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 Posted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 6:10 pm
Wallowing Shame
Who?
Sloane (ex o ex Snoof) and Adal (Zanaroo)
When?
A few days after the Troupe incident. Typically mild Shyregoedian weather, with light snow and a gray sky.
Where?
In a fairly crowded city off of the edge of Colwe.
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Posted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 6:59 pm
A blond boy rested his back against an icy stone wall of a rough-edged building, a violin carried carelessly in one hand, a bow loosely held onto by the other. He rested the wooden backing of the violin against his shoulder and watched with halfhearted interest as the beer-bellied and corpulent masses of Shyregoedian nomads hustled into the tavern next to him-- the warmth of bodies and freshly brewed beer washed over the overwhelming grasp of cold that hugged his shoulders and his legs, while the laughter of drunken men resonated in his ears like an irritating buzz.
He looked an urchin, maybe a beggar like any other, burlap clothing overlaying a thin body and sagging near the ends, a too-big hat covering up a mass of pale hair. Dirt and snow was caked on his shoes and a touch of red kissed the end of his nose, his lips pulled into a curt frown. The red violin in his hands shined with a fond newness; it was rarely used, and there was undoubtedly quite a question as to how, exactly, the grimy boy had secured his hands on such an item. His eyes closed in thought as he went over the notes of songs in his head-- he knew very little songs, surely, but the ones he knew he practiced with a heated compulsiveness.
Without a warning, the boy pulled the bow against the strings of the violin, producing the same notes that he'd memorized feverishly throughout his few years of procuring the instrument. The notes were practiced, but what was supposed to be a calm song was hitched with irritation, pluck after pluck stopped moments too short, each soothing rhythm whirled into a slur of angered vibratos, tempered not by a musician's bravado but a street boy's raw frustration.
A flash of white trailed across him, beacons of yellow and white upon the shadows rested against the blond's face, though his eyes were narrowed and the light of his eyes were little more than slits. Adal had promised Georgie that he wouldn't go far from their place of residence here, the too-moist and dank inn that used s**t to light their fire-- it was a blessing to get out of there, surely, though the open air of the city did little more to alight his mood.
Yet, while he knew that the drunkards that passed him carried little attention to anything else but getting ale into their bellies, he could afford no mistakes in his practice-- he would damn himself time and time again if he did, and there was no saving him.
But what use was it, to try and make no mistakes? It was much too late.
Damned fool.
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Posted: Mon Oct 04, 2010 12:20 am
A lone figure stumbled morosely into the empty and frozen city, a heavy anvil of guilt strapped to his back. At least, this was how said figure felt, even as the crowds bustled past him in their vaguely cheery and drunken groups, and the only thing weighing down the man's posture were his own emotions.
So slow was his pace as he kept his eyes on his own feet instead of in front of him that people passed by and often nudged his side as they went past, not wanting to be caught behind the tall cloaked man.
The days had turned so slowly since the incident-- the massacre.
Each one felt like weeks, each hour dragging on, and though Sloane knew Plagues did not age he felt a hundred years old. Old, crippled, and useless.
It was unrealistic to want to save them all, but couldn't he have done more? Couldn't he have stepped in just in time to not let that girl become a martyr lying dead with her innocent 'brother', both manipulated and taken advantage of by cloaked and masked performers no doubt lied and seduced the siblings whether they were affiliated previously or not. Sloane could not picture them as followers of the Glutton God, even without knowing anything substantial about them.
A furious wailing interrupted his thoughts and Sloane stopped in the center of his path, eyes drawn from the snow covered ground. With his hood drawn, he hadn't even noticed that a light flurry had begun and a flake landed on his sharp nose, causing him to blink in a momentary flinch. The origin of the sound was unknown to him, unable to be pin pointed between passing bodies and other various sounds. Reality was seeping in and he recalled that he was not just brooding in a seat a few streets down, unable to muster the courage to go back to the area in question, but had subconsciously willed himself to get up and begin the trek.
Glimpses of a figure playing the instrument in question were spotted through the thinning and thickening crowd, humans ebbing and flowing around them like the tide. There was something vaguely familiar, something forgotten but on the edge of memory about this young man playing the violin that Sloane could not place, but even with the cold nipping at his nose he could smell it for certain.
The player was one of his own.
Instinct took over and Sloane approached, not knowing what he would say or if anything would actually be spoken of but in the man's furious plucking he could feel the tension, apprehension and shame of a kindred spirit. Whatever the cause, they were both failures.
