Everett was immediately agitated at the responses garnered from Lanya. Another one of those things that he really disliked in addition to stupid people who can't help themselves are those that are moribund and morose for what appeared to be little reason at all.
"Cut the martyrdom crap right now," the gumshoe snapped, jaw straightening into a taut line. "I'll go right for the jugular on that one. I don't care how self-sacrificing you are or how woeful your life can be; shit, I don't even really care that you TRIED to kill yourself. Fact of the matter is that the guy in the next room was utterly tortured at the hands of some fucked up people and that there is someone with an agenda after you. I don't have time to deal with how low your self-esteem is or how you perceive the world is out to get you. Man up, grow a pair, and be a little braver."
The gumshoe spoke straight from the heart about that; as anyone's impression would have it, it would appear that it was as unyielding as a rock. Yet, in his eyes, there was a sincere form of compassion that smoldered there. The very same animation that made his dark eyes lacquered coals when gazing hatefully at his arm shone there and in full force. Fact of the matter is, this was Everett's way of expressing his care.
"As for what I have been told," he continued, this time a little less firmly, "Metarie has told me that someone has tried to kill you and that Ramrodulous saved your ass from execution. Beyond that, I don't fucking know a thing. All that I know is that, whatever you tell me, it's going to help me get on the road to piecing this together."
A bard in time saves...
-
Alibi of Tyrants
- Citizen
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Dec 12, 2007 3:24 pm
- Name: Everett
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
A legendary character...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
And there it was. The assertion that she was not brave or strong enough. And he could only be correct. She'd tried to push herself into death's way twice in the past day, and given up as a whole days before when Camulous had first captured her. She had made the conscious decision then to allow herself to die when the opportunity arose, which only shifted slightly to the left when she'd also decided to die screaming profanities into the old judge's face.
But she had decided to die already. Now it was just a matter of when. Everything that happened in between was filler, though she wouldn't call it meaningless. She had found Lucian, and now he was safe and cared for. Whenever she might die, he would not be one of the souls waiting on her arrival.
The only outward sign of these thoughts manifested as arms folded lightly over her chest in the same comfortable position as before and a quiet "Hm." She considered the floor as her reasoning swirled around the metaphorical drain, ever closer to spiraling out of control. She'd been close to avoiding where her mentality was headed before; now she felt her interior begin to sag further, bending until it hung precariously at the breaking point. Her will was ready to crumble, shatter into the pieces which the pressured cracks were even now encouraging. It had splintered and frayed enough that she could actually feel the weight of it against her, and behind those cracks waited the emotional numbness she had felt before. But it was amplified and stronger, and far more permanent than a passing sensation one might feel when making a decision they themself did not agree with and resolving to carry through with it regardless.
While her inner eye studied this numbness in curiosity and a sense of longing, her outer eyes raised to meet his once more. She could not break her habit of meeting eyes while speaking.
"I would like to discuss this once Lucian is cared for and able to hear it as well. I do not wish to needlessly repeat details."
It wasn't intended as a slight or a diversion, and her tone conveyed this with her own sincerity. She did want him to know some of the story, if only to satisfy his need to know. But she thought it would be wasteful to speak once now, and then once again when Lucian demanded the information of her.
But she had decided to die already. Now it was just a matter of when. Everything that happened in between was filler, though she wouldn't call it meaningless. She had found Lucian, and now he was safe and cared for. Whenever she might die, he would not be one of the souls waiting on her arrival.
The only outward sign of these thoughts manifested as arms folded lightly over her chest in the same comfortable position as before and a quiet "Hm." She considered the floor as her reasoning swirled around the metaphorical drain, ever closer to spiraling out of control. She'd been close to avoiding where her mentality was headed before; now she felt her interior begin to sag further, bending until it hung precariously at the breaking point. Her will was ready to crumble, shatter into the pieces which the pressured cracks were even now encouraging. It had splintered and frayed enough that she could actually feel the weight of it against her, and behind those cracks waited the emotional numbness she had felt before. But it was amplified and stronger, and far more permanent than a passing sensation one might feel when making a decision they themself did not agree with and resolving to carry through with it regardless.
While her inner eye studied this numbness in curiosity and a sense of longing, her outer eyes raised to meet his once more. She could not break her habit of meeting eyes while speaking.
"I would like to discuss this once Lucian is cared for and able to hear it as well. I do not wish to needlessly repeat details."
It wasn't intended as a slight or a diversion, and her tone conveyed this with her own sincerity. She did want him to know some of the story, if only to satisfy his need to know. But she thought it would be wasteful to speak once now, and then once again when Lucian demanded the information of her.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
He became aware of her proximity as she entered the bathing room and then interjected herself between him and the tub, taking hold of him to help him to his feet with a slight struggle. There was a brief moment, as he rose, where he was frustrated with himself and in turn her for the continuing need of assistance, and there was a flicker of this in his face as he straightened and looked her in the eyes.
Again, she did not start speaking until he was looking. Somehow, she knew. As she spoke, he further took in the nuance of how she shaped her words, which led to him taking in the expression and shape of her mouth and face.
And then it clicked with him what she was saying.
Disrobe him?
He regarded her for a brief moment, unable to stop his eyebrows from furrowing ever so slightly. Growing up in a gypsy caravan, Lucian was exposed to most things and shocked by very little. But he had lived alone and isolated for years, and the thought of anyone aiding him in the removal of his clothes was not something he was prepared to allow.
But it was evident that she would help. Not to control- but because she would. Whether it was appreciated or not.
Shuffling slightly and not shaking off her grip, he eased himself to lean on the lip of the vat and there began somewhat awkwardly untying the draw strings on his pants with his right hand, looking at her as he did so.
"You are very trusting."
It was a both a comment and a slight challenge. Yes, she had seen inside of him in some way and he was hardly in condition to offer a threat. But the level of vulnerability being demonstrated, in his eyes, was enormous. Enough that she had pushed her ability to heal him to where it began to cause her injury, and that he was in her home. But this- he had no grid for this.
