nothing, but he knew.
"I wish to defeat the plague. I dream to unite all factions to join me in my fight against the plague. There are some Obscuvians who share my ideals, but many who fear putting trust in them. If I were to gain power--" Dorian vowed, only to be interrupted by Lidia.
"If you were to gain power," Lidia corrected.
"If...I were to gain power," Dorian said, unyielding, "Then people would see me as as a symbol, a representative, and something that they could fearlessly follow. I have learned, milady, that ideas cannot protect people, but they can definitely empower them."
He gestured to his entirety. "My grimmhood protects no-one. Obscuvos's laws protect no one. It is the Obscuvians that give Obscuvos power. Perhaps I'm a heretic for thinking so, but I know this to be true."
"Why do you say so, Lord Arelgren?"
"Because Obscuvos said to me in a vision two years ago," Dorian said, directly into her eyes this time, with a look that Lidia found worth something. "He said, 'I know.' I feared him. I learned to love him. And He made me no longer fear the plague, but hate it."
"You seem to have a skewed view on the plague, Arelgren. Do you believe differently than your brothers and sisters?"
"No. As an Obscuvian, I believe that Plagues are holy gifts, and under good nourishment, may be used to humanity's benefit. Yet, it is the black death itself that breeds them. It is the black death itself that breeds grief and strife."
"I am a young lord. I have never tasted power, and I never thought that I'd need to. Chaos and obscurity. I always tell myself, chaos and obscurity. We are all one in the same, and the plague is the enemy. Each other, the council, the guard, the fellowship--they are not the enemy."
Lidia said nothing for awhile. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, distant, as if plucked from an imaginary realm.
"And why would the other factions trust you to band them? And why should we? Ideas do not hold power. You seem to know this well."
"I do. More than anyone."
Dorian rose from his seat.
"The moment I became a socialite, I was renowned for my eccentricity, my handsomeness, my senselessness, and my prejudice. But since I've come to know Obscuvos, I've been known for my integrity, honesty, and willpower. If any man is to be trusted with something overbearing and impossible, he should be able to swear by it. Because what has been done can be undone."
"--And what has rot can still be cleansed," Lidia finished, the words her very own. Her wolf smile returned, this time, a smile of approval. "You have read my book. I must admit, I am impressed."
"What has been done can be undone; what has rot can still be cleansed," Dorian repeated. "No truer of words have ever been written. It is I who should be impressed, Lady Locke. But I know words are still ideas."
"Mm. You know well. Continue." Lidia pressed two fingers to her temples.
"I must serve Obscuvos as an overseer. And I can prove my worth to you, if you'll let me."
The lady Locke raised a palm, and Dorian seated herself at the gesture gesture. He seemed eager, she'd give him that much. Dorian Arelgren was an amicable Obscuvian, even among other factions, so it wasn't that Lidia didn't immediately trust his capabilities, but that it wasn't her place to decide what to do with them. He reminded her of her younger self, desperate to climb a ladder that had not been built for him.
"I'll do what is in my power," Lidia promised before she left the young lord to the castle's gates. She was neither smiling or not-smiling; he lips were twisted into an ambiguous expression, and Dorian couldn't help but to feel anxious. She called to him as he rode away, but the wind was too strong for him to hear her words. Her voice was tossed around in the winds' brawl, lost, but not forgotten.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:27 am
ＢＩＲＤＳ ＯＦ Ａ ＦＥＡＴＨＥＲ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 81. ✦ ✦ ✦
???; auvinus; solo
The first thing Lettie noticed upon waking up was that Necrodiah was gone. Startled, she stumbled out of her chair before a familiar voice said: "Do not worry. The Viseroy man took the boy into town to find his family."
"I saw what you did." Florence said. It sounded more like an accusation than a testament to fact. The nightingale stunted stood surrounded by her sisters. In any other situation, Lettie would have found them a reassuring presence to have. In her current state, she could say nothing. The conversation felt strangely like the one she'd had with Ainsley, but this time, with her being the center of interest. Lettie was never good with confrontations unless she was the one giving them. She healed the boy before the plague could snatch him, and she had nothing to say for herself. Dorian was conveniently absent, it was he who usually laid bricks where she pointed. He, the master of wordplay, roleplay, and shadowplay. She, his little ghost. A little ghost who had caused a miracle, that's all.
