|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 12:14 am
---
Painful Physical Comedy
---
with
Maeve LaChance (Roadkill), and Coyotl and Lucky (Hedjrebl)
on
an early afternoon in late summer. The weather is seasonably mild-- as mild as it ever gets in the northern regions, at least.
in
Shyregoed.
--------------------- It had happened yet again. Due to a series of rather unfortunate circumstances, miscommunications and delayed correspondences, Coyotl had been tasked with making the trek into Shyregoed to deliver a series of letters and reports for the Council, this time on a journey that would surely take him weeks, if not months, to complete. He'd known it was a possibility, given that the deliveries he was making seemed to be bringing him closer and closer to Imisus's northern border, but he had still held out hope that perhaps he wouldn't be required to actually cross it. All things considered, though, it wasn't a bad time of year to be making the trip; the warmth of summer would soften the bitter chill that lay over the region, perhaps rendering it almost balmy, at least on sunny days. This was what he told himself, in an effort to stem the flood of complaints he could feel himself preparing to make whenever he thought about the prospect of revisiting Shyregoed. It wouldn't be that bad. It might even be enjoyable.
And he would be traveling lighter than he had been in the previous months, as well.
The little Plague that he carried was a strange traveling companion, to be sure. Lucky seldom spoke, even when he was prompted to do so; with his face as blank and featureless as it was, there was no way for Coyotl to tell what he was thinking. Was he thinking anything at all? It was a fair question, given the Phasmas's seeming inability to grasp some of the simplest aspects of day-to-day living. Coyotl was doing his best to be patient; he would remind himself regularly that the Plague had until quite recently been leading a very different sort of life, and adjusting to such a sudden change was probably difficult. So he would do what he could to help the creature along. Keep things nice and simple.
After weeks of travel, mostly on foot, occasionally in caravans, and very rarely hitching stealthy rides on the backs of carriages, Coyotl found himself needing to stop and rest in one place for a while, to regain his bearings somewhat. He had a vague idea of where he was, having already completed two of the deliveries he'd set out to make, but the further westward he traveled, the harder it was to keep locations straight in his head. The village he found himself in was a small one, in the southern half of Shyregoed, and he felt it wouldn't hurt anything to stop and rest for a day, to take stock of things-- and also to take advantage of the chance to eat something that hadn't been bouncing around in his rucksack for days on end.
"Are you hungry?" he had asked Lucky. It was a straightforward question, not something he expected to give the Plague any great deal of trouble.
Lucky took a moment to respond. Hunger was a concept he understood, but when he had been a fish, hunger was not simply a state of being that came and went, like exhaustion or fear, depending on circumstance. Rather, it had been a constant drive to consume anything that was edible. When food was available, he ate as much as he possibly could; koi-fish were eternally ravenous by nature, and he was no exception. There was no way for him to know that in his current form, he did not strictly need to eat. So when Coyotl asked him whether he was hungry, he deliberated for a short while before answering, simply, "Yes." Why wouldn't he be?
The market was a wide, open place, but it was filled with bustling people, in some cases jostling for space, and it made Lucky very uneasy. He was tucked into the scarf that was wound around Coyotl's neck despite the mild weather, and though he had been told that it would probably be safe for him to peek out, he only did so briefly, at irregular intervals. The black wisp above his head was barely visible as he hunkered down into the fabric. The market was loud, and it smelled odd, and nothing he saw was readily identifiable to him as food. Coyotl was pointing discreetly to various stalls and murmuring the names of the goods they contained- "bread," "sausages"- but to Lucky they looked like... lumps. All of them were equally unremarkable. Potatoes were brown lumps, carrots were orange lumps, mushrooms were dusty-looking, gnarled lumps, and apples were...
... Oh.
At the sight of the fruit in question, Lucky stood precariously within the knit scarf and stared in open awe. Never before had he seen so many round objects all grouped together in such a way! Immediately, he was overcome with the urge to be closer to them, perhaps even to touch their red and green surfaces, which looked so very smooth...
