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knife effect Vice Captain
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 Posted: Wed Nov 02, 2011 12:11 am
THE FATHERS
FEATURING: Pistolsys's DORIAN ARELGREN and LUCIEN ARELGREN and Kotaline's WICKWRIGHT FINCH and HOPKIN
SETTING: eastern Shyregoed, lakeside
TIME: early morning
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Posted: Wed Nov 02, 2011 12:21 am
The journey to nowhere was a tedious one, and Lucien answered only some of the questions Dorian inquired. His father justified his reasoning by stating that answering only what mattered in the context of the present was all that was necessary. The senior Arelgren’s intentions were not clearly laid out to the junior and this troubled the latter. His father never explained where it was he disposed of the corpse in Arelgren House. Who was his pursuer? Did Lucien Arelgren have more to tell? He’d always hated secrecy, especially when truths were withheld from him. Perhaps it was karma; he’d always selectively chose things to tell Lettie--figuring that she really needn’t know all of it. All Arelgrens were the same, perhaps. the Arelgren heir turned to face his father, elbow propped against the window of the carriage. It wasn’t a brilliant carriage; Lucien dismissed presentation for practicality, something the younger Arelgren learned quickly. His father’s bloodied Obscuvian cloak. didn’t seem to bother the coachman. Dorian wondered if such attitude was associated with how much his father had paid the man, and such a question naturally led him to ponder the next: how did the Arelgrens assume their wealth? He’d always been the receiver at the other end. Its source was a mystery, and Lucien had not yet chosen to share.
“Father, may I inquire where we are headed?” Dorian frowned, eyeing the bleary scenery outside. There was nothing much to look at. Charred trees aligned one another in a cryptic pattern. He didn’t bother guessing who was responsible for inflicting such a stigma on nature. It could very well be anyone in this era of Panymium. The thought only depressed him more. Truthfully, the question wasn’t about “where” as much as it was about “why”. There were many “why’s” that snowballed within Dorian Arelgren.
“No direction, which is the safest way to travel,” Lucien answered crisply. His jade eyes were preoccupied elsewhere and Dorian doubted it was the scenery. “You learn to avoid pattern when you do not try.”
He smiled lightly at his son; the latter’s dubious expression very much resembled Agatha’s. He had her lips, too, which only heightened the illusion.
“I suppose that makes very much sense,” Dorian answered, catching on to his father’s hint of how the Butterfly Crows acted. “But you would have to get off at one point. The sorry man can’t carry us for eternity.”
Lucien’s lips thinned. “No, he cannot.”
Lucien Arelgren steadily raised himself from where he sat. He leaned out from the carriages window, giving the carriage two, loud slaps from the outside. It seemed very dangerous to Dorian, and the boy’s eyes widened in alarm when his father picked up one leg from inside the carriage and carefully maneuvered it to hang outside, his coat fully billowing in the wind. He repeated the process with his opposite leg and promptly disappeared in a blur of crimson and black. Dorian could only blink. Lucien Arelgren just dropped from a moving carriage. How old was the man? How was he still living in flesh?
Immediately, Dorian leaped out after his father, tumbling on the dirt trail below. He clutched his sides after impact was made, feeling the bruises forming along his forearm. He noticed his father beside him, fallen as well. Blood drained from the Grimm’s face. N-no...
Jackson and Kennedy crawled out from Lucien’s pocket and remained stationary as soon as they revealed themselves.
“FATHER! FATHER PLEASE!” Dorian shouted, shaking the man’s shoulders. Lucien’s eyes were closed and the younger Arelgren couldn’t distinguish any sign of--
“He’s fine. Done this before. He’s fine. Does this a lot. He’s fine.” The armored stunteds said monotonously, re-entering the man’s pocket and emitting no sound afterwards.
They were right. Lucien Arelgren began to stir, and to Dorian’s surprise, he laughed.
“Don’t be naive, Dorian. This is Eastern Shyregoed, the snow’s only just melted. The ground here is quite soft so it’s rather fun to do mischief when there’s security.” He loftily said, gathering himself up from the ground and raising an astonished Dorian. “It’s important to be aware to terrain. Having a more well-rounded ken is always to our advantage.”
“I-I suppose so father, but staged suicide is not funny! At all!”Dorian said rather angrily. “Y-you can’t just do something like that--I am your son who only just met you--”
“Exactly the point. You must become accustomed to people leaving you quickly as to not become attached. Attachment is what ruins many Obscuvians into acting foolishly.”
“But I am your son. Dorian Arelgren, who you once mislabeled ‘Duncan Arelgren’!”
Lucien stared.
“Dear, that was a joke.”
“Nancy died before you sent me that letter.”
“Oh. Then it was a rather poor joke. You didn't laugh?”
“Yes father. It was very poor. I could not laugh.
“Bloody problematic. Your mother would laugh. Well. Nay. She would hit me.”
Lucien considered this as the two continued down the dirt path beyond the forest clearing. The lake in front of them was glossy from the sun’s reflection. Dorian couldn’t bring himself to admire it, still upset from his father’s earlier jeer. Lucien Arelgren was a strange man, he wanted to believe his father as an authoritative force, someone reliable--but he staged a suicide because he felt that it was a life lesson? Surely Dorian Arelgren could do better! He mulled the thought over. No. Dorian Arelgren would probably do the same if he had children of his own. They were wonderful toys and it was a rather guilty pleasure.
Lucien finally spoke.
“How often do you joke, lad?”