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Posted: Sat Oct 09, 2010 3:07 pm
While he continued with his feverish song, inside his mind he analyzed again and again what had happened on that fateful day, that tempered and broken day that choked him on failure, that clenched at his throat and screamed at him to do anything-- something. Yet, in a cacophony of childish spite and gilded impatience, Adal did nothing that day except for scream at the Clemmings boy and then at Georgie. The rest of his energy during the final performance was used to heighten his wits and avoid talking to Georgie was much as possible, because a pang of disgust and guilt at himself arose as he turned down the colorful Excito and her owner as well. It was the strange feeling of isolation and humiliation he felt in his earlier days, the same feeling he'd received from those lackluster nuisances and bullies that had stripped him of dignity when he was a Servos.
In his twisted sense of mental conditioning, of righteousness, he had forgotten something important-- life and people, as he'd seen, had faults and issues, strengths and highlights, all of which arose at the worst and best of times. It was true that humans were dependent, as dependent as any animal was on its world, and as dependent as every Plague was on death.
Death.
Perhaps it wasn't right to say that she had died, she had merely gone back to her original form, as a carcass and invisible carrier of the Black Death, not a miracle worker that healed humans of the very thing that vitalized the Plague species.
Adal let the bow hang loose against the clutch of his fingers, his yellow eyes staring at the wooden surface of his violin with a bewildering amusement. Round, boyish eyes stared out at the looming crowd, as his nose caught scent of a peculiarly fresh and copper-ripe scent of trickling blood, and of familiar morbidity. The Locos' lingering frown cracked and ripped into a strange grin, a tired grin-- yes, another Plague, another reflection of failure and incompetence.
A quiet chuckle deterred into a confused holler of hollowed laughter.
How funny was it, for Death to have let Death rest in the hands of its own consequence?
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Posted: Tue Oct 12, 2010 10:04 am
A pluck of strings, a crackle of laughter, all interrupted the stillness of the snow.
For a moment, Sloane could not pull himself to move, standing lifelessly like a statue in the middle of the street. Even as people walked around him, some giving him a gentle shove to get him on his way, he did not budge and instead stared in the direction of the sound that drowned all else out.
Death and leather, the scent was, and finally this realization caused Sloane to move at a bumbling pace, stumbling as his speed picked up with the speed of molasses. The music stopped as he came shambling closer, and what had started as a mere chuckle gave way to a mad laughter of near insanity. It tore at his core, his very being, and his breathing became forced and labored as his face contorted from a stony apathy to despair. Dark red steeped in black swelled beneath his dark eye, pooling beneath the lid until it leaked and trailed down his face as his breath shuddered and he came face to face with the cackling musician. There was a twinge of familiarity he could not place, and the frustration and overflowing well of feelings only made the eye-wound flush more infected blood down his face, dripping from his chin to the white covered cobbles.
To this Plague, he could say nothing, just a quiet choke of air as a clearer, cleaner liquid took the place of the blood and began washing it away. Some how, even though his laughter, he could sense it, he had been there and he had seen the atrocity that took place days ago and the weight of it all sent Sloane to his knees.
He did not know her but he had failed her.
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Posted: Thu Nov 25, 2010 11:43 am
As the two Plagues went on with their seemingly mad rambling, drunk men pulled themselves farther away from the ever-ebbing cloud. It seemed that, all at once, the violinist and the knight stood as far away as a performer and a listener should, but they seemed strangely closer in distance than they were a few moments ago.
Too close, in fact, for the violinist to feel any comfort in the situation. Yet, his mind was now filled with air and strangeness, a strangeness that loomed about like a festering corpse on a summer's day. He could barely comprehend the crying knight at hand, how blood seeped from his eye and dripped down onto the stone that his bulking mass overshadowed. He could barely comprehend why he was laughing so freely. He could barely comprehend why, with chagrin and guilt and anguish so fresh, their sobs and their laughter sounded so trite in the small corner of a diminutive Shyregoedian town.
So, he continued to laugh, though it quieted into a series of jostled giggles, as if his breath was filled with more laughter than his body could muster. He pointed his violin's bow at the crying knight who, Adal realized, did not have the scant smell of death that lingered so poorly on the Excitos. No-- he smelled thick, like an abundance of blood and purity and simply death. The smell was not new, but rare, and it made the blond high with curiosity.
This man knew. This man saw, he was nearly certain, that particular event from days before-- and he cried, just as any human would if their kin had just died.
Just as any human.
"You--" Adal chortled, "You were there. Hah. I can't believe it."
Chuckling yet, the blond drew his bow back onto the body of the violin, and with a high-strung pluck of the string he continued to speak. "Crying. Just like that, a big thing like you."
