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 Posted: Fri Mar 18, 2011 6:52 am
who | Wickwright Finch, with his plague, Hopkin, Dorian Arelgren, with his plague, Lettie, and Dragomir Meschke, with his plague, Chayele.
where | Dragomir's house in Shyregoad
when | A rainy late morning
Wickwright pulled his hood over his head as the rain pounded down in the wagon. Hopkin looked at it for a moment, letting out a little sigh. If Wickwright's hood was up, staying in it would be even more difficult.
Wickwright had the solution. He picked up Hopkin's book bag and opened it, shooing him in. "Come on, get comfortable," he said, as Hopkin put his hood up too. "I'm not visiting one of the only people who knows about you with you looking like a drowned rat." Closing the book bag, he carefully slung it over his shoulder and stepped out of the wagon onto the slushy Shyregoadian streets. It was pissing rain, but by the bone, he had promised himself to check up on Meschke on his way back from O'Neill's.
The thought of what O'Neill had said temporarily drove him to distraction, and he stood in the slush for a moment as his boots slowly soaked. Then he shook his head and marched onwards. Meschke. Focus on Meschke.The boy was his best bet to learn about the Cult, he seemed charmed by Hopkin and willing to speak about it when Hopkin was doing the asking. Plus his experience with the Cult was hardly a passing one, if the fact that he killed a man was to be believed. Though he would have never imagined it at the time, Wickwright now felt lucky to have run into Arelgren and Meschke in their moment of crisis.
"Do you think Dragomir Meschke is okay now?" a voice asked from his bag, barely audible through the pouring rain. Wickwright paused, his more mercenary thoughts retreating.
"I don't think so, Hopkin. Not this soon, not after what he's been through. You can hope so, if you like."
"Well, do you hope so?"
"I'm not sure I hope for him to be okay with himself this soon after killing a man, no. I hope he's doing something about it other than getting drunk, though."
"Then that's what I hope, too." Hopkin affirmed. Wickwright rolled his eyes and squinted at the houses through the rain.
"Come to think of it, that boy never told us which house he was moving into." Wickwright bit his lip and glanced back at the wagon, but his conversation with O'Neill was still in his head. O'Neill wanted him to do something proactive? That's what he would do. Pulling his hood further up, he walked down the road, peering at the different houses for signs of Meschke.
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Posted: Fri Mar 18, 2011 2:16 pm
Chayele liked the rain; Dragomir did not. Chayele also enjoyed making Dragomir miserable - so she took off running, dress partially plastered to her thin, tiny body, arms trailing behind her with the tattered sleeves dripping water off the ends. Dragomir, of course, was chasing her. He wished, of course, that he could leave her be, but as much as he proclaimed (often to her face) that she was a nuisance and he wished she'd just turn back into the useless horn, he would've felt bad to leave her to whoever might harm her - though, if she didn't get back to him soon, both of them would possibly be in a vast amount of trouble. He could run faster, of course, having a greater stride, but she was slippery and quick and crafty, constantly darting away whenever he snapped his hands around where she'd been.
She was standing a distance away, her nose and eyeless forehead smooth but her small mouth curved upward in a mocking smile with a small, bellish giggle ringing out. Dragomir was, in a fit of rage, about to dive to get her, splashing through the water, but he repeated the same motion that had failed several times before, closing his hands around her small body as gently but firmly as he could, surprised when he felt her weight in his hands and her squirming against his fingers. Judging by the squeak she issued, she was too.
"Ha! Twit." He breathed, panting softly as she continued to attempt to wiggle her way free. Gripping her firmly in one hand, he smoothed his hair out of his eyes, blinking.
And then he noticed Wickwright. His face flushed quickly to a rather severe shade of red, not at all pleased with being caught in this situation. Chayele hit at his hands with her small fists, ineffectually, wailing rather loudly (for her diminuitive stature, by any means). "Chay, shut up!"
She didn't listen. She did, however, notice Wickwright and reached her tiny hands toward him, hoping he'd free her from this monster's grasp.
"Wickwright..? Oh! You said you'd come." There was a pause. "Hullo."
Well.. This was awkward.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2011 10:05 pm
Dorian Arelgren woke with a numb start, eyes drooping, hands meandering underneath the good Drago's warm covers. He could feel Lettie's rustling underneath his hand, when her head bobbed, his hand did too. Dragomir's shut window kept the snow out from him, and he'd failed to open it again after he welcomed himself into the Meschke house.His frown only deepened at the pandemonium from below, he could distinctively hear Dragomir's rebellious yells and minor squeaking ones from a...rat? Yes, that seemed like a reasonable victim that Dragomir would make suffer.
Not that he knew the Meschke boy yet, not that clearly, at least. He planned to, though.
"Mr.Arelgren!"
Lettie's bell-voice chimed, and Dorian mumbled in discontent.
