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knife effect Vice Captain
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 Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2011 1:58 pm
WHERE THREE ENDS MEET
FEATURING: Pistolsys's DORIAN ARELGREN and LETTIE, Pur3 Snip3's EZEKIEL NORTH, and Kotaline's WICKWRIGHT FINCH and HOPKIN
SETTING: Shyregoed, the Trinity Tavern
TIME: Late afternoon
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Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2011 2:17 pm
The Arelgren hailed for another round of gin, his throat burning and lips dry. The tavern's pandemonium only added to the throbbing in his ears, and made him more fractious to Lettie's disagreements on how it is the Arelgren celebrated to himself. Upon his return from Mishkan, the duo decided they would first begin their harvest by questioning those within Shyregoed. Lettie suggested a celebration before the hunt, and Dorian agreed to it via drinking. She was abhorred by his sudden lust in liquor, for she thought he'd be much more inclined to celebrate with desserts such as chocolates or sweets. However, she slowly came to understand with each remark he made (between gulps) that he had a sweet tooth elsewhere, and that his agenda was quite different than the one she planned. She tried her best not to be frustrated with him, for he already enervated from the days before.
Dorian didn't want to avenge himself, he merely aspired to pool answers and find his malefactors...but would it really aid him to know? The darkness of discovery was a truth that Lettie knew better than any Plague after witnessing the stigma of Obscuvos and all that the House approved. The Little Ghost sat within her satchel, her little head poking out from its opening.
She watched her Grimm with concern.
"I'm not drunk, Lettie."
"Yes, Dorian, I am well aware."
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2011 2:38 pm
Taking a breather outside of Wilhem's Works, Ezekiel, his arms full of his competition's rifles, decided that he was thirsty. He trotted down the street for a considerable number of paces, admiring the liveliness of Shyregode. The people here are loud, he thought. But they seem happy. And happy is good. Yes, happy people were very good, because it usually meant that they weren't going to cause him any trouble, though they might approach him and talk to him. Ezekiel wasn't sure if he wanted to talk to anyone just yet, especially in the knowledge that he was alien to Shyregoed and its inhabitants. At least, the Mishkanians were aware of his identity and his affiliation (rather, co-ownership) of Enfield-North Arms.
Speaking of arms...
Arms growing tired under the combined weight of forged metal and wood, Ezekiel spotted a drinking place across the cobblestone street. The sign read TRINITY TAVERN, though it appeared to be messily scratched into wood, the paint dried in strange places within the letters, and if he wasn't scrutinizing the text, he would've mistook the words for something else. He was hesitant in entering it. Drinking places always had loud people with breath similar to pigs and cow feces, but alas, Ezekiel was thirsty, and had nowhere else to go. His arms were also beginning to sore, and Enfield always advised him to rest when he needed to.
He kicked open the door, and quickly jumped into the room, swerving to avoid the door as it sprung back towards him, swinging on his hinge. The loud people didn't notice him much, though some winced at the sudden entrance of sunlight.
And then he spotted familiar face.
"Dorian Alrelgren of the Ribbons!" He exclaimed, scurrying over to the familiar nice man with nice clothing and a clean shave. Ezekiel remembered Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons, and perhaps Lettie, too. He liked Lettie and Dorian, they were loud but silly and he liked loud silly people. Dorian reminded him of his mother, and so did Lettie.
Lots of things reminded him of his mother, but mostly Dorian and Lettie at the moment; definitely not Enfield! Enfield had a beard.
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2011 10:13 am
Wickwright was in the Trinity Tavern on business.
He had been staying for many nights now at the house of a friend as he addressed the mages. So it was, many men owed him favours, and when needed, he collected them. The fact that he seemed to be collecting them all for Hopkin lately was just an unpleasant truth that reflected his current situation. However, the proximity to the Fellowship's current location was not the only reason he had paid a visit to this friend. There was someone he sought in this section of Shyregoad, and that was the Jawbone Man, Paxton.
He had met Paxton before. Paxton lived in this area. That did not mean his task would be easy. Jawbone Men were reclusive by nature, and finding one once was no guarantee of finding them again. What had once been a traveling society of brothers was more a society of hermits after the Great Rift, and the only reason he was optimistic of finding Paxton here at all was that Paxton was O'Neill's man, loyal to a fault, and so long as O'Neill lived in Shyregoad, Paxton would be in that same cold country.
