|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Apr 12, 2011 5:02 pm
Changes, changes, changes.
An RP featuring kotaline's Hopkin and pistolsys' Lettie, in a caravan en route to a plague sanctuary on March the 30th, 1411. The time is midday and the weather is overcast and rainy. The smell of sickness lingers in the air, but is partially obscured by the more pervasive smells of wet earth and rain, as well as the fragrant wood being burned in the guide's caravan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hopkin sat in the guide's caravan while the rain drummed overhead, tracing patterns on the wood with his finger. Wickwright had taken pity on him and ordered the guide to give him ink and paper, but he had already used it all. The pages were now densely packed with his gothic handwriting, as small as he could make it, and piled neatly in a corner of the caravan, tied neatly together with twine. The guide hadn't seemed too keen on letting him use any more, and so Hopkin sat instead, unsure what to do with himself. The only things to read in the caravan were maps, Hopkin had asked how to read them and read them all.
At least there were more people to talk to now. The guide wasn't very responsive, but now there were Dorian and Lettie Arelgren, who were lovely, though Dorian Arelgren seemed distracted and perhaps not quite as lovely as when they last met.
So it was these days. All the humans had tense faces.
Lettie was also in the guide's wagon, Dorian having left her there earlier to speak to Wickwright. Hopkin had wanted to tell him to say things, to relay messages for him, but he hadn't quite had the courage to ask the delicate Arelgren a favour, not when his face looked so dark. Instead he just thought of Arelgren, allowed in Wickwright's wagon when he was not, a Cultist, talking to Wickwright when he could not, and sulked about the unfairness of the situation. Wickwright could die soon, and his last gesture to Hopkin would be to exile him, if such was the case. Hopkin needed Wickwright to teach him, and he needed Wickwright's acceptance, and-
And he needed to take his mind off this or he was going to go mad. Shyly, he looked over at Lettie, who was so small now, brightly glowing in her part of the wagon. She was the prettiest little light, all ribbons and warmth, and looking at her made Hopkin feel a little better and a little worse all at once. He enjoyed having Lettie near him, but she looked as upset as he did, and she had been awfully quiet yesterday. It pained Hopkin to think that Lettie also felt bad, and her feeling bad, he thought, somewhat spoiled her looks- Lettie was prettiest when she was happy.
So he forced himself out of his own self absorbed misery and walked over to her, sitting down crosslegged where she was and resting his face in his hands. He made a stab at acting casual, but sitting casually next to someone ten times smaller than him was much more awkward than sitting casually next to someone ten times larger than him. More noticeable. It had been so much easier as an excito!
Coughing, he fiddled with his hair nervously, trying to think of what he could say. He had never tried to make someone feel better before, with Dragomir Meschke, it had been largely Wickwright's doing, and his own role had been quite accidental. What had he said?
He had asked Dragomir Meschke whether he had really killed a man, yes. Wondering if the process would elicit the same results with Lettie, he tried to think of something he could ask her about herself.
"D-do you often sit in wagons?" he offered lamely.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 10:56 am
Lettie herself had felt quite somber ever since Dorian apologized about not recognizing Hopkins when he saw the plague. It wasn't that he did not recognize Hopkins that made her the most upset, but that Dorian did not trust his own Plague's judgement. To be perfectly frank, her maiden heart felt belittled, and she was half-afraid to speak to Hopkin in fear that something poisonous and unlike her would spill from her little black mouth due to her troubled heart. Her thoughts drummed in tempo with the falling rain, each sound heavier than the next. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The things Dorian said the week before were frightening as well. Though he spoke in cryptic metaphors, Lettie could understand him clearly. He was suffering the stigma; the stigma of having to act on the morals of a black House while he himself was not brave enough to refuse. She knew Dorian well enough to know that he did not fancy the title "coward" nor did he fancy the title "murderer". Despite his preferences, he'd been labeled both by himself. It was all quite depressing to the small, hot cocoa Plague, really.
Hopkins's company was somewhat comforting to her. His size did not bother her at all, at least he was a giant that would listen and not choose to doubt her. She hadn't looked at him since Dorian gingerly left her with the book Plague, and she was having trouble finding a suitable topic to discuss with him. She felt bad that she was in no better mood to make him feel better as well. Both their Keepers were in pain, anyhow. Wickwright, physically, and Dorian, emotionally. It was very easy for Lettie to sympathize with Hopkin, though she did not know him well enough to know if he'd prefer sympathy or just a jovial conversation.
She kicked her feet slowly until Hopkin spoke.
"D-do you often sit in wagons?"
It was a funny question, funny enough to evoke a small giggle from her. It must have sounded horrible to him, because to her, it lacked the usual jingle it came with and instead it sounded awfully dead and horrid. She cringed at the sound of her own laugh and made a note of not to do it again.
