Consolation Prize

Consolation Prize

Postby Glenn » Thu Jun 20, 2013 9:04 am

On this fine, overcast Myrken day, a messenger with a small box will appear before Catch's little shack behind the Dagger. He would read the message attached to the box.

Mister Catch,

I know you said we should have tea. I would like to do so soon. I want to get to know you a little better first. I don't want you to hurt yourself on my armor again. I hope we will talk soon so we can be friends. I heard you like animals. I had a rooster sent from my family's farm. I had it put in the box for you. I hope you will like it and see it as a sign of friendship. I will talk to you soon

Elliot Brown Gahald


There was, in fact, a rooster in the box. The Messenger was very glad to be rid of it.
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Re: Consolation Prizes Are Meant to be Won

Postby catch » Sun Jun 23, 2013 7:05 am

He is loathe to inflict any hurts upon the Dagger's innards. But that is secondary to a different hurt, a fresher hurt, one that came on the wings of a fat, ill-tempered rooster. Change. The young Knight had experienced Change, and Catch knew he caused Change, that he did things to people that could not be undone. Gloria had, inadvertently, put the idea into his head, and it grew into a bitter weed. Catch had wanted a Knight. Somehow, he had made that happen. Somehow, an apology must be made.


Nailed to Elliot Brown's door was a rooster. It's belly was split wide, ribs splayed to the world, gnawed flesh still clinging to yellow-white bone, sagging like an empty sack, stuffed with scraggled, trailing flowers, tiny purples of Nightshade glinting in wintergreen skies past limp, dangling feet. Each wing was half-spread, and carefully, sticky-glued to one was a bit of paper, so distorted by the glue that it was difficult to read.

In Gloria's hand, it read only ELLIOT.
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby Glenn » Mon Jun 24, 2013 9:15 am

Beauty was everything.

Oh, other things mattered such as loyalty and trust and bravery, but ultimately, there was one thing in this world that mattered more than all else and that was beauty. This? This gift nailed to a door? This gift with a note attached to it? This returned and changed gift, something that had been sent in good faith and was returned transmogrified into some sort of chimeric combination of flora and fauna, it was not beauty. It was a tragedy.

Of all that he had met, Catch saddened him the most. There was such pain and loss and good intention in the warped man. He had struck at Elliot with violence and unpredictability. Elliot had expected Catch to eat that rooster. He had been told of his love of animals, but still, a rooster was a rooster and he was a large, strange man. That was fine. It was the rooster's role in life to be eaten, to wake people up and to be eaten. Everyone had their roles in life. It was one of the things that made life so beautiful. Elliot's role was distinct. It shined and he shined for it. He rose it up and it rose him up. The rooster's role was the same.

Catch had struck at the purity of Elliot's gift, had defaced it utterly, yet the young knight could not feel disdain towards him for it. He just felt sadness, sitting down before his door, staring up at it. Catch, like all the others here in Myrken, perhaps even more so, was a victim of the Inscribed Witch. Maybe, he was even a victim of more than that. Elliot sat and he stared and he made a vow upon all of that which was most sacred, upon beauty itself. "I will help you, Catch, I will. I will save you and make you whole once more."

The rooster was taken down and like all of the worthwhile dead in Myrken Wood, the rooster was burnt. It deserved no less.
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No Consolation At All

Postby catch » Mon Jun 24, 2013 11:35 am

He was careful He was quiet. Miss Gloria, after their gorging of cakes, had fashioned for him straps to wear, to keep his horn a comforting weight, a constant, presence, against his back. It was easy to slip through the woods after the wayward Knight, making little noise. The Wood was his. They were his element, like the moon and the stars, all the stars that he kept safe within his head.

Whatever he had expected Ser Elliot to do with his beautiful gift, it was not this.

He did not suspect when he came to the ash-piles outside of town. Did not suspect when the rooster was placed on the sweet-scented wood, oiled to hide the smell of burning meat, cast downwind so none of it, smoke or sweet-hot smell or the stench of those to be burned that day, could not overly bother the walls of the just-seen town.

The rooster, the flowers, the painstakingly-written note that said 'ELLIOT', burst into flames.

He could not see very well. The fire-pits had been cleared of shrub and bush, of all trees, and before the town had become prosperous enough to bring in treated wood - before Glenn Burnie - the pines, oaks, and birches had been cleared in any case, where the efforts to pull the pieces for the bonfires was not too great. He was out too far, a glimmer hesitant among the remaining trees, the only thing coming to his eyes is the flare of orange, and the distant smell of oils, of myrrh. Of pretty, purple nightshades blackening, peeling. Of bone turning black and orange. Of clawed toes, curling tight, as the tendons were drawn and hardened by the flame.