Dorian Arelgren sat himself down, crossing his arms over his legs.
“Never.”
Two could play at this game.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Nov 09, 2011 6:04 am
There was another young man who never joked in the vicinity of the tranquil Shyregoadian lake. Unlike Dorian Arelgren, his grimness was in earnest, and unlike Lucien Arelgren, his Grimm was in earnest as well. What they were currently earnestly toiling at was fishing, as they could only go so long without fresh food, and Wickwright was never one to pass an unoccupied lake without taking a chance on some fish.
"Someone might see us," Hopkin urged nervously. "What if this lake is owned? We may not be allowed."
"I don't see a name on it," replied Wickwright, gesturing expansively at the empty landscape. "And any-corpus bones!" As he heard loud noises, he jumped from the lake with surprising alacrity for a man of his age, stuffing his pole under the wagon with haste.
"Are we hiding that from the man whose name is not on this lake," Hopkin asked, frowning in confusion, and Wickwright hushed him with some annoyance. Peering around Tristram, who blew a bovine raspberry at him for his pains, Wickwright squinted in an attempt to identify the intruders as a threat or not. Clambering up onto his head, Hopkin joined him, mouth agape as he leaned dangerously over the edge. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "If that is the owner of the lake, they are quite a well-designed individual."
"They're not alone," Wickwright noted, "But I don't see how they could have gotten here so suddenly without a horse of some sort. Perhaps they really do own it, they must live nearby." He got ready to get into the wagon. If he was disrupting manorial lands, Finch men got into enough trouble as it was already. This far East, O'Neill would bail him out, but the thought of his owing O'Neill a boon was hardly appealing. The man would save him and cross his arms and look at Hopkin, and the game of getting his contribution accepted would be that much harder. Hopkin, however, had few qualms about being seen if the person seeing him was pleasing to his eye and instead of focusing on leaving, still strove to see. With a little catch of breath, he turned to Wickwright excitedly once he saw the second stranger.
"Wickwright! Wickwright, it's Dorian Arelgren with that fair man!"
Sharply, Wickwright's gaze turned again and once he had verified it for himself, he paused, considering his options. Dorian Arelgren or no, there was still the possibility that he was trespassing. But he now had a better chance of finding out for himself without getting into trouble for his pains, and he opted to take the chance. How often did one run across an unfrozen lake in Shyregoad? Fish would be a welcome addition to his larder if he could get away with procuring it.
Striding over to the pair, he called out, "Arelgren! Did you miss me so much as to cross paths so soon?"
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Posted: Tue Nov 22, 2011 11:54 pm
Lucien Arelgren frowned upon the younger Arelgren, the latter brooding in his own self-developed misery. Secretly, Dorian was pleased his father could joke at all. He was given the impression that the older Arelgren was purely a man of method and austerity, a sense of humor had not surfaced in the first few days of their reunion. Dorian was still self-conscious to his father's touch, the unfamiliar warmth of his guardian's care soothed him yet settled in him a foreboding alarm. Nonetheless, the tranquility the lake was meant to give was interrupted, this time, not by either Arelgrens, but a sage. Lucien Arelgren inclined his head to the source of the voice, and Dorian Arelgren jumped when he heard it: "Arelgren! Did you miss me so much as to cross paths so soon?"
Dorian opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself when his father raised a brow. The younger of the two Butterfly Crows was unsure as to whether he should respond to Wickwright first, then introduce him to his father, or vice versa. To his surprise, his father briskly presented himself before Wickwright and bowed appropriately, his left arm pressed against his chest. "You must be Wickwright Finch. My son is alive because of your care, I am grateful for it and I am indebted to you. You are a greater influence than you think, Mr.Finch. I am Lucien Arelgren, son of Diedrich Arelgren and Amberline Arelgren, and you are a Finch man."
Smiling oddly, Lucien resumed a standing position and while he would have customarily shaken Wickwright's hand, he wasn't familiar with the man enough to be friendly to do so. He examined Wickwright with little attention to detail, merely creating a general deduction; the man had been traveling and he had with him a Plague. The latter was told to him by Dorian, for "Hopkin" was a catalyst member to Lettie like his Grimm was to the Arelgren heir.
"S-salutations, Wicky, er, Mr.Finch," Dorian corrected himself, blushing before the presence of his father, who snorted in bemusement. He raised himself up from where he sat, his palms wetting from the dew and his own sweat. "Fancy seeing you here, and...er, meet my father. I definitely planned this meeting, yes! I uh, the uh...the omnivorous Arelgren after all!"
Silence. Then, "I do believe you meant 'omniscient', my son. It is dearly fortunate to me that you say you have no dietary bias, however."
"Additionally, you are forgetting someone, Dorian." Lucien noted, jerking his head towards the Caedos on Wickwright's head.
"Oh, right, 'lo Hopkin."
"Salutations to you as well, Hopkin," Lucien stressed, swooping into a bow a second time. Dorian's cheeks burned and he followed suit; he'd never bowed to anyone in his life before, and his father was an enthusiast at it. If Hopkin was a little bigger, perhaps Lucien would've shaken his hand as well. He sent a scathing stare at his son, and repeated: "Salutations."
