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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Oct 29, 2017 15:32:06 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
He seemed right to answer her quickly... then paused; humming. With a shrug and a huff, he glanced to Tilly's trailing hand and smirked as she found the one about his belt.
He rose a inquisitive brow, as he clasped her hand in his; casting another quick glance about themselves in the humble Abbey's hall, before stealing a kiss at her second knuckles, bare from her fingerless gloves before letting the hand go.
The Ex-Lord assumed a relaxed posture, letting his weight rest on one leg as he crossed his arms loosely about his waist; pushing the pommel of his falchion forward as a rest for both hands.
"The Archives--" He started, raising his brows and inclining his head forward,
"-- You know where it is?", without answer, he rose a hand to point further down the hall with another nod, to the stairs he planned to descend.
"T's where Florence is, I'll prepare for whatever the Mystic has in mind... I'll not proceed down any ritual or the like, mind. Just to make sure things are getting arranged properly."
His smirk turned to a smile as he watched her hat-shadowed eyes inquisitively, his own squinting up; gauging her in some small measure...
//
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Post by Vanitypirate on Oct 29, 2017 15:52:58 GMT -8
Tilly seemed satisfied, then, bring one hand to curl over lightly that knuckle.
She nodded and held it beneath her chin, but in another moment her hands were already off elsewhere, thumbing the strap of her satchel.
"I'll see you there, then." She drifted with slow steps down the hall like an incipient breeze on the cusp of picking up. One hand slipped from her satchel strap to go tend habitually to her hat.
She paused, and then thought to be so daring,
"I love you." Her lips curled into a smile, flashing that row of white teeth with the chip towards the canine, broken the same day she'd first found the sword...
And then she left, swiftly with a hand set on her hat, with as much confidence so as to not await the response; she knew she'd find it later.
[Tilly exits to Graveyard.]
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 5, 2017 17:38:34 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
He chewed on his lower lip as she watched; biting back a teasing curse that she'd dance away with such a daring declaration tossed so frivolously into the air.
"Love you too..."
Came the inevitable, sincere, and whispered reply.
Teeth unclenched as he sighed and felt forced to shrug away the encroaching grim and dark of the Estate's woesome burdens. Roderick's death weighed heavily on him, but in stranger ways than Tilly's he suspected, as his footsteps began to take him away, to the Archives's step in tactile retreat.
How was he to compete for the attentions of a woman whose eyes still lingered on a corpse? She declared her love to Lekalis, yet she still held onto Roderick's blade for some unknowable reason...
... Jealousy said that; he knew the reason, or at least, some semblence of rationale. It was honor, respect: if not out of ex-some sentiment. Love is not so easily forgotten, the Ex-Lord knew this well, yet her quiet cling to the sword, and by retrospect, the damnable Oxwood man burned a green, envious flame in his gut.
His stride became a traipse as he began his descent to the Darker stairwell into the guts of the Abbey, where he might find the Archives.
He knew he 'ought to respect her decision, her Love, but even the strongest walls are lain low by saboteurs. And that blade, her incapacity to deny any love for Roderick, all were but powder to the bomb 'neath his figurative walls.
There was so much more, he didn't doubt. He let her go to the funeral, for he knew he wouldn't be able to take seeing her mourn over that man. The man she couldn't say she did not love.
Blood remembered this well, and his hand palmed the pommel of his falchion to alleive the knots in his mind, the twitch in his fingers.
There was nothing he could do to alleive her affections, nothing he could do to have her wholly his. In Roderick's death, he became a martyr to Tilly.
Nothing... The word stung like a thousand hot needles in the back of his mind and seethed with a restraing hiss to himself. Like a madness it stung, true; he could not stew in his envy and hate, as he knew how wrong, how unjust and petty it was. He couldn't take being so vile, when he'd strove to be ever kind and nice to those he cared for.
Yet here he was, surrounded by that misting dark, wishing he could all but sour every memory Tilly had of Roderick; to make him a nigh unbearable regret. Someone she loathed as much as he.
At the end of it all, he forced the thoughts down with the simple logic that now was not the time to address them. He wondered if ever he'd have the time to delve into the turmultuous whirlpool of envy that stirred on its own current. That this stew was his own to loathe and yet add more to in the same breath.