Conquering the mangled knot, he looked at her again.
"How did you know I cannot hear?" He rasped the question and waited for her answer before he would proceed.
Again, she did not start speaking until he was looking. Somehow, she knew. As she spoke, he further took in the nuance of how she shaped her words, which led to him taking in the expression and shape of her mouth and face.
And then it clicked with him what she was saying.
Disrobe him?
He regarded her for a brief moment, unable to stop his eyebrows from furrowing ever so slightly. Growing up in a gypsy caravan, Lucian was exposed to most things and shocked by very little. But he had lived alone and isolated for years, and the thought of anyone aiding him in the removal of his clothes was not something he was prepared to allow.
But it was evident that she would help. Not to control- but because she would. Whether it was appreciated or not.
Shuffling slightly and not shaking off her grip, he eased himself to lean on the lip of the vat and there began somewhat awkwardly untying the draw strings on his pants with his right hand, looking at her as he did so.
"You are very trusting."
It was a both a comment and a slight challenge. Yes, she had seen inside of him in some way and he was hardly in condition to offer a threat. But the level of vulnerability being demonstrated, in his eyes, was enormous. Enough that she had pushed her ability to heal him to where it began to cause her injury, and that he was in her home. But this- he had no grid for this.
Conquering the mangled knot, he looked at her again.
"How did you know I cannot hear?" He rasped the question and waited for her answer before he would proceed.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
A flicker of annoyance crossed Lucian’s face. Metarie had seen the look before and understood it. Being dependent upon another was not an easy thing to do; even more so, when your body let you down. Instead of graciously accepting the help, some became angered at their own perceived lack of strength or ability. Metarie waited for the moment to pass.
Lucian gave a sort of hop-shuffle in order to sit on the flat edge of the bathtub. Metarie stood to the side with a hand and arm across his back. The other hand rested upon his shoulder. Metarie turned her gaze to the alcove next to the bath. The glass-bricks were green and filtered light through them like sunlight through a canopy. The air in the bathroom was humid and pleasant. The atmosphere was soothing.
She could feel the movement of Lucian’s body as he fumbled and tugged at the drawstring of his pants.He was so slender and thin, she wondered how hard his life had been. She wondered at the story behind the scars across his throat and the rest of his body. She wondered at the strange connection that had gone both ways when she had healed him.
“"You are very trusting." Lost in these thoughts, Metarie was startled by the sound of Lucian’s voice in the still room. Her gaze focused back upon his face.
“Trusting?” Metarie did not understand the context of Lucian’s comment. She tilted her head slightly to the side and looked baffled before shaking her head. “I am a healer. You were brought to me to be helped. Until you are well, you are in my care.” Granted, Lucian was different from any she had healed before, but that was mystery to be pondered at some other time.
The jerking movements ceased, but Metarie did not look down to check Lucian’s progress.
"How did you know I cannot hear?" Metarie gave a little smile and glanced at Lucian from the corner of her eye before turning her face to his.
“There were a few tell-tale signs.” A slightly mischievious humor danced in her eyes, “But, I was not sure until you confirmed it. Are you ready?” Metarie indicated the bath with a nod of her head. The solution Metarie had Everett put into the water was concocted in order to cleanse and promote healing. The sensation of the solution was effervescent and tingly, but not unpleasantly so, as the various ingredients worked with the body. Most found the soak relieved aches and pains enough that a proper rest would be more likely afterwards.
Lucian gave a sort of hop-shuffle in order to sit on the flat edge of the bathtub. Metarie stood to the side with a hand and arm across his back. The other hand rested upon his shoulder. Metarie turned her gaze to the alcove next to the bath. The glass-bricks were green and filtered light through them like sunlight through a canopy. The air in the bathroom was humid and pleasant. The atmosphere was soothing.
She could feel the movement of Lucian’s body as he fumbled and tugged at the drawstring of his pants.He was so slender and thin, she wondered how hard his life had been. She wondered at the story behind the scars across his throat and the rest of his body. She wondered at the strange connection that had gone both ways when she had healed him.
“"You are very trusting." Lost in these thoughts, Metarie was startled by the sound of Lucian’s voice in the still room. Her gaze focused back upon his face.
“Trusting?” Metarie did not understand the context of Lucian’s comment. She tilted her head slightly to the side and looked baffled before shaking her head. “I am a healer. You were brought to me to be helped. Until you are well, you are in my care.” Granted, Lucian was different from any she had healed before, but that was mystery to be pondered at some other time.
The jerking movements ceased, but Metarie did not look down to check Lucian’s progress.
"How did you know I cannot hear?" Metarie gave a little smile and glanced at Lucian from the corner of her eye before turning her face to his.
“There were a few tell-tale signs.” A slightly mischievious humor danced in her eyes, “But, I was not sure until you confirmed it. Are you ready?” Metarie indicated the bath with a nod of her head. The solution Metarie had Everett put into the water was concocted in order to cleanse and promote healing. The sensation of the solution was effervescent and tingly, but not unpleasantly so, as the various ingredients worked with the body. Most found the soak relieved aches and pains enough that a proper rest would be more likely afterwards.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
Profile | Thread Tracking
Profile | Thread Tracking
-
Alibi of Tyrants
- Citizen
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Dec 12, 2007 3:24 pm
- Name: Everett
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
Even if she didn't mean to throw that out there as a means for him to get off of her case, Everett took it as such. Dark, furry, and all-too masculine eyebrows that were in dire need of a waxing furrowed into an impatient "v." The corners of his mouth pinched downward into a tightly-wound frown that would look normal and somewhat pitiable if taken from Everett's longish, if somewhat angular face. Despite getting that weird feeling in the pit of his gut when looking right into her face, the gumshoe maintained his consistent line of mano-y-mano contact.
She was beautiful, but gods-damn---she needs to lay off the heavy eye contact.