There would be many a lesson in mannerisms to be had.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Dec 09, 2011 8:50 am
It was Wickwright's turn to quirk an eyebrow as the older Arelgren both introduced himself and the man he was bowing to, both by his full name and his Jawbone title. He had not recalled telling Arelgren junior precisely what faith he subscribed to, although he supposed it was more than possible the younger had picked it up from an Obscuvian. He was from a main Jawbone family, and though the Society was elusive, it was certainly not the most unknown of the surviving pagan faiths, nor was he the most obscure of its members. Hopkin, he supposed, was also a giveaway. What faith but the Jawbone Society could produce a book so adamant about the truth? "Finch at your service," he submitted his reply, bowing in turn and tapping his jaw lightly. "A pleasure to meet the man who fathered my errant friend Arelgren."
Last time they met, he recalled, he had been rather given to the impression that Arelgren's family was dead. How curious to see his father so soon after the encounter! It took a great force, he considered, to split a man from his family, and behind his blue eyes there lingered the faintest air of suspicion. Lucien Arelgren, he noted, had given him a name and provenance, but no occupation, though he had made it clear that he was well aware of Wickwright's own. What business made it so one's son wasn't aware if one was living or dead?
Plenty, he admitted to himself reluctantly, in this age of disease. By the bone, just working away from home could give a family reasonable cause to suspect you were dead when the plague killed so many so frequently. Still, Arelgren's tone of voice at the time of his admission had been something to consider. Even now, he seemed quite uncomfortable.
It was Hopkin who interrupted his thoughts. "Is Lettie here?" he asked, no longer able to stifle the question. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "It is pleasing to meet you, Mr. Lucien Arelgren. You are a well-designed individual, but I expected this of Dorian Arelgren's author." He then returned to looking hopefully at Dorian.
"Father, Hopkin," Wickwright corrected unthinkingly, and continued, "I would, Arelgren, at least show some discrimination in what you drink. At your age I was traveling the countryside- I stopped in a quaint tavern and was offered a curious local brew. I woke up a day later with no recollection of what happened, and someone else's hat on my head. I later found that while not offering their humorous beverage to unsuspecting tourists, women of the village used the strength of the beer to get difficult stains out of clothes, though of course there was a bit of a knack to it, for if the clothes were submerged too long, it would simply dissolve them entirely." His concerns, he decided, were best temporarily allayed. He also owed Arelgren a life debt, and this man was his father. Surely the man could have nothing so reprehensible in his nature as to deserve scrutiny.
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Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2011 9:33 pm
Dorian opened his mouth to retort on behalf of Wickwright's description of him as "errant" but he decided against it in the presence of his father. He hoped Lucien Arelgren would not be the image he himself would become after the addition of twenty years. Both were Obscuvians, yet neither inhabited the conniving and willing spirit Obscuvos would prefer them to. His father, while sharing a similar air to himself, presented himself to a degree so different from what Dorian expected an Arelgren to be. The elder Arelgren regarded both Wickwright and Hopkin with the highest dignity and approval, and Dorian wondered if the cause was simply because the Finch was his sage, adviser, and friend. What if the Grimm and Plague were strangers? How would his father then behave? Thinking such things only plagued the Dorian Arelgren of more confusion. It was almost infuriating at how Lucien Arelgren could explain so much yet so little. The paradox itself was one worth cursing, but Dorian tenaciously clung to hoping that his father would slowly expand on what was already revealed.
He never mentioned to his father that the Arelgrens were long presumed dead. It was unknown to him whether Lucien Arelgren was conscious of this himself or not, or perhaps he'd prefer them to be thought of as the departed? Dorian could only inquire through his eyes, he was afraid to speak to Wickwright when a more eloquent, calculative man was present. Normally, he would arrange a meeting with the Finch man to properly reconcile, but with the absence of Lettie, a conversation with Hopkin would be awfully depressing in a mutual sense. He could predict Hopkin's stream of questions and his own inability to answer them. How would he be able to? I told her off, Hopkin. I told her off in my own right and well-being. For the sake of a personal sustenance. She is no longer an Arelgren Plague.
While the words came easily in thought, they were difficult to say aloud, even to himself.
Before he could finish his thoughts, Hopkin asked the exact question he loathed to answer moments before: "Is Lettie here?"
He pretended not to hear, and Lucien seemed unaware that it had been asked. Knowing Hopkin, the Illuminated Book would most likely repeat his question later, but Dorian hoped that his father's answer to the Plague's question's second half would be enough to buy time to prepare a decent reply.
"It is pleasing to meet you, Mr. Lucien Arelgren. You are a well-designed individual, but I expected this of Dorian Arelgren's author."
Lucien Arelgren smiled warmly in response to Hopkin and Wickwright, ignorant to his son's sudden quietness and (seemingly) oblivious to the first half of Hopkin's inquiry. " To Hopkin, the good Book, I suppose I am Dorian Arelgren's author, but his mother took small part as a co-author if you must. Charming that you would put it that way, clever Book! And of course, Mr. Finch. I hope for the sake of Arelgren honor, that my son has done nothing foolish to yourself or those in his company. The Arelgrens are not as distasteful as society seems to like to put us."
Both Arelgrens frowned at this, Dorian, because it was an absurd lie, and Lucien because there were certain truths worth disapproving of. On behalf of the drinking comment, Dorian knew little of how to answer. He usually drank whatever he was recommended, which was often the heaviest type of liquor the tavern offered. A fool he was for taking suggestion with little analysis beforehand.
"I was never one of careful liquor discrimination myself, Mr. Finch," Lucien admitted, to Dorian's surprise. "Frankly said, Mr. Finch, I'd drink anything suggested by friend or foe. Why, I wouldn't be nearly surprised if I'd gotten myself so drunk before I'd kiss a man!"
