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 Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 8:14 pm
who| Dragomir Meschke and his Phasmas Chayele; Wickwright Finch and his Phasmas Hopkin.
where| Dragomir's house in Shyregoed.
when| a dreary mid-morning
Dragomir was in bed, yet again; he had been in bed for days; his stomach complained of hunger and his bones and muscles complained from inactivity, but he didn't dare move anywhere. If he died then he would join his parents again - to him, this was a good idea, to waste until he died, ignoring the small girl curled up under his arm again.
"Chayele, you can go; you're welcome to leave if you wish," he murmured, in between awake and asleep, blinking his eyes on occasion. If the girl responded, it was while she was under his arm and so he could not tell what it was. He did not care what it was. If Chayele wanted to go, he was sure she was capable of it - she had gotten up and trudged away from his stomach when it had started growling disconsolably.
The man was at least reasonably sure that no one would give a s**t about him; Dorian was Obscuvos-knows-where, as was Wickwright. Nowhere close, at least by his own reasoning, and he only assumed that the former cared about him beyond some object to mock and enrage.
He sighed and closed his eyes. Another long day of sleeping and lying there, staring at the walls, as his stomach roared angrily at him, loomed ahead; he did not relish the idea, not by any stretch of the imagination. By midmorning, the day showed no sign of being any different, and Dragomir could not say that the prospect bothered him.
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Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 9:38 pm
Wickwright had let himself in.
He had knocked on the door once, twice, and concerned that it was open and the house was silent, had chosen to investigate. Hopkin fidgeted nervously in his book bag, head peeking out because though the book bag was only convenient because it hid him better, Chayele and Dragomir Meschke lived in this house, and after the riots, no one was quite sure who was alive and who was dead. And despite his reassuring Lettie Arelgren that Chayele Meschke and Dragomir Meschke were well, after all he had seen recently, he was no longer even sure of that. It seemed like art was not so sacred to the homines leves after all, and Chayele and Dragomir were beautiful but neither appeared to be strong.
Very worrisome.
"Meschke!" Wickwright called out into the empty house. The silence was echoing, and Wickwright began a search of the rooms, tight lipped and serious. "He could be on a raid," stated the Grimm. "The Obscuvians have been active of late."
"He promised he would make up for his murder," Hopkin insisted. "Dragomir Meschke would not raid."
Wickwright frowned further, but said nothing to correct Hopkin, instead peering into the last room left available to them. For a moment, he thought there was nothing, but then he saw the lump in the bed. Peering at it for a moment, he walked over and gingerly reached out for the figure, making sure it was Meschke himself and not another unpleasant surprise. "Meschke," he said gently, as Hopkin clambered from the book bag and onto the bed. "The riots have stopped. Are you well enough to greet a friend?"
"Chayele Meschke," Hopkin called as he got his bearings on the bed. "Chayele Meschke, are you here? It's Hopkin, the book, if you remember." He was concerned with Dragomir Meschke as well, but Chayele Meschke was far more delicate and fragile, and so higher on his list of priorities.
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Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 2:31 pm
When Dragomir started and heard a familiar voice yelling for him, he pulled the blanket over his head, assuming that he was now audibly hallucinating the only person he considered to be anywhere near a friend, though he wasn't quite that - or anything else at all, really. He sighed and curled up under the blanket tighter, trying to ignore everything and just cease to exist, but there was motion at the small of his back, constantly moving back and forth. He would've raised his hand and smacked at her if he'd had the energy.
But as much as Wickwright wasn't there, he was, and Dragomir opened his eyes to check if this was real but was confused by the darkness until he remembered the blanket over his head. Grudgingly, he pulled it back. "I don't know," Dragomir murmured, "Do you think I am?"
He forced a smile, lightly, blue eyes hazy grey, "I don't see why I'm not." He sighed, giving a surprised noise when his clothes were tugged on, yanked around. "What..?"