"But see...here's the deal," Everett said, lowering his voice a little bit as if he didn't want anyone to hear the big secret that he was about to share. "I. Don't. Care." A small sliver of faux mirth upturned his dour expression somewhat; he even punctuated each word with a sharp gesture of his prosthetic hand. It was like a steely and tangible period at the end of each sentence. "And considering that the two of you have almost died like, what, breaths apart? Yeah. I don't think we have the time to spare waiting for somebody to recover.
"In case you don't know what a detective does, we ferret out details and get to the bottom of shit that the local yocals can't get. Problem is, we can be just as clueless as those guys if we don't get our facts as quickly as possible; believe it or not, time is absolutely of the essence for guys like us. To put it mildly, I'm not harassing you because I like to harass people; no, I'm doing it because I don't have time to play games. Unlike you, I don't have time to sit around and thinkthinkthink. I like solving my problems.
"So spill."
She was beautiful, but gods-damn---she needs to lay off the heavy eye contact.
"But see...here's the deal," Everett said, lowering his voice a little bit as if he didn't want anyone to hear the big secret that he was about to share. "I. Don't. Care." A small sliver of faux mirth upturned his dour expression somewhat; he even punctuated each word with a sharp gesture of his prosthetic hand. It was like a steely and tangible period at the end of each sentence. "And considering that the two of you have almost died like, what, breaths apart? Yeah. I don't think we have the time to spare waiting for somebody to recover.
"In case you don't know what a detective does, we ferret out details and get to the bottom of shit that the local yocals can't get. Problem is, we can be just as clueless as those guys if we don't get our facts as quickly as possible; believe it or not, time is absolutely of the essence for guys like us. To put it mildly, I'm not harassing you because I like to harass people; no, I'm doing it because I don't have time to play games. Unlike you, I don't have time to sit around and thinkthinkthink. I like solving my problems.
"So spill."
A legendary character...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
As he spoke onward, listing the reasons he had to know, she couldn't help but flash back to one of her older brothers trying to weasel out some piece of information from her that he simply had to know, or be devastated for the loss of knowledge. The memory brought a smile to her face until lines crinkled at the edges of her eyes. The justifications of his cause in conjunction with his general pushiness amused her further.
A detective would certainly have plenty of experience with interrogations and questionings. It was obvious the sort of person he was used to dealing with. Someone who needed constant reinforcement along with the occasional punch in the mouth. And judging by the difficulty he seemed to be having with eye contact, someone who also did not meet eyes for much longer than a few moments at best.
The laughter spilled from her before she had chance to stop it, and her eyes scrunched closed as she bent forward, placing one hand against her chest as she laughed and laughed until she felt her eyes begin to moisten. She wiped her index finger underneath one rim of eyelashes to collect the excess moisture there, still chuckling as she examined the finger and then regarded the stranger - Everett.
He was crude and sarcastic, and these qualities had given her the first smile she'd worn in days. His rudeness fell on deaf ears; she could see what he was trying to do, and to a degree pitied the lifestyle that he must lead to deal with such people on a regular basis. But in the end he reminded her of one of the sailors she'd met on her journeys, a man worn by life but not broken, merely cynical.
She stepped forward and reached to take his fleshy hand, clasping it between the palm and top of her own hands and staring intently into his eyes to make sure he could see her gratitude.
"Thank you."
She dropped his hand and stepped away, moving through the cupboards to find two mugs and the ingredients for a simple herb tea - something tasty rather than healing. As she moved, she spoke smoothly, balancing her motions with her dialogue so as not to run out of space or breath.
"There is not a pressing need as there was before. You will hear your details and more, you have my word - but I would prefer to wait until we are all present. Metarie may have some information I do not, and you will be able to see the full picture when we can discuss together."
She began filling the pot on the stove with fresh water to boil, and set it on the stove eye before turning to regard him once more.
"Everett, I am Lanya Caliope."
She extended a hand to shake, unable to resist this simple courtesy which he'd denied her on the road. It was a semi-intentional call-back to how they'd initially met, a quiet request for a moment's silent pondering on whatever events might have happened to her - the same mercy she had granted him before.
It did not occur to her to ask if he actually wanted tea.
A detective would certainly have plenty of experience with interrogations and questionings. It was obvious the sort of person he was used to dealing with. Someone who needed constant reinforcement along with the occasional punch in the mouth. And judging by the difficulty he seemed to be having with eye contact, someone who also did not meet eyes for much longer than a few moments at best.
The laughter spilled from her before she had chance to stop it, and her eyes scrunched closed as she bent forward, placing one hand against her chest as she laughed and laughed until she felt her eyes begin to moisten. She wiped her index finger underneath one rim of eyelashes to collect the excess moisture there, still chuckling as she examined the finger and then regarded the stranger - Everett.
He was crude and sarcastic, and these qualities had given her the first smile she'd worn in days. His rudeness fell on deaf ears; she could see what he was trying to do, and to a degree pitied the lifestyle that he must lead to deal with such people on a regular basis. But in the end he reminded her of one of the sailors she'd met on her journeys, a man worn by life but not broken, merely cynical.
She stepped forward and reached to take his fleshy hand, clasping it between the palm and top of her own hands and staring intently into his eyes to make sure he could see her gratitude.
"Thank you."
She dropped his hand and stepped away, moving through the cupboards to find two mugs and the ingredients for a simple herb tea - something tasty rather than healing. As she moved, she spoke smoothly, balancing her motions with her dialogue so as not to run out of space or breath.
"There is not a pressing need as there was before. You will hear your details and more, you have my word - but I would prefer to wait until we are all present. Metarie may have some information I do not, and you will be able to see the full picture when we can discuss together."
She began filling the pot on the stove with fresh water to boil, and set it on the stove eye before turning to regard him once more.
"Everett, I am Lanya Caliope."
She extended a hand to shake, unable to resist this simple courtesy which he'd denied her on the road. It was a semi-intentional call-back to how they'd initially met, a quiet request for a moment's silent pondering on whatever events might have happened to her - the same mercy she had granted him before.