"Donwan wake up do tell Dragomir to find a broad...rats not good for snogging...hrgnnnghh"
"Mr. Arelgren! Lettie can't breathe!"
Dorian's eyes opened completely at this, as he leapt out of the great bed of his neighbor, and landed promptly on the floor beneath him, his shoulder knocking against a shelf in his clumsiness and welcoming a bruise. Groaning, he added to Dragomir's din with a yell of his own. He ignored the blossoming pain in his shoulder, extending a hand for Lettie to crawl on. He drew a sigh of relief when he saw that the pink had returned to her pale face, and added a small kiss to her hat.
"There. Breath free again from the overweight Dorian Arelgren."
"B-but you are not overweight..."
"Lettie, I thought we were playing 'pretend'. I am a woman and you are my good butler, and I am the lost daughter of Dragomir Meschke returning from her woeful plight! ...It slipped your memory, did it not?"
"Yes...but what does overweight have to do with Mr.Arelgren being a woman?"
"Well, Lettie, women are, typically, overweight."
"...Oh."
Lettie's expression instantly hit Dorian as a fateful decision making error on his part. He'd indirectly called his poor plague fat. A second groan slipped from his lips as he began trying to apologize to Lettie, who was eerily silent, her small hands fumbling in her lap.
He was still explaining when he set foot on the first floor of Dragomir's house, and was overjoyed at the sight of the Meschke and and a familiar man.
"WICKY!" he cried in excitement, dashing forwards, flinging Lettie aside, his plague suddenly becoming a projectile with her little hands flapping in the air. She landed (thankfully) on a cushion, but Dorian by now was preoccupied with his 'father' and the man to whom he owed much towards. He embraced the man with full stregnth, rubbing his face into the man's chest. "You do not know how grateful my father and I are towards your assistance earlier," he said in a muffled voice. Then freeing Wickwright of his self, he collapsed on the floor behind Dragomir, and clasped his arms over the man's torso.
"Father, I have returned!" he shouted in triumph. "What game are we participating in? I don't really understand the rules, father, I just see that it involves quite a lot of clasping.
Lettie felt horrible from where she nested. She immediately plunged into the crevice between two of Dragomir's couches, timidness creeping into her, as a deeper blush colored her cheeks.
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Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2011 10:25 pm
Wickwright tried not to set too much store in gossip.
He collected it, wrote it down, examined it, and so he saw how wildly rumours contrasted and how little truth there often was in whispers one heard from the street. However, the rumours of Cultists stealing plagues was one close to his heart, as the Cultists were a constant source of grief for him, and since very recently, the safety of plagues in Panymium had become one of his top concerns. So seeing Meschke, who had previously confessed to killing a man for the Cult, holding a struggling, clearly upset excito led him to draw some grievously wrong conclusions. His hand flew to his book bag and he stared at Meschke for a moment before saying, "Just checking in on you after I saved your life in a pub, thought you might need the company. I see you have some already though, however unwilling it appears to be. I'm not... Interrupting anything?"
If he was kidnapping plagues, he might as well remember that he owed Wickwright a favour. Possibly more than one. However, before he could continue, he himself was interrupted by an all too familiar voice, last heard drunkenly slurring pick-up lines in Imisus.
"Ah," he said, looking up. "Arelgren. Sensible as ever you were, I see." Apparently he was interrupting more than he thought. However, something flying from Arelgren's hands caught his attention, and he looked to see yet another plague on a cushion. Was Arelgren a cultist too? Wickwright felt Hopkin trying to see outside, and clamped his hand down harder on the bag around his shoulder. Meschke knew of Hopkin, but hopefully he'd be too distracted to hear the noises. Wickwright wasn't putting his plague at risk until he knew what was going on, although if Arelgren was involved, he doubted it could be anything so serious as he initially thought. There was an indignant noise from inside, and the determined scrabblings of his trapped little book soon ensued.
"Terrible weather we're having," he commented offhandedly, and then, more loudly and pointedly, "Best to stay inside."
The scrabbling stopped and was replaced with an almost sullen silence.
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Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2011 10:43 pm
Dragomir just stayed quiet when Wickwright spoke, trying to figure out how to word things when a blur grabbed onto Wickwright and spoke - and Dragomir's pleasant half-smile that he had managed to keep up even through the obvious accusation there faded instantly.
"... Sir. Whatever were you doing coming from directly behind me - my house." Though this was technically a question, it was worded as a vocalization of his irritation; he expected no answer -- no, he wanted no answer. "Your house is over that way." He pointed with his open hand, trying to work himself free of the hands around his torso, finding this more distasteful than he had words for. Absolutely revolting, honestly. "Get off of me while you're explaining. I have enough of a parasite in my hand. I don't need another."