"It was magic," Florence insisted indignantly. "And you act like it was a miracle."
But that's what it was, Lettie considered retorting. Her 'miracle' was what little strength she could summon. It was a miracle. "It was a miracle," Lettie convinced herself aloud. "Because I do not know if I can do it again."
She looked away, horrified at the possibility of her own words. "You...You must know others like me. Other plagues with 'healer eyes'."
"Hhheh!" Florence nodded noncommittally, sadness pouring over her expression. "Aye, but they never did what you did. You carried him home on your back. You gave him your bed, and fed him your magic soup. Who are you, healer plague Lettie?"
"An Arelgren," Lettie said, fatigued. "Nothing more."
"Why nothing more?" Florence pressed, gathering Lettie's hand in her own, two glowing ones. "Why, Lettie Arelgren?"
Truly, why? Lettie had never thought of it before, even without her healing skills. Did she have aspirations separate of her Grimm? She'd only wanted to be useful to him. She was thrilled to share his burdens, and excited to hunt those who would be in his way. But Hopkin had called her kind before, with the kind of poetic nonsense that Dorian could never conjure, and made her feel worth something more than "Dorian Arelgren's plague". Healing Dorian was no different than healing the rest of Panymium's plagued; Dorian's plague was just a different kind of plague. Thinking of the plague often made Lettie think of village, which in return, made her think about Marian. Marian's tired eyes, mystic and telling. She saw them in her sleep.
"I don't know why," Lettie admitted, gathering her skirts from underneath her. "I don't usually have goals unless I'm angry. I've always just wanted to heal. To heal my Grimm, to heal those who need healing, because many people don't think they deserve it, but I do."
She closed her eyes and thought of Artur and Arturia Viseroy, whose face she imagined to look like Marian's.
"I don't know if I can do it again." she faltered.
Florence's eyes softened, and she held Lettie's fingers up to her face. When she spoke again, her voice was soft like a nightingale's song, and soothing, like the bird's presence.
"Oh, sister Lettie, we, the nightingales, have traveled Panymium healing the sick with the herbs that we have. But we are small, and there is only so much we can do. But you are not like us--you are big in size and heart. You could come with us."
"Come with you where?" Lettie said, curiosity piquing.
"Come with us all over Panymium and help us heal the plague with your magic soup!" Florence excitedly rattled, hope filling her voice. "That boy was one among many--and there are many that could use your help--we could be responsible for all of Panymium's sick--"
"But is it my place to?" Lettie cut in. She turned to the window, and saw two, black dots approaching from the horizon line; Artur and the boy were coming home.
Thoughts of the steward dampened the situation more. It wasn't that Lettie didn't...want to be healer, to run away with Florence and perform widespread healing with the "magic soup" she didn't even know if she could replicate with magic. And what if someone wanted to die? Would it be within her right to save them? Artur had asked her not to. She couldn't even endure watching Necrodiah die. How would she endure watching another plagued person die, except to only have them refuse to be saved? Truthfully, being considered "Dorian Arelgren's plague" made Lettie feel safe. She didn't have any expectations placed upon her other than being a pillar of support for someone who needed her the most. Being responsible for all of Panymium's sick was a great task, and Lettie didn't know if she had the merit for it. She wasn't accustomed to being a leader. An aid perhaps, but never someone in charge.
Lettie plopped herself down on the ground, where Florence's nightingale sisters clambered around her. She gathered her legs into her arms and squeezed them against her chest, feeling the human parts of her, the soft parts of her, pressing against each other.
"Charity can ruin a woman," she shakily repeated more to herself than to Florence. "if she doesn't carefully choose her place."
