The Abbey

[Vanitypirate]

"I understand."

Florence listened, with that mask loosely in her hands, poised to fit over her face where it was wont to be, time after time, though she was polite in that she waited for Lekalis to leave before she'd move to put it on.

"There is no use in longing for what you have not lost."

She reminded him of this as if it were a simple fact, common sense.

And she looked upwards at the low-hanging ceiling, up away from the mask in her two hands, as he spoke his commendations. She let herself mull over those words that came from him; she was meant to be a prodigy, after all.

She wished to be an effective one.

"I shall see you tomorrow morning." She told Lekalis, and reminded him again,

"Do not become injured."

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

"You make sure I've no need to: long for something I've lost." He pointed out, as he let go of the handle and pushed the door back, though he lingered in the doorway; frightfully caught in Florence's talksome ways.
"You, specifically." He clarified with a wink and knowing nod, before straightening his shoulders and ensuring he at least seemed dignified.

"Likewise, Florence... Take care." With that, he managed to depart at last; something like pulling oneself from a boat's side to swim into the ocean again.

He shut the door behind him as he ascended the steps into the Undercroft, setting about to its labyrinthian tombs; his fingers curled up and fidgeting with the bandage at his neck, his cloak draped about him closely, as he saw to stalking those halls like a red gheist.

//

[Vanitypirate]

There was a wealth of complications to consider, and Tilly did so as she ascended up the abbey's winding stair.

First and foremost, there was the matter of Courcy: the robber had considered her much to be a kind of wallflower with its own share of thorns, but time and time again had she betrayed her own, inner fire. The recent events were much more telling, awoken from rest in that bitty alcove of the land, where the shadows didn't stalk those who rested, and one only had to fear his fellow men.

In the bosom of civilization, Courcy was still as fierce as she was when their lives were endangered. She found that to be a good sign.

And yet, there was still Brenton, who had shown himself to be somewhat antagonistic against the needs of the group, a behavior she had seen repeated before, and had damned otherwise flawless expeditions. After all, all it took was a simple scalpel to the neck to deliver an abrupt end to years of life and experience. Someone knowledgeable in that regard of life-ending was to be distrusted, if not feared-- even moreso with the treatment of his property, and ill-preparedness for a time away from home.

If anything, he seemed rather desperate to Tilly, for lack of gold; she knew the feeling well, herself.

As she closed the tall door behind her, she felt the heat of the abbey's foyer, warmed by the rather moderate amount of bodies occupying the abbey's typically vacant spaces, and she had to wonder if this was the usual attendance on any other Sunday. But, surely, it was not every day that the head of the abbey gave her own sermon, and it was not a strange thing to seek one's own glimmer of hope in such places. The golden light that filtered in through the windows, the sun's death-throe rays, only intensified such an image.

She sniffed, and felt her nose moisten a tad. It would seem that the air in this place of glimmers was a touch dry for her. She ran her sleeve under her nose-- very uncouth, admittedly, but she lacked a handkerchief.

It was a bit troubling, when, as she looked down, she spied a streak of red across the forearm of her long glove.

It'd be a stain that would be difficult to remove. She cupped a hand over it and gave a mildly anxious look around to see if anyone had seen her do such a thing.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

Eventually, through the winding bowels of the Abbey, he emerged with a haughty and eager breath; he'd never felt so suffocated 'neath the mossy, muddy underdwelling of the otherwise cleanly and austere establishment. Indeed, he was more used to the persistent dust over constant barrage of pollen that contrasted the up from the down.

With a light flapping of his cloak, looking down at its furls, he chuckled lightly as he spied a few clods of dry dirt fall to the ground, immediately detonating into small clouds of grey-brown dust. It made his smile quirk to an amused smirk, as he rose a brow and looked about at the markedly non-comittal habitants of the church.
Respectable sorts, as far as the Hamlet warranted, at least; he heard small whispers of a rather marked sermon from the Head of The Abbey. There was a rough idea in his mind as to whom that was, but it was, rather, the title and deed that tipped him off to the rationale to such an arrival.

He wondered if they'd mention the Late Knight of Oxwood; he wondered if he even wanted them to, as his hands clasped eachother, just above his belt, idly fidgeting with that metal and eachother in rumination; 'till the object of those thoughts manifested in a flurry of patchwork cloth and noted hat.

For a moment, he was awe-struck; as the light from past the Abbey's windows spilled in, and only served to give a truly angellic glow to his Dearest, his Only. He was glad to have had time to clear his mind in the Undercroft, as it seemed his desires and emotions were as tumultuous as any ocean in a storm.

She didn't seem to spy him, immediately, though he knew it was a matter of time. His Red Cloak was damning, he could very well be holding a brazier and perhaps have a better chance at passing off as a statue than hawking the grey and blue drab of the Abbey's fellows.