Dorian reddened at his father's joke. He doesn't know, does he? He cannot....surely he...Meschke...
"BUT OF COURSE. I would also perhaps kiss a mule? No--the buttock of the mule--"
Dorian interjected before his father could continue; he began feeling uncomfortable himself.
"The Arelgrens are supposed to be dead, father," Dorian said lightheartedly, in contrast to the content of his speech. "I honestly can't fathom why dead people can't have a little fun. Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Dorian chided, hoping to make his father uncomfortable enough in the presence of Wickwright to learn more about the Arelgrens' "true" status.
To his surprise, Lucien laughed.
"Don't be ridiculous, Dorian. The Arelgrens before me are long dead, your mother too, I suppose." His eyes twinkled as he thought fondly of his wife. "I suppose society likes to think that all of us are dead. Wouldn't they prefer it if you, too, were dead, Dorian? A dead Dorian Arelgren would mean another dead Arelgren!"
Dorian was at a loss for words and turned to Wickwright for support.
He had no intention to become Lucien Arelgren in his old age. Maturation was frightening to see in action--especially so in an Arelgren!
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Mar 21, 2012 12:50 am
It was Hopkin who spoke first, tackling every issue with his plodding persistence as he sought an answer that Dorian Arelgren did not wish to give him. "We have found Arelgren company to be most pleasant, even if Dorian Arelgren is a terribly nonsensical man. And as it is a father's duty to raise his son, so must you be his author, as the traits of the son are all derived from the actions of the father as surely as if you put pen to paper and wrote them on him! But I will not fault you for writing nonsense all over Dorian Arelgren, for he is the author of Lettie Arelgren, who is most excellently pleasant, and whose location I would like to know," he repeated, looking at Dorian earnestly with his eyeless, bandaged face. "Please."
Wickwright had not noticed Lettie's absence, likely because he cared little about the Plagues of other Grimms, but Hopkin's incessant dwelling upon the matter brought it to his attention. It was odd, certainly, that Lettie had not yet emerged to greet them, but perhaps the matter was that with the presence of the senior Arelgren, she was in hiding. In truth, he had no desire to out Arelgren as a Grimm against his will when he had done so much to aid them in the past, and thus he opened his mouth to spin excuses so the book boy would stop harping on it. But when the Arelgren men began their duel of wits, his tongue was stopped before it could begin, and instead he found himself witness to a most curious sort of family spat. Like Arelgren junior, he didn't miss the father's comment about kissing a man. The hue of Arelgren's face suggested that he might know more than Wickwright thought- perhaps Lettie was not such a secret if Dorian would reveal that incident. Certainly, sometimes the Arelgren boy seemed to lack shame, but even Wickwright thought ht had to be more possessed of shame for his drunken rendezvous with Meschke than he would be for being a Grimm. He had not been on good terms with Lettie during March, but few Grimms had been with the circumstances being what they were, and apart from that, the Arelgren lad seemed to quite dote upon her as much as his own book Plague.
Dorian's next comment was strange and cryptic, doing little to reveal the truth of the matter, and at this Wickwright took his opportunity to enter the conversation at last, pitching in before the perturbed frown on Hopkin's face could turn into a volley of inquiries. "Indeed, my good man, I was under the impression that you were long gone as well. However, it appears that rumours of your death have been greatly exaggerated- my condolences in regards to your wife." Wickwright had never married. The sentiment meant little to him in practice, but the gesture was sincere even without understanding of the tragedy behind it. "Your son is quite right! Almost everybody I meet these days acts as if I am long overdue to meet my own death, and yet I have never had so much fun in all these years on the road." He grinned and tugged on his sleeve, adding, "Of course, it is mightily different with men of the bone. We all have replacements, so we have little to worry about our worldly affairs! Even by Jawbone standards though, your son is far too young to have a replacement were he to pass, and so I do not think the world would prefer his passing just yet. You and I, we have become expendable. Dorian Arelgren, though, he still has much left to accomplish!"
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Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2012 2:01 am
Dorian managed to smile at Hopkin's words, admiring the Illuminated Book's tact. He envied the Plague boy's ability to conjure words when others couldn't, regardless of if the boy accused him of being 'terribly nonsensical' or dubbing Lucien an 'author'. The younger Arelgren's spirits had been dampened since his separation with Lettie, and the elder Arelgren mirrored his smile, elated that his son was enjoying himself at least. While they dressed modestly, Lucien knew, somehow, that the Book and the Sage were more than they appeared to be. They were charming to him, at the least. Perhaps it was the sincerity the duo displayed? Sincerity was a daft man's promise in the House of Obscuvos. House members spoke of nothing but promises, but Lucien had no interest in discussing them among the lambs. Dorian must have been tired of mulling his potential plight in his head. Crows were different than vultures, after all. They were reminders of the apocalypse, the calamity, the impending death. The House was clever in selecting its iconic fowl--its effect on the younger Arelgren was apparent for if one examined him closely, they could see that he was trembling.
"Well spoken, Hopkin," Dorian Arelgren laughed, jade eyes twinkling. "Truly a good Book of Finch pedigree. The Arelgrens have been nonsensical since they could speak--living from miracle to miracle. Fate does us kind charity..."
Yet, he looked towards his father when Hopkin questioned the location of the Hot Cocoa girl.