Calling Chayele a parasite brought her back into Dragomir's train of thought; her tiny hands were grasping for Dorian's now, finding this target closer, making tiny grunts of exertion as she wildly flailed, reaching for someone to save her. Her small mouth was turned downward in a severe frown and her cries were reaching higher and higher pitches as she got more and more frustrated with the grip constraining her.
"Chayele." The tone was cold, almost entirely dispassioned, and the use of her full name coupled with Dragomir's utterly no nonsense tone made her settle down instantly, the look of scorn at Dragomir for ruining her fun in the rain was readily apparent, even when one considered the fact that the girl had no eyes. Finally, his dark navy eyes looked back upward, to Wickwright, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he opened his palm, letting Chayele shimmy down his clothes with a decidedly diminished amount of energy when compared to the vigor with which she'd fleed him only a few minutes prior.
She shook her right arm until her tiny hand came into view from out of her sleeve. She placed it just under her mouth, looking in Dorian's direction, tilting her head. She then glanced up at Dragomir and understood the frustration that the appearance of this strange human had put in her Grimm. She smiled hugely, headbutting her hard horns into Dragomir's shin and hummed a jaunty tune as she skipped to pat Dorian's leg. She liked this one!
She looked up at Wickwright, tilting her head to one direction as she shook herself free of a little bit of water, like a severely undersized dog, and reached both of her tiny palms toward this other new human, the one with a different hair colour, no sense of danger anywhere in sight that anyone would ever harm her.
"As you can see, I wasn't hurting her. She just lives to do what she can to frustrate me. She's ... mine. I wouldn't hurt her. Only say I will." His eye twitched a little just saying it. She was his. She'd been "born" to him. Revolting.
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Posted: Sun Mar 20, 2011 3:49 pm
There were moments in Dorian's life where he felt like the threads of destiny were meeting together, and this moment was one of them. His lips fell apart slightly at the sight of the horned creature that patted his leg, and a bubble of warmth burst within him at the sight of it. He couldn't say that he trusted Wickwright entirely (upon reflecting the older man's own take on the situation which seemed quite nonchalant in comparison to a peasant's). Lettie's silence ushered in relief into the Arelgren, for her safety was always his priority, despite how illy his concern was often conducted. He enjoyed how his new favorite people were with him now, and that was all that truly mattered to the prodigal son.
Accolades all around.
"Well, Wicky, Shyregoed's weather is as devilish as it is now all year round. I find it quite fascinating, did you know that each season's snow tastes differently?" Dorian's jade orbs sparkled with intensity, his voice hushed into a whisper at the word 'differently' as if the entire conversation was meant to be conducted in secret.
Of course it wasn't. Whispering just made everything more exciting to Dorian.
Lettie felt the "Wicky" man's eyes settle on the spot in which she hid, and instantly she knew she'd been discovered. Under the influence of her fear, she'd subconsciously slunk further into the shadows then she'd planned. The far gap between herself and Dorian ironically became a sort of safety measure for her.
Dorian was now preoccupied with Dragomir, rather, the sight of the new plague that charmed the Arelgren.
"How fantastic, father, it appears that you are in possession of a Plague also!" Dorian's jubilant outburst far outmatched the dark assumptions that were meant to be made about Plagues. As far as Felicity and Claudia had told him, they were wonderful things.
"Dear me..." his head turned towards Wickwright, who was still where he stood from before. "Wicky, do you also have a Plague? If so that would be the most fun...we could all be matching...!" he speedily said, hands clasped together, Dragomir's torso now free from his giddy neighbor.
The gaiety of the room was beginning to make Lettie nauseous, and given that Dorian was fond of the two strange men, she figured she was safe, also. Quietly as she came, she tiptoed across Dragomir's floor, careful not to slip on her dress as she made way towards her Keeper. When she reached him, she lifted a corner of his coat and pulled it over her head so that only her eyes peeked out. Dorian noticed this.
"Come now, don't be shy, Lettie. Make yourself known like a proper butler."
Lettie, having previously forgotten that Dorian was still roleplaying, was slightly confused at his request, her head tilted underneath the cover his coat provided.
"B-butler?" she chimed inquisitively.
Dorian realized she'd forgotten also. With a sigh, he added:
"Alright, nevermind the roleplaying. Just make yourself known to the gentlemen, and relieve yourself of my dandy coat. A stuffy woman is more prone to illness, you know."
Tentatively, Lettie poked her head out entirely, gaping at the giants before her, her cheeks deepening red as a result.
"S-Salutations," she stammered, hands flying to her cheeks. Oh! What a sight! Giants other than Dorian!
"Ah, yes, this is Lettie. She is not fat."
