Is there a debt here?

Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Sun Jun 23, 2013 11:57 am

There was nothing he would gain from killing someone so much weaker than him. It would be like trying to boast about chasing off a decrepid dog when it was doing nothing mroe than chasing chickens. It wasn't often you would find a woman or a child in the middle of the action, either.. and Clayton tended to shy away from the taking of cities and towns. He would have told her, had she challenged him with such a question.

His head droops forward dramatically, bouncing a couple of times, "Ugh.. Clayton. Please call me Clayton. Or Clay, or hey you. Anything but Messa Thayer." He points into the air, finger shaking, "Aha.. I do, as it just so happens, know how to sew, Gloria. I've made many quilts, sewed even more drapes and clothing. Does that surprise you?" His head tilts and he watches her, "I have amazing taste in fabric and colors." He does, too. Ask around.

Not a drunk, necessarily, but he likes his brandy. He likes to talk and the drink makes it more fun, easier. At least it usually does. "I don't imagine they are. You were expecting, what? For me to wish for a beautiful house on a beautiful patch of land where I would have a beautiful wife and beautiful children and beautiful pets and build beautiful things for people?" That's what most people expected him to want for. His head shakes and he pushes his glass away, dropping his coins on the counter for what has been poured for him.

"I had those things. They don't last. And now? I am a realist." He gives a flourish of his hand, presenting the information to her with a grin. A flair for the dramatic.. what a pair they are.

If only he knew.. If only he knew the girl was under the impression of something poured into her drink.. he wouldn't ask her such things. He probably would not still be sitting here. What a horrible twist of fate that it was him her eyes landed on that night. Anyone else.. anyone else here would have been better for her to have odd feelings about than him. Ask around.

After hearing what she wants.. he should ask something like why or who in the world is Rhaena Olwak. But no. Why would he ask the logical questions when instead he can offer, "Then, why don't you? What is stopping you, with your willingness to scrap?"
She had saved the life of a Councilman.
She could clobber most men in a contest of muscles.
She survived Jernoah, and not by mere subsistence.
But she wouldn't do these things she wanted to do?
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Sun Jun 23, 2013 4:52 pm

"If you had wished for those things, it -- it would make you normal, Messa Realist. I wish for beautiful objects, for a beautiful future, for inclusion in a beautiful family. Perhaps for you to -- to sew me beautiful garments." Her smile was easy, comfortable, teasing; she could not believe that a man outside of Cherny would have the dexterity to work a thread and needle. "It is a Jerno's way, to wish for things to be perfectly beautiful -- for beautiful things beget beautiful things."

Yet, a beautiful thing had not begotten her; she was no tea-house girl, and smelled more of sour work than anything else. Her body's odor had saturated her Myrken-wool garments, tarring them black at the sleeves and collar. Jernoah's love for beautiful things had fallen short on her; it had forgotten her entirely.

What is stopping you, with your willingness to scrap, he inquired.

"She is -- she is the governor's lady; to strive against her would be to commit myself to punishment. One does not simply drag a lady such as her through the mud and expect to stride home with all of her limbs. Yet, she dabbles in curious things--"

treacherous things--

"--and has turned one of my friends away from all those things that -- that had defined him. Perhaps with shillings, perhaps by means that are more insidious. Elliot Brown," she asked. "Do you know him?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Mon Jun 24, 2013 12:38 am

Messa Realist, she calls him. It leaves him chuckling.
"Normal? Hmm.. I always thought it would make me seem selfish and frivolous. I had the one great love of my life.. I wouldn't dare take that possibility away from someone else by wanting to find it again, Menna Literal." Words that might have been sad, if anyone else had said them, but Clayton is not sad.

He is never sad.
Her wishes confuse him, and it shows.. his smile fading off and replaced by twisted and pursed lips; furrowed brows. She wishes for a beautiful future.. a beautiful family. But the girl jumps and pulls away at the touch of a hand against hers. Was that only with strangers? With new friends?
Was he wrong, then? Buy her a dress, the White Woman had demanded, as payment for what he did the night of the ball.
Who buys a seamstress a dress, he had thought, making a mental note to find something better for the girl.
His eyes find her dirty skirts, black-sweat stained collars and trails of who-knows-what and he squints, chewing at the corner of his lower lip.
It would be a waste of fabric, but would it make her feel good? Would it be so simple?

