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 Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 5:01 pm
Things had been looking up, had been, past tense. The presence of the deer fawn, the one in fact still prancing some paces behind him, made shows a little more lucrative, that much was true. It weren't as if Nikulin had made him famous, far from it, but the payout had risen and with it, so had his confidence. Prokhor thought with a smidgen of practice and a lot of drive, they'd become well known in mere months. The truth of the matter was, in a month he'd wound up with almost nothing.
Self-confidence had foolishly sharpened into pride, then quickly it turned cocky, as if he'd lost his way at 'something to prove' and slipped right into 'nothing can stop me.' Daily practices between chosen and guardian had increased, as had performances, to the tune of a little bit of pocket change and the loss of a full-time job when he decided showing up each morning was no longer important. Despite his dreams, that had been the only real thing keeping a roof over his head and food in his stomach. Now the money pouch tied at his hip was so light it may as well have been empty. In the next few days or so, he would no longer be able to afford meals in town.
It was shameful.
Even as he walked now, his eyes were lowered, face half-hidden in the soft fur and cushioning fat of the rabbit cradled in his arms. 'If only I could eat grass and be happy, as you, my friend,' he thought, shifting Adair's weight. He was heavy, but there was hardly a choice otherwise, his pet would never keep up unless carried. If Prokhor still had a home to return to, if he hadn't failed himself and his makeshift family of animals, none of this would be happening.
"Well, I tried," he spoke aloud this time, to the rabbit or the deer, it didn't quite matter. "I knew it was a long shot, but it is still disappointing." The hustle and bustle of the dock was close, though he slowly began to leave it behind. This was the last place he had been employed before the job recently lost. If he begged, he thought, they'd take him back. Unfortunately, they knew all too well the extent of his work ethic and turned him away. With the day far from over, and a job far from had, he already felt nearly too downtrodden to continue.
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Posted: Sun Jun 15, 2014 5:07 am
It was purely whim that guided Frank on most matters of leisure. Of course, business was approached carefully and critically, and sometimes he might humor the occasional, still-somewhat-questionable prescience that just sort of happened, but no, ol' innkeeper Varick had ended up wandering his old hunting grounds not with the intention of seeking new blood for hire, old blood to catch up with, blue blood to leer at (not that those types usually came around here), nor even blood soon to be spilled; it was not some grand vision that promised to guide him to prosperity, either. He had just damn well felt like it.
The witch's familiar, Erasmus, was definitely pleased by this divergence from routine, especially since he wasn't always allowed to accompany Frank on his outings—notably, when the man was off to, in his words, see some 'dirty birdies,' which the young rook completely did not understand—but this seaside scene! Carried by the breeze, Erasmus had made it a game of startling unsuspecting pedestrians by swooping them or, more cheekily, eavesdropping nearby only to butt in with a flutter of wings and words cheerfully repeated. Fortunately for the bird, if anyone sought retaliation against him, they would be quick to drop the idea and carry on their way once they caught sight of the man, slouched smoking and surly, he would always return to.
Both of them seemed to focus in on the same passerby at the same time as Erasmus alighted on Frank's shoulder, the young man with the very interesting choice in companions piquing their interest immediately, and the innkeeper trailed after, taking a closer look just to be sure but yes, there was no denying it: that was a deer with him. The rook recognized the creature, also, muttering some swear about stagllions, but Frank's dark gaze moved to the rabbit in the stranger's arms as he fell in step with him, puffing away at his cigar and speaking as easily as if they'd always known each other.
"You better keep trying," he advised vaguely, even as he had no idea what the boy was on about. He just wanted to hear him talk again. There'd been something familiar in his voice, the final confirmation he needed for this to be the most surprising (and possibly infuriating) find of the day by far. "Disappointments are just as much a part of life as triumphs." Yeah, he was such a wise and majestic witch.
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Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2014 11:14 pm
It was the smell that caught his attention first, subconsciously in retrospect. Acrid and thoroughly unpleasant as it was, he had worked in the past among so many unsavory odors, among half-dead fish and decay and the dulled, bronzy twinge of blood never quite cleaned up right, a life that permeated for years the skin of any man who lived it. Such things rarely bothered him much anymore, and as public as the near middle of the street was, he'd have no say in anyone else's choice to smoke or not. Soon it would pass, the smoke wafting and dissipating in the light breeze; the tang of the riverside would take over in mere moments certainly, at least until he was far enough away that he could leave it and, with any luck, his soured mood behind.
The thought of it all slipped away from him as quickly as he'd processed any of it in the first place. It wasn't until someone spoke, clear enough and loud enough that they could be no where but right next to him, did he suddenly realize the scent had never blown over. Surprise had him inhaling sharply, and he choked for the foolish move, coughing against the offending smoke that filled his lungs. The noise and sudden movement made the rabbit in his arms squirm a bit, barely significant enough to be called a struggle, but he was quick to smooth back his ears and calm him as his own breaths began to mellow into a normal rhythm again.
The man he didn't know, the stranger who had addressed him, had apparently heard him talking in a pout to himself, cut an intimidating figure. Much broader and thicker limbed and weathered with an obviously longer life than he had experienced so far, Prokhor wondered just what he meant by cutting in with those words. Mulling over it didn't earn him much, the boy was never a thinker in that way, so instead he did as he did so well, he smiled (though it was tainted with a bit of fakeness in this instance) and went to make friends.
"Ah, do you think?" It would be immediately obvious upon opening his mouth that he was a foreigner, his tongue dripping with accent as it was, though he spoke the language well enough and understood it even better. "I do think that is good advice, but it is not always easy to remember." There was a slight twinge in his gut at that, talking his downfalls, even vaguely and indirectly, with a man he'd just met (and met in the loosest sense of the term). It was embarrassing, but he would brush it off as he did most other things, or try to, and continue to grin as if he too felt nothing strange in the undue familiarity in the way they spoke to each other.
"Do you not agree... ah..?" He was fishing for a name. And perhaps Nikulin was, as well, when he bleated from behind, glossy eyes swiveling from man to bird to man and back again.
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