Frankly, Dorian hadn't thought as much about Hopkin as he did about Wickwright. His intercourse with Hopkin was generally short and minimized to a few verbal exchanges in the presence of Lettie whom somehow managed to humble Dorian with her aura alone. He reminded himself that he didn't miss her nor make a mistake in discarding her. It was true that he never considered the possibility that he might again encounter friends of he and his Plague. Wickwright and Hopkin had not forgotten him; likewise, they would not have easily forgotten Lettie. It wouldn't be right of them to, and it certainly would have colored him black if he were to forget Lettie himself. He did not agree with her, but he could not forget her. Hopkin's small form resembled Lettie's in size, and speaking to the Plague directly was something that stirred a sleeping feeling from within him. The fact that Hopkin pined for Lettie only made matters worse.
"Firstly, I give you my deepest sympathies on behalf of your late wife," Lucien graciously said to the elder Grimm, a doleful smile adorning his lips. The feeling was one he was all too familiar with, and the memory of Agatha felt no different than a flesh wound. He then cleared his throat and tightened his clench on his staff. He was glad that Wickwright had interjected at all, one father to another. It was a nice distraction from his own woe for his son.
"Not kind enough, if I do say so myself, yes, Dorian? Come now, the Finch wise man believes you have potential, my boy." Lucien softly said. It would be easier for Dorian to lie and the latter planned on avoiding this circumstance. When the younger Arelgren realized that his father was honoring virtue, his hopes sank. "The Book boy has praised us as well. Clever authors pen clever Books. Do tell the Book where the Little Ghost has gone, if you are the clever Book that I have penned."
The elder Arelgren retreated a few paces, leaving Dorian with the Finches in private. Dorian could not argue with his father's well-said statement. Lucien did well in providing his son the least amount of comfort he could give in such a uncomfortable dilemma and hoped with his eyes closed that Dorian speak as eloquently as the Finch Sage. Secretly, Dorian hoped so too.
"L-Lettie and I got into a type of...a type of row. Yes. That's it. We got into a row of a sort," Dorian said, repeating the truth to himself. His feet had suddenly become very interesting to him, but his voice was still directed at Hopkin. He wondered what the Book Plague thought of him, not as a Grimm, but as a man. "Normally there would be a common ground that Lettie and I would be alright with. This one is unlike the previous ones; Lettie has made her decision and I have made mine. She is no longer my road companion..."
But that wasn't the entire truth. There was something else that he wanted to say--something he'd been withholding for the entirety of his foolishness. Perhaps it was atonement? Forgiveness? Dorian didn't know; he just wanted the ill feeling gone, and his lips formed words that encouraged his wishes.
"...but if, by chance, she becomes yours, I would be most grateful if you provided her the grounds I could not. I hope to amend myself," Dorian managed to finally say, his voice slightly cracking. The ribbon on his arm flapped in the wind as a reminder to his faults. "So that I may deserve to bear the burdens of a Grimm."
From afar, Lucien Arelgren dipped his head in numb approval. Surely, Lettie felt the same. He had not yet met the Locos maiden, but he knew from observing Grimms and Plagues that the two of them were generally inseparable entities with heavy empathy for one another. It was difficult to be a Grimm without feeling the burden of a Plague and vice versa.
Dorian Arelgren found that as much as he wanted to, he could not cry. Lettie had already done that for him.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Mar 31, 2012 2:33 am
Wickwright spread his hands expansively at the elder Arelgren's sentiments. "There is no need for sympathies, as there has never been a wife! Despite my advanced years and the customs of my faith, I have somehow managed to avoid at least one plague, and that is the plague of matrimony. However, I hear that some like the affliction, and I thus welcome them to it and grieve most heartily for them when their spouse suffers some misfortune. I am not a heartless man, just a bachelor of advanced years, although there are some who would paint little difference between the two." He grinned wryly, but in truth, it was no matter to jest about. O'Neill and company had already shown their scorn for Finch's damnable failure to produce an heir. Now he was being quite trampled over in their efforts to procure one for him, and Feilim was being forced upon him like an ill-fitting mendicant's hat. "But no," he continued with a fluid shrug, "It is of little matter where the, uh, Little Ghost has gone if Arelgren has no desire to inform us. It is not," he stated curtly, "Our business."
Hopkin shook his head in assent. "Yes, our business is with Lettie Arelgren, not little ghosts," he affirmed. "Jawbone Men live on through their heirs, so they cannot by nature have spirits that linger without corporeal form."
"Hopkin, Lettie is the one referred to as Little Ghost," Wickwright broke to the book Plague as firmly as possible. The book looked up with considerable shock evident even on his tiny bandaged face and frowned deeply, lost in a sea of perplexity.
"But Lettie Arelgren is no ghost! She has kissed me, she is quite solid, I assure you." At the admittance, his mouth glowed brighter, perhaps out of bashfulness, but he seemed quite resolute. "And if nonsensical Arelgrens refer to her as a Little Ghost, that is of no matter. She..." He gulped, getting ready to state something that he was not morally sure of saying, ever hesitant to even slightly disagree with Wickwright. "She is not my business, but I care about Lettie Arelgren dearly. She is my only friend." He glanced anxiously up at his Grimm, but did not retract the statement, tiny fists clenched with all the force of his self-doubt. Wickwright returned the look quite impassively, his lack of judgement perhaps doing more damage to the book's resolve than a negative response would garner. Instead, Hopkin hastily looked away from Wickwright and to Dorian Arelgren, who he sensed was weaker, and thus whose scorn could be withstood.