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:29 am
good job artur beating up orphans A++++++++++
Artur was at Necrodiah's bedside when the boy woke. He'd been careful not to stir Lettie; she needed rest. The boy didn't argue against Artur's decision in allowing the plague time to recover, but he did seem anxious about showing gratitude towards his savior. He'd left his snow buntings in her care with the nightingale stunteds, carefully, to avoid attracting the steward's attention. Necrodiah was unconvinced when Artur explained that knowing that Necrodiah was safe and sound was gratitude enough for Lettie. Besides, Necrodiah didn't trust Artur. The steward was too hasty in getting him to leave the manor. The boy wondered if something was amiss, but being wise beyond his years meant that he'd press to find out. He did not, however, expect Artur to be sharper.
"If you're planning on asking any questions, you can forget it." Artur said, looking at anywhere but the boy as he ushered him to walk faster. "As the Arelgren steward, it is my duty to return as soon as I rid milady of you. I will not be delayed," he stopped in his tracks, then stared down at the boy with a grimace. "D'you understand?"
A serious question. Necrodiah reluctantly nodded at first, but immediately blurted: "Aye, but taking me to town won't do you good."
Artur's eyes widened incredulously, and his grip on the boy's arm tightened a notch.
"B-Because my ma and da are dead," the boy whimpered, hands clammy. "I'm not from Shyregoed. I'm from Mishkan. I don't have a home."
Instead of looking triumphant at besting Artur with this information, the boy licked his chapped lips bashfully. He suddenly became conscious of how small and wet his clothes were. His eyes hurt too, somewhere from behind his eyeballs. Part of him wanted the steward to take him to town anyway, but another part of him hoped for something that would never be possible. He wanted the lady with the beautiful eyes to take him in, to sing him more songs, not just songs of healing, but songs of celebration and festivity, of joy and love. She carried him home when others would dare not lay a finger on him, and she promised him something that he'd now left behind. If the steward was going to abandon him here, Necrodiah wouldn't mind, so long as the Shyregoedian snow buried him, and the lady found him again.
"Please don't leave me alone," he pleaded. "Please--" to which Artur overruled with an irritated "Shut up."
The steward, too, found himself licking his own lips, groaning inwardly at the situation that befell him. Ironically enough, he, too, thought of Lettie. The Arelgrens had business to attend to, servants to hire, and noble duties to serve. Artur's own hands were already tied as is, and he'd only disappoint his lord if he secretly raised an...orphan. What would Arturia say if she discovered this? Arturia was like Lettie in many ways, except Arturia laughed at the idea of charity. She hated it, and blamed it for their mother's death. She hated orphans most of all, and truthfully, with his family's circumstances, Artur should have too. If the late Lady Viseroy had not opened an orphanage, and not had taken in the red-haired girl, she would not have died, Arturia would not have become an iron maiden incarnate, and Abel would not have become as important as he did.
But this was not about House Viseroy. This was about bringing an orphan, whom Artur should hate by association, into House Arelgren. If Lettie had been human, and not a Locos, she'd have died the same way his mother did. He'd only kept his mother's death from his employers because of Lettie's ideals and generosity. He wouldn't have wanted her to hate him, anything but that.
"No. I'm leaving you here." Artur firmly decided. "You've traveled from Mishkan to Shyregoed this far on your own. You can go on. I am but a servant; I can do nothing for you."
"N-no!" Necrodiah cried, and threw his arms around Artur's waist. "I'll follow you! I-I know the way back! I want to be with her--"
"You will do no such thing--" the steward growled before knocking the boy to the ground with a swift punch that he'd learned from his sister. "--Because you'd be a burden. You don't know anything about milady--"
"--And neither do you!" the boy retorted, shuffling backwards on his hands and feet, shocked that the slight-built man was even capable of packing such a powerful hit. He had fear swimming in his eyes, fear of being overpowered by this strangely stronger man--but especially fear of being left alone."SHE'S KIND!" he shouted, as if saying so would help.
"SHE'S TIRED," Artur roared back, and produced something that made the boy froze. Arturia's dagger, needle-shaped but intimidating nonetheless; he'd front desperation with desperation.
"I don't--want--to kill you--boy." He slowly said, allowing each word to drip in. "But you do not know milady's circumstances, and it is not my place to decide things in her stead. Especially things as big as you."