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Posted: Thu Dec 02, 2010 12:32 pm
For a moment, their contrasting emotions seemed to resonate and bring about an eerie stillness; they complimented and negated one another, the blond's laughter fading into a softer series of snickers while the hulking knight's sobs became a silent series of hiccups. All around them, humans continued to pass by, ignoring the two and going on about their business.
Life as usual. Had the events been forgotten so quickly?
Finally the violinist spoke, bow pointed at his chest and Sloane merely stared at it listlessly as the cold nipped at his wet cheeks. It was true, he realized with a sniffle; this Locos had been there same as him, had seen the performance and the resulting carnage.
The bells.
So many bells.
"Crying. Just like that, a big thing like you."
A crooked grin tugged at one side of his face, brows still furrowed in sadness making him look all the more pathetic and pitiful despite his intimidating size and appearance. "There is no shame in it," he offered simply, not moving to wipe away his cold tears. Resting his hands on his knees, the Infitialis leaned forward and sighed, collecting himself though a rare tear would still slide down his cheeks from time to time. "It is the measure of a real man, whether or not he sheds tears freely," a very human opinion, and one not widely shared at that, but one he put stock in nonetheless.
Something about this scene, this Plague, was so familiar and a lingering sense of deja vu hovered around Sloane like a thick fog. There was a connection here, somewhere.
He knew this Plague.
Lifting his gaze, he met the glowing golden swirls, still alight with his laughter. His scent was so simplistic, but easily identifiable, and there was no question he had smelled it before at this distance but there was one detail out of place, one small thing that just wasn't quite right.
"I met you when I was smaller... I think," Sloane mused aloud as he examined the violinist. "With the Doctor." His voice was not quite stable just yet, still shaking here and there but with no fear of a second wave of tears. Not yet.
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 11:26 pm
Adal plucked at the strings of his violin with the n** of his cold fingers, eyes rested uneasily yet quaintly on the giant man before him. His eyes slowly came to a close as he hummed along, head bowing from side to side as he listened to Sloane's painfully philanthropic words and the dissonance that was music. It was a familiar melody, the one that he was playing, from years and years back-- years and years and years, it seemed, though his life on this world so far was humiliatingly short.
He was tired, he didn't want to laugh any longer, and-- with just a moment's worth of silence, his chuckling and plucking and smiling and waiting had all come to an abrupt stop. Tired and mad yellow eyes continued to stare at Sloane, however, as he plucked apart at fragments of his mind when he was a Servos.
Yet, seemingly, the violinist gave up and continued to play his violin. There was a shiver in his voice, both from the cold and the violent and abrupt cease of his laughter, though he picked up the pieces of his conscience and continued to chuckle again. "Do you know this melody? It's quite popular, but I only remember small parts-- the important bits. Fragments. Hmm?"
Fragments.
~
Adal was the name of a mess cook at the Malt Workhouse.
Adal was also the name of an untimely Plague raised by an untimely boy, who was greeting quite a timely lady at the front of the caravan.
Even for an Excitos he was small of frame, but slender, and awkward to look at-- Adal's burlap hat drooped to the side of his head. His hands wandered, and his feet were always stapled to the crooked table of the Doctor's makeshift office, to the side of Mishkan. Scrambling to get to the edge of a tower of books, the Hat's head poked to the side of a giant book titled THE HUMAN ANATOMY. It was black, and the cover smelled like him.
His Grimm's hands were small in comparison to the Doctor's, and when the brunette rushed by he scooped up Adal by the tip of his index finger. Adal braced for life and squinted as Georgie made it to the end of the office, waving away bits of dirt in front of his face. Both of the boys could see the Plague Doctor through the uncleanly smears of the office window.
"Who's he talkin' to?"
"Iunno, Adal," Georgie murmured. "Gotta be someone important, don't you think?"
"Iunno."
"Don't y'wanna find out?"
"Not partic'larly."
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 12:54 am
A warm breeze rustled the tall golden wheat stalks following the simple dirt road for miles. Either side was a sea of grain, sparsely dotted by the green of trees and dry wood of farm houses. Blue skies with nary a cloud cast down warm sunshine on the region of Mishkan, all around giving it an air of peace and tranquility.
The atmosphere was so different from the cold, dense and clouded mountains of Shyregoed, it was a surprise to the Servos when his Lady had no need to bundle up in furs. She seemed to share the sentiment as she rolled the hem of her skirt up just enough to let her legs cool off and adjust to the temperature.
"My Lady, where are we going, again?" the rather tall Excito chirped airily as he crawled out from beneath her hair. His tiny hands grasped to her bolero to keep balance, only releasing when one of her soft, pale hands reached out and lowered him to her lap.