It took only one unexpected lurch, and suddenly he was no longer within the confines of the scarf. Small as the Plague was, Coyotl didn't even register the disturbance of fabric as Lucky tumbled off his shoulder and down his sleeve, landing, with a bump and a cry, in the pile of fruit.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2011 3:29 pm
Agitated -- the perfect word to describe her mood. A blank expression stayed on Maeve's face, but she looked even more ragged than usual. Her once tight and neat braid was coming undone in places, bangs falling into her face, and bags under her eyes. Her dress and coat were sullied and covered in dirt just to add insult to injury. Maeve did not like Shyregoed. Shyregoed was a horrible place she had finally decided. There was absolutely nothing for her in this place. No work, no happiness, nothing. She thought, why hadn't she come to that conclusion earlier? One would think being stabbed and killing a man would do that.
Exhaling slowly, Maeve closed her eyes. Maybe she had been deluding herself into thinking that there would be better things here, and now she knew better than that. Thankfully, she was at the southern edge of this god-forsaken place and would be returning to warmer and better things. Better and... she had to really stop deluding herself and fantasizing of things far off and unobtainable. Even if she left Shyregoed, she suspected that it would be much of the same no matter where she went to next.
Thinking too much was never a good thing. Maeve composed herself as best as she could, but did not bother with patting down her dress; Shyregoed was full of muck. Her distracting thoughts had made her forget about her own hunger, and now that she had cleared her mind, the hunger was returning.
The hunger returned at the most opportune of times it seemed. A busy and moving marketplace full of people, but more importantly: food. There was much of the same that Maeve was used to further into Shyregoed, and she was sick of it. She did not want potatoes and vegetable stews! They were all decidedly plain-- so plain, that she felt the people of Shyregoed had no taste at all. Things were looking grim before something red caught her eye. Fruit! Apples, even! She hadn't had anything remotely sweet in what felt like ages.
Moving through the crowds and waves of people, Maeve made her way to the apple stand eagerly. She did not know she would get excited over something like apples... Shyregoed was truly a miserable place.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2011 8:50 pm
It was sheer luck that Coyotl noticed anything was amiss before it was too late. A slight stumble on the uneven stones prompted him to reach one hand up to his shoulder, absently, to make sure that the little Plague was still in the same spot he'd been placed.
Which he wasn't.
Coyotl's blood froze in his veins. He whirled around where he stood, muttering "s**t, s**t, s**t" under his breath as he scanned the tops of the stalls and the ground around him, or as much of it as he could, given that the throng of people filling the marketplace were blocking the ground from view almost entirely. When this did him no good, he began to retrace his steps slowly, ever so slowly, barely supressing his mounting dread. He knew that in such a crowded space, he would have practically no chance of finding the fish Plague again if he'd fallen off more than a few paces from where Coyotl now stood, and that wasn't even taking into account the possibility that he'd been scooped up, kicked aside, or worse--
Thankfully, a second stroke of luck prevented the awful thought from completing itself. On a nearby market stall piled with apples, Coyotl spotted something out of place: a tiny round circle of woven straw nestled in amongst the fruit. Relief rushed over him, and not far behind was a powerful streak of irritation aimed squarely at the miniature hat. The postman immediately set to squeezing his way through the crowd, pushing when necessary and being pushed in return, with no apologies given or received on either end. Oh, when he got ahold of that little creature, he would give it a piece of his mind...
"LUCKY," he hissed through gritted teeth as he shoved his way through the last ring of people separating him from the apple-seller's cart, "what the hell do you think you're playing at?!" The Plague probably couldn't hear him yet, but there was no harm in starting to vent early, he figured. It felt good, at any rate. As surreptitiously as he could manage, he plucked the straw hat from where it had lodged itself between several apples, dragging its owner out with it. Showing more animation that Coyotl could remember seeing from the koi since it had become a Phasmas, Lucky was squirming ineffectually whilst hanging in midair and, he realized, emitting the faintest wail of dismay imaginable. The sound barely rose above the noise of the market, but it was enough to prompt Coyotl to clap one hand over the other in an attempt to stifle it as he retreated through the crowd, this time with a bit less urgency.