Necrodiah's shoulders slumped at this, but he pushed himself off the ground, wiping the blood from his broken nose. There was that same reluctant look of understanding in his eyes, disappointed but accepting. He studied Artur for a moment, head cocked, like his own snow bunting, before turning heel and making his way towards town away from the lady he liked so much.
Satisfied, Artur returned his sister's dagger to its sheath and retreated himself. He tucked a strand of long, black hair back behind his ear and glanced offhandedly at his bruised knuckles.
When he greeted Lettie, she gathered his hands in hers.
Upon further notice, she saw that they were gloved.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:30 am
ＣＲＵＥＬＴＹ
✦ ✦ ✦ CHAPTER 82. ✦ ✦ ✦
???; auvinus; solo
"The boy is safe," Artur lied, feeling his knuckles less and less. "A farmhand in town is a friend of the Peace family, and is taking the boy with him on his journey back to Mishkan."
He hoped she'd buy it.
"I...see," Lettie responded, and sat herself down by the hearth. It was difficult for Artur to discern whether or not he'd convinced her just by looking at her face. Her expression was as unreadable as her back usually was, which frightened him a little. The anhelo seemed to consider the newfund information for a moment or two, before suggesting, "Ah, Mr.Viseroy, it's best for you'd let the fire thaw the ice. Florence helped with the hearth, see." She smiled gently, to which Artur hastily responded with a "No, milady, I'm quite exhausted. I'll be retiring to my quarters."
He'd been cruel, and he'd rather sleep off his karma.
"I insist, milady. I'm sorry."
"She insists, too," Florence flatly said, and he jumped at her voice.
The nightingale stunted stood alone on the stone floor near Lettie, her sisters nowhere to be seen. Like Necrodiah, she didn't trust the steward, and her distrust became more evident through her eyes and voice. Artur didn't view her much as a threat, and hoped that the stunted, like Necrodiah, would just leave House Arelgren be. He paused before reaching the entrance of the hallway, and cocked his head to the side.
"Mm." He said, bemused. "You should also return to your flock, nightingale."
And with that said, the darkness of the hallway swallowed him whole.
- - -
"I don't trust him," Florence hissed. Lettie didn't much care whom Florence trusted or not, and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She'd been sitting by the hearth since she'd woken. There had been specks of ice on her skin, and Florence had advised her not to pick them off, and to let fire do its work. The ice came from magic, the stunted explained, and was nothing to be afraid of. Even so, Lettie was anything but calm. She knew little about her new body, sans that it made mobility much more efficient and that she shared the same build as a human female. It scared her that there were magical abilities imbued within her that she still had yet to find out, but it also frustrated her that Florence only knew so much. Yet, she didn't want to burden her Grimm nor steward by requesting their assistance. She'd get assistance on her own from the house. Yes, she thought, she'd find a plagueologist. The house had many of those, no doubt. The next Obscuvian meeting was dawning quickly, anyway, and now was as good as a time to prepare.
"Please forgive me for earlier, Florence," Lettie apologized again. "It isn't that I don't wish to help the sick, it's that I know very little about my abilities and prowess. I wouldn't want to be a burden to you or your sisters--"
"But you wouldn't be--" Florence argued.
Lettie smiled warmly. She turned a cheek.
"Thank you, Florence, but it'd put my heart more at ease if I find that out for my own. I am sure that my Grimm would support whatever decision I choose to make, but my current form is not a familiar one. There is much I do not know."
"Don't look sad, Florence. I'll tell you my feelings once I've settled matters. But for now, the Arelgren steward has a point. Perhaps it's best you return to your home with your sisters."
She looked at the hallway that Artur had disappeared into. It was empty, hollow, and full of things he didn't say.
"We'll meet again, Florence, when the full moon marks the end of the month." Her voice trailed off.
Lettie traced the floorboard near her with a slight finger, and when Florence saw that her request was no longer something Lettie seemed keen on talking about, retreated reluctantly.
"That's fine," Florence stiffly said. "I await your reply."
The nightingale stunted disappeared with the sound of fluttering wings, though where she left, Lettie did not know. The hot chocolate maid was preoccupied with heavy matters. She could only hope that Dorian's hopes were higher than hers.
