Loss... Found?

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Glenn » Thu Apr 09, 2020 10:00 am

You didn't go through life shooting your mouth off like that without getting hit. A lot. It had been a while, maybe, but the two had been right. Rhaena (and her large and often angry brother and his lupine wife). The drow and whatever happened down there. Catch. How many others? Even his friends. Calomel once tossed him across the Dagger. Ariane had gotten her licks in when appropriate. Having a friend like Agnie meant... well, there had been a lot of punches, and moments like this, on a road paved with insults and with a kept gate as literal as a door to spark their arrival? Well, you found yourself ready for them.

A number of things happened at once, none of them particularly dramatic. The door opened. The impending knock became an expectant punch. A fist was a fist. Recognition hit Glenn before the fist did. It was the older one, and damn was that not the most satisfying thing imaginable in this one, frustrating moment. A bright smile flashed upon the face of the former governor and it was with that smile that he met the inevitable fist. His face turned slightly so that it was a broad section of his left cheek that was struck and he fell backwards dramatically (too dramatically) with the impact, sailing a few feet across the room to land upon his posterior.

Was there a kick coming? There was almost always a kick coming and if there was, he'd squint through the pain with ready hands and maybe even a ready blade. A punch was one thing. A kick was another. If there wasn't a kick though, he'd inspire regret along those lines spit for effect as much as anything else (he'd pay for the cleaning later), and say with a groan, "See, if it was raining, you never would have landed that, what with your hip and all."

Had there been a kick already? Was there a kick on its way? What about from the younger one? When you were Glenn Burnie and looking the ripe old age of thirty instead of a cherubic and cheerful twenty (no matter how old you actually were at either point, older for the first and younger for the second), everything really depended upon the potentiality of a kick.
Glenn
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2896
Joined: Fri Jul 06, 2007 4:00 am

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Rance » Thu Apr 09, 2020 10:52 am

"Well, I'll be damned," Corm McKinnon said, shaking his right hand out like a loose rag. "She said you'd take it, and probably smile."

Corm stood just behind the threshold, having not been invited — though he'd certainly invited his own hand to cross the boundary. Niceties and all. He leaned an elbow in a striped sleeve against the jamb and held his other hand out for Yates, who produced a rolled parchment from his belt and clapped it into Corm's open palm.

"Three years, if you want to know, Ser Bylaws. The Inquisitory was relatively quiet, and it was a good time to learn a new trade. But old habits die kicking and screaming, and while wrestling and killing aren't really my favorite game anymore, I don't turn down a chance to wake up my knuckles, especially on the face of the man whose monster-in-matrimony turned this place into her favorite plaything. Seventeen years as a Constable gets its claws in you. Old debts, new ways."

Unceremoniously, Corm threw the rolled parchment on the floor, where it rolled, rolled, rolled, and finally came to a crinkling stop against Glenn's left foot. All the while, Corm watched him, his sallow face a sheet of carved limestone: soft, pliable, and simultaneously rock-stern.

"But be my guest. Test out the hip."

Then he tugged a frayed rag from the front pocket of his woolen vest, balled it up, and threw it at Glenn. For his face.
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2452
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Glenn » Thu Apr 09, 2020 11:20 am

"Yeah." Burnie responded from his vantage point on the ground. No kick came, so he relaxed, if only a little, into the pain that was starting to seep across his face. "Information. That's the value of the Inquisitory. Could be that I'd be inclined to run you through instead. Speaking of information, did she tell you about the pit fighting?"

He let that sit out there, no matter the man's response. He'd be surprised, though maybe happily so given certain connotations, if the man said yes. Instead, he'd launch a sideways nod towards Yates. "That one talk? I can do enough for all of us if I have to, but it would have been nice to know that before I got hit." He had still made no attempt to get up and this time, he didn't even bother to wait for a response. Ignoring the bit about Rhaena, which is something easier now than it was a few years ago, he latched on to something else instead. "Don't like the idea of former Constables in the Inquisitory. Should have been a clear separation of responsibilities, with the two working together anytime you'd need both talents. You create redundancy otherwise. If you happened to have someone promise for one or the other, leave them where they are so that they can work as liaisons. No one consulted with me though."