Questions he would never ask. Things he would never say.

The change of topic is welcomed, his expression softening again just as fast as it had become tense and confused, and the haughty man nods a bit, eyes moving back to Gloria's face. "I was correct in assuming your books and poems have taught you nothing about the art of war. One does not.. that would be stupid. But what about many?" Was Gloria the only one who wanted to squabble with this Rhaena?
War does not have to be big. It doesn't even have to be War.
"Would your governor sacrifice his numbers and his support for the sake of his lady's curious things? Or is he a smart man?" Clayton had not met this governor. He vowed to stay away from people in positions of power when he came to Myrken and changed his ways. Why, he even considered leaving the Glutton because of the job the fat man held.. too much power in a tax collector.

The Pride clears his throat, shifting around in his seat.. excited. Tingly. Talking of potential.. well.. he shouldn't be doing it.
"It takes a serious lack of integrity to be willing to change the things that make you who you are for coins. Do you think so little of your friend?"
Hearing the name.. Elliot Brown. He knew who that boy was. That boy made him shiver, made his fingertips throb.. made his brain scream in protest at keeping on a human costume. And that was all in the one time he had laid eyes on the rogueling.
"Define insidious. And no.. I don't know him."
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Mon Jun 24, 2013 2:46 am

It always pleased her to hear Myrkeners use her Jernoan language, if just as address -- the words rolled off their soft palates like awkward stones.

I had the one great love of my life, he said; past-tense, had, was-once-but-is-no-longer; she wanted to inquire, ask why he was alone -- but that was not her place, and she knew it. She would not pry where her fingers did not belong, not unless he gave her reasonable cause to do so.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Sorry that you should feel like you must be alone."

And then he discussed numbers. One and many. She wondered how the topic of war had reason to be brought up in conjunction with this talk of a single woman -- but the seamstress discovered, too, that as they spoke, her fingernails clenched into the soft wood of the barside; their short ends gouged frustrated half-moons in the stained wood.

Would your governor sacrifice his numbers and his support for the sake of his lady's curious things?

"I once thought highly of him," she said, the answer rote, her focus distracted -- what would happen, were she to convince others how untrustworthy Rhaena Olwak was? "But if money can sway him, then what he did was speak to me nothing but lies. I know for a fact he has been given money by her; his family has a new farmhouse, ownership of a tract of land they -- they once only worked by proxy.

"But insidious things, Clayton, may -- may not be beyond her reach," she added. "She has played in my mind, once. To retrieve a secret I thought I could entrust to her. Who is to say she has not cut the ropes of his old self, and -- and somehow anchored him to wholly different rationale?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Mon Jun 24, 2013 4:22 am

Clayton would use another language whenever he could. Sometimes it put people at ease, made it more likely that they would keep talking. But then.. sometimes it made people squirm. It would make them nervous and jittery and have them less willing to look at him. Today.. it was the former. And he was grateful for that.

Clayton looks at her. Blinking, the corners of his lips tight, jaw set.. one brow arched just a bit higher than the other. Sorry that you feel like you must be alone.
Was he the most confusing person ever to be around? How can someone be so sweet as to not want to deprive anyone else of a potential love, all the while he has war and death on his mind, in his heart?
It's a long moment before both hands once again scrub up his face to catch the stubble on his cheeks and under his nose and have them standing on end, pushing his hair back away from his forehead and behind his ear. Elbows land on the bar again and he just holds his head.
"We should have just kept playing stones and bones." He finally rumbles, then sniffles a bit, clears his throat and straightens himself out. In a more normal voice, he continues, "Don't be sorry for me, Gloria. I'm content. Be sorry for the ones who do find their loves." He is not content.
Maybe that is why there is only one thing on his mind.. day in and day out. Maybe that is why he cannot shake all of his old life. Maybe that is why he talks about war when she talks about one woman and one boy.
"You seem to be torn." He says.. but those may have been the wrong words. "Indecisive, I mean." Wait, "No.. that's not the right word, either." Damn.
Clayton takes a deep breath, still unsure what it is he should be saying, "..Proud men don't.. they don't change for simple things like homes and farms, and they only lie to get their way." That was all he knew about Elliot Brown. He was a proud boy. How Clayton knows that is a mystery to all but two, maybe three people in Myrken.
"If he is your friend.." The words hang. And the words that follow are not picking up on the abandoned thought.
What Gloria says about Rhaena leaves him wanting to laugh hysterically, but he has self control and he remains stoic. They have a governor coupled with a mind witch? Running this town? Doesn't she teach the children? Hadn't someone told him that?