He leaned on the counter. "I'm looking for my brother. A man called Jeremiah Paxton."
"Haven't seen Jerry here in a few months," replied the woman behind the counter amiably. "Whatchoo want from him, anyway?"
Mentally, Wickwright cursed. O'Neill could have summoned Paxton to see him if he had been missing. Would he poison Paxton's mind against Hopkin? He swore that he wouldn't interfere, but then he had gone and visited Feilim...
He was distracted by a familiar name, though the voice that shouted it wasn't similarly familiar. "Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons!"
He turned back to the barmaid and gave her a "Family business, thanks, love," before calling, "Arelgren, I thought you'd have had enough of taverns, considering the state you were in last time I saw you in one!"
"What about my tip?" the girl demanded, pulling on Wickwright's sleeve.
Wickwright, who had been broke since his encounter with Maeve, offered, "Well, if you insist, I suggest celandine for your poor eyesight. I have noticed you squinting at the tables, and it cannot be entirely because of the hideousness of your patrons."
She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "What kind of tip is that, then?"
"The best tip," Wickwright told her, "Knowledge." It was, at least, the cheapest tip.
"I don't think-" she started, but at the name 'Arelgren', Wickwright's book bag had already started to squirm, and he was all too eager to get away before she noticed. The tip trick rarely ever worked, but its effectiveness was considerably helped by the speed with which he could leave the counter and melt into the crowd. Being a poor mendicant was not without dignity, but it was frequently without shame.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2011 10:42 am
"Dorian Alrelgren of the Ribbons!"
"Arelgren, I thought you'd have had enough of taverns, considering the state you were in last time I saw you in one!"
Dorian perked at the sound of his own name being called (twice) The voices sounded familiar and contrasted each other in age, but they had differences elsewhere as well. While one was as youthful as it was cheerful, the other was slightly more rugged with concern. He was grateful that he was still sober so that he still had the ability to figure which belonged to whom, though when he did, he found them to be a pleasant surprise. He didn't expect either of them to be present in Trinity Tavern, for it was a rather sophisticated tavern with an unusual clientele with a majority of females (wenches, really). He was hardly one to judge, for he, too, was a male. Nonetheless, his knowledge that not one, but three Grimms (two Grimms and one Grimm-to-be to be technically correct) were inside Trinity Tavern stirred a small worry in him.
The eyepatched Ezekiel North hovered over him with an excited expression, and Wickwright Finch, as fatherly as he remembered. Both were uninformed of the Arelgren House plight, and Dorian debated if he should ask them for assistance or advice. In contrary to her Grimm, the Hot Cocoa's mind was certainly diverted. She squealed in delight, though she behaved enough to conceal her small form. At this, Dorian was relieved--for he was certain that the appearance of Wickwright would cause her to recklessly reveal herself, but at the sight of a squirming book bag, Dorian deduced that Hopkin was rather opposite.
"Hullo, Mr. North, Mr. Finch," Dorian mustered dumbly. He blinked.
Mr. Finch? Surely, he addressed the gunsmith "Mr.North", but he always referred to Wickwright as "Wicky". He shrugged his shoulders, unimpressed with his sudden lack of consistency. Perhaps he was no longer as enthusiastic as before at displays of affection, but he figured the main cause was the recent tragedies that never gave mercy. He was, however, glad to see that Wickwright was functional again, at least, walking. He last remembered the man to be plagued with disease, and the caravan ride a most daunting one. Wickwright seemed to be oblivious to the Arelgren's fear, the North boy didn't know him well enough to see, either. Dorian Arelgren was hiding, afraid that the House would come after him for his resistance. Trinity Tavern was one of the least likely places the Obscuvians would enter.
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2011 10:59 am
“You shouldn’t drink,” Ezekiel loudly said in concern. Whenever his mother drink she smelled of s**t afterwards.
Ezekiel turned to look at the other man that also knew Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons. He didn’t know him, but he thought it was important that he and Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons were both reprimanded.
“You also shouldn’t drink,” he added. He wasn’t sure if the man drank. He shrugged his shoulders.
