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 Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 7:20 pm
Good Food & Good Company
A PRP between Mriae and kotaline.
Who;
Wickwright Finch & Hopkin
and
Alae Greaves with a glass of absinthe
Where;
A small town in Southern Shyregoed
When;
Around noon, although the weather is bit chilly outside.
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 8:17 pm
The streets of a small town in southern Shyregoed were relatively quiet except for thing.
The growls of a certain young woman's stomach could be heard from where she sat on the steps outside of a church. Yes, Alae Greaves was hungry, but if she could she would will her stomach to shut up and keep quiet. The darn thing was causing a scene. Then again, what did the woman expect when she hadn't eaten a decent meal for a few days? Silently, she couldn't help but curse the fact that a certain little flower had taken up most of her money on their shopping excursion. It hadn't bothered her at the time, really. She figured she could make due with only a few gold pieces, but now? Now she was starting to reconsider those thoughts.
"Uggh...what am I going to do," Alae murmured to herself.
It had to be a pretty pitiful sight -- seeing this woman on the steps of the church. Her clothes weren't exactly the most adequate for the cooler climate of Shyregoed. The candy-maker only had a thin, thread-bare shawl to try and keep her upper extremities warm. Her dress looked dull, and on top of all that her physical appearance was gaunt. No longer were her cheeks rosy and her smile bright like they had once been. Instead, her face was rather sunken, her eyes dark with deep circles, and there was no smile to be found. Such things were hard to come by when you were a shell of your former self.
Without a clue what to do, Alae just sat there on those cold stone steps and pondered her options. As she sat, however, her eyes casually glanced over to a reservoir glass filled with a milky, soft green liquid. A glass of absinthe. "It was you," she said to the alcohol, not really caring that a simple drink couldn't talk back to her. "You were the cause of all this. And if it were up to me, I'd smash you." But it wasn't up to her. It was up to the promise she made to her father to keep the blasted glass as a reminder of how things used to be.
If only things could get easier. Why did life have to be so hard?
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 8:31 pm
Wickwright had come into town just a few hours ago.
He was close to O'Neill's house, he knew, but he wasn't ready to face him. Technically the Jawbone Society didn't have leaders, but O'Neill was the leader they didn't have, had been for generations. Some sort of hereditary respect for him was bred right into Wickwright's bones, and though Finch men were known to be somewhat cheeky, around O'Neill, his mouth went dry.
It didn't help that he had another problem to heap onto O'Neill's plate. Truth, he had enough of them as it was, and he probably fully expected Wickwright's help solving them. But Wickwright had his own issues, and needed help as well. Though he'd never admit it, right now, fixing his contribution ranked higher on his priority list than fixing the Society. What was the point of fixing the Society if his family line was expelled from it afterwards?
He had been wandering around the town closest to his destination in order to help him forget about his problems for a while, but it was difficult to forget when he could feel Hopkin's weight in his hood. He shifted restlessly, hearing a little "Oof," as he did so.
Something distracting. His ears caught a snatch of a strange conversation. "...I'd smash you."
"Talking to yourself?" Wickwright said, leaning on the church wall and flashing her a friendly smile. "If you enjoy your own company that much, you must be an excellent conversationalist." The woman looked haunted and hungry, maybe homeless or mad. For a second, Wickwright hesitated, but then sat right down next to her. Mad people were less daunting than O'Neill right now.
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 8:40 pm
The last thing she had expected to hear was the voice of somebody else. The questions from Wickwright startled her, although she was sure he had no intention of doing so. They startled her so much, in fact, that she almost knocked over the delicate glass that sat next to her. Luckily for her, however, she managed to take hold of it just in time in order to make sure that every drop of liquid in it was safe and sound. Despite her threat to smash the glass earlier, if anything happened to it then she knew she would be in trouble. Her father would have her head, or he'd probably think that she just drank the contents and then disposed of the evidence.
"You must be an excellent conversationalist."
"Not really," she admitted with a tired sigh, allowing a hand to run through dull strawberry blond hair. "And I wasn't talking to myself," Alae corrected, motioning down to the cup she held in her hands. "I was talking to this." Yeah, she had to admit. It sounded pretty crazy to admit that she was talking to a glass, but when you had no one else around and when people on the streets passed you by without a care in the world, who else were you supposed to talk to?
"Something is strange with this drink. It's caused me no good."
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 9:55 pm
Wickwright allowed himself a glance at the drink and recoiled slightly. From his hood, there was a soft "Ah!" and a scrabbling as something inside of it moved around, presumably for a better view.
Wickwright looked the skinny girl up and down. She was clearly in a poor state already, and it seemed like she didn't know that her drink was liable to make it worse. He opened his mouth to say something, but held his tongue for once in his life and thought for a moment. Steepling his fingers, he looked at the drink and at the woman, and then smiled a little too brightly at her again. "Would you like to get some lunch?" he offered, standing up suddenly.