The small, distant figure turned, and it fled, and not even the tapered, twisted sword-horn bouncing against his back could stem the crush of tears that blinded his eyes.
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby Jirai » Wed Jul 03, 2013 1:58 am

Ser Catch,

I am very sorry that we were not able to speak more at the Ball. I am sure you understand that I have been very busy of late. I would dearly love to speak with you and I hope you might join me for some tea and a picnic by the lake this afternoon.

Sincerely,

Rhaena Burnie
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby catch » Wed Jul 03, 2013 2:23 am

He did not understand at all.

He was hurt. He was angry. He was forgotten by Ser Elliot, and that was almost the worst sin. The worst was a hand, a stone-wrought hand, withdrawn. Taken away, as if he were some vile thing, some filthy thing, not to be trusted, not to be adored.

He had been inside her mind. He knew her Taste, just as well as she knew his. It is easy for him to believe rumors, though such a trusted personage as Miss Gloria would, could, never be questioned.

When the man came to read the letter, Catch lay crumpled against the door, pressed, the earthen-stamped floor of his little shack a cool bruising against his hip, a hard palm pressed against the wood, a long, hair-curled ear meant to hear through the tiny cracks. For a long, long time, he was silent. If this man did not know him well, then he would have come away, given up, long before Catch finally answered, a muffled, terse "Alright," like a King conferring a favor.

He could not say which afternoon, or when, precisely, an afternoon had come. Some internal part of him knew, and he came to the lake in one of his cast-offs, clothing pawned and bought for cheap by those who cared to see him clothed, and assembled with a magpie's eye for color and pattern - that is to say, none at all, a gaudy bit of noise to make of for the actual noise that he did not make, a vast sail of checkered colors and bright patterns. And there is the horn, a comforting weight upon his back, keeping his shirt pinned to his body - for this shirt did not have button, it had ties, and they proved too baffling to the addled man.

At least it would be cool.
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby Jirai » Wed Jul 03, 2013 2:30 am

It was a lovely afternoon. The sun played amongst the clouds, a gentle breeze ruffled the grass and leaves, providing some relief from summer's warmth. And down by the lake, a blanket spread across the ground, a basket of tasty treats, and tea service for three.

She was there, of course, sitting neatly at one corner of the blanket, a teacup in hand. Her knight stood nearby, the taller figure of her guard more distant yet. When he drew nearer, she looked up at him with a smile and patted the blanket beside her.

"Catch! Come, sit with me. I have tea and I even asked Miss Genny to bake a pie for you."
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby catch » Wed Jul 03, 2013 2:40 am

His skin was silver-pink, the consequence of being so unclothed for so long under a hot sun, and with pale, fishbelly skin that was ill-suited for the rays. That had been a problem, a problem in Jernoah. They had thought he would die, and quickly. How wrong. How wrong it had all been.

It is a perfect, lovely scene, a many-stitched quilt, a lady atop it. Tea and dainties. Honey-cakes? No. Pies. And not just any pies, but a Miss Genny pie, and Catch's pacing brought him closer. It brought him to manners, at least, and though his hard, too-bred face did not change it's slack expression, there was avaric greed in the depths of his doe-like eyes, an eagerness for sweets that led him to the quilt, that Lady, her Knight. There is not even something so base as a greeting for him. But, for Rhaena, he will attempt civility.

"Wh-wh-what sorts of tea," he will ask, sullenly, hunkering back on his haunches, his bare toes barely scraping the edge of the quilt. "Please," he adds, a moment later. And then, finally, a "Hello."

His eyes are constantly a-roving, looking at everything and seeing nothing, with glances, more than most, towards the promised pie.
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby Jirai » Wed Jul 03, 2013 2:49 am

"Peppermint," She answered gently, "with a hint of ginger." And the lady would set down her own cup to pour one for him, offering it up with a pleasant smile. "And Genny tells me the pie is berries and rhubarb, perfect for a summer day like this, don't you think? Would you like a slice, Catch?"

It is polite, a kindness. Or it is bribery. As always, it depends on one's own view. The matter of Catch had been the cause of some discussion with the man in white earlier. The sort of discussion that this lady has become quite unaccustomed to, surrounded as she is with those who match her own thoughts. A discussion that led to this blanket spread upon the grass, this tea and this pie. She is already serving up a large wedge for the madman.
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby catch » Wed Jul 03, 2013 2:57 am

What had happened, the last time he had taken tea in the woods? Shattered trees, a scorched place in the earth. A Cinnabar that had almost twisted, Changed. Catch feared Change, most of all. Change meant he would be forever alone. Change was blood in the streets, and fire in the lungs, and then blackness, ruin, and he would wander, alone, with only the stars to comfort him.

