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 Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2012 11:41 pm
Georgie bit the edge of his lips and slowly edged towards the wall opposing this new-- and pretty-- girl in front of him, completely forgetful of the fact that Adal was clinging dearly to him from at his sleeves. It was only when he caught glimpse of Lady Sage's lightly blushed face that he laughed and smiled like a fool, as any boy would, and bowed his head downward to avoid anymore embarrassment.
Adal glanced up at his Grimm, but all he could make out was the rustling of sheets above and the hard nudge of his form away from the freckled boy. The burlap Servos waited impatiently for Georgie's response to the new, more girlish voice, but nothing sounded but a few peculiar stutters. What an embarrassing moment! Adal could barely imagine being at human's height, being able to make such vivid expressions, and doing little more than standing like an idle statue.
"Ah--" Georgie smiled, nervously, and skittered forward towards Sage. He managed to scuttle up into an awkward, limp stand, and the drapery of blankets fell into a hapless pile behind him. When Sage bowed, the young boy tried to curtsy in return, only to catch his senses and bow with a peachy shade of red lining his features. "--H-hello, Miss Sage, a-ah-- I-i'm-- m-my-- Georgie Malt, n-nice to m-m-meet you," he replied, exasperated, rubbing the side of his arm. "A-a-and y-yes, Sir S-loane, he's, um--"
Momentarily dumbfounded, Georgie turned around. "Adal?" He shrugged his shoulders and lifted up his arms, checked under his shirt, then turned around near full circle to look for his rather tiny Servos.
"Adal, where--" his feet kicked the edge of the blankets, and Georgie hastily kicked the rest of the bed's unwound and rather roughly textured sheets away from his legs. When he did, he noticed the Hat Servos collapsed idly and nonsensically on the floor.
"Oh!" Georgie knelt down and stared at Adal, near worried, though his sour look vanquished nearly instantaneously when he noticed that the Servos' eyes were looking plaintively and pebble-like as ever. The Hat Servos was, indeed, merely staring up at him, doing nothing to move at all, and Georgie reprimanded by poking at at the Hat's miniature chest.
Georgie whispered, "A-adal, these were the people you w-wanted to meet, get up! You're being a nuisance."
"You made me fell," Adal said, simply, "I don't want to anymore, b'cause I fell, and it hurt."
"Why," the Doctor interjected, "There you are, little Servos. Were you here all along?"
"He's being nonsensical," Georgie whined, "I can't git him to get up!"
"Whyever not?"
Adal sat up, and shook his head, "B'cause, Georgie was embarrassing in front of Miss Sage and Mister Sloane, an' I am no Hat Knight, so Mister Sloane has lied, and I do not like lies." He paused, shaking his head, "I am just a Hat Boy."
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Posted: Mon Jun 11, 2012 8:46 pm
The stuttering and gaping the freckled boy was doing caused the Servos' eyes to narrow, his spotted mouth shrinking into something akin to pursed lips which curved further into a frown as he crossed his arms. What was he getting all flustered about? One glance over his shoulder at his Grimm confirmed his suspicions and the large Servos grumbled, gloved fingers tapping impatiently on his arm.
It was inappropriate to look at her like that, even if he was just a boy.
Sage, on the other hand, didn't seem as offended as her miniature knight and chuckled at Georgie's attempted curtsy. What followed was somewhat confusing to both parties, and as seemed to be the case since stepping into the Doctor's quarters, they both remained silent and merely watched until and opportunity to speak presented itself naturally. This did not occur until after the Doctor spoke up, giving Sage a start, and the felled Hat Boy sat up in Georgie's palm.
"--Mister Sloane has lied, and I do not like lies."
The quick pitter patter of small armored feet sounded against the wooden floor of the caravan and the servos knight pointed up accusingly at Adal. "Lies do not pass my lips, burlap Plague! A question is not a lie." A lie, of all things. Sloane spat on the very idea! "I request an apology from the Hat Boy and that he stand before me--"
"Oh, hush, Sloane," Sage cooed, scooping him up in her hands and lifting him so that he was level with Adal. Even sitting, he was quite a few inches taller than the older Servos.
Sloane huffed indignantly, looking back to his Grimm, "Please, my Lady, he has offended not only my honor but yours for insinuating lies!"
Shaking her head, she gave his helmet a gentle flick of her finger so it fell forward and covered his eyes. "I feel no offense, nor should you. The poor Hat Boy has already fallen, must you aggrieve him further?" While he adjusted his helmet, Sloane gave a pitiful pout but shook his head, shooshing himself as requested. She then turned a smile toward Georgie and Adal individually. "I hope you weren't hurt badly. It's a pleasure meeting you both, and an honor to meet another Plague and keeper," with that, she bowed her head again and this time Sloane stood upon her hands, beamed to the both of them, removed his helmet and bowed theatrically.