With shut eyes, and a chilling heart, he grasped the yet colder handle of the door to the Archives and pushed the woody door open.
Still, perhaps... if Tilly's mind still lingered on one she loved, perhaps he should not damn it; but accept it equally.
He found it easier to pick out Florence's hunched, beaked frame; not by means of any direct influence, but by the shadows cast along the walls, the subtle smell of lavender and parchment and ink. And, of course, preservatives like formaldehyde and the like.
A smile grew like an unveiling moon; the weight of his envy slowly freezing and shattering to dust in lieu of what there was to do with Florence.
His own cloaked shadow wove through the Archives' stoney library, the Ex-Lord's eye catching one or two tomes of religious nonsense. There was a thought to consider them properly, however, in light of such miracles having some need in the coming dawns. Bloody as they might be, such was his nature for all that touched him; Suns were not free of it as much as a woman or alien vessel.
Brushing against the lumpy cobblestones of a pillar, the Ex-Lord leant his shoulder to it as he knew Florence to be just round the bend; in a canyon amidst the walls of books, nested on a hard chair, writing, bringing up, and putting away notes of all kinds to the table.
"Good tides, Crowgazer.", he spoke warmly, and kindly with a bow of his brow; tapping it lightly in salute as he made his way forward after his inviting introduction. He paused, at the table; looking for a seat, then to Florence expectantly...
//
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 7, 2017 19:12:55 GMT -8
The room was nigh torched by the gold of the rising sun, which blazed through the fog of the window and cast long, dark shadows down the silhouetted shelves and desks of the archives.
Florence sat against the backdrop like a drop of ink on pristine parchment, perfectly and rigidly postured as if she had a yardstick for a spine. Her hands, set in their thin, short, greyish gloves, were folded simply and neatly on the desk in front of her, between a stack of notes on one side and the closed inkpot on the other. Squarely behind her was the window and the glare of the sun, which shined off the cracked lens of her mask.
Facing forward, her crowly-beaked face did not need to twitch or pivot to see Lekalis enter, it seemed, though her head quirked at the slightest half of an angle at the sight of him. Her eyes followed the scarlet-backed fellow behind their lenses.
"Hello." Said the Crowgazer as she always did.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 9, 2017 5:13:18 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
Contemplating, he chewed on the inside of his cheek lightly as he squinted at Florence. It was curious how different Florence simply... was. He cracked a smile, as eskewed as the one on her lens, as he drummed his fingers on a chair he now leant forwardly on. His eyes skimmed over the notespaper, then to the inkwell, then her fingers... The very picture of a scholar.
He took a sharp, and deep inhale and shrugged, both, with his brows and shoulders as he looked to the spillage of light in the glorified cellar; holding books, instead of wine, in its stoney confines.
The Ex-Lord nodded to the chair,
"May I sit..?"
He asked simply, as he scooted the chair preemptively out.
Though, he doubly motioned to the notes and inkwell with one of his markedly ungloved hands; his pale gold hands, knuckles rosey from wear and growing callouses, managing to flow through the dust in entrancing flourishes, like a fish in a pond.
"... Preparing for our... Appointment?" The last word came out awkwardly, and he squinted up his features in speculation, as though he was unsure the word was proper despite having said it. Again, he shrugged, and somehow managed to lean more forward for a moment, for emphasis on his query.
"Most Mystics that work by appointment, I've found, like to look at cow's guts and tell you that they can see your future in'em. Or looking at the funny lines on your palm and telling you that you'll die early, but happy."
He held a steady, skeptics gaze on Florence, before shrugging and glancing to the window again,
"But I take it this one's done something truly remarkable for you to consider him trustworthy."
//
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 12, 2017 16:06:56 GMT -8
"I am prepared. I am waiting now."
The Crowgazer certainly looked it, both the former and the latter, flanked on either side by papers, bound and loose, and notes and the like. Though, when Lekalis settled in across from her, her fingers loosened their hold on one another and seemed to lay comfortable on the desk.
Her beaked mask pointed towards the door, waiting.