Forgotten. Like Ser Elliot had forgotten him.

"Peppermint isn't. It's n-n-not straight." he tells her, even as a hard paw extends, eager to take that offered slice of pie. "Th-th-there's too m-m-much to think of, in Peppermint Tea, all hot and c-c-cold and spicy and not. But I will have some pie. Thank you." Once it is in his hands, he shall not stand on ceremony. He will eat his pie, with fingers, managing his mess to a minimum, and his eyes flickered between the two, expectant, his mouth busy while his mind was not. It was not until, in-between bites, that he will speak, the white curls of his moustache peppered with berry.

"Miss Genny makes good pies. I'm g-g-glad she hasn't forgotten me." He has not lost his sullen, half-angry tone, pies or not.
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby Jirai » Wed Jul 03, 2013 3:02 am

"I'm sorry, Catch. I didn't know peppermint wasn't straight. What kind of tea do you prefer? That way I shall know for the next time." The knight was a quiet thing for now, all polite smiles and stillness.

The lady set the tea aside. "I am glad you like the pie, Catch. I've another for you to take back with you. Perhaps you could share it with your friends, or maybe just eat it all by yourself." She grinned at him. "Genny is very good at making pies, isn't she? Tell me, Catch, do you know where Genny used to live?"
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby catch » Wed Jul 03, 2013 3:09 am

"It isn't," he insists, and she asks what kind of tea that he prefers, and the addled man must think a moment, before he answers, and his answer is no tea at all. "Rum," he says; while Rhaena was in a giving mood, he should try, and his face stays very, very straight. "Rum-tea is b-b-best, for speaking. It sets all the worm-paths straight."

Another pie. Catch shoves the last bit of crust on his mouth, and chews, cheeks a chipmunk's bulging as he regards her. Wary is a word, wary in a way he had never been before Gloria, before rumors, before a hand pulled away.

"She was a Thessh - sh-sh-she c-c-came from. From Thessil-way," he says, unable to put together a word that was not insulting, deliberately - or not - misunderstanding. He even points to the sky, to the star from which all Thessils came, though it could not be seen in a bright, summer sky.
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby Jirai » Wed Jul 03, 2013 3:16 am

Rum tea. Rhaena blinked at that. "Well, I'm afraid I didn't think to pack any of that in the basket today, Catch. Perhaps the next time." Or not. Catch intoxicated was not the goal of this, not at all. She took a sip of her not-straight peppermint tea.

"Yes, she came from Thessilane." Another sip as the lady regarded the madman. "Catch, I have a favor to ask of you. I need your help."
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby catch » Wed Jul 03, 2013 3:28 am

The tea, then, is a loss, and Catch will shift himself, and set down the dainty plate - the plate that must not be smashed - absently picking at the berry-stain on his moustache, his tongue licking free crumbs and rhubarb-jam from his lips. He knows what he has done. He has stricken out at the Black Man, a Man who served My Lady, a term that Catch had - gladly - once placed on Rhaena himself. He has struck, and here, here there is tea, and Genny-wrought pies, and words of Thessil-lands. And there is Lady Rhaena, cool and calm, her idiot-smiling Knight at her side. A Knight who would burn a precious thing like a gift.

"Why?" he asks, bluntly. As if he were a man of thought, capable of reasoning, and he would be proud of himself if he had the mind to be. And if the word did not come out so petulant. "Why sh-sh-should I d-d-do favors? Why sh-should I help?" He leans in close, lewd almost-muzzle thrusting, his eyes a glittering danger. "You sh-sh-should, should g-g-get rid of the Black Man- p-p-p-put him down a deep, dark hole, and have Ser Elliot remember me, and Glenn remember me, t-t-too. Then I may help."
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Re: Consolation Prize

Postby Jirai » Wed Jul 03, 2013 3:41 am

"Why? Because you are the only one who can do this thing." She answered his first 'why.' But he continued on, leaving the gowned woman blinking at him, setting her teacup down on its dainty saucer. "Catch, my dear, Elliot and Glenn both remember you. How could they not? Glenn had to leave for a little bit, but I am sure he will tell you so himself when he gets back. And how could Elliot forget you? He sent you a present, even."

She held her hand out to the addled man. "Do you know about the Wall, Catch?"
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