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:30 am
meeting w/ adlam
WIP
Although Lettie had only planned to visit Doctor Adlam for a few hours, upon arriving at his home, she hoped that he'd be kind enough to allow her to stay just a bit longer. Doctor Adlam's garden was one of the most wonderful displays of greenery that Lettie had ever seen. She had no names to put to most plants growing there, but she had nothing but respects for the man who tended to them. Signs of soil care were subtly there, and Lettie couldn't help but to take a whiff of a few flowers near the gate which she swore were foreign. Magic, no doubt, allowed several flowers to grow in a climate where they shouldn't be able to, but the aesthetic harmony of Adlam's workmanship nonetheless made every flower feel as if they were meant to grow there regardless. The ladyplague wished that Dorian and Artur could share her delight, but her Grimm was preoccupied with the prophet, and her steward, busy elsewhere. Yet, in quick time, Lettie had become accustomed to her independence. Her changes in stature and speech pattern were indicative of her new comforts. New experiences, too, were generally pleasurable. Adlam's home was another new experience; she was glad to be able to enjoy gardens at a fuller height. Her bliss was short-lived, however.
A pigtailed, freckled girl suddenly forced open the door, catching Lettie off guard. The two shared a stare for a moment, before the younger girl's mouth quivered for a second before shooting off entirely.
"Doctor! Lady Lettie is here--I think--it's her!! I think!" the girl blurted, though a larger figure quickly brushed forwards and pushed the girl behind him. Lettie assumed that this newcomer was Adlam himself, though he appeared much younger than she'd imagined.
"Yes, yes, I know," the tall man hastily said. "Begone, Alice--off you go."
"But uncle--"
"But niece. I have secret garlic bread by my bed. The stunteds prepared it, it should be fresh. Tell them I've given you permission to have it." Here, Adlam paused to give Alice a stilted, but nonetheless warm smile. "They are for you, dear."
"Oh. OhhHHHh."
And with that, Alice vanished, and Adlam properly allowed Lettie into his home.
- - -
Adlam's home, like his garden, displayed thoughtful arrangement. Artur had made Arelgren House beautifully furnished within, but Adlam's humble home rivaled Lettie's in decor; the doctor's home was elegantly minimalist.
Lettie sat in the doctor's waiting room, and smiled when he reappeared at the stairs.
"I apologize for Alice. She's staying with me while her mother and father attend to their Acolyte duties in Auvinus," Adlam said, and handed Lettie a cup of ale. "She's never seen an Anhelo up-close before either, so she excited for your arrival."
Lettie blushed at this, to which Adlam quickly added, "But I'll be sure to have her out of your way. Pardon me for not doing so earlier--"
"No, no, it's fine--" Lettie cut in, and laughed a little, hoping to make herself feel more comfortable. "I just...I'm not quite sure if I should be excited about becoming an Anhelo myself. Alice is no bother to me. She seems like a very sweet girl."
The doctor smiled at this, and pulled a parchment--Lettie's letter--and briefly glanced over its contents.
"I see. I'm glad then. But onto what your concerns may be. In your letter, you explained that you don't completely understand your capabilities and transformation."
He shifted his posture and looked up at her.
"Yes," Lettie quipped, and the doctor continued.
"You...were a hot chocolate Putesco.And are now a Locos. You are unsure if you have the ability to heal through cacao, but you've done it once, and you are afraid that you cannot repeat the task."
"Much so."
"I see. Well, Ms. Arelgren, I'm assuming that's what you'd prefer to be called?" the doctor inquired with a slight tilt of his head. Lettie actually seemed to ponder this, for she actually hadn't given much thought to what her new form meant for her title. It should mean something. She hoped so.
"Lettie is fine too", the Anhelo finally decided, "But I do take pride in being acknowledged as an Arelgren."
"Duly noted," Adlam replied, smiling. "Ms. Arelgren, you should be pleased to know that you are most definitely a healing plague. Locos all have characteristic, human-like eyes that glow whenever they perform magic. While all of them have the ability to heal the plague, they also have some small form of non-healing magic. Both types of magic are realized quite timely." He paused. "Surely, you've done both already?"
"I...I would think so. I healed a young boy, and I warmed an icy plaza before."