Lettie forgave him.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Mar 20, 2011 7:47 pm
Fears allayed, at least for now, Wickwright put on an apologetic tone. "I see. Forgive me, Meschke, I wasn't aware that you were in possession of a plague." He eyed the little thing as she came over to him and bent over to pick her up. Examining things was in Wickwright's nature, and plagues were no exception. "Chayele, hm? Nice to meet you." He had learned the hard way that plagues were more human than he initially thought, and so a greeting seemed only proper. As he leaned down though, the scrabbling in his bag resumed, and something fell out. Noticing it, Wickwright addressed Dorian.
"I have a book," he affirmed, "And it has been plagued." Calling his book a plague, even if it was definitely no longer a book, was an idea that still galled him more than it should, especially after his meeting with O'Neill. "Hopkin," he ordered.
Hopkin stood up and dusted himself off, looking up at Meschke and Arelgren, especially Arelgren, as he hadn't had a chance to get a good look at him before. "H-hello Dragomir Meschke and Dorian Arelgren," he muttered, suddenly wishing to be back in the bag. It was one thing to watch from a hiding place, but it was a very different thing to see and be seen. All of a sudden, he felt self-conscious, especially around people as fancified and beautiful as the two blonde men in front of him. He had questions he had meant to ask Meschke but found that they caught in his throat with all the other company around.
"M-matching..." Hopkin stammered, but the words died in his throat as he saw Lettie and Chayele. "Oh!"
He definitely wanted to be in the bag again. These plagues were far more delicate and lovely than anyone else he'd ever seen, maybe because they were his size and he could see them properly. It left him worried and self-conscious and wishing that he could just look at them without them knowing he was there. He turned to go back, but saw Wickwright was standing up now, so he couldn't possibly reach.
He took a deep breath. He was a Jawbone Book, he didn't have to be pretty to have a purpose. He remembered everything Wickwright had told him, and with that in mind, he tried to turn himself around. To his dismay, everyone was still there when he did, and none of them were an inch less intimidating. Thus, Hopkin tried to stick with what he knew, and say facts instead of try to make conversation.
"M-my name is Hopkin, I'm a Jawbone Book and a plague and a boy, I think, and you're very pleasing to look at, but you've never seen me before, though I've seen you before Dorian Arelgren. Dragomir Meschke has seen me before, and I have seen him before, and we spoke to each other, and I came back with Wickwright because I was worried about him, but he seems to be well, or at least not drunk." He paused, eyeing Lettie and Chayele worriedly. "A-and those are Chayele Meschke," he paused to look at Wickwright pleadingly to confirm or deny the fact, and Wickwright nodded, "And Lettie Arelgren..." Slowly his voice grew more confident, but when he got to Lettie, he became confused again. "She is a butler and a stuffy woman, but that doesn't make sense because she looks too delicate to be a butler, and it shouldn't be that way, I-I'm sorry, I don't think it should, should it Wickwright?" He looked at Wickwright again, who shrugged. "U-u-um, I don't think it should at least, but I could be wrong! Maybe I'm wrong, am I wrong?"
"A-a-and she's not fat."
"She's very slender and delicate."
"And so is Chayele Meschke." His voice, which had been strong when Wickwright had confirmed what he said, was now almost inaudible.
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Posted: Sun Mar 20, 2011 8:17 pm
Chayele squealed audibly, a giggle of a noise more than anything, when she was picked up, wiggling in the touch, enjoying the attention that both of the other humans were showing her. She waved excitedly at the hello, wiggling all the more, her beads rustling with the motion.
"She doesn't talk," Dragomir offered for explanation. "She sings, but I've never heard her say a word."
The man was aware that his eye twitched, rather violently. "Yes, she's a plague and she's mine. But I cannot recall ever having fathered a son, much less one who is my age; so, sir, if you could refrain from calling me your father, that would be lovely. Thank you kindly."
The words burned Dragomir's mouth or thereabouts, and Chayele giggled that Dragomir was upset. She plopped down in the open hand she had been standing on, her legs splayed with her hands between them, leaning down to look at the floor. She liked this person more! He was nice. She hummed a soft, gentle song, fixing the rose behind her horn as she stared at the wrapped boy and the girl in the pretty dress.
Instantly she liked them both. She stretched out on the palm holding her, lying down so her head could peek out and towards the ground, staring down at the two other plagues, waving exuberantly at Hopkin each time he looked at Wickwright (and thusly was looking near her), then at Lettie. Lettie was so very pretty! Hopkin, so intricate and - and shiny! It distracted her, the bows, and she wanted to play with them. She also wanted to touch the wrapping over Hopkin's face, to see what was under. She sat back up and peeked at Wickwright. She tapped his hand with her two very small ones to get his attention, then pointed at the ground with a soft grunt. She wanted to play with these two, and she couldn't do it from up here.
Dragomir, in the meanwhile, actually brightened a little when he saw the book plague again. "Hello Hopkin," he greeted almost instantly, wishing the little plague could be more comfortable (though perhaps not quite as comfortable as Chayele was with everyone). He added after the fact, almost unwilling to speak to the female plague under the care of Dorian, "Hullo, Lettie."