"I have witnessed this mystic perform healing magic on a hand I had operated on. In other circumstances, the hand would become vestigial, or would require an amputation. He has allowed me to further study the health of his hand and his magics. I believe he will be helpful."
She rambled, slow and flat. Behind her lenses, her gaze parted from the door to look to Lekalis,
"Have you slept well? Are you nourished? Please sit."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 13, 2017 16:11:04 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
With an appreciative nod, he shuffled and found his seat in the chair opposite of Florence. Again, though, he broke into another nod; like a leaf with fresh rain readily dripping down its valley, he chuckled and shrugged at the last. Glancing to the door, then to Florence again with a brow risen in some skepticism, clearly unimpressed by her fascination of the magicks.
"Grace, the head of the Abbey, could do the same. I suppose the difference isn't the magic but the willingness for experimentation which... I would warn to be wary of." Lekalis bowed his head forward for emphasis, looking up to her from heavy brows.
"Never trust miracles that are so brilliant; there's always a trick. And the trick's cruelty and malice only amplify with the intensity of the miracle."
The Ex-Lord shifted in his chair, trying to find a particularly comfortable groove in the chair's seat, pushing his back into the woody support before sighing and sinking in his chair a touch. His eyes grew distant at the thought of sleep, remembering Tilly's sticksome warmth, the harsh angles of lockpicks and gold pieces and daggers hidden behind her coat... Her breast too, the scar which ran just below and arc'd above it. Hard, but soft within the same palm's breadth.
He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly through his nostrils, cocking his head to the side as he realized his eyes had shut in nostalgia. He could almost see her still, in the blacks of his eyelids. Loathe to leave them wholly, he opened one eye and peered at the Crowgazer from his leaned back head.
"I slept well..."
Then, he sighed and shook his head, leaning forward and over the table as he chewed on his lip and furrowed his brows. He set his hands on the table too, palm upwards before he answered a bit absentmindedly,
"... Ah, no, no... I wanted to make sure I didn't miss this... appointment." He pursed his lips and shrugged again, still a bit queer to say on his tongue, but, as he'd glanced away while he spoke, he looked back to Florence, bowing his head forward a bit again.
"Would you... raise your mask for a second? I'd like to hold your hands : skin-to-skin, for a moment. Its... I've forgotten what you feel like."
Though, his sincerity abated as he clucked his tongue and shamelessly shrugged his shoulders, coming back with some cheeky honesty instead,
"And I like the look of your face."
//
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 13, 2017 16:41:12 GMT -8
Florence paused, and then obeyed,
"Yes, I suppose..."
Her hands started into action, slowly, like a machine out of practice and in desperate need of oiling. They rose and pushed up the beak farther up her face, up and over the sharpened jaw, the humorless lips, until it rested comfortably on her forehead, out from which her dark eyes peered.
Or, at least, the modicum that Florence deemed comfortable, which was admittedly a very low bar.
"You must eat before you embark." She insisted, working on un-gloving her pale hands, then. Both moved like levers to extend themselves in Lekalis's direction, where they lay in wait.
"His... 'trick', I believe, is that he hosts a darker entity in much the same way that your amulet hosts an entity. It is why I brought him."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 13, 2017 17:39:17 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Zoust? No staff or trinket?" He hummed pensively, looking to the little slit of window that spilled greyish light into the oozing dark; he absentmindedly flaffed his hand to and fro infront of his face, waving away some unseen smog. Though, he was rather pushing away the darkness as though it were an ill humor as he quirked a small smile at her, that seemed to grow with every inch of her face given to him.
At last, he nodded, as she laid her hands out and he slid his digits inbetween hers. Resting their wrists on the table, he could feel a level of laxitude, a doll-like nature to the perceived intimacy.
Something that only seemed to grow in its apparency with every moment he tried to stir something in her.
Even with the provocation of the acclaimed curiosity; there was only strict complacence and reports. Her wish for him to eat, even, seemed less of a Mother's doting, a lover's worry, than an indifferent reminder.
He grit his teeth, then chewed idly on his lower lip as he tried to hold her blackish eyes... Yet they were sallow as they stared back. There was an almost terrifying allure to it, though... There was an honesty in holding such strict neutrality to everything. Such lack of care for anything but you desired; he supposed they weren't too different in that regard.