If that wasn't bound to start a war at some point, he didn't know what would. "You have a friend who has changed and the knowledge of a witch who can work in the minds of others.. and you're unsure if he sold himself to her for some land and a house??" A soft smile for Gloria.
"You have not answered my question. What can I do for you, my friend?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Mon Jun 24, 2013 5:22 am

"If we kept playing Stones and Bones, how would you manage," she asked. "I would keep dominating you. You would know a new definition of war. Besides, if we still were playing, how might you brood? How might I have learned that you have -- have destined yourself to remain alone?"

But in contradiction to her sharp and teasing words, her hand -- the gloved one, that which she was loath to show -- reached for a moment for his, to touch it, an apology for his loneliness. It was a step taken she could not retract; her fingertips grazed his knuckles, recognized their foolishness, then snapped back to her skirts.

He questioned her with logic and a compelling advance -- how could she blame coin for Elliot's sudden change, when he wore the crest of a woman who'd taken to the seamstress' mind with a psychic chisel to knock away parts of the Dream, to examine it, know it, see it as she had? Her gloved fingertips squeaked against the bar, a loud protest against her own foolhardy assumptions.

"He was my friend. I warned him, Clayton. I warned him to not tamper with -- with things he could not control. I will not be bound to answer for his mistakes when he cannot." But those words were too strong, too fermented with a yeast of disgust to be truth. She crouched behind them like a shield. It was better that way. It was easier, less problematic, more clear -- for the world had been muddied by so many complexities lately, and the simplicity had been dashed away.

"What I want," the seamstress responded, "is an opportunity to find out the truth of what transpired between them.

"And to make Rhaena Olwak look -- look like a fool. Like she made me out to be. If you can give me that, then I would be--"

--in your debt.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Mon Jun 24, 2013 6:55 am

Clayton smirks, nodding a bit. "You may well have.. but even grand masters have their off days, I suppose?" An excuse for losing. He was so bad at that game. So bad. But he wouldn't admit it to her. Not now and not ever.. she could always go on thinking that she had slain the Stones and Bones beast.

Was he brooding? Didn't that denote an ability to have emotions on the negative side of the spectrum? Or was he trapping her in feelings? Pity was a painful thing.. like a blade in the back, a knotted feeling like he'd been carrying water buckets on his shoulders for too long. Especially when it was directed at him.. however it was the most useful thing to have on his side when he was trying to gain.

But.. even that came with conflict, because he did not want anything from Gloria. He watches her when she reaches.. his fingers lifting just a bit towards hers and his eyes close as he feels the brush of the glove. The glove belonging to a girl who just moments before expressed her disdain for being touched. Such a simple gesture from her that means more to him than either of them could ever know.
Eyes open again when she pulls away, leaving him staring at the bar, "I am not.. I am not alone. Not any more than you are. We are without mates, not without friends." Though.. they might both be without any kind of family.