"Now is an excellent time for lunch, in fact, I think I'll go get a bite. Since I'm buying lunch for myself, I might as well buy you some too, and then you can talk to me instead of a beverage. What do you say?" The nearest restaurant was a little tavern, and Wickwright was pretty sure he could afford it. He didn't think bad news should be delivered on an empty stomach, especially one as empty looking as the girl on the church steps. She looked like she couldn't even feed herself, let alone a plague, even if they did start out small.
"Wickwright Finch, by the way," he introduced.
"And Hopkin," a voice from his hood added. Wickwright coughed to cover it up. Hopkin might have to come out later, but until he delivered the news, he was staying hidden.
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 10:09 pm
Alae blinked when Wickwright stood up, and she half-expected him to leave. It was clear from how he was hesitant to talk to her in the first place that he felt a bit uncomfortable around her, so why wouldn't he? When the elderly man stayed, however, she began to think twice. Maybe he wasn't being as judgemental as she thought he was. After all, not all people in the world were that way, even if it seemed like it half of the time. Yet, even if he didn't leave like she thought he would, there was something different about the man. Something that he didn't say outright. Perhaps it was the way he looked at her glass, or the way he coughed all of a sudden, but she could tell that something was up.
Instead of addressing it, however, she kept silent much like he did. To cover up the fact that she was intrigued by the old man, if not a bit curious and skeptical of him, she stood up shortly after he did as well. "Lunch sounds wonderful, actually," she told him honestly, suddenly feeling a bit more chipper and perhaps giving a brief glimpse as to what her old self was like. "I really appreciate it."
She would have shook his hand upon the introductions, as was common courtesy, but unfortunately she couldn't. Not with her hands full of a certain alcoholic beverage. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Wickwright Finch," Alae continued on to say, allowing her eyes to study the elderly gentleman better. Something was up with that hood of his, but what? Oh, well, no matter. There were introductions to finish. "My name is Alae Greaves," although perhaps it would be a good time to add in a middle name between all that. Alae This-Is-The-Best-I've-Felt-In-A-While Greaves.
Yeah. She liked the sound of that. Maybe this day wasn't going to be so bad, after all.
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Posted: Sat Mar 05, 2011 10:51 pm
"Charmed," Wickwright said, while Hopkin repeated her name to himself in Wickwright's hood. He lead her into the tavern and sat down at an out-of-the-way table. In case they ended up having a surprise guest, he didn't want anyone seeing. Having O'Neill hear about Hopkin before he even got a chance to explain himself was the last thing he needed. And anyway, though the girl Greaves seemed compliant now, he had no idea how she'd react to an excito coming out of his clothing. Best to be fairly secluded, on the whole.
"I'll go get us something," he announced, "Is stew acceptable?"
"Oh, yes please," a voice from his hood piped up. Wickwright coughed again. If Hopkin was looking to share, it meant alcohol was once again out of the question. Wickwright was quickly being forced into teetotalism. "And tea, I think. Terribly early in the day to be drinking." There was a note of disappointment in his voice. After Hopkin emerging, having to save two drunk boys from kissing each other too fiercely, and finding out he had picked up a murderer as a traveling companion, Wickwright felt that he was long overdue an alcoholic beverage. He was by no means a drunk, but there were times when every man needed something with a kick in it. Over the last week or so, Wickwright had experienced more of these times than a man rightly ought to.
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Posted: Sun Mar 06, 2011 10:33 am
The sign for the tavern came into view and instinctively Alae seemed to slow down a bit just outside the door. It was a quaint little establishment, true enough, and it seemed to be well liked. There were already patrons inside and the chatter seemed to be upbeat despite the hard times people were in. Yet, still, the woman couldn't help but feel hesitant. Should she go inside the pub? Would being there make her desire a drink? Luckily for her, Wickwright decided for the both of them as he made his way in and sat down at a table where the two of them wouldn't be bothered. Good -- it would be nice to be away from prying eyes so that they could chat in peace.
The mere mention of stew made her mouth water. It had been a few days, at least, since she had a decent hot meal, so when the elder man mentioned it Alae immediately bobbed her head up in down with an enthusiastic response. "Stew sounds lovely," she mused, her voice sounding slightly dreamy at the thought of it. After his suggestion of stew was thrown out there, someone else agreed as well. It wasn't the confectioner, but someone different. Something smaller. Something in the man's hood. Ooooh! She knew something was up! Instead of calling the man out, though, however, she decided to wait. He would explain things to her when he felt it necessary.
While Wickwright was no means a drunk, little did he know he'd be dining along side one.