"A pleasure to meet you--"~ "--Hat Boy..." the giant Infitialis' gaze was turned skyward, pained eyes hidden by his hair, and for the better as tears continued to stream down his face. A twisted grin that threatened to turn sour at the slightest provocation covered his face with sharp teeth. "It's you..." he remembered, now.
He remembered... everything.
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Posted: Sat Oct 06, 2012 9:14 pm
Adal laughed again. No, he cackled, and loudly so, perhaps terribly, his hands gripped tightly around the violin now cradled in his lap. The cacophony stopped abruptly, though, for it left a sullen aftertaste in his mouth that he didn't like, or deserve, or care much for.
"Me," he snapped, "And you. Dumb, useless sword. Lumbering, sad sword; stupid, felled sword," his voice rose, and he stood up, throwing the violin to the side he so intensely nursed.
The Locos felt his blood curdle in ways he'd assumed a Plague's could not, and the glow of his candelit eyes rose to such intensity that he looked a Phasmas. He stood there, turning red, and he laughed again, momentarily sheltering his anger iside of the scowl written on his face. "Still big, still slow to speak, still fragmented, but a memory returned, the first Plague I knew: I beg you, why the sullen look, Sword knight? Servos. Now Infitialis. Still red. Still absent. WHERE WERE YOU?"
"Where were you?"
Adal looked up at Sloane, breathing in, his tempered skin fading to a pallid white. He recalled not having seen another Excito after all those years, at least, not in person, and he fell as mute as he was while the Doctor and Georgie attending to their studies. The memory of staring, looking forward, with long slots of silence: looking forward, the Troupe. Black on black to yellow to white to black, he remembered, the troupe and its bells, and silver, too: and red. A startling red: a red too late.
Adal held his head, quietly, and plopped back down onto the snow, and murmured, "No. No hat boys. No knights. Cor, my head..."
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Posted: Sun Oct 07, 2012 12:23 am
A shrill cackle disrupted the agonized smile on his face and turned it down. The Infitialis lowered his gaze to the short blonde Locos, teeth gritted as his lips quivered around them. His white eye was reddened from tears, both swirls sharp, thin and dulled in color. That was not a noise he recognized from the hat boy and the discomfort it brought him gave his sobs momentary pause.
Dumb. Useless. Lumbering. Stupid. The words cut deep but Sloane knew they were correct. Felled sword. It was true.
Sloane's breath caught in his throat, a quiet choke as his armored hands found his face and the weight of his failures sent him to his knees. His head pounded while his heart ached and begged for relief, for forgiveness, but there was none to be had here: not from Adal and certainly not from himself. Claws retracting as they found their way into his hair, the sword hunched over and gave way to his tears as Adal's scathing voice seared into his very core. Insult after insult pierced through his flesh, bypassing his armor entirely; reminder of what he once was and the horrible mistake he became, how stupid he was for thinking he could help anyone this way, stained red by sins and mistakes.
"WHERE WERE YOU?"
His entire body trembled, though the knight did not recoil from the hat's raised volume. Several humans around them turned their heads to look, murmuring amongst themselves. It must have been such a sight, a big, lumbering, useless giant like himself submitting to the callous words of a violin toting youth. Again, Adal repeated the question and the calmer tone sunk his words in deeper instead of bouncing them away in defense.
The entire festival he had been by Sage's -- no, Beatrix Amaranthe's -- side, tending her as he ought to in public. Oh how rare those opportunities were. Their bickering distracted him, he let down his guard. He was so stupid.
"I... I was..." Sloane's voice shook, a mere whisper muffled by his hands and hunched posture. His fingers gripped tightly into his hair. He could no longer hear Adal's idle ramble, his worthless murmurings. No, the only sound that reached his ears was the surprised gasp of the bell, the pull and squelch of her flesh. The knight's gauntlets slammed against the ground, propelling him forward. His shoulder plowed roughly against Adal's middle, knocking both of them down. Before he fell and squashed the Locos, his large arms caught himself so he hovered just over his wretchedly small form. Teeth bared, eyes burning like boiling blood, the knight's voice ripped painfully from his throat as he roared. "I WAS THERE!"
He glared, so full of hate and rage, but it didn't last. His face twisted back into sadness and Sloane hung his head, body shuddering pitifully. "I was too late..."
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Posted: Tue Nov 13, 2012 1:53 am
Adal's anger did not help things. He tried blindly to push the lumbering sword away from him, but that only resulted in a clumsier and more painful fall. The Locos shouted wordlessly, red with anger, though the words at the top of his tongue were too white-hot now to summon at all.