She had warned the boy. Clayton shakes his head, "Men are thick.." A finger knocks against his temple, "Boys are worse. When you mix arrogance and hormones you come out with deafness. If it was something he thought he needed to tamper with? Nothing would stop him." The Pride knew all about that. The perfect example was what had happened between him and the fae. It needed to be done, in Clayton's eyes. And so it was done, to hell with the consequences.
A soft and genuine smile is offered to her, "Are you sure about that? It seems that you are desperately seeking to help him.. doesn't that imply that you will be, as you say, answering for his mistakes? In one way or another.." Clayton shrugs. His words are not mean, not accusing. Not aimed at her to make her feel badly.. just an attempt to help her. Enlighten her to what he can see, even if she would like to remain blind to it. Show her that it's okay that she cares.

He leans in a bit closer to her when she answers his question.. tells him what she wants. What he can do for her.. and he nods. His eyes flutter a bit. His head tilts to the side. And serious thought is given, albeit quick.
"Finding out the truth will be a lengthier and more convoluted process, I think. There are only two people who know for sure what exactly happened, and neither of them are at your disposal. It might be best to put that second on your list." He nods again, then sits up straight. Very straight.. he may be even taller than she thought.. a man who would tower over almost anyone else in this town.
As if getting into character, his chin lifts and his shoulders roll back.. there is no more drunken grin. Again he thumbs the tip of his nose, "Grateful?" A grin for her. Not in his debt. He never holds a debt. "It would be my honor, Gloria.. to do this for you.
"I will ask two things of you in return.. two things that you don't have to do because even if you refuse? I am yours, I am at your service.. but they are things I would be grateful to you for. May I tell you what those things are?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Mon Jun 24, 2013 2:01 pm

I am not alone. Not any more than you are. We are without mates, not without friends.

His words, a deepening tunnel.

When you mix arrogance and hormones you come out with deafness.

He made such sense; his voice slithered underneath the sleeves of her sweat-strained dress and leaked like droplets of comfort into her pores. She listened; she listened, as she had never listened before except in

Jernoah, where they circled the children in the shadows of cloudy glass buildings and told them stories, tales of how women were meant to be the scaffolds upon which men stood closer toward glory, work the seams, skin the jah'zoon and clean its hide for the husband who buys you and your child, you have taken his name, so give him value in that name, a girl is always indebted, a girl must always be indebted--

And here, she wished to be -- for that one chance to see a fool made of someone who'd made her into one, who'd put her on display as a jester, a girl who could not juggle forced to suffer the eyes of those who laughed at her idiot game as advocate for a woman who should have already been dead. The potion still greased the insides of her veins, the walls of her heart, and it was by the choice of the potion alone -- she loved Clayton Thayer in those moments, with a child's wonder and a young girl's fascination -- that her fingers crawled like the legs of a white spider up, up, toward the bone-carved buttons of her dress-front.

Too young for a bodice, too large of belly for a stay, but it did not mean that she might not have something to offer him, and it was a perfect moment for it, just right, with the Dagger being virtually lifeless save for the pair of them.

Stop it, her mind chanted, screamed. Stop it--

"Is -- is this one of those things," she whispered, her eyes wide, hollow, afraid, unusual--

I just want my friend back.

And the potion thought this would be the way.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Mon Jun 24, 2013 3:46 pm

He turned into what he knew how to be when he promised himself to her.. committed himself to this job. He turned on what had been off this whole time..
Clayton had pushed his nature back on itself for a game drawn in charcoal at the bar with a seamstress. Had been watching his every word.. trying not to be frightening or cruel, trying not to change her for the sake of conversation. And he had done it well.

But something changed in that moment and he stopped trying to be something different because now? Now he had a purpose. A job. Something to do besides hammer nails into wood and plant herbs in pots along the side of a cottage. Something to do besides see after the girls in his care, Sabetha.. Brita, his name for the mud covered wilding.
He was on the hunt now.

He could feel Gloria. Be it real or not he could feel the love.. feel that hope. Like a string tied around her neck that he could take ahold of and lead her around. He could make her a fool again.. metaphorically spit in her face.
Could.
His mind told him to lean forward to her.. to brush his stubbley cheek against hers and to whisper things into her ear. Put your hands on the bar, Gloria.. He could say that. Tell me what you want now. Or that.
He could take her jaw in his hand and turn her to him.. slip his tongue in the space where her tooth should be. Taste the smile she hides behind her mug, rip her dirty dress to shreds.. here in an empty tavern. Or now?
He thinks of the things he could do, again he wets his lips before pouting at her.. his head tilts to the side just enough to send sandy locks over his forehead, brushing against his eyelashes.
He could exploit these things he can feel coming off of her and it would be amazing. To take the pride she had and leave her cowering on the ground like a mouse in a house of starving cats.. watch her scramble for reason and familiarity.