Alae's drinking problem had been a hard one to keep at bay. There had been a few times where she had almost slipped, coming very close to accepting an offer from men in pubs on her travels up to the northern region. Declines came at every pass, and for that she was thankful for her newfound self-control. "Tea sounds perfect as well," she agreed wholeheartedly, mentally relieved for her luck. Had he kindly offered her a drink, she might not be as easily able to refuse it this time around. Wickwright seemed like a nice guy with good intentions, and thus it was hard to say no. He definitely had a point, though. It was much, much too early to be drinking.
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Posted: Sun Mar 06, 2011 5:48 pm
When Wickwright reached the bar to order, he heard a voice from his hood.
"Alae Greaves is very flat," it noted.
"I believe that gaunt is the term you're looking for," he muttered back.
"It's pleasing."
"Not to people. People aren't supposed to be flat."
"You drew them flat," the voice offered, sounding mildly perplexed.
"Drawings are different," Wickwright retorted.
"But I don't under-"
Their food arrived and Wickwright removed himself to the table with it, setting down the bowl that looked like it had more in front of Alae. He had already eaten earlier, but he was hesitant to do anything that would make her lose face. From the looks of her, she had already lost plenty of it. "And I hope plain black tea is all right for you?" He sipped his own and contemplated how he was going to let Hopkin have some stew. He had already broken his promise for tea in the bar with Meschke and Arelgren, at this rate he wasn't being much of a good example at all. Jawbone Men didn't break their word if they could help it.
But maybe Hopkin would have to reveal himself soon anyway. He steepled his fingers, eyeing Alae's drink and trying to figure out how to tell her the news. Finally, he decided to try to gauge whether or not she knew already. He didn't think so, but if that drink had been untouched all this time, then perhaps she had her suspicions. Gesturing to the glass, he asked, "Are you going to have that?"
Not the most subtle introduction to a conversation.
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Posted: Sun Mar 06, 2011 6:12 pm
"Are you going to drink that?"
Wickwright's question was directed at the absinthe glass, and when he asked Alae could feel her eyes moving to fall upon it. Dull mossy green eyes that had once been bright and full of life blinked a good few times at the reservoir glass. Boy, would she have liked to drink from it on a good number of occasions. A drink, and this one in particular due to its potency, probably would have calmed her down and eased her nerves. Unfortunately, she couldn't allow herself to do that. One, because she had promised her father, and two, due to the circumstances in which she found the glass in the first place. Who would want to have a drink of something that had the fingers of a dead, plague-ridden man in them? Certainly not her.
"No, actually," she murmured sheepishly. "Trying to kick the habit."
After responding to the elderly man's question, the young woman wasted no time in dealing with the food that he had set down in front of her. The bowl of stew, although steaming and piping hot, smelled absolutely delectable. Alae reached out almost instantly and began taking generous spoonfuls of it into her mouth, regardless of the temperature. A few burnt taste buds were nothing when your stomach was eager to be filled. It didn't take long, and half the both seemed to be finished within a few short minutes. To chase down that hearty soup, the confectioner downed about half of her cup of black tea as well before expelling a content sigh.
"This is good. Really good," Alae said with a definite nod. "And even better since there is good company to go with it all."
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Posted: Mon Mar 07, 2011 9:54 am
"All for the best, really," Wickwright noted dryly. "Drink can really make a mess of you." Although it didn't sound like she realized the extent of the mess that could be made, at least she wasn't drinking it. "Why carry it around, then? For the sparkling conversation?"
He grinned weakly at her. "Indulge an old man's curiosity." If she didn't know it was plagued, why did she have it at all? The facts just didn't match up. Of course, if she did know, she might simply be hesitant to tell him. He had heard of the panic that the living plague was causing in Panymium, keeping things under wraps was simply the wisest move a Grimm could make unless they were protected by one of the Great Factions, which Wickwright had no intention of joining. Hopkin was a Jawbone Society book, he was of no concern to the powers that be. By the bone, he wasn't even planning on telling anyone about Hopkin unless he absolutely needed to.
He thought of O'Neill and his stomach lurched. Distracting himself, he took a bite of his own stew, but even that served as a reminder of his predicament as he felt Hopkin wriggle when he smelled it from the hood. Feeling a twinge of guilt, Wickwright thought about dropping a spoonful in there while Alae was wolfing down her own meal. Certainly, she was too preoccupied to notice what he was doing, so he hastily spooned a potato and a carrot past his mouth and into his garments, hearing a damp splat as Hopkin tried to catch them. "Glad I could be of assistance," he noted as Alae complimented the food. Lifting his tea, he offered, "To good company?"