However, Lettie's Grimm had something stronger than scorn to deliver as well, and as he told Hopkin and Wickwright the truth of the matter, the more Hopkin fervently wished he had not asked, that he could just pretend she was hidden away on Dorian Arelgren's person, and as the truth outed, a miserable, whistling wail poured faintly from the book boy's mouth. Even the obtuse book recognized the utter impossibility of being a Grimmless excito, and his shock was reflected in the face of his author, who, though he cared little about the politics between Grimms and their excitos, was taken aback by the prospect. "Arelgren," murmured Wickwright, reaching to pull the younger man close so that Hopkin might not hear his consternation, "Is that wise?" More loudly, he offered, "If we cross paths with her, we will be sure to attempt to point her feet in the right direction." Even in his considerable surprise, he could not bring himself to even halfheartedly promise to take on the burden of another Plague. One was already a terrible burden to bear.
Hopkin said nothing. Instead, he clenched and unclenched his tiny metal fists, staring across the surprising unfrozen lake as if he could sink all his fledgling fears for Lettie in its chill depths.
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Posted: Mon May 21, 2012 4:24 pm
"I see. You appear to have suffered and survived many plagues, or so my son informs me. You are a brave man, Wickwright Finch, and I can only pray to Panyma that there will be more like you. No, you are not a heartless man, Finch." Here, Lucien closed his eyes and allowing a pause to settle. "My son is the result of a metamorphosis because he became a companion to you, and you to him. He sees you as his father, Finch; I am but a returning ghost. You say that there are some that would 'paint the difference between the two'--but as an Arelgren, the descendants of the butterflies, my sight is as keen as it is swift. I am glad that my son and his Plague crossed paths with you and little Hopkin."
He smiled in approval at the Book boy. Lucien Arelgren did not expose physical signs of discomfort, but his tone was apology-written in answering the elder Finch's ironically assuring explanation. Dorian watched on through jade eyes, and admired his father's eloquence and overall magnificence. It was the small things Lucien did that astounded the younger Arelgren, his gestures, his nuances, and his radiance. Both Arelgrens had begun to feel exceedingly awkward despite that the intention was purely warmhearted small talk--though--Dorian pushed the circumstance by asking the Finches to care for Lettie in his stead. It wasn't merely Lucien's frank perception that startled the younger Arelgren, but the speed in which it was perceived. Dorian and Lucien had meager verbal intercourse, and fewer storytelling moments in which Dorian poured his soul to his father--he wasn't accustomed to telling anyone of anything. Wickwright was his sage, his personal sage, and Hopkin Lettie's. It surprised him at how freely he could speak his heart to Wickwright when it was difficult for him to share with anyone else, and he felt a surge of immense gratitude towards the weathered man and his animated, Illuminated Book. Lucien seemed to understand that Dorian wished to speak, and gestured for him to do so. A certain Book boy had a certain concern, though the feeling was manifested in his tone and less so through his words.
"N-no Hopkin, I am asking for a small favor, if it is respectable for a gentleman ask it," Dorian blushed sheepishly, immediately feeling awful for his lacking eloquence in comparison to his father's velvet tongue. "She must still be in Shyregoed. Lettie wouldn't leave the region without a proper reason, being the Ladyplague that she is. The two of us are Arelgrens. Our house sigil is the butterfly and our motto: iridescent and swift."
His voice fell.
"...but as of lately, I've been feeling lackluster and rather, ah, slow--but--I am traveling with my father for House business to smite the pestilence within me. I am regretful that we reconciled on such a bitter note, Wicky."
Wicky. The endearment almost sounded foreign to him now, and Dorian laughed shakily, fearing that laughter would soon become foreign to him as well. The cravat that marked his class status began to itching his neck and making him feel as uncomfortable as the peasants he used to ridicule. He smiled when Hopkin admitted that Lettie had "kissed him", knowing full well that she most likely did and that he was proud of her for doing it, in his own romantically perverse way. While he hadn't created any mental nor emotional closure with Lettie, there was evidence in his heart that he was still undeniably fond of her, and fond of everything that embodied her and represented her. Her friendship with Hopkin couldn't have made the Grimm any happier, and Lucien saw that his son, if for a single moment, was content.
"And if nonsensical Arelgrens refer to her as a Little Ghost, that is of no matter. She...she is not my business, but I care about Lettie Arelgren dearly. She is my only friend." Hopkin blustered, and Dorian instantly felt a dark churning within his stomach and his smile ghosted from his face.
Before meeting Lettie, Nancy was his only friend, his sole companion, and a maternal substitute. Lettie replaced her once the nanny was dispatched of--and after Lettie--no one arrived to fill the niche. Lucien was precise in his evaluation of his relationship with his son; Lucien was a returning ghost and nothing more to Dorian, even if he did strike an impressive figure. If Grimms were the authors of their Plagues' journeys, Wickwright's must have been excellent and Dorian's nothing short of a ruinous, infinite abyss.
"Arelgren," murmured Wickwright, pulling Dorian closer away from Hopkin's ear. Dorian noticed that Lucien had receded away as well, allowing the two friends to converse. "Is that wise? If we cross paths with her, we will be sure to attempt to point her feet in the right direction."
"I-I do not know if it is wise, good friend," Dorian gulped, his eyes meandering to Hopkin's bandaged features. "She most likely does not envision me as an ally at the moment, for I have stirred a horrible brew with her, and not the soup-ish kind, mind you. We had a row, again, but on House matters. Large House matters."
He supposed it was safe to tell Wickwright because it was always safe to tell Wickwright.
