Double-talk

Double-talk

Postby Niabh » Fri Jan 22, 2016 2:22 pm

He'd been drinking. He'd charged the whiskey to his room.

Now Chandler Manning stumbled upstairs to his wholly inadequate room in this dingy inn to which he had been exiled. His eyes were bleary, and he scratched at the sandy stubble upon his neck. Have to do something about that. Have to do something about…all of it. But not now. In the narrow upstairs passage, he lurched side to side as if on the deck of a ship, lightly laying his hand upon the wall to keep his balance--but he lurched quietly, in spite of the heaviness of his shoes. Wouldn't do to wake the guests at this hour. He'd been too well-brought-up not to be a civilized drunk. Still he had to count the doors to figure out which was his own.

At the door, he dug into his pocket and wrapped a handkerchief--really more of a great tasteless strip of blue flowered cloth wholly alien to his otherwise fine attire--around one hand, as if he disdained to dirty himself with the iron door handle, and pushed the door open just enough to slither through the gap and snap it closed behind him. His expression brightened to find an identical dark-haired man already inside, huddled over his desk as he scratched out a letter by the ill-suited light of a cheap, guttering candle.

At once he straightened his back, drew back his shoulders, ran a hand over his rumbled hair and was miraculously undrunk, unrumbled, eyes clear and brilliant and brutal with merriment, mouth narrowing to a thin-honed knife's slash of a smile.

"You're going to want to hear me out before you start screaming," he began.
Anything can be magic if you're gullible enough.
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Re: Double-talk

Postby Nikolaide » Fri Jan 22, 2016 2:44 pm

Moments before, Chandler - sober-as-a-judge Chandler - had been having trouble concentrating. His pen hung poised over the page on the small plank writing desk on the far wall of his too-chilly room, and had been steadied there for some time. However, for all his efforts to begin, the man's only evidence his utensil held any ink at all were a few errant splatter marks where it dripped from his idle pen nub. It was late, even for a life-long city dweller, and he looked longingly toward the bed and scratchy wool covers awaiting him on the opposite side of his living space. His father needed to know of the occurrences thus far. He just didn't know where to begin. He wasn't sure he wanted to begin. He missed his room back home. He missed his servants. He debated lying outright - perhaps that would make the words flow more readily and then he could allow himself to sleep.

When the door creaked open, however thankful he might have been for the intrusion, the real Chandler slammed his pen down. "Are you aware," he growled, pressing his palms into the top of the desk as if to rise, "of the hour? I am quite busy and I am in no mood to be interrupted to have my wine refreshed or my candles re-wicked or my linens changed or whatever else you felt couldn't wait until-"

It was at that moment that Chandler's gaze made it over his shoulder. A yell didn't quite escape his mouth, but he did manage a rather emasculating, "waaaaahh." It was a wheeze stirred into a scream that caught in his throat with the warning of the man who looked identical to him. He scrambled backward, nearly crawling up his desk. He grabbed his pen and weilded it dagger-like before him. Paper scattered. His ink well tipped and murky black liquid began spreading in all directions from the bottle. "What. What!" he shout-whispered, rage beginning to stifle his flight instinct. Ink pooled around the hand that braced him on the wooden surface. "What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself immediately!"
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Re: Double-talk

Postby Niabh » Fri Jan 22, 2016 3:13 pm

The second Chandler's grin spread wider, a touch too wide for his face, so that the points of his very fine eyeteeth appeared at the corners, lewd and vulpine. He glanced skeptically at the waving penknife, then held up one well-manicured hand in boredom. "Put that thing down. There's ink running onto your boots, by the by."

He cast his gaze around the room, for the moment ignoring Chandler while keeping an eye out for a potential incoming jab. There was a grim, irrational stab of envy. Much bigger than his room. Warmer too. His eye roved over Chandler's latched cases, dismissed them as too cumbersome and the rest of the room's few furnishings as unsuitable and potentially unreliable. Finally he stretched an arm very carefully and hooked the back of Chandler's discarded chair, dragging it into reach with a squeal and rattle of wood-over-wood. He wedged the high back under the door handle, then sat on it and leaned back with his ankle propped on the opposite knee. He had an inkling this one responded well to formality.

"I wanted to give you a bit of warning that you might be in trouble," he began, in a voice that sounded like Chandler at his most bored. "Other than the obvious trouble you're already in. And I don't mean me. Please." He gestured gracefully toward the bed. "Do sit down."
Anything can be magic if you're gullible enough.
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Re: Double-talk

Postby Nikolaide » Sat Jan 23, 2016 1:29 pm

Chandler never smiled like that. Did he smile like that? He hoped he didn't smile like that. He did feel his mouth take on a most magnificent frown as it dawned on him that he'd been horribly frightened in front of himself. Or in front of a stranger. In front of a mirage? Hallucination? His distaste for small towns and the peasant people in them renewed, he went on,

"I'll put this down when you explain just what in God's name is going on here." He did a double-take as he caught sight of the running ink that the other man indicated, flicking his eyes down just for a moment, pausing, and then scrambling to right the errant container, forgetting his makeshift weapon in the process. He pushed his cases out from under the desk with a kick of a stained shoe and started trying to rescue papers off the inky surface, ledger first, clutching all of his writing close to his chest.

"Shit. What is... is this some kind of joke? You're. You're me," he said the last word in a very urgent whisper. "Am I dying?"
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Re: Double-talk

Postby Niabh » Thu Jan 28, 2016 3:06 pm

"From the moment of your birth, Chandler Manning." His brows lifted in mild surprise that anyone needed to be told this basic fact. "Everyone dies, but for the Blessed." His gaze lowered reverently and he kissed the ball of his thumb. "But I am not your fetch, Chandler Manning. Quite the opposite."

All the while there was a strange wonderment in his tone as he gazed upon his double. Something about this always made him want to treat them like newborn babies--to cuddle them close and count their toes to make sure everything was intact. To make sure everything was right. But the name glowed between them like an ever-strengthening candle, clearing aside doubt as the flame bloomed brighter to drive back the shadows. It was a thing he could almost feel, almost see; he could have described the color of it had anyone put him to the question: brilliant blue, almost silver, but with a glistening purple, dark as venous blood, at its heart.

He leaned back, chair creaking against the door, and steepled his fingers. "You are a fortunate mortal, for this place is full of death and danger. But so long as there are two of us, death will always veer a little to your left side, for even death cannot be sure which of the pair of us is the true Chandler Manning. Therefore be calm and easy."
Anything can be magic if you're gullible enough.
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Re: Double-talk

Postby Nikolaide » Fri Jan 29, 2016 2:41 am

Chandler's eyes widened, narrowed, and widened again, like a child first seeing the ocean, then trying to conceptualize the vastness of it all at once. It was a moment before he spoke again, but when he did the bitter notes had returned to his timbre.

"That is quite a patronizing speech," he stated, all vinegar and honey, still carefully monitoring his volume, "considering you come before me wearing my face." And voice. And clothes. He stifled a shudder, turning to set his papers safely on the bed. "And yet you expect me to believe this. .. this trickery is a sign of your benevolence? Of my good fortune? You are my image, but you know my mind very little." Which was a small comfort, all things considered.

Once the papers were stacked smartly, ledger beneath, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket and began to clean the ink off of his dominant hand. Dark smudged stains remained on his palm.

"I am growing tired of this exchange. Let us speak plainly. What is it you want? Money?" He barely looked up, sounding bored as the other Chandler had just moments ago, "Name your price."
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