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 Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 3:41 pm
The crowds wasn't big enough to warrant a performance, hadn't been enthusiastic enough for him to do more than set up a quiet personal camp, wagon bundled up and a tent ready for the night. As dusk settles in around them, Warwick and Wren lounge next to a fire -- smoke curling up around the outsides of his battered traveling pot, jerky stewing down in the heat to make what will hopefully be a passable stew. Even in the night, he is a riot of color, bright cloths tied into his hair and patching his clothing, battered boots splattered with faded paint.
From a distance, smoke will mark his location -- outside the small town, not quite into the woods. Nearer in, the sound of his soft humming are a more enticing lure, absent and thoughtless, wandering and not quite on key. Warwick doesn't much care. For once, he is entirely without an audience, just focused on his food and the quiet bit of mending between his hands.
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Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 5:21 pm
Somewhere behind her, Jessica knows, is her chaperone. It is curious to think that he has not realized she can lose him every single time; it would be amusing, too, if Jessica weren't so focused on following the thin thread of smoke rising into the sky. There will be trouble later, she is sure; there will be yelling and disappointed looks -- her mother will frown, and her father will not quite raise his hand, but will threaten -- but for now, she is free.
She left the bad-tempered old blob of a chaperone far behind her, in the light fringe of woods that separated the manor house from the fields beyond. It was an easy thing to do, even with Iskierka loping ahead of her horse, running in a way that is more like a wolf than a deer, all sinew and muscle. The fawn's ears are fanned out, pale eyes alight. She stops at the edge of the forest, coming to a halt so complete that Jessica, astride her horse, nearly slams into her.
There is a man here: and a camp. And he looks like a gypsy. Jessica sits astride her horse transfixed, deciding what to say to him -- he is on her father's lands, not quite in the town -- and is nearly startled from her seat when her horse gives a decisive rolling snort that betrays their position.
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Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 5:48 pm
The needle is settled between his lips, thread cutting a bright line across his chin, hair brushed back out of his eyes, and he flinches as he looks up at her, careful not to p***k himself. Compared to his Guardian, though, Warwick's reaction is mild, for Wren's head jerks up with force and she freezes like that, staring at them with eyes almost black in the fading light.
Hopefully being Chosen will reassure Jessica that he is not a danger to her father's lands, he will not come creeping up to the house to rob it in the middle of the night. Warwick wouldn't take offense to the suggestion though, most likely. After all, there was a time...
"...'n I 'elp you?" It is mumbled around his work, Warwick's eyes bright and amused as he watches the girl. Perhaps he should stand and play nice, but he is too comfortable with Wren at his side, and is not yet done putting a fresh patch on the elbow of this shirt.
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Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 6:11 pm
There is no apparent reason for Wren to worry, not at first. Jessica's Guardian is a longlegged, big-eared fawn, golden eyes alight, and she appears, much like her Chosen, to be a delicate feminine thing. This aspect is ruined entirely when Iskierka headbutts the horse, startling it a few paces forward so that it leaves the safety of the last of the woods. Satisfied with Jessica's progress, however accidental, Iskierka snorts and then steps forward on gangly legs to slowly approach the other doe.
Jessica drops off of her horse as Iskierka gets uncomfortably close. "I beg your pardon," she says, and her voice gives her away -- she must live in the manor house. Her hands tangle nervously in the horse's mane. "I saw the smoke from your fire." But her eyes are not quite on him, though they do linger with a teenaged girl's sense of appreciation. They slip from him to the deer.
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Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 6:36 pm
"Ah." He finally tugs the needle from his mouth -- and with nimble fingers, he sets back to repairing his shirt, neat stitches binding the fresh patch into place, a vibrant blue against the faded off-white of the clothing. His eyes flick to her between stitches, and aside to the deer, and he finally flashes a smile -- wide, easy, friendly.