He wondered if he then knew Lettie. No matter. Ezekiel stared at the man through his one good eye and examined him. Tall and simply dressed, he looked like a nice man, free of fanciness and unpleasantness to the eye. He looked intelligent, but Ezekiel generally assumed anyone that was taller than himself and sober was intelligent in some way. For example, intelligent people were never loud. Giving a small nod to the man, Ezekiel decided that it would probably be a good idea to change into his uniform. Uniforms were for special occasions, and meeting new people in a drinking place was always special. He hadn’t worn it yet anyways. It would be a good time to try.
He dropped his haversack onto the wooden floor of the tavern, and pried it open, retrieving the neatly folded dress overcoat on top of his trousers. The dress overcoat looked very nice. It was a deep shade of blue and was lined in gold. It also had pretty gold buttons. Ezekiel did not want to get the shiny buttons dirty. He also did not want to blacken the gold trimmings with soot and gunpowder. He then came to a compromise. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, of the overcoat, Ezekiel struggled to button his buttons, that were now on his back. A smock now didn’t seem like such a good idea after all.
He strained to move his arms, but the tight fitting uniform was too constraining.
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2011 12:40 pm
"Now, that's most unusual," Wickwright noted good-naturedly as he stole a seat next to his drunken friend. "The nature of most acquaintances is to become less formal over time, but every time I meet you, you become more reserved. Is this the way of all Arelgrens, or have I intruded upon something of importance?" He glanced over at Ezekiel, wondering if he had interrupted a private meeting, but the boy did not seem so reluctant to speak as his acquaintance.
"Thank you for the tip," said Wickwright gravely, "I've been giving them all night, I wondered when I'd get one in return. I don't drink though, not lately." Against his will. The cause for his reluctant teetotalling was obliviously wriggling around in his bag, with agendas of its own to fill. "To whom do I owe gratitude? Mr. North...?" He was cut off as all of a sudden, Dorian's acquaintance dropped his sack on the floor and pulled out a military overcoat, wary of the military after March. However, as he tried to put the overcoat on, Wickwright felt a pang of sympathy. This man was obviously too confused to be an actual member of the Imperial Guard.
"Do you need help," he offered hesitantly, glancing back at Arelgren and putting his book bag at his feet. Arelgren was a Cultist, but had saved his life, and Wickwright was grateful for it, enough so to trust the man with his book for even the briefest of moments.
As the bag landed on the floor, Hopkin took the opportunity to poke his head out, looking around, then up, and cried out, "Dorian Arelgren! Is Lettie Arelgren there as well? Who is the backwards man?"
At a time when Dorian was trying to seem most inconspicuous, it seemed like everyone wanted his attention. Such was the fate of a wayward Obscuvian!
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2011 12:54 pm
"You shouldn’t drink," Ezekiel advised, and Dorian smiled softly in consideration. The youth's advice was sufficient, he shouldn't drink, but oftentimes, liquor was the only means of escape after weary months tolled. He was glad that his appearance, at least, was anything but haggard. He envied Ezekiel North, he doubted anyone would want to bring harm to the latter. Not only was Ezekiel a horrifying shot, he also happened to be prominent in weaponology. If Dorian shared the same interests, he doubted that woe would target him, nonetheless causing him strife. Wickwright's words interrupted his thoughts:
"...The nature of most acquaintances is to become less formal over time, but every time I meet you, you become more reserved. Is this the way of all Arelgrens, or have I intruded upon something of importance?""
He tilted his head.
"Perhaps it is the way of the Arelgrens, for I don't personally know other Arelgrens," Dorian briskly admitted, reluctantly thinking of his mother and father. "I'm not much fun these days; it's difficult to be, if your house was ravaged and you develop an ironic fear for the House. I wonder if it's of importance. Perhaps a red herring."
His words sounded dry towards the end of his explanation, grueling even, but he tried his best to maintain an even tone. He didn't want to worry Wickwright, especially after the latter's recovery. Normally, he'd ask about how the sage overcame his illness, but he lacked the enthusiasm.The Arelgren watched in amusement as the North boy struggled with his uniform. He always suspected that Mr.North was...a bit...different, but perhaps the gunsmith was as eccentric as himself, or at least, what he used to be. Unlike Wickwright, he wasn't considerate enough to offer aid.