The Ex-Lord let his emotions play plain on his face, as it strained into pained thoughts.
"Aye, I'll eat... Don't worry." He spoke softly, distantly, as he seemed all but focused on her face before he looked down to her hands and nodded; running a thumb over her knuckles he gave her hand a soft squeeze.
"You be careful around folks with darker entities. Not all of'em, like me, wanna just have dinner with you; most don't have that Dark Entity in some semblance of control like we've mine now."
That mild indulgence in her eyes seemed to have sapped any bouncing tenor to his tone, as he spoke on in a quiet measure; but it peaked, on occasion as he sniffed the air and idly examined the anatomy of her pallid hands.
"I believe Tilly is with child. She'd visions of the Red Figure coaxing something from her gut. I saw her in my dream this morning as well." He explained, raising his eyes to watch hers again...
//
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 14, 2017 16:13:27 GMT -8
So there it was.
"What... did you see it happen?" Florence blinked slowly, out from under the beak of her mask that protruded almost comically off from her forehead.
"That's impossible. It's too early."
But it wasn't. Her University sought more knowledge than it had the technology to attain, lacking the ability to peer ever deeper, only skimming the surface. And while the good Doctor had been well-learned on the matters of human physiology and development, she had known it was impossible to glearn the exact date of conception after an intermingling.
If this were true, then, she supposed she would know it was fairly early...
Her eyes, bright and wide despite their darker bags, flicked to her stack of notes and her quill, in thought... she was making mental notes.
After a while, she decided, looking back to him, and spoke simply.
"...Congratulations."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 14, 2017 16:31:16 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
This time, surprise had him raise both brows as he politely recoiled; his back stiffening as he 'huh'd ineffectually. Last time he'd come with news of his copulation, he'd struck a semblence of frustration, anger even; it was something.
Though, he paused and offered a humbled smile, bowing his head in gratitude before speaking;
"Much obliged, but... By 'it' do you mean the... Vision of our Red Man or--" He stopped himself and stiffled his humor for a moment,
"--Ah, you... probably mean the vision." He murmured under his breath, shrugging as he'd cast his eyes away in a bit of shame, before sestting them back on Florence's own.
His eyes seemed to squint at hers, his mouth quirking to the side in consideration; or perhaps trying to draw up memories.
"No..." He spoke as slowly as Florence's eyes blinked, as though he were memorizing her reaction to each word, each letter.
"... Though, I'd asked Tilly to join us; you may be able to investigate her? I... We figured it would be best to be both examined."
Though, he paused, the slow measured speech passing as he bobbed his head to one shoulder then the other.
"Well, least, she agreed to come. I'm just... assuming she'll be fine with being checked out." He admitted with a boyish shrug.
//
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 14, 2017 19:14:25 GMT -8
Florence's brows knitted together, her gaze drifting from Lekalis to the door, as if expecting Tilly to materialize. Surprised for the second time, one after the other, the urge to take notes rose in such a way that it was almost painful.
Though, this wasn't truly anything she could note on.
"She did? But... she was upset at me..." Her hands, pale and clammy and cold, twitched, as if on impulse, her fingers flexing back at his. She pressed her mouth into a line, tipping her head back some, in thought. The lenses atop her head stared blankly at the ceiling.
"I can... test for confirmation, given enough time to gather the materials; a physical examination may prove useful." Her eyes, brown and clear, were fixed on some corner of the room as if she could glean any wisdom from its shadows. "She must be withheld from your expedition. To do otherwise would put the child in peril..."
The doctor thought on, silent for another few moments.
"I wrote her an apology note for exsanguinating her friend."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 14, 2017 19:30:39 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
His features settled, then a brow rose in curiosity as he watched her own features contort amusingly; her brows were rather bereft of any lines of age, though her eyes sagged from sleepless nights. He chewed on his lower lip, then leaned over to intercept her gaze as she looked to the door.
Pearly teeth flared in amusement as he chuckled a little at her motion, settling back to the table as she mentioned Tilly's upsettance. He himself, shrugged and nodded,
"Well yes, I imagine she is, still..." He trailed off, looking to the notes as he, once again, sobered from a smiling demeanour.