He supposed it wasn't her fault that her keeper was a blasted idiot and he should ... attempt to be nice to the small thing, especially since she seemed about as worried as Hopkin, both contrasts to Chayele, stretched out on a stranger's palm as though she'd been there her entire, albeit very short, life. He listened to Hopkin list facts and smiled a little more that the little plague had worried over him. He tilted his head at the fact that confirmation seemed to assuage the plague's fears and so, at the end, affirmed what he had said. "Yes, I suppose I'm doing better. I haven't had much time to get drunk with," here came an accusing point, a finger stabbed roughly through the air in Chayele's direction, "that one around."
Chayele stuck her tongue out and made a strange noise, a frustrated, angry sound that got her hatred across just fine. Dragomir shook it off.
However, the anger didn't stay long; it took a moment for Chayele to process that Hopkin had complimented her by calling her slender and delicate and she giggled, a soft tiny noise, and applauded her hands happily, amplified by the additional sound of the beads around her neck clicking together. She liked being complimented! However, her name was only Chayele, not Chayele Meschke, and she looked down at the boy, sticking her tongue out, her mouth curving downward in a soft frown. Even more than Chayele, she liked to be called Chay, and Chayele Meschke was far from that name.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 3:16 pm
(( SOLLY DIS IS GONNA BE SORTOF SHORT ; A ; ))
Dorian beamed dumbly at Wickwright's observant little plague, glad to have received a reply at all from any member of the company. Truthfully, he was giddy ever since his awakening, and the arrival of Wickwright and Hopkins only furthered his zeal. He was secretly pleased that Dragomir made no attempt to attack him (verbally) as the Meschke usually did, and he wondered if it was Wickwright's sudden appearance that deserved the accolade for Dragomir's presentation. Shrugging to himself, Dorian's mischievous jade-green eyes swept over at the scene once more before thinking of how he would answer the book plague most joyfully. Wickwright owning a Plague also meant that the trio was made! How wonderful. Dorian resisted the urge to shout, though his voice was more than audible normally anyhow.
"Good day, Hopkins!" Dorian boomed, his voice rattling Lettie a bit. He continued to talk as she slowly made her way up to perch upon his shoulder, gloved hands clinging onto a tuft of her Keeper's golden curls. "I'm certain you and Lettie will become lovely companions, yes, Lettie? Slender, delicate, Lettie?"
Dorian, of course, was teasing. Lettie's cheeks were now steaming, she was unsure if it was her Adonis of a keeper repeating Hopkins' flattering description of herself, that Hopkins was a gentleman and referred her as 'Lettie Arelgren', or the fact that Hopkins initiated the conversation about her first at all. She'd never met a male Plague before, and Chayele's enthusiasm seemed to only underline Lettie's shyness in contrast. Lettie's answer was softer than her keeper's. She was glad Hopkins's eyes (if they existed at all) were hidden behind wraps, otherwise she was sure that her cheeks would flame up into ashes and she would be cheekless (like Dorian told her so).
"Thank you..." was the most Lettie could muster, her voice barely a squeak. "...H-Hopkins."
"See now, Little Ghost? That was quite easy to say, wouldn't you agree? Dorian laughed, receiving a jab in the neck from his Plague in return. Lettie wanted to hide in her hat and become invisible forever. Dorian seemed to know this, but chose not to acknowledge it.
Casually, Dorian slunk his way to where Dragomir gathered himself, and wrapped an arm around his favorite neighbor's shoulder, squeezing it.
Of course the two had something special together. They were neighbor brothers.
"Welllll Dragomirmirmir, you always have a convenience of getting drunk around yours truly when life calls upon it," Dorian whistled. Lettie wasn't quite sure what her keeper meant by his words, but the tune he was whistling was quite lovely, and she added her own whistles along with his in a resonance.
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 7:50 pm
"Hopkin," Hopkin corrected to Lettie, looking at his feet. "You're welcome, Lettie Arelgren." He hoped she didn't get things wrong as often as her Grimm did. Dorian was beautiful, but he didn't know how to count people in a pub, and Hopkin didn't mind correcting him, but he didn't like feeling like he wasn't being listened to. But surely she wouldn't, Dorian was pretty in a different way from her. He was like a bright bird, strolling into a room and chirping as loudly as possible. Lettie seemed just as nervous as he did, although she was nervous like the skittish mice who ran into the wagon when it stopped sometimes, all soft and high-pitched and charming. It reminded him of himself a little, so he felt like she would be more intelligent. He couldn't claim to be many things, but he knew that he knew things. Wickwright wrote him to know things, after all.