Lucky, meanwhile, had ceased to struggle in the sudden, claustrophobic darkness he found himself in, but he continued to give tiny wordless cries of alarm even though he was no longer in danger. The sound was self-perpetuating; the Plague was unsettled by the noise and so continued to make it involuntarily, which only distressed him further. He only managed to quiet himself when a shaft of light spilled through the fingers that surrounded him, and he was met with a very angry glare from his Grimm.
"What," Coyotl seethed as he wove between the shoppers, striding as quickly as space would allow, "was that all about?"
The Plague's mouth quivered soundlessly as he attempted to formulate an answer. "I fell," he blurted, his normally gurgling voice dissolving into a series of barely-intelligible hiccups. Then he clarified, "Down."
Coyotl twisted his mouth and clucked his tongue in intense disapproval, but seemed to accept this explanation and cupped his hands together once again. He wasn't sure he'd ever even seen Lucky upset before, but now the Plague was clearly terrified, and it probably wouldn't do any good to tell him off at that point. For the moment, his main concern was getting out of the marketplace and finding a relatively safe, quiet spot to settle his frayed nerves. Any potential scoldings would have to wait.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Dec 24, 2011 11:12 am
A glorious moment was upon Maeve. She reached for a particularly good-looking apple with what felt like happiness.
"LUCKY."
It was an extremely short-lived happy moment. Someone had called her by a name she hadn't heard for years. Maeve was caught totally off guard and was baffled. The hand reaching for the apple tensed up and dropped to her side.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?!"
Her bewilderment soon turned into annoyance and maybe anger. The mercenary spun around and saw a man fast approaching where she stood at the apple stand. That was quite the thing to say, to shout, at someone. Was this some punk from her past trying to cause trouble? Whatever he was, she couldn't remember who he was, which made knowing her nickname all the more strange. Maeve glared at this man as he got closer to her, but before she could speak, the man was already leaving. He picked something up out of the stand... Was he stealing!? Maeve was not going to take the blame for that.
Maeve began to follow the man at a brisk pace, trying not to lose sight of him in the busy marketplace. Letting out a grunt, she got what she felt was close enough behind him. He said something again, but she couldn't catch what. Who was this guy?
Maeve huffed. "Hey, you!" She outstretched her hand, grabbing for his shoulder to force him to turn around. "I don't know who you are, but clearly you know me." He was not that impressive to look at, Maeve thought, looking him up and down. "What do you think you're playing at?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Dec 26, 2011 10:50 pm
Coyotl had nearly made it to the safety and shelter of an alley, one that was a far enough distance from the marketplace that there weren't many people milling about. But it seemed that there was only so much luck to be had for him that day, and before he could stop to recover his composure, he was met with the wholly unwelcome pressure of a hand clamped firmly on his shoulder.
"Hey, you!"
He started and yelped, too surprised to offer any resistance as the owner of the hand spun him around so that they were face-to-face. Briefly, he panicked at the possibility that someone might have pursued him as he left the market, perhaps thinking him a thief; on impulse, he uncupped his hands and shoved Lucky up into his sleeve in one swift motion, to better conceal him and to muffle his tiny voice. But that did not seem to be the case. Instead, he found himself staring at a woman, about his own age and dressed plainly, who for some reason seemed quite angry with him. Something was off about her, though, and he squinted at her as he leaned instinctively away in alarm.
"I don't know who you are, but clearly you know me. What do you think you're playing at?"