He twitched a bit when the Wickwright's landed by his feet, and a small, Book Plague asked for Lettie.
"Dorian Arelgren! Is Lettie Arelgren there as well? Who is the backwards man?"
Before Dorian could answer, Lettie crawled out from inside her satchel, chiming: "Hopkin!"
The Arelgren made a grab for her, but she eluded him and ran daintily to where the Book Plague was, holding his small hands, her cheeks pink with newborn joy. The customers within the tavern took no notice of the plagues, for they were too preoccupied with each other; Dorian breathed a sigh of relief at this, though he only grew more nervous as Lettie continued on. He was afraid someone would notice.
Ah.
Nimbly, he moved Wickwright's bag so that it blocked the two Plagues from sight.
Yes, that should do it.
"Hopkin! Oh Hopkin, Lettie is very glad to see you," Lettie blurted, her feet tapping softly on the wooden floor. She was very glad, more than she had been in a month. She giggled at Hopkin's mention of the "backwards man.""The backwards man is Mr.North. He is going to have an Excito soon, so Mr.Arelgren is very worried about him."
Truthfully, Lettie was curious about Mr.North's Plague-to-be. She wondered if it was a boy, or a girl? It was very hard to tell just by looking, and Dorian knew just as much as she did so asking him was a futile attempt to learn more.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2011 2:37 pm
“Yes, help would be much appreciated,” Ezekiel said to the intelligent man that hasn’t been drinking lately. He continued to flail within the constraints of his overcoat, and turned on his heels so that the shiny buttons would face Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons and his acquaintance. He felt awkward from where he was, but he didn't want to move his feet in case he would trip and keel over. His upper body was already immobilized as was, but at least, help was on the way. Enfield would probably be loud at him for his incompetence, but Ezekiel wasn't quite used to the situation because he was usually, very competent, and didn't need anyone's help for...anything.
Fanciness was something of a different level of difficulty. Fanciness was very hard, and very confusing.
The smock reigned.
((SORRY FOR SHORT POST ORZ. BUT WHAT MORE IS THERE TO BE SAID?))
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Posted: Fri Sep 02, 2011 9:31 am
His voice elicited a different response from what Hopkin had been expecting. He had very clearly addressed Dorian Arelgren, but before the Grimm could even reply, it was Lettie herself that came out to meet him, charming and lovely as ever, but very, very reckless, and it made Hopkin nervous to see. He was far relieved when Dorian Arelgren pushed Wickwright's bag in front of the pair of them, after all that he had been through with humans lately he was more than a little conscious of his own vulnerability. Lettie, as a delicate and fragile girl, must be even more so, he imagined.
Still, as delicate and fragile as she was, it was slightly unnerving and just a little painful to see her after the last time they met. She had left most abruptly and confusingly last time they had met, and if there was anything Hopkin hated, it was abrupt change, especially of a sad sort. However, this time he was determined to not let her kiss him goodbye, so therefore, he reasoned, she could not leave without proper warning while he was confused. No, there would be no kissing this time, on this point he was determined!
"Lettie Arelgren, are you well?" he greeted anxiously. "I am returned to my plagued self, as you can see, which is most convenient, as I could not fit into my bag as a human boy, and my eyes were continually blinking. Have you changed? I do hope not, you were acceptable as you were." He listened with interest to her explanation of the backwards man and then asked, "Does he have a first name, or is he simply Mr. North? What is his Plague? Why is Mr. Arelgren worried about him, does he think the crows will chase him as well? Why is he backwards?" He hoped that Wickwright would sort the man out to be a forwards-facing man. It was giving him a bit of a headache.