There was something different about this, he could tell. It had been a long journey spanning many days and nights to crawl down the mountain peaks, weave through cities and finally make their way into the dense countryside. His Lady was in good spirits, though; a curious smile painted across her face as she eagerly peeked out the carriage window at a moment's notice, craning her neck to see everything at once.
Her smile growing at the question, she kept her gaze on the window while offering "The Grand Magus said it would be good for the both of us to come here," but little else in the way of explanations. Sloane wondered if she, herself, knew exactly what it was they were meant to do here and his wide dark eyes stared at his Lady as he smiled widely.
Their ride stopped not far from a large caravan, something she hadn't been expecting. After a quick conference with the driver, it was confirmed this was indeed their intended location and the object of their journey lay within. She thanked the man and asked him to return in a few hours time, leaving him free to do as he pleased until then, before closing the distance with the alien structure. Cupped gently in her palms, the Sword Servos peered wildly with the curiosity of a newborn. Every sight and smell in this place was new and exciting. He wrapped his arms around one of her fingers, cradling it as she approached a door.
A swift knock later and she was greeted, beckoned in by a dark and imposing figure wearing a stark white mask. Both Plague and Grimm stiffened but his Lady bowed her head in greeting and so he did the same. They were lead into a common room of sorts, a makeshift office and dwelling within the caravan, which she scrutinized not with judgment but interest. Crossing the room, her dark haired form briefly drifted across the gap in the door but she took no notice of the two curious boys behind it. Taking a seat at one of the offered chairs, Sage dropped Sloane onto a nearby table which he promptly fell to his rear end on and crossed his legs, examining the man critically.
"Doctor," she greeted, bowing her head once more, "I trust my visitation was expected? If not, I apologize on my Lady's behalf but I was told the preparations were made before departing." Her tone was professional, if not a bit nervous, as though she were speaking to someone of a much higher rank. Perhaps it was more the mysteriousness of the man that compelled her to do so, Sloane couldn't be sure, but he knew that the Doctor and this caravan reeked with the stench of death.
It was difficult for the Excito to determine if this were a good sign or not. He, himself, was coated in the scent and Lady Waldgrave's keep was slathered in the stench. All the same, it had never yet been an off putting scent to the Plague--as suspicious as the sweet smell of roses.
"I am Sage Estratus, apprentice to Lady Benedicta Waldgrave," she introduced herself and then quickly turned the conversation to her companion with a flick of the wrist, "This is Sloane, my Plague. He was once a sword." The tiny knight swelled with pride.
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Posted: Sun Jan 02, 2011 5:03 pm
It was with uncertainty that the Doctor greeted Sage, which was as awkward a sight as any. The caravan rocked and shifted at the added weight, a sound of antiquity and quickly fading quality, as if the wood was beckoning for better care and more polish. Both boys startled when the raven-haired woman noticed them and, in moments, Georgie threw himself onto the ground to hide away from the view of the mirror. The masked scientist paid no mind to this, as his mind was too filled with anticipation that he nearly tripped his entire way to the caravan office.
While his mask easily covered his face, his anxiety spoke well through his crooked hands and arched neck, his slouched shoulders and quick-to-move feet. He stood and waited until his two esteemed guests took their respective seats, after which he proceeded to take his own behind the forestry of papers and books that was his work desk. His robed back hunched over as he placed his hands onto the surface of the wooden table, fingers weaved into one another as his beaked mask turned in curiosity to face Sloane, a Servos dressed in armor. The Sword Plague smelled faintly of metal and blood, yes, though the stench of Death was hidden well under the veil of his glowing white skin.
Despite the politeness and high position of the girl in front of him, his nervous attention was directed mainly to this tiny knight, whose pebble-like eyes judged him with as much rudimentary scorn as any human guard would. With a voice cracked from age and lack of use, the Doctor croaked (or, rather, nearly whispered) "Sloane, Lady Estratus' Plague. Do tell her that it is quite the honor to meet both of you," hesitant, he lowered his neck and murmured even further, "Though, Lady Waldgrave did not tell me to expect so much company, her instructions were quite vague."
As if to distract from his quaint commentary to Sloane, the Doctor pulled his hands away from each other and coughed, urging his attention toward Sage with a twiddle of his fingers. "Anyway," he ushered a hand toward the top of a book stack next to him, after which the books dispersed and floated away toward the bookshelves like dizzied flies. One book, however, a leather-bound and pitch black journal, sprawled itself out next to Sloane and revealed two empty pages, "Lady Sage, Sloane, is there a reason you've come to visit me? I'm to guess this has to do with Plagues, the nature of Sloane, what and why he is, if there are others like him, what he can do?"