The accusatory tone baffled Coyotl. Usually when people were cross with him, he had some idea of why, but in this case, he hadn't the slightest clue what he'd done to deserve the woman's wrath. He stared blankly at her as she spoke, and it was only then that he realized, with a shudder, what was "off" about her: she was missing her entire lower right arm. A cripple, then. Most cripples were beggars, unable to work because of their injuries, and this one, it seemed, was quite mad as well. Why else would she be acting as though he knew her? His eyebrows sank low over his eyes, and his demeanor grew surly and defensive. At worst, beggars were a nuisance, but harmless, to be avoided or brushed off; though he typically didn't have the means to aid them in any way, he also didn't wish them any ill. In this case, though, his nerves were already taut and jangling, and being stopped- indeed, forced to a stop- while he was trying to leave the marketplace quickly only made him feel persecuted, trapped, cornered. It was a bad combination to be sure, though it didn't make what he would do next any less foolish.
"Get off!" he snapped, swatting her hand off of his shoulder. "I don't bleedin' know you, you nutter, and I don't want to neither!" Coyotl was very aware of Lucky's precarious position, held inside the sleeve only by his Grimm's hand gripping the opening closed, and it made him even more eager to be rid of the strange woman's presence. His voice was strained, and clearly betrayed his anxiety, but he was too agitated to care. "Bugger off an' mind your own business!"
The outburst was rude enough. If Coyotl had been smarter, or less harried, the strength of the hand that had spun him around might have served as a warning, telling him to keep his mouth shut for once. But he wasn't, and it didn't, and on a remarkably stupid whim, as he finished speaking, he jerked his right hand forward- the hand not concealing his Plague- and made to shove the woman in the shoulder. He wasn't attempting a hard push, not that it would have been feasible with his unimpressive arm strength either way. He just wanted her to leave him alone, and though he wouldn't try to hit a woman, he thought the shove might give her added incentive to be on her way.
After all, what else was she going to do? Hit him back?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 28, 2011 2:23 pm
Maeve allowed for her hand be swatted away by the man, letting it retreat to her side. Of course he was bothered by her, but what did he mean he didn't know her? He shouted her name! He was the one accusing her of something or playing some game. She clenched and unclenched her hand as he spoke.
The mercenary wanted to yell and retort, asking how he knew her name. He was speaking right to her! No one else was around her or responded to the name-- it had to be her. He seemed adamant about making her go away, but this only made Maeve want to stay more.
"Bugger off an' mind your own business!"
Mind her own business? It was her business! It was very much her business! How dare some street urchin act as if he were better than her. He was causing trouble, he was starting something. The nervousness in his voice only made her grit her teeth. He was hiding something from her and--
He shoved her. He tried pushing her as if that would make her go away and disappear. A glare became a scowl, knitting her brow in rage. Maeve snapped, but not in the same way Coyotl had. He had shouted words, and Maeve was not one for many words.
The clenched fist by her side quickly rose up and was pulled back without thinking. Retaliation was the instinctual answer for Maeve, no matter how small the action against her was. Any sort of cool persona she had was not present in this entire meeting. Maeve was haggard, Maeve was fed up, Maeve hated Shyregoed. Her arm swung forward in a flash, extending out right in front of her and into Coyotl's face.
Hit him back she would.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 28, 2011 5:02 pm
Coyotl did not understand what was happening as the woman's glare intensified. He didn't understand it when she clenched her fist, nor when she drew back her arm.
In fact, he didn't realize that she intended to punch him in the nose until the very moment when her fist connected firmly with his face.
Before the pain registered, all he felt was the impact, which was accompanied by a loud, sickening crunch that told him without a doubt that his nose had been broken. A split-second later came the blossom of blindingly white hurt exploding across his vision, and the next thing he knew he was lying face-up on the ground, ears ringing, wind knocked from his lungs, with an ocean of blood pouring from his nostrils.
What happened over the next few seconds was muddled. He was probably giving some sort of embarrassing cry of pain, but it didn't even register as he groggily attempted to drag himself into at least sitting position. He didn't know whether the woman intended to hit him again, or possibly kick him while he was on the ground, but his efforts to pull his feet up under him were not yielding the desired results. Essentially, all he was doing was flailing in the street like a drunk.
At some point he reached his hand up to investigate what sort of havoc had been wreaked on his face, and when he drew it away to see it slicked with blood, he realized that it was his left hand.