He calmed before he had his say, which irritated him greatly, but the blond could merely lay caged below the body of this giant and hear him squeal and shout. Like an infant.
The two Plagues seemd to swap places for a moment, Sloane angry and Adal somber. He recalled catching a glimpse of the red Infitialis before he was pulled away from Georgie, true, but Adal did not realize that he was the Servos from before. A sort of sour envy grew in him, then, that a Plague younger than he was was so tall in height and wide in body.
"I was too late..."
Adal looked to the side. It was getting steadily uncomfortable and having the wind knocked out of him had just started to settle into an uncomfortable body-ache, which did not help his throbbing head in the least. He wriggled around.
"Get off," he hissed, with a blend of both disgust and great disappointment. Adal pushed weakly at Sloane's shoulders, then tried again with more punch, "Get off of me, you bloody hound, or I'll be sure to crush your ego before you chance my bones--"
He managed to wriggle away without too much guidance, though, even if it took a level of persistence his energy did not allow. He spat on the ground next to him and carefully picked his violin up from the ground. It was soppying wet from the snow already, which irritated him greatly, though it didn't take much effort to forget.
Adal wrapped his hand around Sloane's wrist (the latter was bigger) and tried to pull him up. When it didn't work the first time, Adal simply gave up and stood in front of him, glaring needles.
He managed to contain his anger into a trembling, intensely quiet murmur: "Go."
One might have initially assumed it was, of course, to go away, but instead the Locos pointed to the inside of the bar. It had many humans staring.
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Posted: Sun Nov 25, 2012 1:38 pm
The fall barely jostled Sloane, the knight's armor clinking loudly amidst the collision but his elbows and forearms blocked him from landing completely on the Locos beneath and crushing him. Instead, their chests bumped roughly when Adal's back hit the hard ground and the bumbling Infitialis dug his claws into the slush and mud when he proceeded to bear his teeth, then whimper and lose his might. Sloane's head hung, his shoulders giving weigh enough that his forehead rested against Adal's ribs. His body shook, face twisted but hidden as memories of murder and spilled taint flashed before his eyes. Before Adal managed to hiss his first command, some moisture had pooled into the fabric of his shirt.
Once the order came and the hat boy began pushing more forcefully, Sloane snapped out of his stupor. His face turned blank and haggard, rather than advertising his emotional turmoil, while his eyes looked irritated and red alongside his cold and damp cheeks. All of the pushing and wriggling aside, he hefted himself off Adal's legs and allowed him escape which stopped his mouth right quick. Once the Locos was safely on his feet, Sloane slumped backward onto his legs and sat bedraggled in the middle of the road, breath heavy and gaze listless. He sat in silence, the only sound or motion coming from him being that of his breathing while Adal collected his tarnished violin.
Unresponsive he remained when his wrist was taken, his thick arm lifting limply and then slapping against the wet ground with as much force once it was released. At first, the knight squinted up and stared, confused. It took surprisingly little effort for his ears to pick up that seething instruction. Sloane's eyes welled up once more, assuming it meant exactly that, but they followed Adal's pointed finger and he all but choked out a single sob. Not even he knew whether he was hurt or relieved Adal was showing him pity but it didn't matter now. One hand reached up and covered his face, smearing a bit of mud across his brow, while the other hefted Sloane to his feet.
He could feel the eyes of the surrounding humans but none of them approached or commented, only murmuring to themselves. Especially now that he was back on his feet, they likely didn't want to mess with so imposing an armor clad Plague, nor his sprightly associate. Sloane stumbled but he managed to move towards the indicated building. Even those inside were glancing out, but when they took note the two were on approach they straightened up and resumed their meals and discussions. Still, their eyes wandered.
Before entering, Sloane paused at the door frame and took hold of it to keep himself steady. He slouched, glancing over his shoulder to see Adal, then at the ground. "I'm sorry," he uttered weakly. So, so sorry.
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Posted: Sun Nov 25, 2012 4:01 pm
Adal was silent and keenly judgmental while Sloane trudged through the threshold of the bar. He frowned deeply when the Infitialis looked back at him and squeezed out another apology, though his face was pathetically apathetic in comparison to before. It was a dramatic change in mood, he thought, its own degree of infuriating self pity, but Adal preferred innocent sulking over the overly grown Sword leaking blood onto his clothing.
He stared down at the sloppy smear of crimson across his dull burlap clothes, then. He didn't try to wipe it off, but it distracted from the cacophony of the bar inside, which grew with intensity the more people tried to distract themselves from the two rather forlorn Plagues. Adal looked up and dodged past Sloane, trying to direct him on where to sit, which was as near to one of the fog-covered windows as he could manage.