Some would say the grin he wears is lecherous, just like the way his body is turned towards her, with a hand on the bar extended in her direction as if it held an invitation. Just like the way he watches her hand move up her skirts, waits as it only rests on that button. Salacious. And it might have been if not for what he says.
"If I wanted you to act like a whore I would have bought you a stronger drink, Gloria."
There had been two things he wanted to ask of her. Now there were three.

"Please don't rush me. I know it will be hard." He knows what he did there. But it was only half intentional. "But I will do everything in my Power to get you the opportunity to find the truth, and just as much to make Rhaena Olwak pay."
he would regret not sticking to his original requests. Do not put me in a position to get caught for this.

"The second thing is to never make a deal with someone you truly think might hurt you.. in any way.. ever again."
Clayton Thayer was not a monster.. and for that Gloria was lucky.

"Will you do those things for me?" With intention, the words are begged.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Mon Jun 24, 2013 4:35 pm

If she had known what she was dealing with--

this creature that thrived off
the slimy detritus of human
want
and the mangled, broken threads of hope and
pride
(confidence)
that were the impetus to such
grotesque acts as a child daring
skin
to be a tool for bartering--

--she might have turned her cheek away, never shared ale or brandy with him; she might have heeded her first fear, not to be touched, not forgotten that desperation did not necessarily require sacrifice or Jerno immodesty. She might have known it was the tired magic of a potion still guttering in her sand-hot veins, and that he could destroy her with as much as a thought, a clever suggestion. But she did not -- she only realized as he said, If I wanted you to act like a whore I would have bought you a stronger drink, her fingers fell away from her buttons. The heel of a palm crushed against the side of her head as if making her question--

What are you doing; what are you thinking?

--before her black eyebrows lifted and there was wetness in her eyes again, gleaming against the candlelight, not begging, but confused, irrationally disturbed at the notion that her dark, filthy flesh could ever win her a praise, an advantage.

"I -- I'm sorry," she whispered, wishing they'd only played another game of Stones and Bones. "I think there might be -- be something wrong with me. That is the only explanation; it -- it is inherent stupidity, perhaps, or desperation.

"I will not rush you. I am -- I am patient." One must have patience, after all, for seams; one must have more not to simply deny the trade outright.

The second thing is to never make a deal with someone you truly think might hurt you.

She hesitated on this second request, because--

"Let us not lie to one another, Clayton Thayer. I am a week away from my fifteenth birthing-day. My knees go weak -- and my skirts sometimes worse -- at the mere sight of a blade turned in my direction. I can sprint for only four seconds before my lungs begin to sting. I think that I have got very fine words, but I still am and will always be learning the Standard. I might be able to wrap a fist into a ball, but in Myrken?" She blew out a breath. "In Myrken Wood, everything has the capability of truly hurting me. My brother Cherny, he -- he was shot by an arrow from the shadows. If I am to die, I would prefer to make deals with my killer than let it strike me dead before I should ever know its name. I am going to die in this place. They will burn my body. The smoke will stink like I do.

"But I will do as you ask," she agreed, bowing her head, keeping hands firm upon her hips for fear of granting them permission to adventure once more. "To show that woman for her arrogance; to hope my friend Elliot will -- will be himself again, and make fun of me. And laugh at me."

Her final question was simple.

"How?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Tue Jun 25, 2013 12:47 am

This creature that can feel the pride in people.. that can force them to succumb to it, bend them to his will and feed off of it. Take it.
This creature that can only feel shame as it manifests itself into a dagger and stabs him in the back. Embarassment.. Clayton is crushed under the weight of it.. under the weight of her self doubt and what could be, might be, loathing..?