There was a rag. There was a parchment. "No hip today. Maybe next time it's raining." Pride was getting in the way of basic comprehension skills there. Speaking of pride, "Hey, care to do me a favor and tell me if that's a letter or a warrant? That'll impact my decision of whether or not I sit up to use it to wipe myself off in a grand Myrken gesture that'll be wasted on most of my current audience instead of your kindly offered favour. In all honesty, I'm hoping it's her letter so I can lay here for another few seconds though."
Glenn
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2896
Joined: Fri Jul 06, 2007 4:00 am

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Rance » Thu Apr 09, 2020 12:15 pm

"Of course no one consulted with you. Look at you. Listen to you."

That was that. After all, Corm McKinnon had dealt with his share of mouthy drunks, of puffed-up farmboys, of ragged women and hard-nosed Low Streets crud. Glenn Burnie had about as much buzz as a fly on a horse's ass, and flies — and horse's asses — were everywhere. Self-righteousness was an ugly trait, a thing one only forgave in rectors and snot-nosed children. When Burnie's attention shifted toward Yates, he remained particularly still: a Constable in Myrken Wood, however daft and unread, had likely cut his teeth on some force of the unknown. "He speaks if he wants to speak, or if I ask him to. But with all due respect toward your separation of responsibilities, you do appear to be a matter that requires this mixed expertise.

"My advice, Glenn Burnie, is that you shouldn't shit on charity."

He jerked his chin, his eyes, down toward the rolled parchment.

"You are, at this moment, a figure of interest in an Inquisition that could lead to an official charge of conspiracy to murder. Unroll it, shove it in your pocket, wipe your ass with it for all I care — I'll just invite Yates here to club your teeth into powder and drag you through the alleys to whet the pigs' appetites. You know the limits of Myrken Wood patience, Ser Bylaws, and you certainly know the length of its memory.

"So get up," he said. "Find your sincerity, and let's go."
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2452
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Glenn » Thu Apr 09, 2020 1:01 pm

The rag was ignored, left aside. The parchment was as well. Burnie shifted his body just so, placing his hands behind his head, so as to unleash a wave of motion where his back arched and his entire body all but sprang off the ground, landing him on his feet. That languid self-righteousness had given way to something else, something blank and plain, not quite serious, not quite engaged. Maybe sincere. Maybe. It wasn't the sort of thing Corm could have managed at the start of his career, let alone now, no matter the weather.

"Who in Myrken likes charity? Still, I'll tell you if I see any." This was sharp. Two sentences, the second a small thrust of a conversational blade. "Generate lots of waste though. Ends up shitting on most anything." He couldn't stop there. He never cold. "To review." He started towards the door, not giving either of them a glance but providing them with his back if they wanted to launch a cheapshot on him. Nice and slow. It was all nice and slow. "Figure of Interest. Could lead. Conspiracy of Murder. Speaking of shit. That sounds like pretty flimsy shit to me." His voice had been soft and steady, but now it intensified, yet remained unfocused, almost if leaving himself a mental note. "No need to send anything to my solicitor as of yet. So long as I'm back here tonight."

He slipped past the threshold of the door frame. "No irons and the inquisitory, not the constabulary. If she wants to speak with me so badly, fine. Let's hope it doesn't start raining on the way. I'd hate to have to carry you."
Glenn
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2896
Joined: Fri Jul 06, 2007 4:00 am

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Rance » Fri Apr 10, 2020 4:10 am

The walk to the Inquisitory was neither leisurely nor tense; Yates, he stayed several paces behind, though Corm — happy, as always, to oblige a prick — strode in line with Glenn Burnie, matching his pace and all its changes. This mattered. The visibility mattered. Yates kept drumming his baton into his left palm, a dry slap, slap, slap as if it was eager to lash out at any determined moment. Glenn knew the way to the Inquisitory, as most Myrkeners did: it, like so many other businesses and institutions, stood tall and thin among rows and rows of slate roofs and even windows. On this edge of the road, at this time of the day, sunlight avoided most of the buildings, instead casting premature shadow upon the street's wet cobbles.

