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 Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2012 8:07 am
The small Plague was struggling with a reply to Maeve. He truly was something like a child, and seemed to have trouble forming his thoughts into words. The woman listened intently to Lucky, trying to piece together his meaning. He seemed genuinely surprised at her admittance to not being a Plague. Why was that so startling?
The mercenary squinted as he spoke, focusing on his words carefully. He said something about her smell. Did she smell bad? Well, she probably didn't smell pleasant after what she had been through. But that did not clarify things for her. When, at a moment's notice, the bleeding man withdrew Lucky to himself and began to speak.
He was worried-- he was worried that what Lucky had said would offend her and he was trying to correct the Plague. Perhaps this man wasn't completely horrible, as he was concerned for his Lucky. To care for something so small and so child-like could not be an easy task.
"She is smell. Like Plague," piped up the little one to explain his actions to his Grimm. Yes, that was the term... This man must have been Lucky's Grimm. His words, however, still eluded Maeve. Why did she smell like Plague to this creature? The mercenary did not think she had the air of death about her. It was a worrying statement. Something so innocent would not tell a lie about such a thing-- Lucky was speaking the truth, albeit a truth she did not fully grasp.
Air of death... Smells like Plague...
Maeve's eyes grew in realization. A shock of an idea hit her harshly. Could it be what he was smelling was the reminder that she had been carrying? The man was speaking again, but she was too caught up in her own thoughts to acknowledge him just yet. Did it really smell of the Plague? A million questions ran through Maeve's mind as she slowly moved her hand over to one of the small pouches around her waist. She pulled at it, removing it from her belt and finally blinking. She looked down at the pouch, she knew the bandages were wrapped up inside. She knew they were still bleeding. Moving the held pouch outward toward the Plague, Maeve's eyes returned to their typical half-lidded look.
"Lucky," she called softly, "Is this what you smell?" She did not bother removing the gauze from its container, figuring it to be safer to leave it the way it was. If this was what he was smelling... what exactly did this mean for Maeve?
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Posted: Fri Feb 10, 2012 12:52 am
That was it.
As soon as the woman drew the pouch from her belt and held it out to him, Lucky could tell that that was where the smell had come from. He scooted forward on his Grimm's palm, staring intently at the small bag; the closer he got to it, the stronger the scent of decay became, until he felt as though he was nearly swimming in it. When he had gotten close enough, he lifted one arm and reached out with it, slowly, until his hand was pressed lightly against the side of the pouch through the fabric of his sleeve. A shiver ran up his tiny frame.
"It is a Plague," he said, his voice very soft. For a long few moments, the Phasmas barely moved at all; he simply cocked his head to the side, as though he were listening for something. Lucky had never seen another Plague before, and he wasn't sure what to expect. Would the thing in the bag look at all like him? He couldn't feel anything moving beneath his touch, but perhaps whatever was inside was simply keeping very still, as Lucky himself tended to do. Normally, the koi Plague cared little for mysteries or surprises, and the prospect of being so close to an unknown creature might have frightened him. But this was not just any creature. This was a Plague, like himself, and to be among one's own kind was rarely a bad thing.
He looked back up at the woman who called herself Lucky.
"I can see?" he asked.
Coyotl remained silent as the Phasmas spoke. It seemed his suspicions about the woman had been correct-- and that changed things somewhat.
"Then you're a Grimm," he addressed her finally, taking care not to pronounce the word as 'gribb'. The postman turned the sentence over in his head once, twice; then he drew in a deep breath through his mouth and exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks as he did so. He didn't relish the thought of what he was about to do, but better to get it out of the way quickly. Wiping his free hand off as thorougly as he could on his pantleg, he stuck it out in front of him.