He shuddered at sight of her wet eyes.. his head tilts, an ear swooping down next to his shoulder as if he were shying away from something bigger than him, eyes closing for a second. A twitch. A tick. It looked almost the same as when he shivered from feeling the pride on the boy he was trying to help her save. But this time it was not from good.. not from confidence. But from pain.. from desperation. Longing.
"My knees grow achey when the air gets moist, Gloria. Please do not cry." He didn't mean that. His knees ever actually hurt.

This was better for them both. This was so for the better that he did not command she unfasten those buttons, couldn't she see that? Did she want him to be something so awful? Did she want a reason to suffer through the ignominy of losing her self control, her values and morals.. of surrendering it to him?

But let us not forget who he is.. "Something wrong with you?" He smiles, an arrogant man who knows what most women, even girls, would do to be with him even just once. And usually as they are falling over on themselves he hadn't even uttered a word in their direction. "You act as they all do." Ready to fall in front of him. To kneel at his feet. Desperate.

Clayton nods to her, "And I beg you to remember that patience, to hold onto it, on the days when you feel that nothing is moving fast enough, because those days will come. And to remember it when you see this boy and he is not who you think he should be, not what he used to be."
Clayton would do a good job. Pride would do everything he could do.

Fifteen. He could be her father.

His hands come in front of him.. in front of her.. while she speaks, palms held facing each other like a great ball of fire might form in the empty air between them. Like he might take her face in those hands to whisper something beautiful to her.. to kiss her forehead.
He could.
But instead, those hands just linger in the air between them, fingers twitching. "Not anymore it doesn't." Not everything can hurt you anymore, Gloria. "Because now? You have me." He nods again, lips pressing together.. eyes squinting, narrowing. "I do not wish you to be blind to your enemy. Make no mistake, Gloria.. someone who wants to kill you will never think to strike a deal before their weapon can strike your neck. And if they are willing to do that? They were never ready to take on such a job in the first place." Hands twist in the air and fall lower, further from her face, closer to her hands.. like an invitation, again.
But he wont ever touch her first. Ever.
Not because of her smell, not because of her sweat or her belly or her gloved hand.
But because he is not a man from her nightmares.

She doesn't have to die here. But that was a conversation for another time, wasn't it?

She agrees. And again, he nods. But then..
"How?" The question confuses him for a split second.
How what?
"How will I do this job, you mean? How will I bring that arrogant woman to her knees?" The thought of it leaves him breathing a contented sigh, leering again but not on purpose and not at her, but at a situation that has not yet come to light. Hands fall back to his lap and his head rolls back. "I don't know yet. That is why I ask for your patience.. I will not just assume I can do the same things to her that I have---"
The chuckle, another deep sound that rumbles through his chest.. he cannot help it.
"That I have done to the others. It takes work.. focus.
"...Do you ask because you have a request? A certain way you would like to see this go?" Would she like to have her hand in this?
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Tue Jun 25, 2013 1:14 am

"I would hate to -- to weaken your knees. I would," the seamstress said, words lingering somewhere between humor and honesty.

She ground fitfully at her eyes, scraping palms across them. What was it she expected to accomplish from this, by taking on the promises of a man she'd scarcely met before? He had flaxen hair and she was hypnotized by it; when he spoke, he always struck the right chords -- he was a timbre that resonated through her, and he could do nothing ill. He begged patience and she obeyed.

"All that -- all that I know is that she has done something to my friend. And I care that it is remedied; I care that it is stitched up. I know it will -- will not be immediate.

"But I hesitate," she admitted, her voice shifting to a matter of business beyond sentiment. "She is the governor's lady; I mean no ill will toward him, for he has been nothing but -- but kind to me. But I could have been run through for her. I would have let the Black Man put a knife in my belly so that it did not knows hers, and -- and she repays me by shaming me, putting decisions of life and death in my palms like I am some kind of--"

Piss-White Prophet--

"--celestial delegate."