"You think that's what she's here for? 'Cause of what the Doctor said?" Adal piped, hands clinging to the edge of the window pane. To the misfortune of all parties present, the walls inside of the caravan were paper thin. The burlap Servos darted his circle-eyed gaze back at Georgie, who was trying to crawl away from the window and toward the home and hearth of his desk and bed-top.
While being small and brow-less rendered it a tad more difficult for a Servos to express much, Adal pivoted his disappointment with a small sigh and a wide flail of his arms. He clung to the end of the window and surveyed how far off he was from the bottom of the floor-- to his dismay, he was more than one-Georgie-leg off from the ground. He reluctantly started his weary descend, all while bickering, "Georgie, you were th'one that was curious a'fore."
Georgie was a firm believer that, if you were caught doing something, and it wasn't necessarily allowed, it was bad to continue doing it-- though, as such, he was nearly always discontent in many situations. In this case, Georgie crawled back into his bed and sat with a distinct pout, eyes darting away from the window where he could see Lady Sage and the Doctor; if the Doctor didn't notice the Malts, he reckoned it was because he didn't want them there. "Just Plague-y things, Adal, I don't think it's anything at all that we should be concerned with."
Adal looked up at Georgie from the frame of the bed, frowning. "But, Georgie, she has someone with her and he looks like another one'f me. Georgie, I'm curious. Can't you go say hello?"
The brunette rolled onto his stomach and scooted toward the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and scooped up Adal with both of his hands, stern hazel eyes looking onward at the Servos. "Why don't you just go say hello, if you're that curious?"
"'Cause I don't wanna," Adal retorted, "And anyway, s'your fault I'm curious, Georgie."
"S'not, you said you didn't want to partic'larly find out anyway, so s'really your fault."
"Well, can I change my mind?"
"No." Georgie dropped Adal onto the bed, where the Servos yelped and rolled through the bedsheets before coming to a rather uncomfortable stop, buttocks up in the air as his face was obscured by cloth.
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 2:44 pm
The rather tall Servos watched the masked figure with great curiosity and scrutiny, taking note of the man's clumsiness and fumbling. His round eyes narrowed as the Doctor's hushed voice reached his tiny ears and Sloane tilted his head in confusion as to why only he was being addressed directly. It seemed a bit rude to the knight, whose pebbled mouth became a small three point line. His Lady could hear just fine, couldn't she?
Turning his head to judge her reaction, he wasn't entirely sure despite her attentions being completely focused on this bizarre man. Were the both of them 'so much company' to him? It was only two people, though he supposed with a castle as small as this the owner could only fit a very small amount of folk within. As he drew his hands and caused the books to neatly scatter, Sloane was given a start and leaped to his feet, hand on the hilt of a tiny needle-like sword sheathed at his hip. For a moment, he thought the books would come flying towards them but this wasn't the case yet he refused to ease up which only resulted in him stumbling and nearly falling on his bottom when a book beside him opened of its own accord.
Blank.
His Grimm turned to examine the book, raising a brow when she also noticed the lack of words imparted upon its pages, and turned back to the Doctor when he began speaking again. "Yes, sir," Sage smiled honestly, clasping both hands in her lap, "All of the above, if it would not be much trouble. My Lady, the Grand Magus, wishes for me to be as educated as possible about him and others but felt she would not be a proper wellspring of knowledge." Sloane watched as her fingers fidgeted against each other but she seemed to be trying hard to not let her anxiousness get the better of her.
"I've not had the opportunity to meet other, erm..." she paused, momentarily struggling with the term, "Keepers, as they say, so there's been no opportunities for me to exchange questions."
Sloane thought upon this response, raising a small white hand to his face in appraisal. The Grand Magus' hall smelled of death but there was never a mention of a Plague wandering her castle. Surely it would have been brought up to his Lady by her Lady if there were another of his kind to meet and, feeling content with that assumption, he nodded. Turning to the Doctor he remove the hand from his sheathed 'blade' and his eyes widened with interest, "Have you met many others like me?" Oh, there were so many questions he had for the man, same as his Grimm, but he had to be patient and allow his Lady to ask most of the questions. There they would receive all the information they needed, completely unaware that there was in fact another small one same as him in that very caravan as its scent was masked by the all encompassing shroud of decay.