Chayele was climbing over him, making squeaking noises, eagerly moving now that she had an excuse to. She toppled over his body, her dress hitched slightly over one leg until she untangled it, looking up at Hopkin excitedly, seemingly no worse for the wear. She smiled brightly and patted herself down, then lightly touched his arm, remembering that he didn't much care for it - but knowing Hopkin was real did something for her and she seemed to grow lighthearted and wrapped her arms about herself, in place of hugging him, which she so much wanted to do. she nodded eagerly - she was so excited, so pleased, so fine that it almost hurt. Sitting on the bed still, she bounced on her rear for a moment, utterly delighted.
Dragomir shook his head lightly at her behavior and sighed softly. "Wickwright, whatever did you need from me? - And... the riots, are they really over now? Has order started to return - really..?" His tone was entirely comprised of disbelief and he shook his head, sighing again. It seemed so impossible that everyone had calmed down. Against his own wants, he shifted and forced himself to sit up.
"Hello to you, Wickwright, since I have yet to say it; hello to you too, Hopkin." His voice was soft, gentle, even in tone; in short, it was nothing like his normal one, so that it too was strange, just like every other aspect of his being, from unkempt hair and equally as messy clothes.
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Posted: Thu May 05, 2011 7:38 pm
"I was concerned for your safety," Wickwright remarked simply. True. Concerned for his safety and concerned that his eyes in the House may have been blinded. After the time he'd had recently, he was especially keen to have at least one Cultist who he could cajole information out of. There were issues that needed addressing.
Right now wasn't the time for that though. Meschke looked weak and tired, too much so to be pressed very hard. "Order has started to return," he affirmed, "At least in Imisus. I'm afraid my motives for visiting you aren't entirely pure. I have been asked to come here to visit the Mages, and considering what's happened to them as of late, I was hoping that as a Shyregoadian, you might be able to tell me what to expect." As Meschke sat himself up, Wickwright sat himself down at the end of the bed- If Meschke complained, he would wave it away with the geriatric card. Being old may have been an inconvenience as a traveler, but it was incredibly useful as a guest.
"Hello to you, Dragomir Meschke," Hopkin replied shyly, waving but standing farther back than he normally would. Whether or not he was trying to redeem himself, Dragomir Meschke was still a Cultist, and as of late the Cultists had been weighing especially heavily on the book boy's mind. "I am pleased to see that you and Chayele Meschke are alive, I informed Lettie Arelgren that you must be, and I was quite sure at the time, but I have seen many things since then, and now I'm not quite sure whether anybody is fine at all. But you two seem well, and I am awfully glad of it." He watched Chayele hug herself uncertainly for a second, and, thinking that perhaps she was cold, hesitantly offered her his jerkin, untying it and removing it, then clutching his own arms and feeling oddly exposed with just his brown robe over his chest. "I-I need that back after," he clarified hastily, not keen on being too long without it.
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Posted: Thu May 05, 2011 9:04 pm
Dragomir blinked, surprised at that remark; he had just been thinking about how no one would care, he believed, and it was jarring to hear the opposite so soon after. "Ah, I see. Thank you." He murmured quietly, tilting his head.
"I d- I don't know." He shook his head, then tilted it. "There was the coronation but... I didn't go." He waved a hand dismissively, brows furrowed to remember any small detail that he could that might be of use to Wickwright but found himself repeatedly coming up blank; he sighed softly, disappointed in himself, then looked away; when Wickwright sat down, he instinctively moved down, not even thinking about it, giving him space to sit there, despite it being his own bed. He blinked down at Hopkin after a moment. "Lettie Arelgr-" He started, truly curious on who that was before remembering the cocoa girl, and nodded slightly. "Ah, the girl, yes. I am glad as well that I am well - alive, by any means." He looked back at Wickwright, confused but unwilling to question why he was here to see the Mages.
"I can't recall anything bad happening... I think it went alright, by any means. I'm quite sorry I can't be of any more use to you, Wickwright." He smoothed his hair back with one hand, finding that all he could say on the topic, even when he wracked his brain for information.