It did not occur to her to ask if he actually wanted tea.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
He took her first response in silence, considering. This was her, who she was- what made her, in a sense. She was healer because such was her shape, her drive- not because she chose it from one vocation over another.
It raised her a notch in Lucian's estimations. She did what was hers, not what she wished was hers. Few ever understood the difference.
When she gave her second response, Lucian shifted slightly when she half-smiled and looked at him out of the corner of her eye before facing him. It was... strangely alluring to him, perhaps purely for the feminine nature of the expression. It made processing her reply a trifle difficult, but he did so, and allowed himself a single self-deprecating laugh.
"Ah."
He paused a moment, considering what he was about to do. He had not been unclothed the presence of another since he was a swaddling child, and to do so now, here-
It was difficult. And if he had been aware of the slight coloring that crept up his neck and behind his ears, he likely would have refused to cooperate any further in his embarrassment.
But he braced up slightly, allowing the loosened pants to, with the aid of a slight shake, slide down to the floor around his ankles. Gingerly he turned, facing away from the healer but allowing her to help brace him, and swung first one leg over the lip of the vat, and then the other. The warm water tingled against his skin as he slid in, gradually easing himself in until he was fully submerged as he righted himself.
He sighed deeply once, then opened his eyes to look at her.
She was beautiful in a way that stuck at him, and he did not know what to do with it other than push it away.
"What is your name?" His eyes remained the same, and the question was a quietly spoken one that carried underlying intensity. He knew such things about her, but not even her name.
It raised her a notch in Lucian's estimations. She did what was hers, not what she wished was hers. Few ever understood the difference.
When she gave her second response, Lucian shifted slightly when she half-smiled and looked at him out of the corner of her eye before facing him. It was... strangely alluring to him, perhaps purely for the feminine nature of the expression. It made processing her reply a trifle difficult, but he did so, and allowed himself a single self-deprecating laugh.
"Ah."
He paused a moment, considering what he was about to do. He had not been unclothed the presence of another since he was a swaddling child, and to do so now, here-
It was difficult. And if he had been aware of the slight coloring that crept up his neck and behind his ears, he likely would have refused to cooperate any further in his embarrassment.
But he braced up slightly, allowing the loosened pants to, with the aid of a slight shake, slide down to the floor around his ankles. Gingerly he turned, facing away from the healer but allowing her to help brace him, and swung first one leg over the lip of the vat, and then the other. The warm water tingled against his skin as he slid in, gradually easing himself in until he was fully submerged as he righted himself.
He sighed deeply once, then opened his eyes to look at her.
She was beautiful in a way that stuck at him, and he did not know what to do with it other than push it away.
"What is your name?" His eyes remained the same, and the question was a quietly spoken one that carried underlying intensity. He knew such things about her, but not even her name.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
A husky laugh left his lips as he realized he had given away his own secret. The slightly mischievious smile stayed upon her face and in her eyes when he answered. Metarie gave a nod and raised her eyebrows. Ah, indeed. The change in his coloring was hard to discern beneath the grime and blood, and as such, went unnoticed. Instead, Metarie focused on keeping Lucian steady as he turned in her light grasp.
Lucian turned away from her instead of toward her. The hand upon his shoulder slid softly across his upper back. The arm and hand that had rested lightly across his midback slid softly over his ribs to rest there. Metarie braced herself as Lucian stepped into the tub, just in case he should stumble while temporarily on one foot. She leaned with him as he slid into the water, arms becoming submerged as his body sank beneath semi-opaque, blue-green water. The fabric of her robe became wet and clung to her arms. Carefully, Metarie slipped her arms from him. Lucian was finally fully beneath the water, only his head left to rest upon the back of the tub. Metarie smiled warmly as Lucian closed his eyes and sighed.
Turning, Metarie reached for a towel to dry as much of the excess water from her sleeves as possible. Lucian looked upon her, but Metarie was unaware of his appraisal. Stepping away from the bath, she moved to the trunk to retrieve additional towels and wash cloths.
“What is your name?” The tone in his voice gave her pause. Something within her responded to the strong feeling that vibrated beneath the question. Metarie closed her eyes, allowing the moment to pass, before turning to Lucian with a smile.
“I am Metarie Sehkhara.” Metarie held Lucian’s gaze. Behind her words the sound of her true name danced, the name he almost knew. Metarie held out a washcloth to him. “Who are you?”
She knew he would give his name, but that would not truly answer the need to know behind her question. The nuance of her tone might have been lost to him, but the look in her eyes perhaps was not. Try as she might, she could not fully shutter the experience from her conciousness.
Lucian turned away from her instead of toward her. The hand upon his shoulder slid softly across his upper back. The arm and hand that had rested lightly across his midback slid softly over his ribs to rest there. Metarie braced herself as Lucian stepped into the tub, just in case he should stumble while temporarily on one foot. She leaned with him as he slid into the water, arms becoming submerged as his body sank beneath semi-opaque, blue-green water. The fabric of her robe became wet and clung to her arms. Carefully, Metarie slipped her arms from him. Lucian was finally fully beneath the water, only his head left to rest upon the back of the tub. Metarie smiled warmly as Lucian closed his eyes and sighed.
Turning, Metarie reached for a towel to dry as much of the excess water from her sleeves as possible. Lucian looked upon her, but Metarie was unaware of his appraisal. Stepping away from the bath, she moved to the trunk to retrieve additional towels and wash cloths.
“What is your name?” The tone in his voice gave her pause. Something within her responded to the strong feeling that vibrated beneath the question. Metarie closed her eyes, allowing the moment to pass, before turning to Lucian with a smile.
“I am Metarie Sehkhara.” Metarie held Lucian’s gaze. Behind her words the sound of her true name danced, the name he almost knew. Metarie held out a washcloth to him. “Who are you?”