"Are you the only Arelgren, my friend? I was not aware that you were a rare sort of bird, though your plumage is admittedly bright." Wickwright retorted as he went to help their other companion. He stared at the garment for a moment, but North had gotten himself quite lost in it, and furthermore, as a mendicant, Wickwright's clothes were all far simpler than the uniform that North was tangled in. Embarrassing as it was to admit, though Wickwright could recognize that the boy had put it on far, far wrong, he was not sure how to arrange it so it was right. Turning to Arelgren, who possessed much fancier clothes than he did, he asked, "Eh, Arelgren, how do these garments work? I fear that I'm more used to robes and tunics than your new uniforms." Wickwright, though he prided himself on his intelligence, was generally quick to admit he didn't know something if someone was around who could teach him. One didn't become a Jawbone mendicant if they were too proud to learn from others, and even homines leves had merit in areas, even if they didn't pursue the truth as admirably as his Society peers.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Sep 02, 2011 6:23 pm
Lettie dipped her head when Hopkin anxiously questioned her well-being, feeling that it was relevant for her best friend to understand that she was fine. From observation, she deduced that Hopkin was as nervous and concerned as always; she wondered if he experienced any change at all. If the Book Plague did, he was skillful at concealing its affect. He was a very good Book Plague, though Lettie could never distinguish clearly if Hopkin was more careful than clumsy or the opposite. Lettie took Hopkin's conversational candor into account and decided that unlike her, he was being the "usual Hopkin." She couldn't do the same.
She would try her best to be sweet. Lying to Hopkin felt strange.
"Lettie liked Hopkin when he was a boy and when he is a Plague. You weren't very different with eyes, actually. Did you know, Hopkin, that you still sounded the same? Sometimes, all you need to do is to listen," she confessed, hoping that her words would reassure him. She kicked at the floor a little. "...I didn't really change."
The Hot Cocoa Plague knew better than to dwell.
"Mr.North is also called Ezekiel North, but Dorian and I call him Mr. North because we did business with him, and when doing business, it is proper to call someone a Mr.', Hopkin," Lettie informed importantly, her voice growing serious. She continued to lead Hopkin down a separate path of discussion: Mr. Arelgren is worried about Mr.North because Mr. Arelgren has been in a lot of distress lately because of Plagues and people that have to do with Plagues."
"Of course Mr. Arelgren doesn't mean to refer to Hopkin or Mr.Finch," Lettie added, conscious that Hopkin was easily frightened of such thoughts. "Mr. Arelgren is just afraid for Mr.North because Mr.North is very young and knows very little about Plagues!"
Dorian blinked before drinking in both Wickwright's inquiry and the liquor before giving either consideration.Other Arelgrens? He preferred not resurrecting their names nor memory, they meant very little to him. Lucien and Agatha Arelgren. Dorian barely remembered how they accumulated fortune, let alone where they resided. Oftentimes, he found himself admittedly preferring them dead so that his mind would have less to think about on the subject.
He wiped his lips with the back of a hand (which Lettie disapproved of with a frown) and answered:
"Ah, there are two others, my mother and father. However, they have long abandoned my society and home. I have not been acquainted with them since I was..." a pause to recall. Ah. Yes. "...eight or nine. Ah, Mr. North, allow me--"
He chuckled slightly, figuring that the North boy preferred his uniform backwards, and proceeded to buttoning its front which became its back. He doubted that Ezekiel North was confused. The latter, was, the prodigy behind Enfield-North Arms. However, Ezekiel was not a prodigy in plagueology.
"I hope that arquebus is kept safe, Mr. North. I understand that you are adamant on keeping it, so I insist that you watch for your own safety and security," Dorian stressed as he finished hooking the last metal fastener and Ezekiel's sleeve buttons.
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Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2011 9:55 am
“Yes, sir,” Ezekiel agreed to Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons' warning. Ezekiel admired Dorian's workmanship, pleased that the man didn't try to turn his uniform's front to the fancy side. He wouldn't have liked that much, the fanciness and everything. The women in the tavern glanced at him skeptically, some amused by his appearance, most likely. The North boy did not care. "When people stare, you stare back," was what Enfield advised, and Ezekiel practiced the skill ever since. He was now an expert. Staring.
Some of them went red, and Ezekiel decided it was good enough. He picked up his haversack from the floor, swinging it over a shoulder, pressing the leather with hesitant fingers to make sure that Vindicator was still inside. Once he found that Vindicator was still there, he considered saying goodbye to Dorian Arelgren before leaving. Trinity Tavern smelled strange anyways, and women probably didn't want to buy guns.