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Posted: Wed Apr 27, 2011 5:02 pm
"I'm afraid the opportunities presented are more difficult to get to than you would imagine, Sage Estratus." The Doctor flipped through the blank pages, mask nearly stabbing itself through the pages his face was so close. He paused at one specific page, however, the one at the beginning where a slick black ribbon was used as a bookmark. His other hand flailed wildly toward the side, dangerously close to Sloane, while he blindly tried to sift through papers to get to the ink and quill pen standing precariously closer than the Doctor predicted. He looked to the side when his blind search remained fruitless, his beaked mask staring toward Sloane once again. Ever so quietly, he let out a small and sheepish chuckle, and he quickly grabbed the quill pen to get on with the already wracked meeting between the Fellowship girl and he.
"You see," he turned the book around so it faced Sage, and he quickly scribbled a few but big pieces of calligraphy onto the yellow paper. At the top was the number "100," and below he drew three circles-- one in solid black, the other with dotted lines, and the other a simple lined circle. "There are about 100 Plagues in-- ah, let's say, that I know exist, but each are these peculiarly tiny folk like your Sword over there, but some are radically different from his pale self. Most are painted in the color black, and others are..." He struggled to find the word, and he lifted the quill from the paper to re-dip it in ink, "Bizarre. Miscellaneous, shall I say?"
The Doctor paused, then flipped a page to write anew, though this time it was a makeshift form in the image of Panymium. "But the Keepers, as you say, are truly random folk. It's difficult to learn of the Plagues or what their function is when they're so difficult to find, what's more, I've no power to. Teleportation is the Fellowship's reign, Lady Estratus, and the five continents here are stringent on my use thereof of it. There might be several thousands by now under my nose and yours that neither of us have knowledge of. In that light, I'm afraid I have as little clue as your Grand Magus Waldgrave to the function and existence of the Plagues." He pointed toward the southern end of Panymium, where Auvinus lay, "I'm afraid you'd have more luck now with the House of Obscuvos than with me, milady."
Silence followed, and he placed the black ribbon in between the pages and the ink on the pages seeped and dissipated away into nothing and into the ribbon, curls of smoke arising from it until the Doctor closed the book shut. He picked it up and offered it to Sage. "As a Keeper yourself, though, Sage Estratus, and one that came to me so willingly at that, I would like to request your aid in reaping more information. I wouldn't want you to go completely emptyhanded, I know well enough the journey from Shyregoed to Mishkan is a fairly difficult one. Now... on the subject of meeting others like you, Sword, yes I have. In fact, there's one right behind you, and a Keeper too."
"Oh no," Georgie squeaked.
Adal rustled with the bedsheets and wiggled himself out from beneath the cloth layers, beaded eyes snapped toward the window once again at the low grumble of Georgie's voice. His dotted mouth turned into a speckled smile and he scurried over to Georgie's feet. The Servos nudged at his Grimm's worn socks, a tiny body trying to tug his human along. He whimpered, "The Doctor wants us, Georgie!"
"Get offa my socks, Adal, you're ticklin' me!"
"The Doctor needs us!" Adal simpered, sprinting up to Georgie and clamoring onto his chest. The Servos poked the freckled boys nose and preceded to point out at where Sage and her own Servos was, who were plain in view. "C'mon, Georgie, I want to meet another Plague like me! We look th'same."
"What for?"
Adal quieted, looking for a correct way to answer Georgie's question. He decided to mimick the pretty lady just ahead. "To 'schange questions."
"You don't really believe that, do you? We can't answer many questions. Besides, what if he's talkin' about some other Keeper he knows?"
"He's not!"
The Plague Doctor stared pointedly at the two bluntly loud boys from across the hall. Chuckling, he pulled himself back from his chair and stood, offering Sage a hand up from her seat. "Please, follow me."
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Posted: Tue Aug 09, 2011 8:17 am
As the doctor spoke the Servos kept a keen eye on him, scrutinizing his strange mannerisms and attempting to judge whether he was suspicious or not. It was extremely difficult to tell with a mask such his but the rather tall Excito could tell at the very least that the man seemed to be trust worthy enough for his Lady to have not picked up on any subtle negativities. She was an easy one for him to read, for the most part, and instead of shifting uncomfortably in this man's presence she merely appeared confused.
Suddenly the man's hand waved near him, far too close and clumsily for Sloane's liking, and he backed up quickly, small hand reaching for the hilt of a sheathed make-shift sword at his side comprised of a sewing needle. his expression soured considerably as the dangerous hand sifted through various items, on the look for something but moments later it still didn't appear to be located. He kept his eyes narrowed and watchful, staring at the dark holes in the mask, which earned him a sheepish chuckle from this 'doctor'. Then he turned away and began addressing his Lady once more, turning the interesting object away from him.