"You hungry? Probably not what you're used t'eating..." And no, probably not; jerky and some old vegetables, potatoes had to cut the sprouts out of. It will be too-salty and too-thin at the same time, but it is hot, and fills the stomach, and he will have better once he puts on another show, perhaps...
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Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 8:10 pm
"Oh," Jessica says, astutely; she wrings her hands for a moment before looping the horse's reins over a branch in a way that suggests she has done this before. Following Iskierka's lead, she approaches, though far less confidently than the deer -- and then will stand next to Warwick, hazel eyes wide. "I would be obliged--" and then she sighs as Iskierka puts her muzzle nearly in the pot. "I apologize, she's ... willful."
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Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2012 8:23 pm
"So long's she leaves me some supper, I ain't gunna complain." He watches her with a glimmer of amusement, though, rounding the corner with his stitching and moving fingers over the patch, testing the strength of his sewing. A couple places pull, gap; Warwick quickly ties off and sets to mending this, as well, making a mess of his neat job. Neat but not good enough. It has to gold.
"Though I'd let it lie a bit longer. Meat's still pretty hard. Potatoes're like stone." There is amusement behind that, his shoulders rolling. The only place for Jessica to sit will be stones.
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Posted: Sun Jun 24, 2012 2:44 pm
Jessica watches him for a moment longer, sighing at Iskierka. If Warwick ever has the good fortune to meet any of the other Talbot siblings, he will notice they all share the same longsuffering sort of sigh. But it isn't Iskierka that draws her near; a moment later her shadow falls over him as she regards his stitches. "--I could help you, with your stitching -- a whipstich might be more effective." If he looks up, she has flushed nearly scarlet. The tips of her ears are red. What in the world is she doing with this ... tattooed man?
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Posted: Sun Jun 24, 2012 3:13 pm
He does, indeed, look up -- and grin suddenly, helplessly, at the expression on his face. It's one he's gotten before, certainly. Women usually flinch from him or flirt with him or, more often than not, a bit of both. It only takes a little while for him to charm them calm again, though, to reassure them that the outside doesn't necessarily reflect the insides.
Warwick is charming, not the way men at court are. Charming because he doesn't have anything to hide, and doesn't even bother trying.
"I been at this the better part of a year, on my own. I manage alright. You just sit." He's almost done anyway, just has to patch up another little gap. "Stir that stew."
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 10:42 am
She does as she's told: sits, though she sits on her haunches in a way most unladylike, which may tell him something more about her character. Nevermind that her skirts are the proper length, trimmed in no more than a hint of ruffles, that her shoes underneath are prim and proper little heeled boots, and that she smells like roses. The easy way that she crouches in beside him, perhaps reassured by the fiery little soul of a Guardian next to her, speaks volumes.
She stirs the stew and has the good grace not to peer overmuch into the pot to see just what's in there. "It must be so nice to do as you like, all the time." She tosses her head back; the gesture is vaguely defiant and does little more than cause her long braid of blonde hair to fall over one shoulder. Her fingers tighten around the spoon. Iskierka makes her way up behind Warwick to breathe against the back of his neck, inspecting his odd hair. "Though for only a year? You seem to have taken to it rather aptly."
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 10:50 am
He is done, now; closing up the gaps with several quick little stitches, tying it off with a bit of a mess, but it hardly matters. Warwick is in motion enough that people never get a very good look at his clothing. It is only important that he won't pop a seam and explode out of his clothing, thereby horrifying every woman in the audience. Fingers poke at the patch from behind to make sure it's stable, and in a fluid motion that is more than merely practical, he rolls up to stand.
A quick shrug sheds the suspenders of his pants so that they hang down around his hips, bobbing as he ducks his head into the shirt and pulls it into place to hang open, fully testing out his stitching.
"...alone fer a year." He hums, blinking down at her and watching her stir for a moment before he sets to doing up the buttons. "Before that, me'n my brother. Never lived in a house, ever, if that's what you mean."