Chayele brightened when he mentioned Lettie's name, her smile growing exponentially, missing her friend just as much as she had missed Hopkin. She too was glad she was alive - she was glad Hopkin was alive - she was glad Lettie was fine too! She clapped her hands once, happily, then cocked her head curiously when he took his jerkin off and gave it to her. She took it with gentle fingers and a slightly open, surprised mouth, her dress brushing up against it for a moment, wondering why he had done it; when she caught the stutter, she worried her bottom lip for a moment, then offered it back, shaking her head but smiling - once she'd gotten it across that she did not need it, she folded her hands in front of her face and nodded, grateful.
"Will you be going?" He blinked, then added, almost hastily, "Not that I want you to go; I'm simply not a very good host."
"I'm sure you can tell," he added dryly, glancing around, then down at himself.
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Posted: Sat May 07, 2011 9:46 am
"For hoping you were alive?" Wickwright asked with a short, barking laugh. "You're welcome."
If he was disappointed that Dragomir didn't have much information to offer him, he didn't show it. "I'll just have to see for myself, then," he affirmed. "As I was going whether you told me bad tidings or not, it doesn't make a difference on the whole. Perhaps I'll meet someone who will know on the way." Wickwright bothered strangers. He grew shameless with age, and by 52, it was practically nothing to accost a fellow traveler. The only shame was the risk it involved now that Hopkin was around- Wickwright worried for the book boy more than he thought of saving his own hide. Anyway, Meschke was not useful to Wickwright for his knowledge of Shyregoad, he was useful in that he was a Cultist, and one that seemed to have his heart in the right place.
Right-ish.
"Lettie and Arelgren are alive, yes," he affirmed. "They ran into us in in Imisus." He left out the Obscuvian raiding party just in case, but it was a futile exercise.
"Yes, Dorian Arelgren saved us from a raiding party he was leading when Lettie Arelgren recognized me even though I appeared to be human," Hopkin noted a tad pridefully, still pleased that Lettie Arelgren had recognized him. If she knew who she was even when he wasn't who he was on the outside, she had to care, and if she cared, she was his. Chayele Meschke and Dragomir Meschke might also be his, he thought, but he did not feel like he had done enough to earn their favour. So caught up was he in thinking about how to remedy this that he didn't notice his jerkin until it was thrust back in his face. He took it with no small degree of confusion, he had been quite sure that Chayele Meschke looked cold. Thinking perhaps that she was concerned that he would be cold, he thrust it back at her insistently. "I will be fine for now, Chayele Meschke, I am still far more clothed than you." He didn't quite understand why women wore dresses. They seemed to be terribly impractical garments.
Wickwright rubbed his temples as Hopkin revealed what he had chosen to conceal. The book boy was going to be the death of him, but more important was whether or not he would be the death of Arelgren. "That's our secret," Wickwright insisted to Dragomir. "I saved your life once, now you save his and don't go spreading that around. Fair's fair, if you didn't want to be burned to death in Imisus, don't reveal anything that would cause Arelgren to be killed in Auvinus. You two may be Cultists, but I don't believe either of you to be bad men." He didn't know how the Cult worked, but he imagined that they dealt with betrayal differently from the Jawbone Men.
Changing the subject, he grinned at Meschke, patting the bed decisively. "It takes more than that to get rid of a Finch, Meschke," he announced. "I'll jabber at you for as long as I fancy, make no mistake about that." However, his friend's haggard appearance had not escaped him, and so he added, "How have you fared these past few weeks? You look slightly worse for the wear, it's true."
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Posted: Sat May 07, 2011 2:58 pm
"You can't say I seem to have had many other visitors concerned about me in the past while, at least, and I haven't; it is a little surprising to have even one." He stated it, not self-pityingly (though he had been wont to do so while sleeping each day away), but simply as though it were obvious; he'd spent nearly seven years with no one to depend on and no one to depend on him, so it was, to say the least, most strange that anyone, much less two people (he presumed he should include Dorian) would have any concern for whether he lived or died. He glossed over the next few statements, having no want to remember his utter uselessness for Wickwright, and so would just not think about it unless he was forced to do so again.