Sloane frowned, resting a hand casually on his sword handle while he attempted to stand on the tips of his swirled shoes in order to get a better look. It didn't take long for Sage to take notice and she quickly held her arm out without breaking her concentration on the doctor's words or visual presentation. Quickly he climbed onto her hand and knelt, arms wrapped around her wrist until he was able to slide off safely into her lap where he scooted up and dangled his legs off of her knees. Though she was enthralled, her hands were restless and she managed to goad a smile out of the suspicious and confused Servos by gently flicking the back of his helmet with a finger so it flipped over and blocked his eyes.
To say the amount of information given was daunting was a gross understatement, the Doctor's explanation leaving them more mystified than when they had first entered. Sloane felt his Lady's body slump forward, elbows keeping her propped up enough that she didn't fall and squish him. So the so called Plague Doctor was just as unknowledgeable in Plagues as the Grand Magus who didn't have one? Surely that couldn't be right, for why else would Lady Waldgrave have sent them out here so far? With the warm weather a near constant in Mishkan Sloane was beginning to miss the chill Shyregoed gave to his armor but he supposed it was a nice reprieve since his Lady didn't have to be bundled up all the time.
The comment about the House caused him to frown, his little Excito features contorting almost spitefully at such a suggestion. "I see..." Lady Estratus sighed and by the disappointment in her tone it seemed she wasn't terribly pleased with that prospect either. In the momentary silence that followed the Servos took to gently patting her knees in reassurance and she idly played with the tassel dangling from his helm. He nearly missed the display of the ink disappearing into the ribbon but one glance up told him his Lady hadn't and her amber gaze was still glued to the Doctor.
And then there was an offering.
"O-oh?" she whispered, reaching out to take the book. Once in her possession she broke her gaze with the masked man for the first time since he began speaking to examine the cover, running a hand gently over its binding. He wanted her help? Well, certainly, she was up to any task, of that Sloane was sure, and if it was about Plagues then maybe he would be able to help her too! He would do his best and so would she and Lady Waldgrave would be so proud of the both of them. "Thank you for the opportunity, Doctor," she bowed her head, hugging the book close to her chest, "I'll do what I can."
Sloane beamed, leaning back to gaze up at his Grimm's pale face so far that he had to reach up and keep his helmet from falling off. It seemed this meeting was full of surprises, however, and Sloane's attention was called back in particular. He wasn't sure he very much appreciated being referred to by the name of his item rather than the strong and fitting title his Lady had given him upon his birth but to save face he only allowed his smile to falter slightly -- for it renewed itself considerably once he was done speaking.
Here? Now? Behind them?!
He could barely contain himself as he crawled to a stand and ascended the chair with the assistance of his Lady's hand and she, too, curiously moved around in the chair so as to peek her eyes over the top, curling her fingers around the edge while her knees kept her propped up on the cushion. On cue, a lot of muffled rustling and small voices were heard. Sloane's eyes widened, the biggest red dots he could physically make.
"Please, follow me."
The Excito whipped his head around to stare at the Doctor holding out a hand for his Lady, which she took with a hint of embarrassment at her childish decorum just a second ago, and came to a stand. She followed him around the back of the chair before holding her hand out for Sloane and he climbed up to her shoulder, resting amid her nest of dark hair. He was practically shivering with excitement and it seemed she could tell as a small smile had formed and she carefully pushed past the Doctor to peer into the window. He couldn't see from where he was but the smile upon his Lady's face grew and she waved to whoever was on the other side.
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Posted: Sat Sep 24, 2011 1:37 pm
The Malt boys fussed with each other while the Doctor and his humble guest turned around, but neither of them seemed to notice. Georgie curled himself into a roll of blankets and cloth while Adal jabbered loudly into the brunette's ear and ran away; it was no use catching him, as the Servos was considerably quicker than he was despite his size, but when Georgie tried to release himself from the tangle of sheets he caught himself in, he fell off of the bed with a thump, back first. The caravan was fickle enough to shudder against the force of Georgie's light weight-- loose bits of wooden planks creaked when he hit his floor against them, and the many fragile objects stuffed into the Doctor's traveling abode rattled against each other.
Adal startled and inched toward the exit of their small room while Georgie was left to pick himself up from the floor, rubbing at the back of his head. When he tried to unfurl the sheets from around his waist, sitting on the floor with his back hunched, the freckled Grimm gave his Plague a rather displeased glower. Adal frowned and quickly turned around to avoid Georgie's gaze, though, and reached up to the doorknob as if he were human height, the tips of his toes arching upward as he stretched his arms out to reach for freedom. He had to go say salutations to this new friend of his, even if the consequences were the keen displeasure of his guardian.