Through his good eye, the spartan boy examined the older men. Dorian Arelgren seemed like he was in a serious conversation with the other nice man (who wasn't as fancy, but Ezekiel found him acceptable). Ezekiel assumed they'd want privacy from him, for he didn't understand much of what they were discussing earlier, but it was probably "none of his business" like Enfield said when Ezekiel normally didn't understand a conversation's content.
The gunsmith left quietly, like he always did, ghostly, awkwardly, and unnoticed.
(( USING FRIEND'S TABLET, happy birthday post beth ))
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2011 1:59 pm
"I still believe that your statements make little sense, Lettie Arelgren, for I saw me, and my form was quite altered, and everyone who saw me was unable to recognize me at first glance but you. Perhaps you see things differently, Lettie Arelgren, at times you are very strange." He hesitated, and tentatively added, "It is not a bad thing. I wish I could perceive things as you do sometimes, but I do not know which of us is perceiving the truth, so I shall persist in seeing the world as I have been instructed to."
He frowned as she told him of herself. "There was a deviation in your speech pattern, do you feel well, Lettie Arelgren? I am glad to hear you have not changed though, I believe that change is a very poor policy and should be avoided if at all possible. Many things have changed for me and they are most hassling." Though he noticed her pause, he had no doubt that what she told him was true. Hopkin trusted Lettie, and he rarely questioned anything he was told even from people he was hesitant to trust. "Ah, I see. How does one tell if one is doing business?" he asked of her as she explained Ezekiel North. "May I call people I'm doing business with 'mister' without dropping their first name? It seems imprecise to remove a part of one's name to do business, even if one adds a new part." As she continued, he nodded, glad she was patient enough to tell him. Very few people took the time to besides Wickwright, and it was most troublesome to achieve sense of things otherwise. "Plagues are awfully distressing," he admitted reluctantly. "The Jawbone Society is awfully distressed by them, I think-" He cut off, shaking his head. "It is irrelevant, they must accept me regardless," he decided emphatically. "But if one is not subject to such rules, Plagues can be very worrisome. We Jawbone Men know very much about Plagues, as we do about many subjects, and Wickwright knows the most, since I am his Plague, and experience is an excellent way to discern the truth of a matter, which is why we are mendicants." He gave her a proud little grin. "Does Mr. Ezekiel North need instructing?"
Wickwright raised an eyebrow but did not comment on Arelgren's confession. Perhaps that was why the man was so inclined to call a dirty mendicant 'father', even in jest? There was more to find out, but now was not the time to pry, so he sat on the information. Arelgren was not currently his main concern, merely a distraction on the way to his next conference with the Jawbone Men.
"This still doesn't look, er, standard..." Wickwright murmured, stepping back to look at Arelgren's button handiwork, "But I suppose that it works. Better than I could do at any rate, well done, Arelgren." The boy seemed quite unashamed by his uniform though, staring the people around him into submission if they gave him odd looks. Wickwright had to chuckle, the company Arelgren seemed to be so worried about was quite a character. But why was Arelgren so concerned about him? He mentioned an arquebus, which, fair enough, was dangerous, but the boy was wearing a military uniform, and even if he couldn't put the uniform on correctly, Wickwright had to assume he could at least care for a gun. Surely the Panymese military weren't so desperate as to recruit someone who couldn't even use his own weapon! He heard Hopkin's voice from behind him calling out, barely audible.
"Does Mr. Ezekiel North need instructing?"
Gears turned in Wickwright's head and he held out a hand to stop the boy. "North- Arelgren, is this boy in much the same situation as we are?"
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2011 12:21 am
Lettie cupped her hands over her mouth, pink at Hopkin's sharp discovery. Dorian never questioned the idiosyncrasy before, but her speech pattern would fluctuate when she was flustered or having difficulties explaining a concept. The Hot Cocoa, dipped her head at the Book Plague's remark, wondering how to eloquently deliver the expected reply.It was true that she was making little sense, but only because Dorian didn't explain well enough his views on Ezekiel North for Lettie to know. Her Grimm wasn't usually enigmatic on his views of others, he generally described them well. It was odd that Ezekiel North was any different, and Lettie briefly wondered why. Perhaps it was because he was from Mishkan and Dorian was from Shyregoed? Surely not. Many Grimms were from Mishkan, and many Grimms were from Shyregoed. She would have to question Dorian further later on her own accord, assuming she remembered.