"Ah. Back in Imisus." Couldn't say he wasn't glad that Dorian at least was not anywhere near, so that he wouldn't have to see the insufferable man for awhile - if everything else went well, of course. But then Hopkin said something curious: "raiding party". So he truly was an Obscuvan, then? How fitting. He hissed through his front teeth softly, but made no motion to do anything else, his brow kept straight and kept so that it revealed as little emotion as Dragomir could manage.
Chayele, for her part, bounced a little more pointedly when Hopkin said that he had been a human as well; had he hated it as much as she had? She was dreadfully curious to know but not until he took the jerkin back from her - when he didn't, she resigned herself to wearing it to please him, but found it very nice feeling on her smooth arms. Gripping the bed's sparse covers, she used it to rappel down the bed and scampered into the room adjoining it, pulling the dress that she had worn as a human (now covered with a fine layer of dust that made her cough) into the room. She knew that Hopkin could not understand her very well (at least he'd never seemed to), and so stared at Dragomir intently, wanting him to say it for her.
"I have no desire to get that man killed." It was true, at least; he had one death on his conscience, he didn't need multiple, even if he despised Dorian. "I won't speak of it to anyone."
He sighed, then moved his hair back again. "Ah. I'm glad you'll stay," he started, before stopping, going through what there was to say about it and what there was to not say - "It was a busy month or so," it was a pathetic deflection but he didn't care much, "but if you were caught by an Obscuvan raider party, it sounds like you didn't have any better of luck."
Dragomir looked down at Chayele and couldn't stop his face from flushing at the shoddy work he'd done but sighed. "What? Yes, you were human too, I'm well aware."
She glared at him - it wasn't apparent because of her lack of eyes - and stomped her foot before shaking the dress in her hand more emphatically, then noded her head down towards Hopkin - she didn't care Dragomir knew, she wanted Hopkin to know.
Dragomir just blinked, confused. "Ah. Because he said he was too?" She nodded. "I think," this felt incredibly awkward, he had to admit, "that she wishes to make it known, Hopkin," it was better to make sure that the book knew he was being addressed and that Dragomir wasn't just speaking to himself, "that Chayele was also human for awhile."
The plague seemed pleased and nodded her head, then set to climbing back up the bed and plopping herself next to Hopkin again. She fixed the jerkin and pulled it closed over her body (not that it was hard; it was quite big for her), peering over it as she wondered what he would think or say.
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Posted: Mon May 09, 2011 7:45 am
"Two," Hopkin corrected conscientiously. "You have two visitors, Dragomir Meschke." His tone wasn't bitter, but simply admonitory. He was merely stating a fact, just as Dragomir Meschke himself had been. "I was correct," he added, looking to Wickwright in satisfaction, "Dragomir Meschke will not kill again."
Wickwright raised an eyebrow but chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. "O ye of little faith, I suppose. Grumpy old men get skeptical, especially in times of troubles. Well done, Hopkin." He paused, frowning as Meschke managed to relay absolutely nothing of what happened to him since he had parted ways with the older Grimm. He wasn't wiggling out of it that easily. "Idle hands make for a dull mind," he commented lightly. "What occupied my friend Meschke while I was away? Are you all right?" He raised an eyebrow at the invalid.
Hopkin glowed at the compliment directed at him, but Chayele was right- he was only confused when she brought in the dress, and it took Dragomir's explanation to make him realize what she meant. "Oh!" he exclaimed in surprise, unaware that any other plague had changed. Coyotl Coyotl's koi certainly hadn't. "What did she look like?" he asked wistfully, wondering if she was as graceful even in the human body, which, in his opinion, was terribly poorly designed. "I had blonde hair much like yours, Dragomir Meschke, and that was pleasing, as your hair is very fine and beautiful, and I had blue eyes like Wickwright, which was also pleasing as..."
He wasn't quite brave enough to say 'as those are Finch eyes' because that suggested he wanted to be a Finch. He settled for "As he is my author."
Wickwright, meanwhile, was processing the information as well. So other plagues had changed? How many other strange experiences had Meschke unwittingly shared with him? "Meschke, have you been getting much mail recently?" He queried carefully, pointedly averting his gaze. A safe enough question. He had never assumed that an Obscuvian Grimm would have gone through anything like what he had, as he had been assuming the Obscuvians were behind the whole affair (and still did, he supposed, there were too many of their fingerprints over that dratted month for Wickwright to feel comfortable with).