The Doctor walked to the entrance of the room and tipped his head back toward the window when Georgie fell, and the caravan subsequently wobbled in its place, and had just missed Adal's frantic skitter toward the entranceway. "Strange. He should be in there with my apprentice," the tall man looked back at Sage, tilting his head. His back was hunched and he bowed in embarrassment, "Well, it would not hurt if I introduced you to a fellow Grimm first, yes? Excuse me while I go find the Hat."
After clearing his throat the Doctor slowly opened the door, and it swayed toward Adal with a force too big for a tiny Plague to handle; gasping, the Servos scrambled away from the thick wooden frame threatening to shove his petite form against the wall, and back toward Georgie. He ducked and shoved himself into the thick layers of Georgie's blankets, gripping onto the edge of Georgie's sleeves, shivering ever so slightly with fright while the Doctor and his two guests entered the room.
Just when he saw a speck of white light emit from the edge of the threshold while the Doctor swung the entrance open, though, Adal poked his head out from the edge of Georgie's arm. The golden specks that were his eyes grew round with fascination, and his dotted mouth looked gape while the tiny hat stood from the far side of the room in stupor. Georgie, too, was staring at the entranceway now, though more with fright in comparison to Adal's curiosity.
The Doctor tilted his head once more. "Ah," he held the door open and gestured at Sage and Sloane to enter, "There you are, then. Georgie Malt, my apprentice."
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Posted: Thu Oct 27, 2011 3:59 pm
The young Lady Estratus eagerly stepped out of the chair with Sloane upon her shoulder, nestling into the warmth of her dark hair curtaining around him. She set the book the Plague Doctor had gifted her in the seat for now, its presence lingering forcefully at the front of her mind so it would not be forgotten. Hands held to her chest, her fingers fidgeted nervously and intently, ready to hold the hem of her skirt and curtsy to the other Plague Keeper, or shake his hand -- she really couldn't tell how she wanted to introduce herself, all of the excitement welling up just from being able to meet another with one such as Sloane under their care. The same excitement, of course, had been bubbling up inside of her prior to her meeting with the good Doctor but it was a much more professional and tentative subject with how to greet a mysterious man such as he rather than a 'normal' human.
For who could truly say whether the Doctor was human, Plague, or something else entirely? Perhaps even the Grim Reaper himself.
With a soft yelp, Sage reached her hands out and grasped at the wall as the caravan wobbled. Sloane's hands quickly clung to the vibrant orange cloth of her dress clinging to her shoulder and held himself in place, dark red eyes scanning for the source of such a sudden change. Had something bumped it outside? His worries were softened when his Grimm's hand gently caressed the top of his helm and turned to a frown at the Doctor as he referred to the other Plague as 'the Hat' rather than by name. The same had been done with him, referred to as 'Sword' despite the very obvious introduction they had gone through only minutes prior but he supposed he could not talk down to the Doctor about such things when he was a very important contact for his dear Lady, as well as the Grand Magus. Sage, meanwhile, hurriedly caught up with the Doctor as he mumbled about and set to work on opening a door.
All sorts of minor chaos seemed to follow; a tiny squeak, followed by the quietest pitter patter she had ever heard which almost sounded like the scrambling of a mouse upon the wood, and then the Doctor merely tilted his head in response to it all which caused Sage to offer an awkward smile before approaching. Upon seeing the young boy on the floor, seemingly alone, she fumbled and grasped the hem of her skirt with one hand, leaned forward to bow and held out her free hand as far as she could to the boy. "H-hello...! I'm Sage Estratus and-- oh," she paused, feeling her petite knight scrambling up her shoulder and through her sea of dark hair down to her side, and lowering himself to the floor with a soft thud from his armor as his curled boots hit the wood.
"A-and this is Sloane, my... my Plague." Normally it was easy for her to introduce herself and Sloane, but she found herself failing in the presence of one younger than her, let alone the Doctor's very own apprentice, and a Keeper himself. Was there some sort of special way to refer to one's Plague that she wasn't aware of, some social etiquette only the Keepers used? It was all so strange and new to her, but she was eager to learn.
Lifting his helmet, Sloane scrutinized the boy on the floor before them and then tilted his head. With both hands on his hips he approached, leaning forward with a slight frown and narrowed eyes before a grin curled upon his dotted mouth. "Greetings, Georgie Malt," he began, though realized he did not know the name of the Plague under his care. "Do you have a knight as well? A Hat knight?"
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