"Th'nabe's Coyotl," he said. It wasn't long before he realized, though, that what he'd intended as a diplomatic gesture could be seen as a thoughtless one: he'd offered his right hand to the woman, which would make a handshake awkward to maneuver at best. As such, he let the hand hang in the air for a bit, unsure of what to do with it. He wasn't trying to offend her, and not just because of the threat of physical violence. As a fellow Grimm, he felt as though he ought to show at least a little bit of courtesy.
After all, to be among one's own kind was rarely a bad thing.
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Posted: Sat Feb 18, 2012 3:48 pm
Lucky's reactions to her gauze was a curious sight. Maeve felt herself holding her breath without thinking about it. Some sort of anticipation was sweeping over her and when Lucky placed his petite white hand against her pouch she let all her breath out at once. His shiver had gone unnoticed by her consciously, but she shared in his sentiments precisely.
"It is a Plague."
He said it quietly, but with utmost certainty. There was no denying Lucky's claim, and the woman knew it. It was like the rabbit that young girl had... how could Maeve been so ignorant for so long? She kept it in her small pouch the moment she realized it wouldn't stop bleeding. It was a memento to her, albeit a horrible one-- but now it was a Plague. A Plague like the rabbit, and a Plague like Lucky. Would her gauze grow up into such a tiny thing like him? Questions would not stop; so many of them filled her head at once that she could not even begin to answer them all.
The Excito had asked to see it, but before Maeve could respond, his Grimm spoke. Lucky's Grimm spoke to tell her that she too, was a Grimm. Power came to the mercenary's mind. People of all sorts sought out the Plagues to try and gain their power and Maeve had one for so long. As she ran over everything in her mind, her hand stayed out, holding the pouch, eyes staring into space. This was crazy.
"Th'nabe's Coyotl," said the bleeding man as he stuck out his hand in greeting. Unfortunately, it had been his right hand, but the gesture was meant in respect, Maeve supposed. Even with the lack of another hand, Maeve's hand was clearly full-- maybe he wasn't very observant.
Setting down the pouch in her lap, the woman smirked as she looked at Coyotl. A handshake would not be quite possible with the current arrangements, but another sign of respect could be managed. As a gentleman takes a lady's hand in greeting, Maeve took Coyotl's. A slight bow of her head, smirk not fading from her face, "Maeve LaChance."
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2012 3:33 pm
It might have been for the best that Coyotl didn't have time to withdraw the hand he'd offered. Trying to juggle his Plague between hands, then re-initiate a handshake would have been a clumsy and awkward thing to do, at best. Of course, what wound up happening was quite likely more awkward than the alternative; it took him a moment to realize just what the woman was doing, but when it sank in, it was all he could do not to pull his hand away immediately.
"Maeve LaChance," the woman introduced herself, inclining her head slightly and fixing him with an infuriatingly smug look. As soon as this motion was done, Coyotl jerked his hand back to his side, looking affronted and glowering at Maeve. The nerve of her, treating him like he was some kind of lady or something! He found himself wishing very much that he was as quick and clever with words as Wickwright Finch; surely then he'd be able to come up with some retort or other that would help him to save face. But sarcasm had always been just beyond the reach of Coyotl's faculties, so instead he huffed and fussed to himself for a moment or two. Eventually, he simply wiped his hand off twice on his pantleg as if Maeve had dirtied it; that was the worst insult he could muster up.
"You godd the right idea," Coyotl said stiffly as he gestured at the pouch in Maeve's lap. "Keepid' that a secret. Wrong sort a' person sees it add you'll be idd trouble." For that matter... He looked down at his other hand worriedly, as if only just realizing the position he'd put himself- and his Plague- in. How long now had he been sitting out in the open with Lucky perched, very visibly, smack in the middle of his palm? With this in mind, he cupped his hands together once more.