She watched his hands as they lingered but never touched. He drove nails with those hands, worked wood with those hands, slatted roofs with those hands; in Jernoah, hard work was at the root of the Pursuit, and he gleamed like a burning star of it.

Because now? You have me.

Her stomach was a sagging gutter. They colluded here, in secret -- and what would Cherny say? Would he say she had become a bad cheese? She tried not to think on it; she had him, and that was what mattered.

You act as they all do.

"I have no requests. I have no preference. All I care is -- is that she learns that I am not a toy. And that my friends are not toys. I would like to help, Clayton Thayer, by whatever means I must."
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Tue Jun 25, 2013 2:07 am

It would only be fair, though, wouldn't it? A taste of his own medicine, so to speak, for his knees to go weak at the hands (or tears) of another..
But the odds were slim to nill.. for this girl here would not benefit or feel a positive thing from him being on his knees, bending to her will, would she? Wouldn't she be clueless for what to do with a man kneeled in front of her?

He moves like he will leave his seat.. the temptation to test the theory is like dragging fractured glass across his brain.
Please prove me wrong. Show me how you know how to use..
NO. Bad thought. BAD thought.

Thank goodness for them both that he remains in his chair, wondering much the same as her, suddenly. What did she expect? It was not new to him.. the concept of people trusting him right away to take care of the hardest of jobs, to clean the dirtiest laundry.
To hang the guilty out to dry.
The fact that he asked for nothing in return? It only made asking easier for them.. for the people at his hand. And it all but guaranteed he would get what he secretly wanted in the end.
As horrible as he could be, he still exudes an air of trustworthiness. It was part of the charm. Part of the gift. The Power. So Clayton wondered it, yes. But it was not such a mystery to him. She expected to get revenge. She expected to be able to stand over the cowering form of a woman who had used and abused and changed.
She probably expected to be able to laugh at it.

Clayton listens to her concern, taking on a contemplative expression again. The Governor's lady. It was not something that concerned him.. he who had been at the disposal of kings, letting them think he did their bidding when in fact it was the other way around. All the while he was stealing away their Queens with promises, bedding their princesses and dragging down their sons. He did not care if, or how, others felt consequences.

"The governor.. this man who has been nothing but nice? Do you think he is blind to the wills and ways of his Lady? That he is unaware how she dabbles in minds?
Is it not possible that he is.." He should stop speaking about the Governor. He should.. because the quarrel is not with that man. "You think him blind to her? Because I cannot promise that he will not be hurt by what will happen." Clayton shrugs. "I would, if I could. But I am no stranger to vicarious pain." When the person you love is hurting, is falling.. it is so easy to go down with them, however inadvertently. However unintentionally, on any side.

Will Clayton deserve irons? Will he deserve to be punished for what he is about to do? He does wonder what this seamstress will think after all is said and done.

Let her change her mind in the end. Let her feel the guilt of her actions. Let her blame the Pride for what will transpire.. let them come to punish. They would regret it, all of them.
No.
Bad. Thought.

The Power is taking over.. coming out in his thoughts but not, at least, in his face or his words. The excitement of the start of the hunt.. of the job. The game.
His teeth chatter like he has caught a chill. The things I could teach you..
"She will learn." He nods. "Tell me about her.. the Governor's lady, yes. A teacher, no? Do you know of her friends? Family, besides the Governor?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Tue Jun 25, 2013 3:25 am

Could Glenn Burnie have been blind to it? Did he know his lady could pry with her fingers into a mind, extract the sweet fruits of knowledge--

--or plant the rotten seeds of control?

Ask a girl what she might desire, and she might simply say I wish for her to get mud on her cheeks, or I would have a laugh if her skirt-hem tore. To see a whole room, a wide court of ladies and fellows laugh at the gowned woman would be enough -- but from Clayton Thayer, she inadvertently asked for more. She contracted him for this purpose, to help her see Rhaena Olwak chiseled down to her basest, most fundamental sensitivities. Like the children she taught.