She knew he would give his name, but that would not truly answer the need to know behind her question. The nuance of her tone might have been lost to him, but the look in her eyes perhaps was not. Try as she might, she could not fully shutter the experience from her conciousness.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Alibi of Tyrants
- Citizen
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Dec 12, 2007 3:24 pm
- Name: Everett
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
Laughter. All of his prodding, all of his nagging, all of his badassery---met with twinkling, gay laughter and warm hands. And those eyes...they didn't budge. Not nary a flicker to glance elsewhere, a pupil dilation, nothing. They just stared, nakedly, into his face without restraint to the obvious warmth that she practically bled in spite of her morose demeanor.
Everett was thunderstruck.
His first reaction was to simply let his jaw hang open. How in the hell did she go from "woe is I, I may as well hang myself from a belt in front of a Judge's desk!" to...to...this? One of the coolest abilities that he has ascertained from his years as a street urchin was a great sense of empathy---not the sort of empathy that is commonly associated with pity, but the sort of empathy that is commonly associated with gut instinct and know-how. Being a gang member was a study in sociology, albeit through a narrow kaleidoscope that had nothing to it but blacks and whites. Through the fractured lens, he got to see the bloating underbelly of a city that was already an upturned corpse riddled with maggots. Everett has seen these larvae, these maggots, as they burrowed and burrowed into Marn's rotten flesh until they blossomed into the cyclical flies that never go far from the source of its birth.
However, he didn't see this person as a fly that emerged from the festering corpse that was Marn. Not in this Lanya, anyway (what? He laid a Lanya before; so sue him!). There was something else that he was seeing here, something that he just couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps she was like one of those ugly-ass caterpillars amidst the blood and guts of this damn place, enveloped in a chrysalis founded on principles that were nearly inimical to his own belief systems. From this chrysalis she dangled from a precipice, a precarious peak of that she wedged herself on through her own whims. Weird analogy, it was, but there was something here that was too pure.
And it was seriously fucking with his head. People like her didn't exist, did they? Sad-happy creatures that persevered and had large hearts in spite of everything that's been thrown their way? On a normal day, maybe Everett would've attributed such a trait to emotional whoring and weakness. However, those eyes and the naked compassion in her face...
Ah!
Everett's mouth moved, but no words came out; he looked like a puppet whose puppetmaster suddenly lost his voice. He tried moving his hands emphatically in accordance to the silence, as if he were hoping that by going through the physical motions he could wring something out. No go. This continued for a moment or two.
"Gods-damn it, I'm not do---oh, shit. You're welcome, alright?" Everett managed to sputter out, blowing frustrated air through his nostrils. The gumshoe found himself eyeballing that slender hand of hers, strewn with a measure of grainy and calloused whiteness. That same selflessness...
"Pleasure, Lanya," he said, suddenly feeling defeated and overwhelmed. He took the hand and shook it very lightly.
Everett suddenly felt very awkward.
Everett was thunderstruck.
His first reaction was to simply let his jaw hang open. How in the hell did she go from "woe is I, I may as well hang myself from a belt in front of a Judge's desk!" to...to...this? One of the coolest abilities that he has ascertained from his years as a street urchin was a great sense of empathy---not the sort of empathy that is commonly associated with pity, but the sort of empathy that is commonly associated with gut instinct and know-how. Being a gang member was a study in sociology, albeit through a narrow kaleidoscope that had nothing to it but blacks and whites. Through the fractured lens, he got to see the bloating underbelly of a city that was already an upturned corpse riddled with maggots. Everett has seen these larvae, these maggots, as they burrowed and burrowed into Marn's rotten flesh until they blossomed into the cyclical flies that never go far from the source of its birth.
However, he didn't see this person as a fly that emerged from the festering corpse that was Marn. Not in this Lanya, anyway (what? He laid a Lanya before; so sue him!). There was something else that he was seeing here, something that he just couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps she was like one of those ugly-ass caterpillars amidst the blood and guts of this damn place, enveloped in a chrysalis founded on principles that were nearly inimical to his own belief systems. From this chrysalis she dangled from a precipice, a precarious peak of that she wedged herself on through her own whims. Weird analogy, it was, but there was something here that was too pure.
And it was seriously fucking with his head. People like her didn't exist, did they? Sad-happy creatures that persevered and had large hearts in spite of everything that's been thrown their way? On a normal day, maybe Everett would've attributed such a trait to emotional whoring and weakness. However, those eyes and the naked compassion in her face...
Ah!
Everett's mouth moved, but no words came out; he looked like a puppet whose puppetmaster suddenly lost his voice. He tried moving his hands emphatically in accordance to the silence, as if he were hoping that by going through the physical motions he could wring something out. No go. This continued for a moment or two.
"Gods-damn it, I'm not do---oh, shit. You're welcome, alright?" Everett managed to sputter out, blowing frustrated air through his nostrils. The gumshoe found himself eyeballing that slender hand of hers, strewn with a measure of grainy and calloused whiteness. That same selflessness...
"Pleasure, Lanya," he said, suddenly feeling defeated and overwhelmed. He took the hand and shook it very lightly.
Everett suddenly felt very awkward.
A legendary character...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
She smiled as his hand took hers in a gentle clasp and returned the simple shake, adjusting her own grip to remain firm but not domineering. The introduction broke many of her internal barriers, and a newer smile bloomed, spreading her lips to reveal her teeth as her eyes crinkled with mirth again.
"I can tell you are used to a more rough-and-tumble crowd. I am sure to disappoint your expectations of a hardened fugitive fleeing their own death."
Her tone was light and even cheery as she joked about her own status while turning to check the pot. There were tiny bubbles at the bottom, and every few seconds one or two detached to come floating to the surface. The bard held out her hand to hover just over the pot and check the heat radiating from the top; it was hot enough for tea already, and she adjusted the temperature of the stove itself to keep the water heated as she began to concoct an odd combination of flavors. Ginseng, rosemary and ginger entered the pot, along with a healthy dose of sugar to stave off the bitterness. She stirred it until the water itself turned a healthy yellow-green, and took the mugs to carefully ladle the brew into them both. She was mindful of the ingredients she'd added; she doubted the man would appreciate drinking actual leaves.