"Add that," he continued, "goes for me, too." He shifted his weight from one side to the other, then heaved himself awkwardly to his feet, wobbling backwards a step or two as his knees protested the sudden movement. Unless Maeve was planning to stop him, he had no intention of sticking around indefinitely. His hunger was much diminished, replaced by the nausea of one who had inadvertently swallowed a few healthy throatfuls of blood, so going back to the market would be pointless. He only wanted to find somewhere quiet to nurse his swollen nose and his badly bruised ego. Should he bid the woman farewell, then? Given the violent circumstances of their meeting, he didn't feel as if he owed her any politeness. But, again, she was a fellow Grimm, and deserved some measure of respect and consideration for that fact alone. He hesitated.
"Good-bye."
Coyotl blinked, then looked down at his hands in surprise. Had Lucky really just said "goodbye" to someone, unbidden?
He couldn't see it, but the Phasmas's face was peeking through the gap between two of his fingers, staring down at Maeve and the pouch in her lap-- or perhaps he was only staring at the pouch. He knew that inside the pouch was a Plague, like himself; he also knew, from his Grimm's movements, that he was being taken away from this other Plague. And remarkably enough, he seemed to have absorbed the idea that when one was leaving the company of one's fellows, the proper thing to say was "good-bye." So that was what he said.
"Good-bye," came the tiny voice again, and Coyotl could feel Lucky's sleeve-covered hands pressing themselves against his fingers. "Good-bye."
The postman glanced from Maeve to his hands and back again. This wasn't what he'd expected, but it gave him a convenient opportunity to take his leave nonetheless. Still, he couldn't let his Plague do all the talking.
"Watch yourself," he said finally. It wasn't a threat, but a piece of advice, one he'd learned the importance of the hard way. Without waiting for a response, he turned and began to walk away, finding that his steps were a little unsteady. He half wondered if Maeve's fist had knocked something loose inside his head, then made a face and tried not to think about it. Instead he turned his attention back to his cupped hands. He separated them just enough to see that Lucky was no longer leaning against the inside of his fingers. The Plague looked back up at him.
"Good-bye," he repeated again. Clearly he didn't have any understanding of what the words actually meant; he was still trying to get used to articulating them. But Coyotl nodded anyway, with a hint of a bemused smile.
"That was good," he muttered, just loud enough for the Phasmas to hear. Then he cupped his hands together again, letting his sleeves fall over them in an attempt to be less conspicuous.
(He wasn't about to try letting Lucky hide in his scarf again any time soon.)
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Posted: Wed Sep 26, 2012 10:39 am
He was bothered by her gesture. Visibly perturbed, even. The smugness faded from her face, but remained in her soul. Something about degrading him was enjoyable on some level-- most likely because he deserved it. He was trying to let it go, so Maeve supposed she should too. Dwelling wouldn't be good for the either of them.
Keeping it a secret was the right idea. Maeve was unsure if she had been keeping it a secret before. It was for her and no one else, she reflected, so maybe it was a secret. And a secret it would remain forever, she guessed. The mercenary had no desire to get into any more trouble than she already dealt with on a regular basis. Her hand dropped to the pouch, where she delicately ran her fingers over it. Plague.
As he spoke, Coyotl rose up from the ground slowly. (It was a good punch). It seemed that the conversation was coming to an end; she doubted there was much else to say. Maeve hadn't looked up 'til she heard Lucky say, "good-bye". There he was, peering in between Coyotl's fingers. The tiny Excito repeated himself several times more. Just like a kid. Maeve couldn't stop herself from making the comparison over and over again. Excitable, curious, and so well-meaning, too. Innocence had escaped Maeve's sight for so long.
Bloodied and wobbly, Coyotl gave Maeve a warning. Fair enough of one, she thought. Without either of them speaking up, Coyotl began to go his own way. Maeve only sat for a moment, watching him leave along with Lucky. But something had tugged at her, and she had to reply to the Phasmas.
"Goodbye, Lucky!"
Without any more thinking or reminiscing, Maeve returned the pouch to her belt and stood up. She felt that, in that moment, her life became more complicated. It was not exactly what she was looking for.
She just wanted an apple.
[FIN]
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