"Did you feel any changes afterwards? Drawbacks?"
"There were visible flecks of ice on my skin, and I felt my skin begin to grow hard and frigid. Like...glass..."
"Hm. Then you most certainly performed magic. Yet, you are not here to simply ask of me to confirm a few things for you. You are heading somewhere with your abilities, I presume? Most Anhelo do."
Adlam's analysis came quickly, as expected of him. He folded Lettie's letter and returned it to the pocket from where it came. He saw that she was still forming an answer for him, so he waited politely, folding his hands behind his back until she finished both her ale and her thoughts.
"I want to...use my abilities to aid others," Lettie began, "And to learn how to use my magicks better also. I'm afraid that I won't be able to heal again, and that my first success was nothing short of a miracle."
Adlam's mouth spread into a grin, and he sat himself down opposite of her.
"Spoken well," he chortled. "Rest assured, you will be able to perform your magick again, though I must warn you, the drawback will be the same--or augmented, depending on the scale of your performance."
"That must be something all Anhelos learn to accept. I am prepared for it," Lettie quickly said, although she knew quite the opposite. "I...I am contemplating creating a...a charity of my own. A group of healers within the House."
"Ah. I see." the doctor said, disappointing the plague. She'd expected a much more encouraging response from him, but his voice gave her no pleasure. He sounded rather unimpressed by her ambition, although Lettie didn't know why. Nonetheless, Adlam scratched his chin, bemused.
"I never doubted you, miss. Your cacao blessings can save many, I am sure. Yet, I am curious. What does your Grimm think of all this? You, heading off on your own to heal the sick."
The question caught her off guard. She hadn't thought about what Dorian would think. Her Grimm had gradually relented on giving his opinion on what she chose to do with herself. Dorian's respect for her, if anything, had grew with her size. The Anhelo wanted to believe that her Grimm would remain firmly supportive of whatever her endeavors would be, but it didn't seem fair for her to make such a quick assumption without having consulted him first, not because he is her Grimm, but because Lord Arelgren is...
"...my dearest friend," Lettie slowly said, "Would, I hope, be nothing but agreeable with what I choose."
"If he were to go against me, he would do so out of personal selfishness," she quietly added. "Not because he hopes to gain something, but because he's afraid to lose things close to him."
Adlam chewed his lip.
"Yes, but you see, I asked you such a question because you are an Anhelo now. You no longer 'require' a Keeper. You do understand."
Her silent shock told him that she didn't.
"It's..." Lettie said after a pause, "It's...never occurred to me before."
But she was lying, because it had occurred to her before, in Lucien's voice.
"You will know for certain when you have changed. I cannot tell you how you will know, but you will be marked. When you do, you must know that Dorian Arelgren no longer is your Grimm, for he will become a separate entity to you. If he chases you, flee from him, and if he doesn't, commend him and encourage him to live beyond you."
But it was something she didn't want to consider, and something she knew that was impossible for her to do despite her limitless agency. Her Grimm was her partner; an extension of who she was and who she would become. He was her Keeper. She wanted him to be the keeper of her secrets, her hopes, and her dreams. If her humanlike, new form would create a barrier between them, Lettie would much rather revert to being an Excito once more. It was true that Dorian was becoming a separate entity to her like his father had said he would, but from what Lettie was conscious of--her Grimm had only confessed a stronger love for her, not a lesser one. After Lettie's evolution, she and Dorian had vowed to grow together in partnership. Truly, there was only one path that she would walk.
Adlam saw her straighten in her seat, and took note of it.
"I see that you understand perfectly," he briskly said, folding her letter closed. "Your business with me is finished, then?"
"I suppose so," Lettie firmly agreed, rising.
an: ok getting script down first b4 i go back and make it extensive/atmospheric
- - -
. . ..
i dont know how 2 write normal characters
even my doctors are weird
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knife effect Vice Captain
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 6:32 am
dorians all like heh yeah ill bet THAT went well WOO H OO returns from locke castle / goes on a shopping spree in auvinus bc he can do that
bc money
also meets fellow nobles serving house tilane that are like
so
how
did everything go buddy
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