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Posted: Mon May 09, 2011 9:06 pm
Dragomir blinked, then nodded, not at all offended by Hopkin's correction. "Right you are. Two visitors in one day is a little overwhelming, moreso than one would've, of course. I didn't mean to discredit or dis-include you, thank you for correcting me." It was gentle but it was genuine; it scared Chayele, for lack of a better word to describe her feelings on the matter.
"Ah? I'm alright, yes." He devised quickly, needing a lie to throw him off his trail; he had nothing against Wickwright Finch, nothing at all, but he did not want to tell his story, not today nor ever. "I had the plague." It was true, he supposed, "I'm not sure what happened there," also true, "and it took quite awhile to get back to full strength."
He sighed. "I nearly died." It was an amalgamation of everything that had happened, and he had not once lied; he knew in order to have any hope of duping the old, but spry and intelligent, man, he would have to believe his own half-truths. And he did, so when he looked toward Wickwright, he was not afraid in the least. "And you? Anything so exciting, other than the raiders led by Arelgren?" He paused, then added dryly, "Though if they were all as apt as their leader is wont to act, it's a wonder they managed to refrain from tripping over themselves."
"Thank you, Hopkin," he said, in response to the compliment, before truly processing what the boy had said. He looked down at Hopkin, then wracked his memory, trying to remember what she looked like, though it hadn't been that long ago. He gave a half-dismissive, half-contemplative motion with his hand before starting, "A.. I can't think of a nationality to describe her."
Dragomir looked down at the small girl staring up at him, clearly displeased with this description but then Wickwright was speaking and he blinked. "Mail? No." He feigned innocence. He did not think Wickwright was asking questions and answering little on coincidence - he would play this game to the best of his abilities. He looked back to Hopkin and easily busied himself with a description he had managed.
"She was, I suppose, to here when I am standing," he motioned to just about the middle of his ribcage, "Thin and waifish, she couldn't have been much heavier than a feather, I think, but she was young, I suppose... Twelve?" He shook his head. "It's hard for me to guess something like that. But she had dark brown, almost black, hair, that was straighter than mine," a near impossibility, "down to the middle of her back, and it was so beautifully glossy."
He tilted his head, eyes drifting upward as he thought. "Her eyes were a greenish grey, but clear enough that they were such that I don't think I've ever seen, and her skin was a wonderful olive, not at all pale like mine. She looked almost as though she really weren't from Profugus. She was pretty, though, and graceful; I'll give her that much - the Shofar had at least that much of an effect on her." He sighed quietly.
Even despite his own thoughts, his lips quirked upwards at the thought of his own suprise when he'd stumbled in on the naked Chayele sitting on his table as though she'd belonged there her entire life. "She spoke a little then - she said Drago. She's been speaking more, though I don't know why she hasn't tried anything now."
The plague's small mouth had curved upward more and more and more as Dragomir spoke, and she had even begun to hum towards the end, a happy tune; it was at the last sentence that it faded to almost nothing so quickly that Dragomir blinked in surprise. "Nnn!" Chayele made her opinion clear loudly, as she crossed her arms and pointedly turned away from him. He hadn't been supposed to say that! She had wanted it to be a surprise so he didn't hear her awkward stumbling and simple stuttering, so that he would only hear - so that everyone would only hear - when she was capable of speech fluidly. "S-sss-- ... Sss." She tried for "Stop," but found herself unable to get any further than the sibilant s sound and ended up sounding like a little beaded snake.
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Posted: Wed May 11, 2011 9:31 am
"The statement was incorrect," Hopkin replied bashfully. "You are welcome, but that's simply what I must do. I know many things so I have to correct mistakes."
Wickwright raised an eyebrow. So Dragomir had also contracted plague? That made it less likely that the Cultists had caused it. He remembered the dove that came to him- "Now you know what it's like to be human and feel human sickness," indeed. Could the sender of the dove be responsible? Wickwright ran a hand through what hair he had left, puffing out his cheeks. Things were more complicated in his old age. What new world did Meschke and his generation inherit?