As the three approached, a hammer rang out two times, three times, six, seven, blasting loudly along the streets. An age-grayed ladder leaned precariously against the facade of the Inquisitory, and perched on a rung near the third storey, Gloria Wynsee gave her particular attention to a nail. Spring wind had chewed a part of the sheeting from the building, and here, she performed surgery on her own, a process hindered — but not denied — by her lone hand.

First, the chewing of sap and flour, like a cow.

Second, the spreading of the glob upon the intended spot.

Third, pressing the nail-tip into the little mountain of gum, that it might remain there for four, five seconds...

Fourth, drawing the hammer from a hip-sash, and driving the nail to its rim. Leaning back, squinting, measuring satisfaction.

Until, out of the corner of her eye, she sees them, and the lump in her throat hovers for a beat above her words:

"Escort him inside, Messa McKinnon, if — if you will. Third room on the right. Marion ought to be practicing her letters, but I would like her to be present. I've one last nail."

Then she went back to hammering, and sweating in the sliver of Glass Sun that dared flash across her neck.
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2452
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Glenn » Fri Apr 10, 2020 6:11 am

He wasn't pretty like Bromn, Bromn who had been all but possessed by some demonic entity and run around with cultists only to be accepted back as Governor. Prick or not, he was far more personable than Helstone. With Helstone it had seemed wholly academic. An experiment. The people of Myrken Wood had barely been people at all. When it came to true extremes, you had Calomel (who left while the leaving was good) and Treadwell (who they'd never be rid of, not really).

None of this was academic with Glenn. Many of these people he had not seen in five years, yet many of these people he knew. He had made strides to reestablish relations with as many as possible after Rhaena died. There had been a span of a year between her death and when the King's Men finally tossed him out, impugning on Myrken's autonomy in the process. He'd made a rather loud stink about it at the time yet there were just as many reasons to remember him poorly as there were to remember him fondly. Still, here and now, he went out of his way to greet people by name (and could Helstone or Bromn or Treadwell do that?). When asked why he was being escorted by official agent, he had a different answer for each person. Murder was the least of it. Each was more outlandish than the last.

He had no intention to take back power and he had even less intention and desire to be some tertiary Councilor. It was time to go back to his infernal upbringing. If he was to influence things at all, it would be through other, more effective means.

"Now carpenters," he noted to Colm, completely ignoring Gloria for now, "as Inquisitors. That's one I hadn't thought of. Can really get the the spokes hammered under toenails. There's a combination of talents." He stopped at the door and held a hand out to Yates. "No hard feelings, Constable. My thanks for your decision not to bludgeon me unnecessarily. I've always said that the older generation have much to learn from the youth of today."
Glenn
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2896
Joined: Fri Jul 06, 2007 4:00 am

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Io Ono » Fri Apr 10, 2020 6:26 am

Practicing indeed. Truthfully, she had been, for a few minutes at least, until distraction caught up with her. The room she’d resided in for the last hour or so, was far more plain than her current residence, a simple wooden floor, a pair of uncomfortable looking, sharp, angular chairs separated by an oaken table, plain, equally disinviting. The candles had been snuffed, save for one, just enough light for her to avoid judgement for sitting alone.

On a cushion pilfered from elsewhere in the building, she was sat in the corner, or rather, half kneeling, half sitting on her ankles. There was a wooden tablet on her lap, on which was pinned a half used sheet of parchment. There were letters of varying quality scribbled on the surface, for perhaps the top third, and pictographic runes that matched the sash spiraling thrice around her waist toward the middle. Then there was the doodle, a map of nowhere with rivers in all directions leading to a circle in the middle.

Of course, at the moment, she hadn’t been putting ink to paper at all, and was tapping the back end of the quill to the rhythm of the hammering outside. Her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was here. She hadn’t received the full scope of her required presence, only that she was to practice her letters here, until there were visitors. Naturally, yet, to her dismay, there were little details given there as well. There was something she’d noticed from that earlier exchange, however. A hesitation, perhaps. A perturbed stammer, as if the guest was not quite as welcome as she would expect.