"N-no, this is my first time," Lettie replied quietly. "I apologize for Dorian, it is really not his fault. I am sorry about Wickwright as well. I am sorry about everybody, actually..."
She really was. She felt powerless; a Locos that could not heal. To be specific, Dorian had told her not to heal in case anything were to happen to her. She hoped she was not depressing Hopkins who had done nothing wrong and was just as much as a victim as she was.
|
|
|
|
|
|
knife effect Vice Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 1:15 pm
"Oh," Hopkin said simply. "Well, I often sit in wagons. Not this one though, this one is new." He winced as she apologized and looked in the direction of Wickwright's wagon, biting his lip. "Wickwright says that our actions are our own faults," he informed her, unable to stop himself. "B-but he decided not to kill us when he had that sword, so that was an awfully important action, too. It was terribly good of him not to kill us."
He paused. "That's okay. Wickwright will get better." Choking a little, he added, "He must get better, because I'm not done yet and if he dies and I'm not done yet, he won't-"
"He can't-"
Hopkin let out a sigh and rested his head on the wall. "It's just not possible," he finished lamely, taking out a piece of his old book bag and wringing it between his fingers. The leather was already starting to wear itself smooth and shiny, a testimony to how often Hopkin had been doing just that since he became human.
Glancing at her hopefully, he asked, "M-maybe you could, um, take a look at him?" He wouldn't have asked unless he was really concerned, and it showed on his face. Bitterly, he added, "All I can do is s-sit here. Stay safe." Wickwright's book, out of harm's way, full of stories that did little good when his Grimm lay dying. "He won't even let me speak to him, I-I'm worried that he thinks maybe he's not going to, um, to m-make it, because he's not letting me speak to him," his voice was rising in pitch as his speech began to quicken, "And, and! If he doesn't th-think he can make it then m-maybe he won't, b-because he knows these things and he is very sick..." He felt like he was hardly impressing Lettie. Finch men didn't cry, and Jawbone Books didn't either, they only told the truth. He wanted desperately for her to like him, especially right now, when she was the only person he could talk to so he fumbled in his pocket and grabbed another piece of the book bag, thrusting it at her. "Y-you can have that, it's yours, okay? I'm sorry, it isn't very colourful, I'm sorry, all my colourful things are in the..."
"The other wagon."
He clutched his own piece of book bag to his chest stared at it, muttering "Lettie Arelgren, I really h-hate the plague. I hate the Obscuvans, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and I hate the Scientists and I hate crows and I hate the plague."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 3:33 pm
Lettie listened intently to the jumble that came pouring from Hopkin's mouth, nodding her head at every word to show that she understood. She was careful not to interrupt him; she was sure if she did, he'd altogether collapse and stop talking, and she wanted him to keep talking. His papery voice calmed her, it was soothing in its own hurried way, and most importantly, it was genuine.
Her black eyes widened when he handed her a piece of worn leather. She draped it around herself like a shawl of a fashion, suppressing a giggle. It was big enough to almost swallow her body, and that was okay to her. It was from Hopkin, because Hopkin cared.
"He'll get better, Hopkin," Lettie whispered, tugging at Hopkin's index finger. "Dorian won't let him die, I know he won't. I won't either. Wickwright is a good friend."
"I hate it too. I hate the plague too. Dorian says it's because of the plague that his life got bad. I don't know much about the scientists or crows, but I hate the Obscuvians the most. I hate what they made Dorian do. I hate how they were going to make him kill Wickwright and you too."
There. She said it.
"Th-thank you for understanding," Lettie managed finally, her small fingers playfully pinching at the leather's rims. "A-and thank you for the pretty leather."
She felt like crying.
|
|
|
|
|
|
knife effect Vice Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 9:04 am
Hopkin smiled weakly. "If you say it, Lettie Arelgren, I will believe you." Now that he had help, he felt silly to have worried. Of course now that Dorian and Lettie Arelgren were here, they'd take care of it. The guide hadn't seemed to want to take care of it, but surely Dorian and Lettie Arelgren would know what to do. He would have to ask them how to do it in case it happened again.
He swallowed as she said kill, and shook his head. "From my experience, the Obscuvans will try to take or kill us anyway, Lettie Arelgren. It doesn't particularly matter which one does it, it's all right. What matters is which ones can do it and then don't." He remembered their encounter in Gadu and said "Wickwright didn't even have to deal with Dorian Arelgren. He had to deal with the Obscuvans in Gadu, and we both had to deal with their crows, which terrified me greatly. Dorian Arelgren is much better than crows, they're covered in whispers and they stare at you, and they send you letters that say nothing sometimes and then spew out lies other times. It's awfully disconcerting to meet a crow, Lettie Arelgren."