"Me?" He asked, glancing at Meschke. "Verge of death as well, but at my age it's far less surprising, just a damned nuisance. Strewth, but you young folk are lucky. If you say you nearly died it sounds dramatic, if I say it, it sounds like it could practically be inferred." With the memories of his near-death experience came the crows, of course, and he added, "We've been plagued by Dorian and his Obscuvians, along with their damned birds. Cursed crows following us all month." He looked at the roof suspiciously, though the birds had stopped following them after the attack in Rosstead, he heard Hopkin whimper every time he heard a caw.
Hopkin himself was clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the discussion, as reluctant to relive his own experiences as Dragomir Meschke. He latched onto the change of topic when Dragomir began to describe Chayele, nodding raptly and trying to imagine this other Chayele Meschke in his head. He was pleased to hear she was thin, because that meant she had been flat, which was terribly lovely in his mind. He muttered Dragomir Meschke's description back to himself, trying to memorize it so he would have it in his mind. This, too, seemed important, that he remember what Chayele once looked like. "I am quite sorry I missed her, she sounds like she was very extremely lovely," Hopkin said wistfully, "Even though I feel that being lighter than a feather is a terrible, unnatural thing." The comment made him think only of floating crows and he rubbed his hands nervously, the bronze against bronze making a squeaking noise.
He heard Chayele Meschke now, trying again to speak and he went up to her, examining her curiously. "So Chayele Meschke can speak at all?" he asked, looking at her hopefully. He hated charades, preferring plain words instead, but Chayele was so delicate that he wanted her near him anyway. She was a part of his collection, after all. "Not much, oh. Can she write? She must have a way to convey words," he stated, thinking of all the writing he had done as a human boy. Being cut off to the world of words was a fate worse than death in Hopkin's mind. He was words, every inch of him.
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Posted: Sun May 15, 2011 9:59 am
"Inferred?" Dragomir shook his head slightly, "I somehow get the feeling that you'll be outliving me, nonsense to it being 'inferred'." He laughed softly, then froze ever so slightly at the mention of the birds.
"Yes... I'm rather familiar with those birds." He sighed, admitting the slightest of details even knowing that Wickwright would most likely jump onto the chance, before continuing onto his segue with Chayele's appearance and tilted his head.
"I suppose she was lovely, yes; though I meant lighter than a feather not in a literal sense - I didn't pick her up so I cannot give you an accurate description of how much she weighed." He shrugged his shoulders lightly, all thoughts of crows and their ilk permanently pushed from his brain; he found it was more pleasant to live that way, not at all thinking about it. His lower eye twitched ever so slightly at the squeak, but he shook it away easily. "Yes, she can muddle a few things out, sometimes; I don't know why she can speak better sometimes than others."
Chayele was still busy looking so very displeased at Dragomir that she startled when Hopkin was examining her - she grew bashful and hid her face in her palms, hating that he knew she could not form the simplest of words so much so that she simply wanted to crawl into her rat hole while he wasn't looking and hide there forever. But that was rude and she slowly peeked out from between her fingers, wondering what he was talking about - "Write"? She couldn't say she was familiar with that word at all; she cocked her head so slightly to the right and her small mouth opened in an 'o' shape in confusion. She fluttered her hands slightly, wishing to know what it was; she wanted to know this, wanted to learn - it sounded important to Hopkin and thus, she arbitrarily decided, was important to her. "N-nnn." She murmured, "W...wh-?"
The frustration she'd felt since Dragomir announced her inability to speak was building and building rapidly though and she lifted one hand to her mouth to bite into the knuckle harshly, giving a muffled cry around it - her sleeve covered it so it merely looked as though she had her hand to her face, until the smell of rot seeped from her, from the slight wound she'd inflicted on herself, until she licked at it apologetically.
"Ah," Dragomir interceded, looking around all the while for the source of the smell, hearing that she would get no further than those pathetic beginnings, "No, she does not know how to write. I haven't found the time to teach her."