"My father does not believe in Obscuvos. He prays only to Panyma while wearing the mask of the crow god. I-I have not prayed to any deity for...an expansive time. We are not what we seem, but we are allies. It is what Lettie would have liked, were she to witness my decision. I have made many unwise choices, and you have scrutinized their folly with me. I wish to keep Lettie from making similar ones, but as of our separation, I cannot. It is strange that we are separated, yet I am still a Grimm."
Silence reigned until Dorian found the eloquence to continue.
"Laughter is something I have not truly known for months, Wick," he softly said, finding 'Wick' seemingly more appropriate than 'Wicky'. "I do not wish Lettie to become a stranger to it as well. Hopkin is a good fellow. I would not worry of Lettie becoming burdensome--she naturally feels the paranoia that she is a burden to others all on her own."
He smiled at this.
"If anything, Lettie would use her entitlement as an Arelgren and Ladyplague to simplify life for you because she...she...loves--it's what she does."
He could feel his voice cracking.
...It's what she does."
He no longer wanted to speak.
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knife effect Vice Captain
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Posted: Mon May 21, 2012 8:53 pm
"Pray to Panyma that there will be one more like me, that is all we Jawbone Men are concerned with these days when sons die like flies and and a man might yet live far longer than the boy he has marked to claim his inheritance," Wickwright replied to Lucien airily. "One almost feels that it would be more secure to bequeath their legacy to a Plague, by the bone." At his joke, Hopkin startled, and it did not go unnoticed by his Grimm, who suddenly shifted uncomfortably, as if regretting his choice of words. "Almost," he reiterated, making Hopkin sit back a bit. However, the Plague opened his mouth again at Arelgren's request to him, though he paused to look at Wickwright, not sure enough to answer Arelgren on his own. Wickwright shook his head gently, and Hopkin crumpled like a crushed quill.
"I can only promise to keep my eyes open for her, Arelgren," he broke to the errant boy. "I have my own agenda to attend to, and I am no longer of an age which allows for distractions or tarrying. If we run into Lettie, I promise you that she will be cared for. I can offer no more than that." Empty words, for what was the chance of meeting a single tiny excito in his travels? But still, empty words were better than none at all. Perhaps they would put Arelgren's soul at ease concerning his Plague. He seemed to have an attachment to Lettie unlike the professional one that Wickwright had for Hopkin, rather he cared for her like a family member. There was no feasible situation in which Wickwright would refer to Hopkin as a Finch, yet Lettie had always been Lettie Arelgren.
There were small notes, bitter tidings that Arelgren expressed which soon erupted into a flood of confessions- Wickwright found that even men like Arelgren, perhaps especially men like Arelgren, were eager to confess to a friendly set of religious robes, regardless of caste or creed. It was perhaps why Wickwright had become a mendicant- without the robes, he was just a nosy man with a habit of scribbling into a book. His own religious beliefs were spotty at best, even he had to admit it. He believed in tradition, all Jawbone Men did, but gods? Only those who were on the cusp of belief already would place their faith in a bone. Who would follow such a god blindly?
He willed himself not to glance at Hopkin. His eyes darted over unwillingly anyway.
Aloud, he replied, "Hush, Arelgren. What has occurred already cannot be undone, fair or foul. You must accept your split with Lettie, for the split is fact." He listened grimly to the remainder of the admittance, raising an eyebrow and willing himself not to glance at Lucien, this time successfully. He had thought that Arelgren's acquaintance could be useful within the House, and it appeared he had not been wrong in surmising that. An Obscuvian family who did not believe in Obscuvos was useful to know. "Laugh again or you will go mad," he offered lightly. "I find that taking anything too seriously results only in teeth gnashing and unpleasant road trips. I do not know if Lettie will be well, but stunteds in Panymium seem to survive in abundance despite their size."
Both Hopkin and Arelgren looked so miserable that it frustrated Wickwright, and Arelgren's final pronouncement and enticement to seek Lettie offered Wickwright little comfort but afforded Arelgren great pity on his behalf. This was what happened when one got too attached to a Plague. Hopkin was his book, so he could not avoid attachment of a similar nature, though different in origin. Dorian's sentiments came from a more painful place, and his betrayal ran deep. Wickwright had little comfort to offer betrayers, it seemed that every time he met the boy he had made yet another hasty decision. He offered more serious words:
"Arelgren, I cannot say whether you will ever meet your Plague again. I will not lie to you with false hopes and visions of miracles, we men of bone worship only truth, and that is a very cold god to believe in. Know this, though- You have chosen your path, and turning back is nothing but a waste of time. Make the most of the path you have chosen, for Lettie and yourself, and let Lettie make the most of hers. When you see her again, your actions since your parting will speak louder than any apology or condemnation."
Hopkin spoke last, despondent despite Wickwright's advice, which usually settled his mind. "I have no doubt that our travels would be greatly improved by Lettie Arel- Lettie's company. I am sorry, Dorian Arelgren, that she could not improve your company."
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Posted: Tue May 22, 2012 12:33 am
"Pray to Panyma that there will be one more like me, that is all we Jawbone Men are concerned with these days when sons die like flies and and a man might yet live far longer than the boy he has marked to claim his inheritance," Wickwright replied airily, earning a small smile from Lucien. "One almost feels that it would be more secure to bequeath their legacy to a Plague, by the bone."
"I can only promise to keep my eyes open for her, Arelgren, I have my own agenda to attend to, and I am no longer of an age which allows for distractions or tarrying. If we run into Lettie, I promise you that she will be cared for. I can offer no more than that."