Which meant--
He attempted to swear, but slurred out something that sounded like "thith" instead. Lurching upright with fresh urgency, Coyotl tried to blink the haze of pain from his eyes as he searched the ground around him for something, something that must have fallen out of his sleeve in the sudden chaos...
Luckily, that something happened to be brightly colored, and was sitting up on the dusty ground, looking dazed (which was admittedly pretty typical). Unluckily, it had also landed quite close to the one-armed woman's foot.
"WAIT," Coyotl blurted, hoping that would stay the madwoman's fury as he dove forward, clapping his hands down in a dome over the thing that lay next to her boot. He froze that way, bent over the tiny scrap of blue and white and red, eyes squeezed shut as though bracing for a kick. His nose, which was swelling with incredible speed, dribbled more warm blood onto the cobbled street.
"Wait," he croaked again, not daring to move a muscle. "Wait. Blease. Juss' stop. Wait."
One wrong move from the woman's foot, and there would be more to worry about than simply a kick in the ribs.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 28, 2011 5:48 pm
"Fermes ta gueule!" Maeve seethed. She hadn't even realized that she slipped into Vossanian she was in such a rage. Her fist was held tightly by her side after throttling the man in the face
He cried out in pain and writhed around on the ground. That seemed like an awful lot of blood from just a punch... Oh. The punch she didn't think about broke that man's nose. Did she mean to throw that hard of a punch? Maeve thought that yes, she probably did intend to harm this man. Slowly venturing away from her more primal thoughts, Maeve opened her hand and shook it out by her side. Squeezing her sinuses with her index finger and thumb seemed to be the more appropriate action. This was stressful.
Relief would not come her way, however, as the man began to rise up. He lunged toward her feet and was... begging? Maeve blinked away her disbelief and grabbed the hilt of her sword, looking down at him. She had no intentions of using her rapier, but she needed to put her hand somewhere-- and somewhere that wasn't his face.
Part of her almost felt bad for breaking his nose, but she did not feel guilty. This was no time to sympathize with people causing trouble! She huffed, stepping back and away from Coyotl. Then, she squatted down to be closer to his level, arm now resting on her knee.
"Quit this s**t and tell me what's going on." It was not a question, or a request, but a command.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 28, 2011 7:48 pm
When it became clear that the woman didn't intend to harm him further- at least not yet- Coyotl chanced a look up at her; she had gotten down on one knee and was more or less at his eye level.
"Quit this s**t and tell me what's going on."
Slowly, without taking his eyes off the woman, Coyotl brought his cupped hands together, scooping up what he'd dived to protect and straightening his back, so that he was sitting on his heels. He looked like hell, but ironically, he seemed to have calmed down quite a bit, compared to how wound-up he'd been just minutes earlier. After being laid out flat by a punch to the face from a one-armed woman, it seemed there was really no assault or indignity to fear that had not already happened. So he simply stared at her dumbfoundedly for a moment, his mouth hanging open slightly. Finally, he shook his head, swore under his breath, and allowed his shoulders to sag.
"Whadd' goid' od?" he repeated, pronunciation massively impeded by the swelling of his nose. He paused, sniffed experimentally, then winced. "I dode doe whadd' goid' od. Why'd you hidd be?!" he asked, sounding incredulous. Then, seemingly without cause, he glanced down at his cupped hands, held at chest level. "Shh," he hissed at them.
Lucky was perfectly glad to be back within the confines of his Grimm's hands once more, given that the alternative always seemed to be falling through the air. He was surrounded by the smell of blood, however, and that troubled him; for a koi, the scent of blood on the water almost always meant that danger lurked nearby in the form of a predator.
"I fell," he mumbled to himself. Then he prodded at his Grimm's fingers, finding that his hands came away wet when he did so. That was good, but such a smell... "Blood," he whined anxiously. He couldn't hear his Grimm shushing him-- nor would anyone more than a few inches away be able to hear his tiny voice.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jan 01, 2012 7:39 am
Understanding such a mangled accent would certainly be a feat-- a feat that Maeve would not be accomplishing. The man spoke, but she was not understanding a word he was saying. That was, until...