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Posted: Mon May 16, 2011 6:12 pm
"Don't be so pessimisitic, Meschke," Wickwright replied airily. "A man your age shouldn't be saying such things to someone as crusty as me. Even if crows weren't chasing me, time is an ever-loyal pursuer, and it's much closer to catching me than you. However," he granted, "I did survive the plague, so perhaps I'm hardier than I thought. Of course, I feel that Hopkin had more of a hand in that miraculous recovery than I, so maybe I'm simply alive as long as my plague wills me to be, hm, Hopkin?"
Hopkin looked alarmed. "Then you will never die," he insisted, causing Wickwright to laugh.
"He says that now. Wait until he's the size of the Grand Magus' Sword and still has to put up with my daft old antics."
Wickwright sobered though and seized the opening that Meschke gave him. "So you've seen the crows. I refuse to believe that you sent them to torment us, Meschke, so how are you familiar with the beasts? It seems strange that crows would torment an Obscuvian, aren't they your friends and allies?" He steepled his long fingers and regarded Meschke over the peak they made. "Indulge an old man?" The same old plea he always made. Wickwright used his old man card so much it was liable to wear thin. Still, he relented slightly considering Dragomir's state. "Are you able to tell me at all," he added, eyeing his friend's form sprawled onto the bed. If Dragomir had been tormented as well, his current state made somewhat more sense.
Hopkin frowned slightly. If she did not weight lighter than a feather, why would Dragomir Meschke say he did? He supposed it was a metaphor- Hopkin disliked those immensely. No one ever told him when they were coming. "I do not understand, Dragomir Meschke, but that is fine, as I have learned recently that humans are built nonsensically, so I forgive you. I have a picture of her in my head, now that I know she did not weigh less than a feather, I believe it is accurate." He paused and narrowed his eyes as Chayele Meschke tried to speak, but he could not discern any words from what came out of her mouth, and was just as much in the dark as if she had signed to him again. "She cannot write," Hopkin confirmed, "May I attempt to teach her while we are here?" Hopkin had no idea how long it might take for someone to learn to write. He was born knowing how to both write and read. He assumed, however, that something that seemed so natural could not take longer than a day at the most.
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Posted: Mon May 16, 2011 8:06 pm
Dragomir tilted head slightly, "No, not pessimistic, realistic; I know many men half your age - like me, most likely, that aren't nearly half as active as you are. Yes... If you can survive the plague same as I can, then I think that your hardiness is not at all in question." He paused, then sighed. "I suppose you're right and that Chayele had more of a hand in my survival than I should think, though she ended up scraped and torn to bits when I awoke." He remembered the numerous injuries and the repeated attempts at bandaging her before she finally let it take.
"Ah.. The crows, yes." He shook his head, wishing this topic to be put to bed already. "No, I have no idea who sent them or where they came from, but they came after me quite often as well. The damn stone things." He sighed in disgust. "If it were the Obscuvans, then yes, they are and should be my allies; I know not what drove them to haunt me as much as they seemed to have haunted you. That is all I can tell you." He closed his eyes, a little tired from this talking after days of nothingness.
Chayele blinked at him as Hopkin narrowed his eyes at her and she feared she had done something horribly wrong in her simple act of not knowing how to "write" - whatever that was, she still hadn't the foggiest - and she wished to fix it as soon as possible - when Hopkin gave her the opening, she might as well have jumped for her happiness and she squirmed and nodded.
"If you wish and it is alright with Wickwright, Hopkin, you're more than welcome to." Chayele did not miss that Dragomir did not include her. She crossed her arms and pouted. What if she didn't want to learn? Of course, she did so the point was moot, but she was sure it was more the principle of the matter than anything else.
She stood up instantly, predicting that Wickwright would have no problem, and flitted to Hopkin's side as quickly as she could, waiting eagerly to learn what was so important to Hopkin and might give her a way to speak to him and make him know what she felt and thought.