She stepped forward, holding both mugs and blowing lightly over one more than the other. This one she offered to him with the full expectation of him accepting the offered mug. As she waited for him to accept, her eyes drifted towards Metarie's room and worry danced over her features. She trusted Metarie to care for Lucian, but she couldn't help a moment's wonder as to how her gypsy friend might be faring.
She looked at the table where Flame perched, his feathers fluffed enough to make him look somewhat larger as he eyed Everett with suspicious button eyes.
"Go and check on them, would you?"
The robin huffed and tilted his head at her, then let loose a short whistling reply. The bard looked annoyed.
"Please?"
The bird again huffed and crouched into a feathery bundle of stubbornness, closing his eyes to indicate he would not obey. He would not cater to her needless worry; Lanya could only look exasperated and finally laugh and shake her head as she took a seat at the table. She reached to ruffle the feathers on the tiny bird's chest, and his eyes popped open with another twitter. She smiled and looked up at Everett, quaint curiosity furrowing her brow.
"Earlier, you said you've known Metarie for a while. How long?"
"I can tell you are used to a more rough-and-tumble crowd. I am sure to disappoint your expectations of a hardened fugitive fleeing their own death."
Her tone was light and even cheery as she joked about her own status while turning to check the pot. There were tiny bubbles at the bottom, and every few seconds one or two detached to come floating to the surface. The bard held out her hand to hover just over the pot and check the heat radiating from the top; it was hot enough for tea already, and she adjusted the temperature of the stove itself to keep the water heated as she began to concoct an odd combination of flavors. Ginseng, rosemary and ginger entered the pot, along with a healthy dose of sugar to stave off the bitterness. She stirred it until the water itself turned a healthy yellow-green, and took the mugs to carefully ladle the brew into them both. She was mindful of the ingredients she'd added; she doubted the man would appreciate drinking actual leaves.
She stepped forward, holding both mugs and blowing lightly over one more than the other. This one she offered to him with the full expectation of him accepting the offered mug. As she waited for him to accept, her eyes drifted towards Metarie's room and worry danced over her features. She trusted Metarie to care for Lucian, but she couldn't help a moment's wonder as to how her gypsy friend might be faring.
She looked at the table where Flame perched, his feathers fluffed enough to make him look somewhat larger as he eyed Everett with suspicious button eyes.
"Go and check on them, would you?"
The robin huffed and tilted his head at her, then let loose a short whistling reply. The bard looked annoyed.
"Please?"
The bird again huffed and crouched into a feathery bundle of stubbornness, closing his eyes to indicate he would not obey. He would not cater to her needless worry; Lanya could only look exasperated and finally laugh and shake her head as she took a seat at the table. She reached to ruffle the feathers on the tiny bird's chest, and his eyes popped open with another twitter. She smiled and looked up at Everett, quaint curiosity furrowing her brow.
"Earlier, you said you've known Metarie for a while. How long?"
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie Sehkhara. The smile she carried with her name said more to Lucian than it would have to others. In the past thirty-six hours, many things inside of him had been awakened that had grown dull from disuse, things that Lanya's trust and struggle had summoned out of him.
Perhaps greatest among these was the quiet happiness of being known. A happiness he had told himself he had little need for.
As he grimaced slightly and sat up to extend his arm from beneath the water and take the washcloth, Lucian did not know if he had ever been known, in his life. But he understood the desire for it, the human compulsion to be connected, perhaps better than many who lived with such connection and never comprehended it.
And when he took the cloth from her hand and regarded her, holding her eyes, Metarie's smile said she was glad to be known by him, even as it faded and they studied one another in a moment of mutual silence.
Then at length, he said, "My name is Lucian."
The emphasis subtle but poignant. For a man who in his life had spoken fewer words than perhaps all else in humanity, the inflection of every word carried weight.
"And I am the dancer, not the rhythm." Flicker of a half-smile and he eased back, his attention unwavering on her face. It was an old proverb, one he learned long ago in the gypsy caravan. I do not create this fate, but I meet its flow and make my movements as I see fit.
He had not played at riddles since he was a child. So long ago, separated by so much- as he cupped some water in his hands and used it to wash some of the dirt from his neck, he knew how little that child realized about who he would become. But here, as aches began to seep from his body into the water and pieces of himself that he scarcely recognized woke up in the midst of connecting with other souls, Lucian knew he stood on the brink of rebirth.
The Other in his stomach churned slightly, and part of him knew the rebirth had begun already.
He looked back up at her, satisfied simply in the act and not questioning himself this time.
Then, "Metarie Sehkhara, do you know who you are?" It was rasped as lightly as his voice permitted, and his half-smile flickered once more. It was a challenge, yes, but a playful one- like the game of riddles he knew as a boy. But like the game, the question was to uncover more than the answer.
Perhaps greatest among these was the quiet happiness of being known. A happiness he had told himself he had little need for.
As he grimaced slightly and sat up to extend his arm from beneath the water and take the washcloth, Lucian did not know if he had ever been known, in his life. But he understood the desire for it, the human compulsion to be connected, perhaps better than many who lived with such connection and never comprehended it.
And when he took the cloth from her hand and regarded her, holding her eyes, Metarie's smile said she was glad to be known by him, even as it faded and they studied one another in a moment of mutual silence.
Then at length, he said, "My name is Lucian."
The emphasis subtle but poignant. For a man who in his life had spoken fewer words than perhaps all else in humanity, the inflection of every word carried weight.
"And I am the dancer, not the rhythm." Flicker of a half-smile and he eased back, his attention unwavering on her face. It was an old proverb, one he learned long ago in the gypsy caravan. I do not create this fate, but I meet its flow and make my movements as I see fit.