"Why'd you hidd be?!"
The mercenary could interpret that one. Why'd you hit me. Were her actions so out of line that they had to be questioned? Maeve thought it was obvious as to why she struck him. Wouldn't that be the obvious answer for other people? Maeve feared not, but did not think she was wrong. She had to defend herself, of course. And he was annoying and playing games! And... why was Maeve looking for excuses and reasons as to why she rightfully hit this man. The punch was well-deserved and there was nothing else to it. That was that.
"You pushed me," Maeve responded flatly. She wasn't sure why she deemed the response necessary, but maybe he would understand. For someone messing around, he sure did seem more confused than Maeve did. Maybe this was all just a part of his game-- his act. The mercenary would not stand for this. Not one bit.
Then, he looked to his hands. His hands were not flat together, but cupped instead. He was hiding something from her. "What is it," Maeve questioned, motioning to his hands. "Show me." Maeve's glare returned. She was right, he must have stolen something! Maeve did not have time for games or more lies. She had to be serious and make him come right out with it. "Or I will make you show me."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jan 01, 2012 10:41 pm
Coyotl stiffened. From the moment he'd realized that his Plague was no longer hidden in his sleeve, he'd known, consciously or unconsciously, that this was a possibility-- that he might be forced to reveal Lucky to this woman. Briefly, he considered arguing with her, or trying to scramble up and make a run for it. But as she made it clear that she was perfectly willing to force him to show her what he held, he decided against it; she had him at too many disadvantages, and there was too much to risk by trying to weasel away.
"Fide-- fine," he said, looking apprehensive and scooting back a few centimeters without realizing it. "Jus' dod't... " Don't what? Coyotl wasn't even sure what he was trying to say. He didn't know what a plea for mercy would do for him, especially given the fact that the woman didn't seem intent on further violence so long as he complied with her wishes. What really worried him was the possibility that she might react poorly to the tiny Excito and lash out, but unfortunately, there was no way to anticipate what her reaction would be. Steeling himself, he drew in a breath, held it, and uncupped his hands.
The Phasmas's tiny figure was barely visible over the edges of Coyotl's curled fingers, but his whiteness stood out against the backdrop of brown skin stained with red. Lucky was crouched on his knees, almost mirroring his Grimm; at the sudden exposure to the light and open air, he shrank down into himself, half-hiding his face in his sleeves and making a faint noise of discomfort. After a few moments, he peeked over his arms, and saw for the first time where the unfamiliar voice he'd been hearing had come from. He had seen other humans besides his Grimm since his growth, but never so close up... and this was the first time that they had seen him as well.
For the first time, Coyotl realized that he didn't know how Lucky would react to his being exposed, either. As he watched, the Plague looked up at the woman and seemed to freeze, as if hoping she hadn't seen him. Coyotl suppressed a sigh.
"This," he said, enunciating carefully, "is Lucky." As his Grimm spoke, Lucky began to move, squirming clumsily around so that he was no longer facing the woman. "Say 'hello'," he prompted the Phasmas.
"Mmnuhh," came the quiet reply, as Lucky shook his head, now facing Coyotl's thumb. Upon close observation, he was shaking very slightly.
The postman frowned at this, then glanced up at the woman expectantly. Perhaps, after that sad display of bashfulness, she'd take pity on the both of them and let them alone.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jan 10, 2012 4:22 pm
Her face was stern and her gaze was stony. Damned petty thieves, damned games, dammit all. Maeve was ridiculously worn out from all these things and she just wanted it to stop. Hopefully with him showing her just what exactly he had stolen, she could return it to the shop owner and be on her way. The mercenary could forget about this man-- but he had called her name. That one fact still eluded her. Why would he keep up the lie of not knowing her? She could not wrap her head around it no matter which way she looked at it.
He spoke again, but stopped himself. More begging, Maeve presumed. It was a good thing he was stopping himself and just went on with it, because Maeve did not think of herself as that violent. The thief uncupped his hands.