"... But--" He began, reaffirmed, confident as he looked back into Florence's dark tawny eyes; like an owl.
"--She's rational, strong-willed and well-witted. I'm sure she understands the situation." He finished with a smirk as her tense and eager hands were realized.
He gave one last meek, sad smile as he doubly squeezed her hands and loosened his grip on them; satisfied with what he'd gleaned from it all. She still listened, and learned as any good scholar would.
Though on her mention of the Expedition, his features steeled some; a Lordly nature in his tone.
"She's not so ailed. And I've no control over her; she'll go on this expedition, or some other one if she can't go on mine. It is better to have her under my vigil than another's." He explained with a frowning brow, as his own lips took a turn to crease flatly in distaste,
"The expedition is only a scouting run, so I can freely flee from battles. I've doubly composed my party of two solid hunting men; one is a glory hound so he'll gladly put himself in the thick of it, I imagine. Both wield rifles with ample skill... I've made as many precautions as possible to ensure Tilly remain unharmed in this coming expedition."
Though, even as he said this, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Florence; his eyes glanced to his fingers, where his thumb anxiously tapped against the table thrice before he looked back up to Florence. Asking for reassurance in his eyes.
He sighed, though, and offered an assuring smile of his own; raising a hand and beckoning her forth with a flourish;
"That apology, though... May I see it? I'm sure she will appreciate it."
//
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 14, 2017 19:58:24 GMT -8
Florence's hands remained, limp, as her eyes narrowed in thought.
"I have attended expeditions that resulted in deaths. It does not take skill to perish in the dungeon." Florence frowned, shifting to sight straight, eyes drifting from that terribly interesting corner of the ceiling to the stack of papers at her side.
"She cannot defend against contagion. She will be weakened, and illness at this stage would be very harmful, if not fatal, and difficult to treat. This is not accounting for her present malnutrition, stress, and mental status."
The more she thought on it, the more she disliked the prognosis.
Florence met his eyes, at last.
"You must not allow her to become injured or to become ill. Do not permit her to drink wine, or milk, or to eat raw meats, fish, or eggs. Do not allow her to swim in the water. This could result in cretinism for the child if it does not cause its death."
The hand moved independently of her, stiff as it was wont to be. The fingers pinched and plucked up the note and handed it to Lekalis,
"I spent much time writing it."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 14, 2017 20:12:05 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"I've no such experience with expeditions, but the threat of Death... I know to be careful." He assured her again, though he listened with evermore intent as she listed off the various things he 'ought to be accounting for, on top of his own frets and worries.
And so many, there were, that he was tempted to ask for a note to write it down. He felt a bit strange, to the point of a small chuckle, that he hardly felt attatched to the loss of wine. Though, he did raise a hand slightly; a student with an inquery.
"What of juices..? I've a mind for... maybe pear cider and cinnamon, or pomegranate--" He paused, and flourished his hand with a nod, elaborating,
"-- A red seed from the mountains where the Middle East meets the Orient. It's known to be quite good for health."
With a content breath, he nodded,
"But, I understand; thank you... I'd helped my Mother and some of my land's people deliver children before but... Never have I truly known the minutia of it." He admitted with a content smile, though, it waned as he thought on the more... violent means, which he delivered children. To think such a base sack of meatly potatoes was to be made in his name..? It still played his heart and mind like a fiddle.
Indeed, memory seemed to glaze over his eyes as he'd stared at the note for a long while, before absent-mindedly plucking it up, nodding with muttered;
"Ah... yes, yes..."
As he turned it over once, then twice, then again until he found the words and read them. It was grounding, and honestly, perhaps one of the sweeter things to have come from Florence. It warmed his heart, and he grinned; stiffling a chuckle with his other hand as he rose a brow and looked to Florence.
Truthly, it was poor for an apology... But he could explain it to Tilly, maybe let her find some humor in Florence's... tact. Or lack thereof?
"... It's lovely, Florence." He sighed, with a roll of his head and a flair of theatrics about him as he presented the note back to her.
"Might I suggest poetry?"
//
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