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 1:19 pm
Iskierka dances out of Warwick's way when he stands, unbends; he is rewarded with a distinctly irritated snort and than an ineffectual headbutt to the back of one of his legs, hardly enough to do more than wrinkle his pants a bit. The fawn has grown used to getting Jessica to do what she wills. Warwick is altogether different. If the tail end of his shirt is still poking out of his pants, the fawn grabs it in dainty teeth and tugs, insistent.
Jessica, stirring the pot, pauses -- glances over her shoulder towards the treeline, where her horse drowsily nibbles at low-hanging leaves -- and then looks up to Warwick. "That must be quite nice. I live in the manor," and she tips her head in the direction in which she came, "And I am quite smothered there. I've brothers, but they're both out of the house, and much older than I am."
Her tone is vaguely irritated. She is of a marriageable age, and of course it is the only thing she has heard about for, oh, the past year. "I should like to be able to live alone."
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 1:39 pm
Warwick is accustomed enough to Guardians that he reaches back to swat Iskierka away -- and it is only a split second later that Wren steps in to shoulder the fawn aside. Her bulk is enough, perhaps, to knock the youngster off of her feet, certainly enough to toss her out of the way, and it makes Warwick grin at the pair of them, unconcerned.
He is already sliding back down to sit anyway, rolling the suspenders up onto his shoulders and reaching for his abandoned vest. He pauses, though, not putting it on just yet. The heat by the fire is enough that he doesn't need it.
"So do it." His reply to her want is easy, and in three words he proves himself to be exactly the danger her father would have warned against, exactly the kind of trouble that would likely make her brothers scowl. And he does it with no singular intent. It's just what he thinks.
"If y'can stand hunger now and then, and have somethin' you can market...why don't you?" His smile is quick as ever as he leans in to take over the stirring. Her age doesn't much bother him, likely because he'd been younger when he and Reese had set off together. Of course, Reese had been nearly ten years his senior...
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Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 4:01 pm
Jessica laughs -- sudden and girlish and before she can stop herself. She claps a hand over her mouth after a moment, but a chuckle still leaks out, and the sound is so sudden and honest that even Iskierka fans up her ears in surprise. After glancing at her Chosen Iskierka snorts in wee fawn rage, but remains sitting where Wren had bowled her over.
But the laughter eventually dissolves and gives over to a more serious, thoughtful silence -- Jessica looks up at him with wide hazel eyes. She is very young, and though she is not traditionally pretty (and will never be beautiful), her eyes are large and expressive. "I've nothing to market; I can track animals, but who needs that when there are hunters? I have a brother who is a priest," and her tone says exactly what she thinks of that, "and another who is a captain in the navy. I think--..."
And here she stops, considers, wars with what her family has told her her entire life. "I am not cut out for the clergy, nor for the navy, of course, I'm a woman! But -- .."
He's planted a seed in her head, and it worries her. Iskierka picks up on the emotion and eventually climbs to her feet to cross over to Jessica, putting both feet in her lap and pushing her dark head up under her chin. "What do you think? Was it easy for you?"
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Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2012 7:10 am
He blinks at that, eyebrows raising, and it becomes rapidly clear that he's never really thought about this question before. Was it easy for him? Had he ever thought about any other option, was a better one. Warwick shifts, fumbling in his trunk for two mugs, and starts ladling soup into them.
"...well, Reese'n I started performing 'round when I was seven or eight? But that was back when we were with our mam, and her mostly selling that potion she mixed up to swindle people." He is oddly honest about this, turning to offer her the first mug. No protection for the woman. No love lost, either.
"An' we ran off with her mule when I was, I dunno, twelve? Reese was twenty or so, though." He clears his throat and fills his own cup up to brimming. There are no spoons. "So it weren't hard or easy, it's just what we did."
He will simply sip at his own soup for a little pause, for a moment's thought. "Guess it's harder if you got something to give up. But I'm sure there's stuff you can do. Write a fair share better'n I can, I'm bettin'. Keep sums and the like. Could sign on as a clerk somewhere, they're always needed."
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