"It's part of my old book bag," he remarked absentmindedly. "I was sleeping in it when I took the image of a human boy. However, I don't believe I am a human boy, as my mind is organized exactly like it was when I was a book. And a plague. I suppose I'm a human boy-book now instead of a plague-book. I don't know which one Wickwright prefers, I need to ask him when he isn't dying anymore." Laying down on his stomach so Lettie could see his face, he asked her, "Am I still blinking, Lettie Arelgren? I tried blinking when I became human because it felt strange, and I also tried not-blinking, and that felt strange, but now I don't notice myself blinking anymore, though it doesn't feel strange like not-blinking does."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 4:44 am
The new information Lettie received about Obscuvans only frightened her more. She did not like them at all, but she was glad to know that Dorian was the Obscuvan that was not able to kill everyone, if that displaced him from the general cult. Hopkin's tale of the crows sent a chill into her, for she remembered clearly when a crow visited Dorian. She wondered if that particular crow, too, spewed out lies, but she could hardly be sure. She was never very clear about situations anymore, she was merely a traveling companion--an ill-informed one. Dorian seemed to cease telling her information the deeper he was involved with the House.
It made her rather sad, and she noticed how his singsong nature dissipated with more "missions" he enacted on the behalf of Obscuvos. She rather agreed with the upset boy from earlier, she did not like Obscuvos either. He was a horrible god in her opinion, she did not find him loving nor doting, and she felt that Dorian was almost bovine in believing that it was.
She smiled softly when Hopkin explained the origin of the leather, and she shook her head at the question (to make him feel better, perhaps, in the most aboveboard manner, Lettie had not been paying attention to his eyes as much as she did to his lips). It was fascinating to see Hopkin as a human boy, though she was rather shy to tell him.
"No, I don't think you are blinking anymore," Lettie chirped, trying hard not to lie entirely. She didn't want to make Hopkin feel bad because she did not pay attention to his eyes. She, like Dorian, was horrible at the art of focus.
Her tone suddenly became serious. It was unbecoming of her.
"Hopkin, can Dorian and I stay with you and Wickwright? I don't want to go back, even if it means leaving Chayele behind. I think Dorian likes Wickwright a lot, so it should be okay, right? I like Hopkin a lot, so I hope it is okay." She paused, for she noticed she sounded slightly cruel. She was glad Chayele could not hear her. "I hope Chayele and Dragomir are okay, Dorian does not talk about them much anymore. We have not visited them much because Dorian has been going on missions, so we seldom returned to Arelgren House. I hope Chayele is okay, though."
She loved Chayele dearly, but she did not want to lose Dorian. Dorian and Chayele were different; Dorian required a cleansing. He wore the red ribbon like a noose nowadays, she noticed, he tugged at it rather tightly and he said things about it that offset her.
She tried staring Hopkin in the eye when she asked; it was very hard.
|
|
|
|
|
|
knife effect Vice Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 9:38 am
Hopkin rubbed around his eyes experimentally. "Strange. I thought that I could not feel myself blink, but when I try not to blink purposefully, my eyes water and it becomes awfully hard to see. Perhaps my eyes are simply possessed of a perversity in their nature that makes them rebellious. Human bodies seem to be terribly ill-behaved on the whole, I think I preferred being an excito. Excito bodies are far more orderly, Lettie Arelgren." He experimented with blinking for a while, and winking, treating Lettie to the strange sight of his winking at her from each eye and then blinking rapidly like he was having some kind of nervous fit. "Of course, I see the guide blink quite often, so maybe I am blinking? But you say I'm not, so perhaps the guide just quite likes blinking. I'm not very fond of it, personally."
As her tone became serious, he stopped playing with his eyes to pay her more heed, meeting her own eyes, a task far easier for him as the taller of the two. He felt a warm sensation in his chest as she told him she wanted to stay with him and not Chayele Meschke. He wished Chayele Meschke was also here, but that Lettie wanted his company was a wonderful feeling. She was very pretty, and her wanting to be with him meant that, for some reason, such a lovely thing was fond of his company. It was something that he relished. "I-I think Chayele Meschke must be okay," he reassured her, "Because she is too delicate and lovely to injure. Wickwright and I are not so delicate and lovely, so we were compromised, of course, but with Chayele Meschke and Dragomir Meschke, I feel it must be a completely different matter. I could never imagine anybody hurting them, people do not destroy art without reason."
He focused on her question next, wishing very much that he could simply tell her yes, he wanted her to stay with him very badly. "You have my permission, Lettie Arelgren, but that isn't the permission you need to stay. You must ask the guide, or Coyotl Coyotl, or Wickwright. I-I'm glad you like me a lot, though!" Afraid that now that he was unable to grant her permission, she'd like him less, he tried to look for something else to give her, but came up emptyhanded. Fidgeting nervously, he hastily added, "I-I am awfully fond of you as well," in hopes that such a statement would have the same effect as another gift.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 6:23 pm
A true, bell-like laugh jingled from Lettie at last. The phlegmatic fever that seemed to have dominated her dissipated via Hopkin's words. He was rather silly to her, though charming, in his blunders and speaking pattern. Truthfully though, she did not notice him blinking much. Perhaps it was because he was human now that she was intrigued by his new, foreign features and could not bring herself to focus merely on his eyes (it was quite interesting to her that he had eyes now though, mind you). She ceased her giggling once his tone grew serious, adamantly so. She nodded at his reasoning, it all made a lot of sense to her, more than Dorian could afford.