He had not played at riddles since he was a child. So long ago, separated by so much- as he cupped some water in his hands and used it to wash some of the dirt from his neck, he knew how little that child realized about who he would become. But here, as aches began to seep from his body into the water and pieces of himself that he scarcely recognized woke up in the midst of connecting with other souls, Lucian knew he stood on the brink of rebirth.
The Other in his stomach churned slightly, and part of him knew the rebirth had begun already.
He looked back up at her, satisfied simply in the act and not questioning himself this time.
Then, "Metarie Sehkhara, do you know who you are?" It was rasped as lightly as his voice permitted, and his half-smile flickered once more. It was a challenge, yes, but a playful one- like the game of riddles he knew as a boy. But like the game, the question was to uncover more than the answer.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
"My name is Lucian."
A slight smile flitted upon Metarie’s lips as a knowing look lit in her eyes. The nuance was not lost to her. His next comment earned him a thoughtful look and the opportunity to see the intelligence working behind her eyes. Metarie was not privy to gypsy proverbs, but the correlation, in a spiritual context, was not hard to understand.
“Most of us dance, Lucian.” She said his name, just to hear it outloud once more. Another thoughtful silence fell between the two as they were content to just breathe and be. To Metarie’s nature as a Sensitive, there was something of the Dreaming about Lucian. Perhaps that was what had answered her. In that moment of stillness, Metarie felt something shift and move, but she could not tell if it were within her or within him. As she looked at Lucian, the area around him pulsed and moved with life and magic. Had she more stamina, she would have assessessed him with the skills that allowed her a more distinct Vision.
"Metarie Sehkhara, do you know who you are?" Metarie turned her head to the side, to look at Lucian from the corner of her eyes again. A wistful smile appeared as she looked around the room, before turning her face to his once more.
“I know who I was and I know who I am. Who I will be remains to be…” Metarie paused and that light humor found its way back to her features, “choreographed as I see fit.” Sitting on the edge of the bath, she held out her hands, palm upwards, to Lucian. Her hands were slim, long-fingered, and tapered; typical of her race.
“Please, may I see your left hand?”
A slight smile flitted upon Metarie’s lips as a knowing look lit in her eyes. The nuance was not lost to her. His next comment earned him a thoughtful look and the opportunity to see the intelligence working behind her eyes. Metarie was not privy to gypsy proverbs, but the correlation, in a spiritual context, was not hard to understand.
“Most of us dance, Lucian.” She said his name, just to hear it outloud once more. Another thoughtful silence fell between the two as they were content to just breathe and be. To Metarie’s nature as a Sensitive, there was something of the Dreaming about Lucian. Perhaps that was what had answered her. In that moment of stillness, Metarie felt something shift and move, but she could not tell if it were within her or within him. As she looked at Lucian, the area around him pulsed and moved with life and magic. Had she more stamina, she would have assessessed him with the skills that allowed her a more distinct Vision.
"Metarie Sehkhara, do you know who you are?" Metarie turned her head to the side, to look at Lucian from the corner of her eyes again. A wistful smile appeared as she looked around the room, before turning her face to his once more.
“I know who I was and I know who I am. Who I will be remains to be…” Metarie paused and that light humor found its way back to her features, “choreographed as I see fit.” Sitting on the edge of the bath, she held out her hands, palm upwards, to Lucian. Her hands were slim, long-fingered, and tapered; typical of her race.
“Please, may I see your left hand?”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
Profile | Thread Tracking
Profile | Thread Tracking
-
Alibi of Tyrants
- Citizen
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Dec 12, 2007 3:24 pm
- Name: Everett
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
"Well, I do know one thing," Everett said, propping a leg up on the table and peering over at her. Sprinkles of earth-dust tinkered down on to the tabletop. Like a cat who heard a pin rap delicately against the floor, Everett leaned over to the side and looked at the bottom of his boots. Whoops. Metarie ALWAYS got on his ass for treating her place, as she put it, as an "extension of his personal office." Yes, the willowy elf has seen his place; and yes, she has seen the Furry Turd and sat in it (though she was left mildly uncomfortable after he told her that it came from a brothel).
"You weren't fleeing from death. You were fleeing to it." Everett forced a small smile and continued, wryly. "Anybody who wants to run over to that place is pretty much screwed." Which I don't understand why you, a person who seems as if they would bawl over the death of a dust mite, would be hunted down by a seemingly intangible assassin. This is what Everett WANTED to say, but he kept his claptrap shut for discretion's sake. Also, too, she kept giving him that straight-on look right in the eye with each word she spoke. It was kinda like a snake charmer, only minus the negative connotations. This put him at a loss of words anyway.
The gumshoe leaned back in his chair a little bit, observing the interaction between bird and woman with consideration. Now the bird's intelligence has quadrupled in Everett's view; it staunchly refused a direct order from its master, one that Everett somehow knew that the little robin could understand. There was probably an interesting story behind this pair. And as Everett tried to deduce it on his own, Lanya's question had cut into his reverie.
"Hm? Oh, Metarie?" He leaned back forward and plopped the chair back on its legs. He swiftly rescinded the leg that he had propped up on the table just as he took the coffee mug. Everett nodded just a little bit to show his thanks and continued.
"I've known her all of my life."
"You weren't fleeing from death. You were fleeing to it." Everett forced a small smile and continued, wryly. "Anybody who wants to run over to that place is pretty much screwed." Which I don't understand why you, a person who seems as if they would bawl over the death of a dust mite, would be hunted down by a seemingly intangible assassin. This is what Everett WANTED to say, but he kept his claptrap shut for discretion's sake. Also, too, she kept giving him that straight-on look right in the eye with each word she spoke. It was kinda like a snake charmer, only minus the negative connotations. This put him at a loss of words anyway.