A pause in the hammering...

Natural, considering there were not two hands...

No...longer...a distraction...?

Probably nothing...


From where she was sat, there was little ability to hear the outside, aside from the wrapping of the hammer, still, she halted her own drumming to focus and hear what little she could...the whisper of the wind...the sporadic creak of a settling floorboard...The tiniest natural ring in her ears... and...the knob of the exterior door?
Io Ono
Member
 
Posts: 37
Joined: Mon Mar 16, 2020 7:26 pm

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Niabh » Fri Apr 10, 2020 7:05 am

The raven remained one block behind all the while, traveling between rooftops. Sometimes he let them get a long ways ahead before he took off again, but Myrken was fairly compact. There was only so far ahead they could get. When he could, he predicted where the party below was heading, circled around, and waited for them--not exactly some great feat of precognition when most of the city was laid out on a grid, and it prevented anyone from noticing they were being trailed. Plus he didn't want to cross too many streets. Glenn might have the sense not to look up if a black flash surprised him. Then again, he might not.

Besides, he was a bird. It was springtime. There were birds everywhere. No one wondered much about where a bird was going, even a big one, so long as it didn't do anything weird.

He got ahead one last time and settled down on a cornice across the street from the Inquistory, the sun at his back, waiting until they turned the corner. He was itching to get back to the lady, but she'd wonder why he hadn't found out. Not for the first time, he wished this was one of those situations where he had nothing to tell her.

This was, he thought grimly, blowing his whole no-spying policy straight to hell.
Anything can be magic if you're gullible enough.
User avatar
Niabh
Member
 
Posts: 590
Joined: Fri Jul 24, 2015 4:40 pm

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Io Ono » Fri Apr 10, 2020 5:15 pm

Stay put.

Fine...

So she would continue to sit, wait, mull. That didn’t mean she couldn’t listen, search for any clue as to the nature of this ordeal. She knew she wasn’t here for herself, you didn’t usually receive much warning, and people weren’t typically welcoming over the invitation. Besides, she was explicitly told that anyway. She wasn’t told who the party was for, however. So she leaned into the wall, ear pressed firmly against it, hoping to catch the vibrations of conversations in the distance. A clue, a name, a word, anything would have been better than the little she knew.

Stay quiet.

Fine...

Not all questions were asked with the voice. Not all answers were vocal either. Sometimes the best information came from the body, the hands, the face, the eyes. A nervous tic. A twitch. She would ask her own questions, and likely find answers. Of course, she had a job to do, as well, and she would, as well as she knew how. With care, as if she was handling a great scripture, she removed the pins, then the parchment, and replaced them with a clean sheet.

No windows...

How about that, poppet? Must be serious if they want to neither be seen nor heard...

She told you what they do here...well, some...

Anyone can ask questions...You know what this is...first the asking...then the tuning, like a stretched fiddle, then the begging...


It wouldn’t come to that, she wasn’t the type, and appearances aside, she was not going to ask for help. Not here, and not now...still...Through the wall, there was not much to hear, until Whap! and she had to jerk her ear away from its surface. The hammer made its return, and for at least a few moments, the ringing in her left ear intensified, no matter how much she rubbed it.
Io Ono
Member
 
Posts: 37
Joined: Mon Mar 16, 2020 7:26 pm

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Rance » Sat Apr 11, 2020 2:09 am

"Still undecided on that matter," said Yates, who — completely ignoring the hand — stood outside and across the hall from the room where Glenn was, like so much cargo, deposited. A Constable in the Inquisitory could have been described by any appropriate cliche: a fish out of water, a sore thumb, enough to draw the attention of the meeker, studious beings that passed by.

No one told Yates to leave. So he did not leave. He scraped at an irritated bit of skin where his helmet sometimes brushed too closely against his neck, leaned on the wall, and busied himself with waiting.