People do not destroy art without reason.
It made her think.
It was true, people were like art in of themselves; but if that was so, why would Dorian destroy Miss Linda's heart? She just tried to be fond of him was all, Lettie didn't think Linda deserved guile from Dorian--especially not Dorian!
She felt sort of depressed again until Hopkin continued on about Chayele's loveliness, and she was better once more. Chayele made Lettie feel happier anyways. She rather liked the female Plague, and to think of anything harmful happening to Chayele or Dragomir would probably make Dorian rather doleful as well.
Lettie enjoyed hearing Hopkin talk, to be honest. It was why she seldom spoke in their exchange, she liked his papery, boyish voice. It was funny hearing it come out from a giant.
Permission.
"Oh." Lettie was bad at asking for permission. She was bad at it because so was Dorian, and Dorian usually ended up doing things impulsively (or doing them anyways when he was strictly instructed not to), so therefore she never had a brilliant example of this particular category of mannerisms. She fiddled with the leather shawl for a bit, contemplating how to answer Hopkin. It frustrated her that her replies were so meager in comparison! Hopkin deserved a better partner in conversation, and Lettie assumed she was doing a terrible job in sufficing!
"That's okay, Hopkin, really, it is," Lettie started, smiling shyly to him. She patted his hand with her tiny gloved one, reassuring the bigger human-plague. She sort of paused again, unsure of how to word herself--it was different talking to Dorian and talking to Hopkin. "I am very glad you like me too, Hopkin! Dorian likes Wickwright a lot too. I like how everyone likes everyone. I hope it stays this way, because things seem to keep changing around me. It is all rather difficult to keep up with."
She stared up at nowhere in particular. It was nice this way.
"I am glad you didn't change, Hopkin."
She pinked when she said it aloud.
Lettie relaxed at the sound of shouting from ahead and she felt her heart sink. It was time to go, most likely, and deep inside, she knew Dorian would not allow them to stay with Wickwright and Hopkin. He was different now.
"I'm sorry Hopkin, I'll need to be excused," Lettie said softly, kissing him on the hand. When she arose, she gave him the courtesy of a small curtsy before she left altogether.
|
|
|
|
|
|
knife effect Vice Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 6:48 pm
"Change is terrible," Hopkin agreed quickly, remembering all the change that had happened over the past week and how hectic and chaotic it all was. In the pages of his book, everything was perfectly preserved and it all made sense. In the Wide World though, things that were one way one day could be completely different the next. It gave him a headache to keep up with, and it made the things that stayed the same especially precious. He loved everything that stayed the same, even the bad things like the cracks in Wickwright's wagon that let in the cold. Rubbing the scrap of book bag in his hands thoughtfully, he looked down at Lettie as her gaze wandered.
She wasn't the same. Something about her was different- she seemed sadder, and for a moment, he felt melancholic. The chaos had gotten Lettie too, and there was nothing he could do about it, not that he was any better. He looked at his human boy hands and clenched them very quietly, watching the knuckles turn white in a way his bronze hands had never done. To Lettie Arelgren, he must look like a monster. The thought gave him great pains.
Still, she said he didn't change, and that caught him off guard. What an illogical statement, and yet, Lettie Arelgren made it so casually! He thought about what she could mean, and decided she must mean on the inside, for he had told her he did not feel like a human boy on the inside and that was very true. On the inside, thankfully, blessedly, he was still Wickwright Finch's fantastic book. His mind was the best part of him, and he was glad Lettie Arelgren could see it was still all there. It made him feel warm inside and the concerned creases in his forehead began to smooth slightly.
His compliment was wasted. She kissed his hand, his first kiss, and a strange, light sensation that sent tingles into his human skin, like a shock. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, but before he could decide, she left.
A kiss goodbye. Hopkin drew his hand to his chest, wrapping his other hand around it and staring at where Lettie Arelgren used to be standing. Whatever he had done to make her stay hadn't been enough, and he decided at once that he did not like the kiss, or kissing at all. How could one tell if it was a kiss-off? Maybe if he had a second gift for her it wouldn't have been, but there was no way to tell, as he had not got a second gift. He only had compliments, which did not work so well, he thought, as they could not be preserved unless written down, as all words ought to be.
"You are excused, Lettie Arelgren," he murmured after her, wallowing in his own nagging insecurities.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