The gumshoe leaned back in his chair a little bit, observing the interaction between bird and woman with consideration. Now the bird's intelligence has quadrupled in Everett's view; it staunchly refused a direct order from its master, one that Everett somehow knew that the little robin could understand. There was probably an interesting story behind this pair. And as Everett tried to deduce it on his own, Lanya's question had cut into his reverie.
"Hm? Oh, Metarie?" He leaned back forward and plopped the chair back on its legs. He swiftly rescinded the leg that he had propped up on the table just as he took the coffee mug. Everett nodded just a little bit to show his thanks and continued.
"I've known her all of my life."
A legendary character...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
She nodded faintly as he verified her own thoughts on Justice Hall. She hadn't been killed immediately upon entering, but if she'd managed to return she would not have expected a warm greeting. Perhaps a torture session before her life was ended. A grim smile shifted her lips into something close to a grimace, and she took a sip of her tea to cover the expression. By the time she settled the mug back onto the table, her face was returned to a placid mask. The mask broke when she favored Everett with a small true smile, though whatever emotion might have guided the attempt did not shine through her eyes.
She reached out the scratch a finger along Flame's back, running her nail from the top of his head to the tip of his tail as he began a low twitter which resembled a cat's purr. Now when she looked at Everett the smile did reach her eyes. His statement of knowing Metarie his entire life brought a moment's close estimation of his age. She could not begin to estimate Metarie's age, having known only one elf personally, and her eyes brightened with active interest as she watched him.
"I only know tales of elves - fairy tales and bard song. What can you say of the actual species?"
It was a risky venture, asking such a crude and rambunctious sort such a question. But she saw that it would benefit her one way or another. Either he would tell her a factual account of elves and their daily lives, and she would come away with far more factual knowledge than before, or she would get an amusing and crude tale of their various shortcomings - which was informative in its own way.
She took another delicate sip of her tea as within her mind, she placed a small wager on which account would emerge from the man's lips. Her bets weighed heavily in the more acerbic direction.
She reached out the scratch a finger along Flame's back, running her nail from the top of his head to the tip of his tail as he began a low twitter which resembled a cat's purr. Now when she looked at Everett the smile did reach her eyes. His statement of knowing Metarie his entire life brought a moment's close estimation of his age. She could not begin to estimate Metarie's age, having known only one elf personally, and her eyes brightened with active interest as she watched him.
"I only know tales of elves - fairy tales and bard song. What can you say of the actual species?"
It was a risky venture, asking such a crude and rambunctious sort such a question. But she saw that it would benefit her one way or another. Either he would tell her a factual account of elves and their daily lives, and she would come away with far more factual knowledge than before, or she would get an amusing and crude tale of their various shortcomings - which was informative in its own way.
She took another delicate sip of her tea as within her mind, she placed a small wager on which account would emerge from the man's lips. Her bets weighed heavily in the more acerbic direction.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
She played well, and she played truthfully.
Though the word she used was foreign to him, watching her eyes told him what she meant. She would dance as she desired, however the rhythm should go. And as the riddle game was meant to, she told him more than her answer. Fate was a reality that she recognized, but in the same moment, she danced around fate, not because of it. Her steps were hers, not merely a product of the rhythm.
Lucian felt himself compelled by her, though compelled to do what, he had no idea- she seemed to understand things that most other people would never even think of, much less ponder over, and that such a person would live in a city- well. It was more than he ever anticipated, to say the least.
When she stared at him, he felt himself being more than just looked at, as though she were trying to see what could not be seen. Like she possessed a truesight of her own and she wanted to know about him.
She was a paradox, a beautiful paradox- and it pulled him in.
When she settled on the edge of the tub he sat up a little more, and hesitated a brief moment at her request, just looking at her- not that he doubted her intention, but he was unsure, regardless. Then Lucian lifted his left hand from beneath the water, the bandages that were wrapped around it now wet and dripping, and he extended it to her, looking at her hands as he did.
Much could be known by the hands. Metarie's said skill and strength, hardship and gentleness, all together in lithe, elegant shape. His eyes raised back to her face, which said it knew both peace and trouble, conflict and hope-
And her eyes- her eyes had not stopped speaking since he had been able to focus on them.
"What are you doing in this place?"
It was not a challenge, or a riddle, but it was genuine wonder. His voice was quiet, as there was no need for volume, but more- it was hushed as though her answer might be a secret, like she were a prisoner here in this wretched city. It would have been easy for Lucian to believe that.
But if not, then why?
Though the word she used was foreign to him, watching her eyes told him what she meant. She would dance as she desired, however the rhythm should go. And as the riddle game was meant to, she told him more than her answer. Fate was a reality that she recognized, but in the same moment, she danced around fate, not because of it. Her steps were hers, not merely a product of the rhythm.
Lucian felt himself compelled by her, though compelled to do what, he had no idea- she seemed to understand things that most other people would never even think of, much less ponder over, and that such a person would live in a city- well. It was more than he ever anticipated, to say the least.
When she stared at him, he felt himself being more than just looked at, as though she were trying to see what could not be seen. Like she possessed a truesight of her own and she wanted to know about him.
She was a paradox, a beautiful paradox- and it pulled him in.
When she settled on the edge of the tub he sat up a little more, and hesitated a brief moment at her request, just looking at her- not that he doubted her intention, but he was unsure, regardless. Then Lucian lifted his left hand from beneath the water, the bandages that were wrapped around it now wet and dripping, and he extended it to her, looking at her hands as he did.
Much could be known by the hands. Metarie's said skill and strength, hardship and gentleness, all together in lithe, elegant shape. His eyes raised back to her face, which said it knew both peace and trouble, conflict and hope-
And her eyes- her eyes had not stopped speaking since he had been able to focus on them.
"What are you doing in this place?"
It was not a challenge, or a riddle, but it was genuine wonder. His voice was quiet, as there was no need for volume, but more- it was hushed as though her answer might be a secret, like she were a prisoner here in this wretched city. It would have been easy for Lucian to believe that.
But if not, then why?
Yar, says I.