He scrutinized Chay once Dragomir said she didn't talk, looking alarmed. How could someone not use words? Half of Hopkin's world was words, and he couldn't imagine going without them. "Isn't that a problem?" he asked, obviously concerned. "Does she know how?" He couldn't imagine not using words unless he didn't know any, and if he didn't know any, he would be tormented by it. "M-maybe someone should tell her how."
Wickwright coughed, and Hopkin jumped. "I-It could help," he muttered, looking down at the ground again sheepishly. Then again, maybe he would just write if he couldn't speak. If he couldn't speak, he wouldn't have to be introducing himself right now, he could just write down that his name was Hopkin and show them, and he wouldn't be so embarrassed, he might not even have to come out of his book bag, although he felt he'd rather stay in Wickwright's hood so he could see more. Maybe Chayele Meschke had the right idea after all. He briefly considered asking Wickwright if he could be allowed to stop speaking too, but then he remembered that Finch men were supposed to jabber all the time. Hopkin couldn't be a Finch man, but he was the next best thing, and he wanted to be as close to a Finch man as possible to please Wickwright. So like it or not, he'd probably have to talk, even if he felt better when he was writing. He frowned to himself and tugged on his sleeves disappointedly.
"Hopkin, why don't you get to know Lettie and Chayele," Wickwright suggested, putting Chayele on the ground as gently as possible. "I'd like to catch up with Meschke if he doesn't mind, and I'm sure that you'd like to meet plagues like yourself. You can learn more about them today." Hopkin nodded rapidly, making his round head look a little like an apple swinging from its branch in a windstorm.
That left Arelgren. Wickwright looked at him for a moment, and Hopkin followed suit as soon as he mentally counted and realized who was left out. They shot each other a glance, and Hopkin desperately shook his head. Arelgren was too confusing for him to be around too long, everything he said seemed like nonsense. Wickwright closed his eyes and let out a breath. "And... I'd also like to speak to you, Arelgren. If that's convenient for you."
Hopkin tried not to breathe an audible sigh of relief.
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 8:34 pm
Dragomir blinked when Hopkin interrogated Chayele over not being able to speak and answered him quietly. "I think she knows how. She understands what you say, at least. And she knows what her name is. But still, she won't speak. It's strange. I wonder if she's a bit..."
Simple. Chayele flew into a rage at that, hitting at the palm she was in with her small fists; she was angry enough that her eyes, if she'd had them, would've been tearing up. It took her a moment to calm down but she did, and she patted and stroked Wickwright's palm where she'd hit at it, recognizing that it wasn't Dragomir who she'd hit at, but someone who was very nice to her. She hummed something forced happy - it had a definite bitter undertone - and she turned away from Dragomir, refusing to look at him.
"As I was saying. She understands words, at least." He shrugged his shoulders rollingly, looking pointedly away from Dorian and Lettie, wanting nothing to do with either one of them. Except then, of course, Dorian put his arm around his shoulders. Dragomir's whole body convulsed - or, at least, that's what it felt like.
In a calm, cool, icy tone that made even Chayele shudder, he turned his head very slightly towards Dorian. "I have been nice to you heretofore due to the unexpected presence of not only Wickwright, but Hopkin and Lettie, but you will get your hand off of me. Now. I detest being touched and you are more than aware of this. Furthermore, I have no desire to get drunk with you. Not again."
Wickwright spoke, then, and the words pierced the ice of his current mentality. "Yes, of course, Wickwright. I'll be more than happy to speak with you. I'm quite glad you came, actually." The change was almost enough to induce whiplash; he pulled himself violently out of the hold of Dorian and moved over to the other's side. "And Chayele's welcome to stay here."
Chayele still wasn't talking to Dragomir.
Of course, then Wickwright invited Dorian to come and he wondered if the brief exchange from plague to keeper had made that happen - Drago couldn't blame Hopkin if he didn't want to be near him, but that didn't make Dragomir stomach his presence any better either.
"We can speak in my house?" Without waiting for an answer, however, he started walking towards it. He was almost certain Wickwright would follow, and he shuddered imagining Dorian in his house - but it was much more painful to imagine himself in Dorian's house. He shook his hair out and sighed; this was suddenly looking to turn into a much longer day than he had hoped for originally.
Chayele blinked when Dragomir turned away. Good! The stupid meanie! She stuck her tongue out at her back with an unladylike, "Mnnnh!" sound, then looked at Hopkin, who was nearest her. She waved jauntily to him, then danced up and touched his wrappings with barely her fingertips before darting back, wondering if he'd get mad. She crouched down and fiddled with her roses, waiting to see.
Her attention then focused on Lettie and she cocked her head. Lettie was so pretty! And her grimm made Dragomir so mad! She loved them both. She giggled softly, then patted her dress down, fiddling with the beads. They weren't shiny. Hopkin was shiny! And even though the wrapping felt so strange under her fingers, it was nice! Much nicer than the coolness of her beads. She liked Hopkin more than her beads. She liked Lettie more than her beads too!