"Yes," Lettie mumbled, her thoughts jumbled, incoherent. "To be frank, Lettie doesn't know much about Mr. North." A troubled sigh. "Oh Hopkin, it ails me of how difficult it is to maintain a sophisticated speak! Mr.Arelgren does it so easily, too...a-and Lettie doesn't know much about business--Mr.Arelgren doesn't have any."
She tipped her hat slightly, blushing harder underneath its comfort. The Little Ghost had no desire to allow Hopkin to see her incompetent in her difficulties, so she chose to cease speaking. Every word only worsened matters, as if they were poorly commissioned by the tailor of her lips. A poor fitter, the tailor. Hopkin's rambling became slightly inaudible to her as her mind wondered elsewhere, but it returned enough for her to catch on to his agreement in the complexity of Plagueology.
"Yes, it's admirable that you do know as much as you do! H-Hopkin, you must be an excellent mendicant! " Lettie exclaimed, brightening up from Hopkins' affirmation. She laughed softly, her own voice lost to her. She was having difficulties following the conversation, but she convinced herself that she spoke well enough to conceal the fact. At least, she hoped. Perhaps it was karma that crippled her in Hopkin's company. He seemed to be healthier with Wickwright Finch than she was with Dorian Arelgren.
"Yes," Lettie giggled nervously, wondering for how much longer the facade could endure. "Mr. North is an odd bird, but careful instruction should set him right! At least, Mr. Arelgren thinks so."
This was not true. Dorian Arelgren most likely harbored no opinion.
The regal Grimm wore a deadpanned expression, his eyes vacant. He answered Wickwright a lofty, "I assume so. He seemed satisfied with my handiwork."
He smiled a rare smile, euphoria briefly ghosted over his features.
"No, Wickwright, you humble yourself. You do better work than many..." his voice trailing off. A frown reappeared.
"That boy is a Grimm, Wickwright." Dorian choked. He clenched his fists in memory of his own naivete when he discovered Dragomir, too, was a Grimm. The memory was instantaneous and powerful, Shyregoedian snow painting his cheeks as Felicity approached him accompanied by her Rose Plague. Their kindness welcomed him, released him, introduced him. The recall was rather disgusting, frankly. The Arelgren loathed the fact that at the time, he was happy to exist as a Grimm, as if owning the physical embodiment of disease pleased him, proved his worth to the Panymium society. Proved his worth to the Obscuvian society.
Dorian shivered.
"He shouldn't be happy. It pains me to see him happy, Wickwright." Dorian breathed. His vision blurred after he swallowed another gulp of gin, the burning in his throat becoming more prominent as he continued to speak, his voice now raspy. "He doesn't know. The new ones never know. I...I didn't know...so...so at least, maybe, he could know..."
But that was just the point. Ezekiel North did not understand. No Grimm could until the burden settled, the Arelgren highly doubted that any Grimm was of constant good health in the company of a Plague. He lifted his weary eyes to his friend, smiling lightly in contrast to his previous display. He'd better resume his search, though he knew his subconscious pined for Wickwright's wisdom.
He couldn't depend on Wickwright forever. The latter, too, was a Grimm, who only recently escaped the tendrils of Death. There was a sweetness to solitude, and avoiding the company of others was something that both Lettie and Dorian subconsciously aimed and agreed upon without conveying so to each other. Yet, Dorian ironically chose to celebrate his spoils in a tavern.
"I should be on the move again," started Dorian, as he bent down to retrieve the Little Ghost from where she hid. His fingers scooped her up, and she crawled into his pocket into satin hiding. She gave a small wave to the Book Plague and his Grimm before her head disappeared altogether into the folds of his pants, and Dorian nodded curtly in addition. "You must excuse me for my rudeness. I am truly relieved to see you in good health once more, my friend, but there are mysteries only I can truly solve, though I admit, your wisdom has been the most valued."
With his trademark boyish grin, Dorian Arelgren, too, departed from Trinity Tavern, Arelgren House on his mind.He wondered how ridiculous and sudden he must have sounded to Wickwright, but dismissed the thought at the sight of the scarlet ribbon tied around his arm.
Grimms never were free.
END
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knife effect Vice Captain
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