Corm, meanwhile, flicked his eyes and wrenched his chin in the direction of the room. "In," he said. His capacity for conversation, even of a flippant sort, had diminished. Glenn Burnie made no new friends with his attempts at cleverness, it seemed. No new friends except the room into which he'd be escorted: an altogether unremarkable thing, with four unadorned walls, three ink-stained, wax-clotted bureaus that had been stuffed here for further storage and later consideration (one did not simply discard a writing desk; rather, one waited months, even years, to let the dust determine its fate), and a fireless hearth. Several chairs — all different designs, some simple and etched, others decorative and ornate — waited patiently.

In the center of the room, a memory was perched.

Brushed with dust and rust, a heinous contraption of uniquely-smithed iron sat upon the floor, grinning at Glenn Burnie. Grinning, because a metallic face stared up at him, with its gaps for eyes and loosened thumbscrews to frame the mouth. This headdress, long-retired, bore a length of oxidized chain, gone nearly green from its lack of use. An object of restraint. A tool for silence, to hold the tongue and deafen the voice.

Only the Storyteller had ever gotten a chance to wear it.

* * * *

"Marion," came Gloria's voice moments before, with a knock far quieter than the reports of the hammer, she drummed her knuckle upon the door of the room where the young woman performed her letters. Gloria brought the stink of the outside world with her: the immodesty of her crude and salty sweat, the warm, musty smell of a gleeful Sun, and the sweetness of sap. Too much sap. She rubbed her blunt fingers off on her patchwork skirt, trying to grind away the excess sap. Or the excess skin, if necessary. In even this whisper of heat, the woman never ceased perspiring: her collar, her temples, the pits underneath her arms, they'd all gone black with dampness, a proof of labor Jernoan enough that not even Myrken Wood could wring it from her.

"We've a man to speak to," said Gloria from the door, tugging at the wax-dipped string of her wrinkled bonnet. "He will speak at us. For every hundred words he says, only ten of them are important words. So I'd like you to write them down as best as you are able. Will you try? Just your best," she immediately reasoned. "Perfection is a god's game, and it would be best if we did not play."

A spark of thoughtfulness came to her face as, in sudden irritation, she brushed wood-dust from her eye. She glanced down the hall. At that room. At his room. The lump in her throat wavered, hovered, rose, fell, and her mouth went dry.

Back to Io. Gloria's voice became a breath, barely caught up on her tongue.

"What is most important is what we do not write down. Whatever we sense," she said, "or whatever you see. You understand?"
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2452
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Io Ono » Sat Apr 11, 2020 3:04 am

Secrets...questions...secrets...letters...secrets...answers.

Oh ho ho, poppet. Secrets, secrets. Why not give one of your own?

Shhh, quiet...

Oh, no fun at all, are you?


She’d leapt to her feet at the hint of a knock, and threw the door open as mightily as she could. It was a heavy slab, but bored, suffocating things could muster quite a bit of strength. There was an odd excitement hidden behind her dull expression, not necessarily for the task at hand, more letters after all, but for the other chance it had presented. She was quite curious...all around.

She had spent a bit of time pouting as she mulled in the day or so before, though out of Gloria’s watchful eye, at the lack of prior openness she’d received, and, though she did not pry, admittedly she was quite a bit more curious at the trepidation. For Io, this was a clinical affair. Ask question, get answer, one way or another. Sometimes the ‘another’ was necessary, sometimes the ‘one way’ was enough. Repeat with the next. For Gloria, however, this seemed personal.

Of course, Io was curious for curiosity’s sake, but, it ran deeper than that as well. There was a desire she hadn’t recalled feeling before, deep in the pit of what should have been a soul. One to protect, to preserve, and in her mind, that required knowing certain things. Things like fears, and weaknesses, and all the other unpleasantries that caused one to be vulnerable. At the least, she was able to reconcile this baffling logic in her own mind.

With a quiet determination, she offered Gloria two nods, and a “Euhhh.” She had prepared for just such scenario back in the residence, opting to leave the hard black leather patch at home, in favor of thin bandages orbiting her head in a steep angle. She’d lied about the discomfort of the patch, which seemed to be acceptable, but truthfully, she wanted to see for herself. The dingy white cloth was indeed thin, enough so that she could see out, with relative clarity, but with enough layers to adequately hide her deformity. To anyone other than Gloria, it likely would have appeared to simply hide an injury or an illness.