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Posted: Mon Mar 07, 2011 12:25 pm
Before she elaborated any on Wickwright's questions, Alae raised her glass of tea to his and clinked the two of them together. She then took a sip, finishing off most of the rest of it before setting it down with a smile. Boy, had she lucked out in the man stumbling across her on the street! If she hadn't, then she wouldn't be sitting there in the tavern eating a nice big bowl of stew with a glass of black tea. Mentally, she thanked the god Obscuvos and then pondered best how to answer his question. No matter how she answered, however, he'd probably think she was crazy, regardless.
"First and formost," she began, shifting in her seat a bit to gaze over at the glass that sat on the table with them. "It is a reminder." To this, she nodded her head, frowning slightly at the memories of her father telling her she had to keep it with her. The day he came to get her and took her home was a grim day, indeed. "I can't drink any of it. My father says it is to remind me of my old ways. Of my old life, and how I screwed it up."
Screwed it up. Yeah -- that was an understatement. Everything her life had been going well, but then things took a turn for a worse and they crashed and burned rapidly. Everything might have turned out okay, perhaps, but she had made a foolish choice. Taking to the bottle was never a good way to go; it was a coward's way out, her family had told her. Alae slumped in her chair after mentioning how she screwed up her life. Yet, it was one-hundred percent true. Everything: her shop, the business, her customers, and once chipper self - all of it might still have been there if she hadn't started drinking. There was no one else to blame for her misfortune. No one but herself.
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Posted: Sat Mar 12, 2011 8:50 pm
Wickwright looked at the drink. "And you carry it about with you like that? A harsh punishment indeed." That she had ruined her life with drinking wasn't surprising to Wickwright, on the whole. Her general appearance was that of a homeless wretch, and in such cases, alcohol was a common enough devil to deal with. The only thing that surprised him was how lucid and composed she seemed. Maybe he was seeing her at her best, but she hardly seemed like she had been driven to ruin, or at least that she had been in this state for very long.
"It's admirable of you to fight the influence of liquor. I would continue to resist if I were you," he hazarded, arching his eyebrows. "It's not just that drink has been a problem with you, but I fear it may continue to be whether you can keep from pouring it into your glass or not. You see-"
He paused, looking at the drink, then at Alae. Gently as possible, he said, "I'm afraid that glass of absinthe appears to have developed the living plague. I can't be sure, but I have, ah, experience in these matters. You could say I've done a bit of research."
His hood rustled.
"For my book."
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 11:02 am
"The living plague," Alae repeated with a bit of an amused chuckle. The woman shifted in her chair, allowing herself to rest her head in her hand as she sat there and spoke with Wickwright. By her body language alone, it was evident that she didn't seem particularly fazed by the notion of a living plague residing in her drink. As controversial as they were within this day and time, and as much as others seemed to disdain the creatures, the woman didn't mind so much. Then again, after having to personally cater to such a plague (and a particularly vicious little flower, at that), who wouldn't be able to deal with them?
The confectioner shifted yet again a moment later, clearly not content with sitting as she previously had been. Her hand dropped down to rest on the table, hands together in front of her with her fingers interlocked as she gazed over a the book-lover. "It doesn't bother me," she went on to say, her eyes drifting down toward the glass of absinthe that was sitting on their table. "I've had my own experience with such plagues, and if God bestowed me with one of my own..."
The woman's voice trailed off at the mention of God, and immediately her thoughts went to Obscuvos. She wasn't living her life for herself anymore. She was living it for Him, for His cause and to support His followers. All the trials and tribulations she went through, and all of the warm and happier times - every single part of them were not only for Him, but caused by Him. Alae was doing well to remember that, and it kept her going. "...then so be it."
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 11:13 am
She was taking it much better than Wickwright had when he had found out. Then again, Wickwright considered, a glass of absinthe, even if one was an inveterate alcoholic, was much easier to part with than a book one had spent most of their life working on. Some people, he mentally groused, had all the luck. Sometimes it seemed he never had any.
"Experience," he said, something else he hadn't had before Hopkin emerged from his book. He had researched, yes, but never seen a plague in the flesh, or bronze, as it might be in Hopkin's case. "So you know one of those cursed Grimms? What was it like," he asked, blue eyes examining the wood grain of the table a little too intently, "To meet one?"
He laughed. "Pardon my questions. I'm more than a little curious about these morbid affairs. I have an interest in current and historical events, and the subject of plagues is certainly pervasive these days." The second half of her comment gave him pause though, and he looked up at her curiously. "A mysterious message from the divine, to be sure, but you seem quite confident in your faith. Which god do you worship, if I may be so bold?"
Hopkin stirred in Wickwright's hood, but he jerked his shoulders to signal the plague to stop. His book boy had already met one Obscuvian in quarters too close for comfort. Not all of them would be as gentle and curious towards the little thing as Meschke had been.
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