She smiled brightly up at the two of them and cocked her head, wondering what the three would do together.
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 9:21 pm
"You mad?" Dorian cackled, slapping his neighbor-brother across the head.
Dragomir, you never cease to amuse me.
Dorian burst into a fit of laughter at the sound of Dragomir's icy tone. He was quite smitten with his neighbor's kindness, and the Meschke boy really did never cease to amuse him. The boy was a bundle of fun. Stiff aristocrats always brought fun with them anyhow, as far as Dorian was concerned. Nevertheless, he relieved Dragomir of his arm. There would be another time to ruffle the peacock's plumes after all. Though...the Arelgren slightly pitied his brother-in-religion's Plague, for despite that she was 'simple', it was clear to even an imbecile that she did not appreciate Dragomir's attitude towards her. Lettie took notice of this, and shyly took Chayele's hand, admiring her delicate beads. She looked up at her Keeper, who nodded, and encouraged her to mingle with her Plague-friends.
"Be good now, Lettie!" Dorian called in a larksong manner. She sang a 'yes' back, and her Keeper was pleased.
"Well, Wicky, what business would you have with me?" Dorian inquired innocently, trotting after Dragomir. He wondered if Wickwright was still irked by what he witnessed in Imisus between the two blonds. "Aside from the incident in Imisus, I only know of another circumstance, though that particular one was probably not one that could convict me. I believe 'rape' only applies to the unwilling."
His mouth made an "O" shape when a new idea struck him.
"OH! Wicky you could be the father!" Dorian said excitedly, revising his plot. He would inform Wicky of the details later.
Lettie was preoccupied with Chayele's beads and Hopkins' metallic skin. Her eyes poured over them everywhere like Shyregoed's rare, obsessive rain, and she found herself giggling at Chayele's giggles.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 10:29 pm
"I believe that I'd only be the father if I was the one in the circumstance," Wickwright pointed out with a cough. "Although I appreciate the concern for my being well-informed, I'm sure." As for his business with Arelgren, he didn't actually have any. His business was with Meschke, and the only business he could have with Arelgren would be to discuss the incident at the pub again, which was something he wasn't keen on. The debt that Meschke owed him was a useful one, but he doubted Arelgren could be of any service to him.
"I must tell you a secret, Arelgren," he confided, making it up as he went along. "Can you wait in the next room for me to tell it to you?"
"Privately?"
He shot a glance at Meschke and cupped a hand to Arelgren's ear. "I just need to deal with Meschke first so he doesn't suspect anything is amiss, you see." He could figure out something to tell Arelgren after he finished with Meschke. One thing at a time, after all.
Hopkin shied away as Chayele Meschke touched his bandages, unused to the feel of another Plague's hands on his face. He wasn't quite sure that he liked it, even though Chayele Meschke was lovely to see. Still, she seemed to be pleased by him and that made him smile nervously, though he couldn't be sure without her saying so. She seemed happy, but Hopkin didn't want to assume it was because of him.
But now both of the girl plagues were laughing and Hopkin couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Finch men had a spotty history with the opposite sex as it was, and these were the first members of that opposite sex that Hopkin had ever met in person. Did they always giggle in groups? Uncertainly, he tried to join in, his reedy, hollow laugh sharply contrasting with theirs.
He cleared his throat and stiffly stuck out a hand to Lettie Arelgren, since she was the one who could talk. "I-Is a handshake right?" Wickwright usually just offered his name, but sometimes he shook hands. And Hopkin wanted to feel what other plagues felt like, but he didn't want to just touch Lettie Arelgren like Chayele Meschke had touched him. He felt like he should try to be subtle somehow. If only he was as good at this conversation business as Wickwright, he thought, trying not to bite his lip and make that metallic noise that Wickwright said sounded like a screeching kitten. He wanted to get this right very badly, to get Lettie Arelgren and Chayele Meschke to like him since they were the first plagues he had ever met, but as soon as Wickwright left the room he started to worry that he was going to make a mistake.
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 10:52 pm
The laughter at his tone annoyed him. The cackling annoyed him. The slap across the head annoyed him. Nothing about Dorian did anything but annoy him and he was seriously considering strangling this useless a**, for lack of a better word.
He grew more annoyed at Dorian's singsong interaction with his plague. The man seemed to be one walking ball of irritation for Dragomir, and he hated every second of it. He sighed when Dorian insisted on following them - he had hoped he wouldn't, regardless - but tilted his head at the mention of rape. Would it have surprised him if Dorian were the father of an illegitimate child?
He thought, for a second, the events of that night at the bar coming back to him. Mmm, no. Not at all. In fact, he could genuinely believe that story. It would only please him to have Dorian forever taken away; then he wouldn't have to worry about his house being infiltrated in the middle of the night. Wickwright as the father, however, seemed more amusing; he kept his mouth shut on both opinions though.