Her mind was ready. It was always the case. Sometimes. In any case, her tools were prepared. There was the slab with the parchment pinned to it, the spare sheets. The vial of milky black ink. The quill, cut a few days before, and worn in to a favorable smoothness. And, of course... Her other instruction was to leave the last two of her remaining trinkets at home, as this place took none too kindly to poisons, a command she dutifully followed. But nothing was said about the other two, a pair of ‘leaves’ she’d hidden under the drape of her magenta trimmed cloth, at the hip.
Io Ono
Member
 
Posts: 37
Joined: Mon Mar 16, 2020 7:26 pm

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Glenn » Sat Apr 11, 2020 3:37 am

"Mind how you go." Burnie had noted to Yates as a means of saying goodbye, before he was escorted into the room. No door shut behind him. He was given no further instruction, certainly no tankard of anything. She'd probably make him wait, wouldn't she? Maybe not. She would have kept hammering in that case. Gloria was too much herself, always; that was the problem with her. She could never turn it off. It was a strength and a weakness.

Anyway, he had time until he didn't, so he decided to make himself at home. With a loud, rather painful screeching noise, Glenn started to pull one of those bureaus out of a corner and towards the center of the room. If Colm was still watching, he'd noted that Burnie was stronger than he looked and twice as determined. When he managed to get it as close as he was going to, he hoisted himself up to sit on it, taking care to not slide right off due to the wax.

His eyes were firmly upon the Maiden before him. Then, not even caring if he currently had an audience, he spoke. "It's never just one thing. The loss of a child, of an arm, of something else," and let the imagination run wild there. "That'll make you a victim. It has to be multiple things to make you a monster. The storyteller was just the last of them for Rhaena, the twisted magic to push her over the top. Before that, it was Catch, again. Before that, what happened to me. Before that, losing her hand. Before that, the ring. Before that, before that, before that." For a moment, a mere moment, he shut his eyes, but did not quite smile. "Actually, that far back, she was pretty normal. The veil was protect everyone else as much as it was to protect her, and she loved to take it off, even then. She was a kid who was chained by her own people, by her own power. That doesn't mean it would have ended up like this if she was somewhere else, if she was with someone else." He leaned forward to poke at the iron contraption, and when he couldn't reach with his hand, he managed it with a foot, balancing precariously as he did. "For a moment, when the storyteller died, a brief moment, she had clarity just for a moment. With that clarity, she made sure she'd never hurt anyone ever again. That was her last act because she knew it'd fade and she'd be a monster once more. I didn't know it at the time, not until recently. Nor did the person she was with; that person had to be told."

He shifted so that he was sitting back on both elbows, which allowed him to poke the device again. "Which brings us back to the Storyteller. I have some theories there. Banishment, I think, so there was something deranged to begin with, but not mad. Not so single-minded to become a caricature, to forget yourself within the illusion. That came from the isolation. Maybe an allergic reaction over time. We take it for granted with our fear and superstition. Even if they destroyed us, I don't think they could take this place back, not in a thousand years, not our towns and cities at least. Barely our farms. Precious few of them realize that, though." He'd arch back somewhat, looking to the ceiling with a sigh. "I could be wrong about the Storyteller. I don't think I am, but I could be. When you can't trust your perceptions, you start to see them everywhere I've come to believe that it was one that gave me a bad turn when I was ten. Same idea. Too far afield to remember who he was. Maybe that's giving him too much credit though. He might have just been an inhuman jerk preying upon a kid. It's a tricky line."