That was no apple, no fruit, no anything Maeve had ever laid her eyes on before! It was so small and mostly white... it was alive! Maeve's eyes widened in wonder at the thing. Her feelings of having seen it all before suddenly changed in an instant. This was something new-- something strange and curious. It made a soft noise and hid itself from Maeve's sight. Perhaps she was seen as big and scary, Maeve pondered. Everything other than the tiny Excito faded from the mercenary's view. There was no street, no bloodied man holding the small white thing-- just the tiny thing itself peeking over its arms carefully.
"This is Lucky," broke the woman from her deep trance.
"This is... Lucky," she mimed back. Even saying it didn't make it completely real. He was calling for this petite thing, not for her. He was looking for this... he wasn't trying to start something with her. This man had absolutely no idea who Maeve was. The circumstances were so absurd. What were the chances of this, Maeve mused. This Lucky seemed shy and worried, however. It did not seem to want to greet the woman.
Maeve leaned toward the man's hand slowly and said in a low voice, so as not to scare the little one, "My name is Lucky, too." The mercenary smiled genuinely.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 11, 2012 5:45 pm
As the one-armed woman continued to stare at the tiny Plague, Coyotl forced himself to relax. She hadn't reared back in alarm or made to swat the creature away; that was a good sign, at least. His gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them as he waited for one to make a move. The woman echoed his introduction, but Lucky still refused to turn around, his shoulders hunched defensively. Coyotl sighed.
"Oh, go on, dod't be dadt way," he grumbled, and with the tips of his fingers, he plucked the Excito up by the collar, eliciting another small cry of protest. Lucky wriggled in midair for a moment as he was held aloft, spun halfway around, then plopped down again, so that he was once more facing the human that was staring at him. His mouth wobbled and he buried his face in his sleeves once more. He was surprised, then, when the woman spoke to him.
"My name is Lucky, too," she said, her voice quiet. The Plague didn't move at first; then, slowly, he lowered his arms, meeting the woman's gaze with his own eyeless one, mouth still hanging open slightly. The woman was smiling at him, though not in the unsettlingly toothy way that his Grimm usually did, and her voice was soft enough to be soothing to his nerves.
Coyotl was baffled by the revelation. "'Lucky'?" he repeated, though it came out sounding more like "luggy". That was a poor enough name for a Plague-- was this woman seriously implying that that was her given name? The Excito, meanwhile, had shifted where he sat, leaning forward slightly. His mouth formed into an O, then widened, as though he were gasping. He did this several times, still facing the woman. Open and closed, open and closed. He was tasting the air, just as he'd tasted water when he was a fish, to pick up smells from upstream. Most of what filled the air was the coppery scent of human blood, but underneath that was a tang of something else, something familiar and strangely reassuring. It reminded him of the feeling of seeing another fish just like himself, that sense of sameness and belonging, though of course there were no fish out here in the open air of Shyregoed. Besides, it wasn't a fish-smell at all.
It was a Plague-smell, and it was coming from the woman.
"You," Lucky said finally, sitting back on his heels to avoid tipping too far forward. His words were coming with difficulty. "You... too?" Coyotl, who had been observing the Plague's movements with some confusion, furrowed his brow.
"Thadd's what she juss' dold you," he said, but Lucky shook his head, grimacing slightly. Where were the words he needed? This was far more complex a concept than something like "I fell". Unsteadily, he lifted one arm and leveled it at the woman, drew it back to his chest, then pointed at her again.
"You... you," he gulped out. "Plague. You." He seemed almost frustrated, which only served to further hinder his speech. "Suh... smell. You smell Plague. Too?"
Lucky put his head on one side, having run out of words. He didn't know how else to make the humans understand.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jan 28, 2012 1:18 pm
The small white creature opened and closed his mouth several times, wordlessly. Maeve wondered if perhaps it was trying to make some sort of sound, albeit failing. She was intrigued by his actions, but stayed silent; the little thing seemed as if he were trying to do something. He was definitely unusual, something Maeve had never seen before, an eyeless little creature that seemed almost human-shaped. Despite his strange appearance, Maeve was captivated by him, endeared without even knowing what it was she was looking at. She felt like a child discovering a new creature for the first time-- a feeling that had escaped her for many years.