Dragomir blinked at the mention of a secret; he cocked his head, but said nothing. He could say nothing, after all, as the unspoken debt hung heavily between Wickwright and Drago, so he stayed silent, staring at the floor as he sat down on a piece of furniture that wasn't, but served as, a place for sitting. To show his unhappiness, he did not offer a chair to either one of them. Partially because he had none, however.
He sighed and rested his chin in his palm, waiting for one or both of them to leave him alone on his lonely not-chair.
Chayele tilted her head when Hopkin shied away, then tilted it back when Lettie took her hand. She smiled and squeezed her fingers around Lettie's, bouncing a little, excitedly. She had already forgotten that Hopkin had seemed to not like her touching her bandages. She nodded in surprise when he laughed with them, then tilted her head. These two were nice! Very very nice and pretty. Even if Hopkin didn't sound like them or look like them, he was just as nice as anyone else she'd ever met - though it wasn't many - and she was quite pleased. The tune that had been, only a few moments ago, forced happiness with bitter undertones, was now a gentle, flowing song, her voice rising and falling like waves wherever she pleased and felt it was right or time - it was the first real song she had ever sung (Dragomir told her to shut up every time she started one), and it was beautiful to her own ears. When she realised she had been humming, her attention looked to both plagues and it was her turn to finally be nervous; she shook her head and straightened the beads of her dress, shuffling away from Hopkin's proffered hand (one, because he'd only offered it to Lettie; two, because she had never witnessed a handshake before), away from Lettie's pretty bows and both of their pretty words! They were so special and unique and it was the first time Chayele had ever met another plague, much less two as pretty as these two were. She felt very plain. She wondered if Dragomir had been right, and she was simple and all those other things. Both hands shot to her mouth as she nervously whipped her attention from Hopkin to Lettie, like a cornered mare. What if they didn't like her song? It was the only thing that made her special! A soft, very nervous, "Hnnn," escaped her lips as she fidgeted with her dress. She wanted them to like her! Oh, they had to like her. They were so pretty! She would just - just die if not!
What if Dragomir was right, though? She didn't want to be simple! She wanted to be - to be pretty!
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 11:19 pm
Setting his choleric neighbor aside, Dorian was more than satisfied with Wickwright's response, he was overjoyed. Wickwright was more skilled in speaking the Arelgren Lingo than he predicted. In fact, the man was probably the most adept individual that knew so besides Nancy. He shuddered with excitement when Wickwright spoke of secrets. The Arelgrens (as a family) loved secrets, well, more like they took pleasure in spreading them. Dorian was no exception to the tradition. He was the best, most proficient breaker of the vow. It was an honorary statement, really. Nancy had said it was "nothing to be proud of", but Nancy could be wrong sometimes.
"I must tell you a secret, Arelgren," Wickwright said, "Can you wait in the next room for me to tell it to you?"
Oh boy! Oh boy! Wickwright's instructions seemed simple enough! Dorian was more than certain that the older man was a part of a society clouded with secrecy within the House, otherwise he would not be in possession of a Plague. Dorian figured that Wickwright selected him as a secret keeper due to the 'undeniable circumstances' of a sort. A schism within the House. The possibilities were endless. He nodded importantly, cupping his hands in return, leaning in towards Wickwright with a deadpanned expression: "I understand completely, I will make sure she believes that you are dead. The children will be cared for."
Wickwright would be safe here. Safe from whichever woman that threatened him and the life of his sons and daughters. Yes, Dorian would be the fortress that separated the man from his haunts. Meanwhile, the Arelgren would wait casually outside wherever Wickwright and Dragomir would conference. Of course he would not be in the next room. If he was disabled in eavesdropping then he wouldn't be able to alert Wickwright of the assassins, if Dragomir was sheltering any in secret, at least. Assassins were nifty creatures.
Lettie, in contrast, seemed content with her company. She wondered why the other two Plagues suddenly seemed wrought with worry, and she wondered if her stentorian Keeper intimidated them in any sort of way. She was never confident herself, but Hopkins and Chayele were the first two Plagues she'd ever made contact with--and she wanted them to like her like Dorian did.
"A handshake would be lovely", Lettie chirped in reply to Hopkins, extending her own hand to him, and in the other, clutching Chayele closer to her. The other Plague was as warm as she was, to her delight! She was pretty, too. While speaking to Hopkins, Lettie admired Chayele's demeanor, and she wanted to make the other she-Plague know that she liked her so.
"I like your beads, Chayele", Lettie said shyly, smiling to assure the other Plague. If her hands were free she'd have straightened the bow on her neck to make herself more presentable to Hopkins and Chayele, but for now, her words would have to suffice.
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