He sat forward then, feet kicking down in front of him, staring through the iron, through the walls, through the world at all, suddenly quiet and lost in thought.
Glenn
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2896
Joined: Fri Jul 06, 2007 4:00 am

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Io Ono » Sat Apr 11, 2020 2:12 pm

She’d hardly found herself in the room before the monologue began. She placed herself as she had before, in the corner farthest away. The fact that she forgot the cushion was unfortunate, but just as well, the discomfort would force her to stay sharp. Unorthodox this was, the freedom of speech, and mobility. It was a stark contrast to how she would handle the situation. The whole thing was just...unsafe. As she lowered herself to the floor, to knees, and coming to rest on her ankles, she offered no words to either the guards, or the showman, no bow, no nod, no pleasantries.

It wasn’t from a desire to cause offense, but, she’d found herself on edge, perhaps because it seemed as though the process had already begun. She wasn’t necessarily fond of finding herself in the middle of a conversation that she hadn’t been in attendance for the beginning of.

He’d reached perhaps the second stanza before she was sat and prepared to notate on the parchment, though, there were already things writ in her mind. In truth, her jade eye hadn’t left his person since he crossed the threshold, and she blinked only intermittently. Most prominently, she noticed the hint of a bruise on the man’s cheek. It wasn’t hard to determine the reason...

Curiouser and curiouser, poppet...likes to talk, that one...

Indeed, and Storyteller?

You’ve got stories...Matters little... No questions, he’s not talking about someone... He’s talking to someone, isn’t he...?

There’s no one...

Not someone... He’s talking to her...


She’d seen this before. The abundance of movement, chaotic, drunken. The abundance of speech, mostly incomprehensible, poetic. It was...control... She couldn’t help but study the man. It was almost as if he wanted to be here, and if she were to admit, it was slightly unnerving...slightly.

Mmm...perhaps, poppet, he’s not who you should watch...

Nonsense...


Catch...Was that a name? The manner it was spoken seemed to hint so. Rhaena...Rei’nna...however it was to be spelled. She scrawled the names on the parchment in clumsy letters. They probably would have been cleaner, if she’d minded her hands, but something felt off and she found herself unable to draw her focus away. Anxiety? Perhaps...she was a bit warm, moreso than usual.
Io Ono
Member
 
Posts: 37
Joined: Mon Mar 16, 2020 7:26 pm

Re: Loss... Found?

Postby Rance » Sat Apr 11, 2020 5:33 pm

Allowing Io — for now it is Marion; remember that, for her and for you — to be exposed at great length to Glenn Burnie would be a cruelty no host could forgive herself, so when she entered with the meek girl, it was with her usual willingness to fill a room with herself: to breathe louder, to clear her throat, to consume space so that one needed to live around her. Glenn talked and talked, and meanwhile, she formed her space as necessary, tilting her head toward the very corner that Io inhabited and saying softly, "There is quite fine, Menna Marion," with a sharp flattening of her lips — a smile — and a wink, a clumsy thing meant both to comfort and encourage.

If there was a second kindness Inquisitor Gloria Wynsee provided Glenn Burnie (the first had been written inside the rolled parchment), keeping the door open proved that there'd be no untoward actions done behind closed portals. She did drag her own chair toward the door, planted it in the very center of the threshold, barring him from the rest of the world, and sat upon it with the ease of a farmboy straddling a shoed hoof. "I fear I may have horrifically underestimated our earlier numbers," she said to the girl, before she extracted a number of tools from her lumpy skirt-pockets—

Some nails, unused, and colored with rust.

A smithy's file, dreadfully dull, and purchased at fine price in the Bazaar.

With a clop, she kicked her left boot free of her foot, wedged the file's handle between the bend of her knee and the chair to keep the tool steady, and began a work of some clear obsession: scraping nails down the file, over and over, so that their shavings rained down into the boot like ash.

"You'll find, Menna Marion—" shhhrk "—after awhile at it—" shhhrk "—that however diligent you choose to be in your inscription—" shhhrk "—the hand tires before the mind, because the hand knows bull's shit long before the brain does."

She blew upon the nail, examined it, considered how much more of it was left. Beneath the shadow of her bonnet, her brown face took on all the wrinkles and creases and commas of displeasure as, as if for the first time, she finally realized Glenn Burnie was really there.

"You were saying?"
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2452
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

PreviousNext

Return to Myrkentown



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests

cron