The little Lucky spoke. It spoke! This small humanoid creature was capable of speaking, too. It was an amazing thing to witness. Something alien, not human, speaking their language. Maeve's smile stayed on her face, not seeming to disappear as long as Lucky was in view. The annoying man responded back to Lucky, but Maeve only deemed a glance necessary. He was not interesting (or all that nice for that matter), however his little companion was. And his companion seemed to disagree with him. Lucky was thinking, and thinking hard by the looks of it, when an arm was pointed to Maeve. The point went from Maeve, to Lucky, and back to Maeve again. A stuttering "you" came from Lucky. This must have been complicated for the small thing, but he seemed determined.
"Plague. You."
Plague? Was that what this small creature was? A real, living thing-- something born from the putrid disease that engulfed Panymium...
"You smell Plague. Too?"
Maeve blinked. Her smile faded and she pursed her lips, trying to decipher what Lucky was saying. It was hard to figure out and the woman felt bad for it. He obviously wanted to tell her something, but she just wasn't understanding. "You're a Plague?" she began, keeping her soft tone that she did not once use with Coyotl. Being gentile and kind would be key for something so shy and worried, Maeve decided.
Then, an idea hit her. The pointing back and forth. Did he think that she was a Plague, too? Maybe he misunderstood and thought that since they shared a name, that she would be a Plague, too. This idea was a cute one. He had an innocent air that Coyotl was lacking severely. Maeve shook her head slowly, "Oh, I'm sorry," she smiled again, "But I'm a human." She hoped that would be a suitable response to Lucky, staying quiet for his response.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 01, 2012 12:02 am
That hadn't been the answer Lucky was hoping for, evidently. His mouth opened into an "o" of surprise, and he leaned forward again, both hands in his lap.
"Why?" he asked. "But... you..." It didn't make any sense. If she was a human, why would she smell like a Plague? Something wasn't right. "But you smell," he said, as though presenting his side of an argument. "You are smell."
Up until that point, Coyotl had simply been watching the exchange in bafflement. This was the most he'd ever heard Lucky speaking all at once, and it provided a welcome distraction from the throbbing ache in his face, though it seemed the woman was having just as much luck figuring out what the Plague was trying to say as he was. The postman was close to interrupting him, in fact; he was aware that the Excito had some difficulty with language, and he didn't like the idea of Lucky making a fool out of himself in front of a stranger. Then, out of the blue, came what sounded for all the world like a bare-faced insult: You smell. Coyotl spluttered and drew his hand back.
"Hey, hey!" He would't have cared so much about what Lucky had said- he would probably have found it hilarious, for that matter- if it wasn't for the fact that he'd already experienced the consequences of annoying this woman once, and wasn't eager to do it again. He held Lucky level with his face, squinting, as his vision was still a bit blurry with pain. "Whad's rogg wid you?!" he asked incredulously. Lucky turned to face his Grimm.
"She," he said, gesturing with an arm. "She is smell. Like Plague."
Coyotl's eyebrows bunched together at this; he didn't even bother to try and correct the Excito's grammar. She smells like plague? What was that supposed to mean? He glanced from one Lucky to the other, leaning back as though to assess things from a distance. It was obvious (he thought) that the woman wasn't a Plague herself, and he'd be willing to bet she didn't have the disease either--
A thought struck him then, and he squinted slightly once more.
The woman herself wasn't plagued, but...
"Hey," Coyotl addressed the woman, swiping at his chin and mouth with his free hand absently. "You godd eddy idea whad he's odd aboud?" A steady dribble of blood soon replaced what he'd wiped away, but he ignored it. That wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but if the inkling of understanding he'd had was correct, it wasn't the sort of question he wanted to suddenly spring on a stranger-- especially one so excitable.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