"She has got a brother," she said. "A trader. Kals Olwak. I -- I know this because I was encouraged to contact him for a surplus of fabric. He never returned my letter. I imagine I could have foreseen self-centered rudeness as a plague in -- in their family. She is the teacher, the headmistress; I once took lessons in mathematics from her--"

And this very thought made her wonder: what good was it to have a mind-meddler as an instructor? How many little minds might have been tweaked and changed, ignorant to abuse or architecture that they never knew anything about? Elliot had once asked the seamstress the differences in right and rite and write -- he'd wanted to send a letter to her--

--and that had been only a week or two before his armor.

"Messa Aleksei River. His lady, Agnieszka, they are among her friends. But I've not seen them in months. Nor," the seamstress said, "would I wish any of them hurt for -- for my greed. I -- I just want her to learn. But not through blood or harms of the skin. I am tired," she admitted. "Let me consider. Over sleep, over breakfast. You are a friend, Clayton Thayer. But it would be best for me to think over what I am asking you to do."

She canted her shoulder to slip her satchel upon it.

"Why," she asked. "Why would you do this for me?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Tue Jun 25, 2013 4:48 am

Was he a victim, this governor? Was he under the control of a mind witch.. being puppeted along with the veil of leadership? What would happen if and when his woman lost her grip on the power she has over others?
He didn't now the answer to that, not exactly. But he did know it would be entertaining.
And he was tickled pink at the prospect.. despite himself.

Surprisingly, the first thing he pulls from her words is that there is something she wants. Something she needs. Fabric. And he could make that happen.. he owed her one even after his agreement to take on her cause. Lucky for her, Clayton has amazing taste in fabrics. Kals Olwak. Got it. There would be more than one way to slip questions about that man in casual conversation given his choice of career.

There is something in her.. her pause. The way she adds in extra words about lessons and letters instead of coming right out with a list of people.. it is before she even says the next names, Aleksei River and Agnieszka, that Clayton knows she will hesitate. The nervous feeling eminates off of her.. off of her stuttered and repeated words. He could change that.. take all of that away and have this seamstress ready to wield one of those blades she is so afraid of in the name of fairness. The name of revenge.

Clayton clenches his jaw for but a second to stop the chattering of his teeth, slows the near constant bouncing of his leg to something more like a tapping of his foot against the lower rung of his seat. He scratches his cheek, runs his hand through his hair again and flashes her a smile intended to weaken and melt knees more effectively than any blade, trying desperately to make lasting eye contact with her.

Let me consider. Over sleep, over breakfast.

He had been silent the whole time, not offering words of wisdom.. not trying to appeal to her good sense. Pain is the only thing that will let those who are dead inside know they are still alive.
But listening doesn't stop him thinking.. remembering--

A life at war. No eyelashes were batted when the man next to him sawed off the jaw of the enemy at their feet with a rusted and chipped blade. He did not turn away as a victims teeth were pulled from the detached mandible. He did not decline to hold the dying man still while his comrade pushed those molars into the mans open and horrified eyes while his screams were drowned out by spurting, drowning, blood.
There was no guilt or remorse for the whores with no fingers, the price they paid for fighting against HIS soldiers, or the priests that burned in the name of a useless King, because when it boiled down to it? They burned in the name of Pride, even if Clayton was the only one who knew that truth.


--And he didn't plan on doing anything so brutal to this Rhaena, any of her friends or family.

His answer to her question comes before any retort to anything else she has said.
"Justice." The word lingers for a long moment where he just watches her, a brow gently arched.. head bowed. One of his hands slips behind his back.. fingers turning from flesh to a black and shiney stone.

"I will not bring physical harm to anyone, Gloria. You will have no blood on your hands. What this woman does in the heat of the moment where she realizes she has lost is beyond even my control.. but if I can help it? She wont lay a finger on anyone. And I have ways to.." To hold her down while she cries. To choke the air from her lungs so she cannot speak. To keep her guardians at bay. "I have ways." He nods.

Whether the seamstress liked it or not, she has set him on a path. She has given him a cause, a purpose, that he will not be able to abandon now.. and even if it is not done in her name? Something will be done.
But she doesn't have to know that.

"Isn't that what you seek? Justice?"
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