Dorian nodded at this, features hardening. Of course he understood, he was an apt pupil. An Obscuvian asking a favor was never anything to be excited for, they were usually bitter at best or had ulterior motives in store. The truth was that he was never much of an Obscuvian, he lacked the faith and pride in the raven god. The members of the House offered him nothing short of business, business that Dorian was lacking in zeal for, and business that he gradually felt less fond of being paired with. He became a vindicator in his own way, a desperate one. Men with minds charged with eager purpose and unsatisfied vindictiveness had no room for new feelings. It was difficult for Dorian to feel much of what he used to in humor, and he'd longed to blurt his heart's content to someone willing to listen that was not a spectre. He wanted to interject, but Wickwright spoke before he could: "Hush, Arelgren. What has occurred already cannot be undone, fair or foul. You must accept your split with Lettie, for the split is fact. Laugh again or you will go mad I find that taking anything too seriously results only in teeth gnashing and unpleasant road trips. I do not know if Lettie will be well, but stunteds in Panymium seem to survive in abundance despite their size."
"Whatever you can offer is enough," Dorian assured, smiling dolefully. Wickwright's advice had never been flawed, and Dorian wanted to continue believing that it could never be flawed, so he continued, hoping that his resolve would be as firm as the advice from which it was given. "She will be glad to receive help in any form, though she may resist it. I have accepted our split and I do not intend on reuniting with her unless she wishes it. It was my mistake and I will stand by it. I make many mistakes. I am not wise enough, like you, or rich enough, like my father, to avoid my own stupidity better."
There were many feelings that Dorian Arelgren is capable of, but at the moment, he felt numbed by the insight forced upon him. He wondered what the older man had gone through to achieve such empathy and direction and how far he would need to go to pursue the same result. It was funny to him that Wickwright advised against laughing, and Dorian realized that it was very true, he was, in fact, feeling mad as of the late. He'd laughed inappropriately at uncalled for times, and things that were "actually" funny no longer were. Devalue was present in almost every aspect of his life, an ironic aspect that clashed with Dorian's aspiration for liberty. He noticed that the Book boy had been awfully silent for the longest time, something inconsistent with his memory of Hopkin's usual behaviors. The Plague usually chattered away, voice full of inquiry and curiosity. There were things Hopkin simply wanted to know, very much like Lettie did, and Dorian assumed in the moment of thought that it was a good reason as to why the pair found comfort in each other. Like misery, ignorance liked company.
"Arelgren, I cannot say whether you will ever meet your Plague again. I will not lie to you with false hopes and visions of miracles, we men of bone worship only truth, and that is a very cold god to believe in. Know this, though- You have chosen your path, and turning back is nothing but a waste of time. Make the most of the path you have chosen, for Lettie and yourself, and let Lettie make the most of hers. When you see her again, your actions since your parting will speak louder than any apology or condemnation," Wickwright warned. Lucien nodded solemnly, though Dorian doubted that his father was sincere in such gesture. Wickwright's concern was clearer to him than his own blood-father's, though that detail did not bother the younger Arelgren at the moment. It appeared to be that Wickwright became the incarnate of a confession booth to Dorian, and he was not certain if it was for the better or the worse. Yet, it was a solution, the only solution the Arelgren heir could make in his state of mind. He dipped his head gravely after Wickwright had finished his words. How would he react towards Lettie? How had he reacted with Lettie? Hopkin seemed to know. The Book Plague finally spoke.
"I have no doubt that our travels would be greatly improved by Lettie Arel- Lettie's company. I am sorry, Dorian Arelgren, that she could not improve your company."
Though Hopkin harbored no ill-will, "she could not improve your company" stung the Arelgren. The plague had used the simplest way of saying the most complex experience, and while Dorian's spirits were dampened by that, he also marveled at the truth and at all the truths that had become set on a pedestal for him in the reunion with the Finches.
"I am sorry as well, Hopkin. She likes you very much, more than she likes me, I am sure. It was all a mistake on my behalf, and a mistake it still stands." Dorian said, his voice repressing cracks. He tilted his head so that the Finches could not see how glassy his eyes had become, for he was not sure if he was crying from guilt or from relief. The two feelings, too, became interchangeable. "I will stop hindering you and journey forth, like you say, Wick. That is the best decision I can make on my own and perhaps the only one in a long while. I never had the intentions to turn back, but I was victim of impasse's gallows for many months, and you are right that I must be the vindicator of myself."
"I...I don't..."
He tried again.
"I don't expect myself to be in a situation where I could properly apologize to Lettie, but there is nothing I can expect by this point in life."
Then quietly, he whispered: "I am glad to have spoken to you again, good friend. Godspeed."
"Godspeed and it was lovely meeting you," Lucien echoed with a courteous nod and a quick smile. "It was a good chat for the boy. I certainly learned from it was well."
Dorian turned away from the duo with surprising ease, and what used to be dark matter in his mind was replaced by a new feeling of grace and a sort of tranquility. He was tempted to look behind his shoulder, to see if Wickwright was smiling approvingly at him, or if Hopkin was tugging his Grimm's sleeve for an explanation on something Dorian had said. He was glad that he chose not to, Wickwright had advised against turning back which Dorian immediately began applying to everything. Lucien was far ahead of him, and Dorian raced to catch up, leaving Wickwright and Hopkin in the back of his head as images of goodness and unflawed wisdom that he would eventually come to own, perhaps, one day.
At least, the air smelled nice.
END
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knife effect Vice Captain
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