The cavern itself was made of dilapidated stone and smelled of overbrewed alcohol and sweat, which was natural enough for a pub, though Adal never stayed long in any one at all. He sat stiffly down at one of the wooden chairs sprawled next to an uneven wooden table, wondering if the Infitialis could sit anywhere at all in here without looking all the more a fool.
He covered his face with one hand and stared down at his sopping violin, though he couldn't lament for long. A young man was circling around the relatively small pub throwing sizeable amounts of ale and beer at any who threw their arms up, which Adal did significantly less enthusiastically at most.
"Mead."
And there it was, two heaping cups full, though it was thrown so sloppily down that some of it spilled onto the table.
Adal settled the violin against the foot of his chair and took a heaping drink, which was a comical sight given his stature and sleight appearance. He set it down gently, though, despite his urge to throw the rest at the depressed Sword before him.
The Locos stared at the man for a bit instead, though, and furrowed his brows.
"'I'm sorry' is such an empty phrase. It's bordering on despicable, yet it's all you have to say."
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Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2012 5:50 pm
The stares of other barfolk did little to attract Sloane's gaze. Once Adal quickened his pace and entered the building, the knight lumbered behind after closing the door to block off the outside chill once more. Though many human's gazes were on the two of them, when they found a table and sat with no issue, many of them allowed their attentions to drift and conversation to continue. Seats at the table, of which there were four round it, were certainly not made for one of his size but they weren't comically small either. Sloane morosely pulled his chair from the table and sat carefully, hearing a subtle whine from the wood once his full weight was pressed upon it. All the while, his eyes were locked on the table top and he barely bat an eye when Adal raised his hand and requested mead.
He did, however, blink and stare when the drink sloshed down onto the table from their respective glasses. Had he been in a less dissonant mood, he might have made a joke or at least chuckled at the action but instead he stared at the contents of his mug as they swayed to and fro. Though his face was no longer wracked by intense emotion, twisted up into an angry, sobbing mess, the infitialis' eyes were glassy with tears yet to fall and his brows upturned with concern, self pity, and immeasurable guilt.
When Adal swallowed his alcohol in a quick few gulps, Sloane hesitated. His hands reached up slowly and cupped both side of the mug, pulling it closer so he could stare into the murky depths. Only when he couldn't make out his reflection any longer did he raised it to his lips and drink. It was bitter, pungent, warm, with a subtle aftertaste of honey that served as a small relief. Their recipe smelled strongly of hops, though Sloane had little experience when it came to alcohol, and likened the scent more to bread and yeast than anything. He took a small experimental sip, then an experimental gulp, sighed, and leaned back to down the rest.
Offering a quiet gasp as he set the glass down but remained leaned back with his eyes closed, relishing the warm feeling inside his stomach that was quickly spreading to his extremities, Sloane gave no response to the hat for some seconds. When Adal's patience was no doubt growing thin, he righted himself, found eye contact, then diverted back to the table and hanging his head.
"Shall I prostrate myself before you?" Sloane winced as soon as that question left his lips. He laid his hands flat against the table top, fingers spread wide, and sighed so as to gather his thoughts. "Words are not a sword's strong suit, especially one felled and worthless, but my sentiments are true." It would do little to assuage the Locos' outlook, of that much he was certain. But then, what was Adal's aim here? If it were only to drag him through the mud for failure, he was certainly doing a good job of it but Sloane had done so to himself for days prior, ceaselessly. What would Adal gain from continuing such ostracizing?
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Posted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 2:45 am
During the span of their shared silence, Adal grew more angry and stared haplessly at one of the other bartenders, also relatively young, male, and not particularly inclined in going anywhere near the two Plagues' tables. While they settled another four cups down at Sloane and Adal's table, the Locos noticed that the one that serviced them just before was talking to an older woman at the far corner of the bar. As it were, the two were staring straight at him-- their heads had to tilt slightly to see the Adal over the hulking figure that was Sloane-- and were talking among each other between cupped hands.
As Sloane finally spoke to him, Adal was simply smiling and waving towards the two humans. Despite his divided attention, Adal was still fully able to grasp what the Infitialis was saying to him, and his vacantly happy expression turned into a regained anger while he slammed down another drink. The cup from before was settling in quickly, though, and Adal's eyes glowed slightly brighter as a result, as did the pink hue of his cheeks.
"Maybe you should," Adal spat as he set his second cup down onto the table. He exhaled, "What good is a sword if not for his sharpened tongue? Were we to go for an extension of convoluted metaphors-- which a Plague's life is writhe and drowning in-- I ask you that much. Yet all you say is sorry, sorry, sorry-- I don't care that you were sorry..." the Locos pulled his third cup of mead closer to him, and stared down at it, "Your ignorance is what makes you despicable. I wish we'd both died at that festival."
Adal began drinking his third cup of mead with no aversions.
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