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Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 1:07 am
Wickwright opened his mouth to retort, but Dragomir's next admission made him pause. Frowning, he regarded his bedridden friend for a moment, half wondering if he could trust him or not. Dragomir seemed to be a good, clever lad, or at least as good as a man who killed a man could be, but he was still an Obscuvian. And if what he said was true, it was less likely that the Obscuvians sent the crows, which was a truth Wickwright desperately wanted to believe. He was sick and tired of mysteries, not while he had Hopkin to deal with, and while this news might have excited him a year ago, right now it only gave him a headache. He had troubles and he needed someone easy to blame, not another labyrinth to stumble through. But still, it was as his last terrible letter said in its address- he was the clever mendicant, so it was his job to sort these things out, or at least his predisposition.
He just needed more time. Meschke had said that he had told Wickwright all his useful information, but Wickwright wasn't so sure. THere could be things Meschke might not know to be important, but he hardly looked to be in a state to tell them and Wickwright didn't want to press him too much too soon. He rubbed his temples, but Hopkin's speaking distracted him for the briefest of moments. "Hopkin, I don't think that the amount of time we're spending here will be long enough to teach Chayele to write. We have places to be, we can't visit with Meschke forever."
Hopkin looked vaguely disappointed. "How long will it take, Wickwright? A week? Longer?"
Wickwright laughed. "Longer, I'm afraid." However, the distraction had provided him with the inkling of an idea, and he turned to Meschke eagerly. "Well, if you think I'll outlive you, come with me," he offered decisively. "Not for the whole journey, strewth, could you imagine bringing an Obscuvian to the Mage headquarters, but for some of it, certainly. You're not unpleasant company, and I suspect we have more to catch up on. Come with me, see something of your cold country. The trip will do you good and Hopkin will get to give Chayele those lessons he's yammering about." He got up, looking fairly pleased with himself. "We can leave in the morning, surely that'll be enough time for you to pack. No, I won't accept no for an answer, look at you, you look a mess. You've been through as much as I have this past month, clearly, so shake it off with a journey. What do they say? Is it spring that's the season for pilgrimage? I think it must be."
Hopkin looked both pleased and worried, adding, "Spring is the season for pilgrimage, unless one is a Jawbone Man, in which case every season is, or an Obscuvian, whose pilgrimage customs I do not know about. Do you also migrate in the spring, Dragomir Meschke? I-I would quite like your company even if you do not." Having Dragomir and Chayele Meschke close to him for longer was a perfect idea in his mind. He would quite like them to always be near him, after all, they were his. However, Wickwright's admission about writing lessons made him uncertain. Longer? How long could writing take, even for homines leves?
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Posted: Thu May 26, 2011 11:02 am
Dragomir tilted his head to the side, listening as Wickwright refused; it was all just as well - he wasn't truly sure if he wanted the hell-thing to learn to do anything humans could, but he wasn't about to tell Hopkin no with no real reason to do so -- Chayele would have thrown a fit there and embarrassed him even more than her presence usually did. Thus, the refusal reassured him that it wouldn't be the end of what he considered to be his peaceful life with a mute plague (and what better annoyance was there than if she could yammer or write all the idiotic thoughts that must enter her brain!).
His reassurance did not last long, however; Wickwright offered for Dragomir to come with them to see Shyregoed... On the way to the Mage headquarters? He could think of several things he'd rather do - at least one was pull his own toenails off by his bare hands. He frowned slightly but Wickwright seemed to be in no mood to hear his protests; whether Dragomir wanted to go or not didn't seem to matter - and, as he looked around, it seemed as though it might be nice to get out of this damn house for once. Guardedly, he nodded. "Yes, we'll accompany you."
Chayele immediately set to bouncing excitedly. She did so want to go with them; she had almost always wanted to go with them and it was exciting to have this dream of hers fulfilled! She smiled and squirmed.
"Ah, no, I don't migrate - but I will come." He blinked down at Hopkin and then set to freeing his feet from the sheets that had grown tight around his legs from rolling without getting up. "We'll be ready in the morning, yes." He got up slowly, unsurely, and moved around the room, picking and moving things around, wondering what to pack. It would, for better or worse, be an adventure; he was sure of that much, at least.
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