Indeed, he took it upon himself to be more like a falcon, as he set to a hasty jog; doing his best not to break the general ambling nature of the occupants of the Abbey, using them as breakers to his form. Going so far as to swoop his cloak to one side, away from Tilly's line of sight, as he hastily beat a path along the side of the Abbey's mainmost hall.

His heels clacked louder as he drew near, it would take only one glance, he knew; inbetween his cat's grin and sanguine cloak, he rather stuck out like a sore thumb. He was lucky she'd looked down to attend to some nasal disturbance, as that was the core reason, he figured, for her not to have seen him.

Though, from this distance... Her hair catching the light so pristinely, and her coat a curious Prussian blue. What truly made his heart skip a beat was to see her green eyes, ripe like spring, glisten in greedy sight.
For a moment, he wondered just what she was thinking behind those verdant lens; though, only for a moment. As now, so close to her, he did his best to break into a quick sprint; aiming to swoop in like his falconic nature was 'aught to do, and take her into an ambushing embrace.

//

[Vanitypirate]

It was unfortunate, indeed, considering how recently she'd given her person and items a wash, and she had already bloodied it.

Tilly dipped her head back, pinching her rather comically prominent nose closed in an attempt to staunch the flow outward. It was ironic, to her, to have had such an unfortunate nasal occurrence as soon as she stepped into the abbey, to the sermon she was desperate to attend.

Despite all the hapless stainage, she was quite amused. She idly wondered if anyone would confuse such a happenstance as her being otherwordly or unholy for such a thing, as she stood there with her nose shut. She had already begun to shuffle out of the way of the other, lackadazy church-goers in the foyer when a pair of arms emerged square out of the shadows and wrapped alarmingly about her rather stickstome frame.

She felt a rise of panic, and her hands floundered to her pockets in search of her knives in some modicum of self-defense before she caught the perfume-y fragrance of his scent, felt the ridge of the amulet at her back. So much more preferable than the sudden manifestation of the Bear-man would be, and certainly more agreeable than the possibility of an ambush fielded by that goggled doctor-man she'd told off...

Granted, the thoughts were irrationally paranoid, and she was well aware of it.

"Lek--" Tilly gave a sharp inhale through her nose-- and consequently, unwittingly tasted copper in her mouth-- and began again,
"Blood! Give me a sodding heart attack, feel free!"

Thinking on it now, there was not an excessive amount of time passed between their last parting, and as she craned her neck and squirmed in his arms, she noted a very distinct roll of scarlet down the man's shoulders and took it as a sign that, indeed, he had not lost himself within the snaking passages of the abbey's interior.
It was also a rather telling sign that his appearance here wasn't for the sake of the upcoming sermon.

"Careful-- mind your sleeves, now." She warned, with a breath and a shaky laugh. It couldn't be helped; she quite enjoyed his presence, and had grown to miss it in his admittedly brief absence.
"I've bloodied my blitting nose." She complained, bitterly, with a huff, bringing a hand up to cup about the great, pointed thing and her bloodied lip. Albeit, the stream of blood proved to be minor, and had already staunched by then.

"Did you hear about the sermon?" Her eyes, as if to gesture in lieu of her pinned hands, flicked to the podium at the very end of the hall,
"Or, better yet: did you find your cloak alright?"

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

Of all the persons he may have been able to lift up in such a hugging embrace, Tilly was one of the few. Though, as he set her back down, he let her go and took a few quick steps to take shelter in the shadow of a nook of the architecture; his hand pulling Tilly's own to accompany him.
He knew it was rather promiscuous to hug her so, but he figured it could just be excessive friendliness with a few silver-tongued words.

Though, as she spoke, his cheery nature seemed to take a hit; his brows furrowing in contemplation, yet remained unconvinced as he chuckled and looked at his sleeves respectively, before pinching the side of his cloak and bringing a square of it up infront of Tilly.
"Sorry, sorry... Here; my cloak?" He offered, nodding as his excitement and breath came back to him after the brief spat of running

"Aaaah; I hadn't heard! Yeah... Huh..." The Ex-Lord looked about with a bobbing head, and shrugged,
"... That would explain... all the--" He motioned to the others in the hall, with a smirk and wink,
"--Warm, fleshbags.", he jested the dehumanizing remark with a bow of his brow as he hummed, quirking his mouth to the side.

"Aye, aye... though, I found my cloak easily enough. I'd to run around the Abbey a little, t'were not where I'd thought I'd left it last." He explained with a shrug, his lips furled over themselves as he mocked uttermost sadness.
"I take it you're not here 'cause you were so wrought with worry and anxiety to seek me out, so remissed without me?" He cooed in a small whisper, as he leant his head to one shoulder, pressing the flat of his scalp onto the cobblestones of the wall.

Despite it all, he kept his words rather hushed, as one was want to do in a place of religion; though more so out of a desire for secrecy and respect to their pact than any higher being. It did not stop him from keeping his hands dancing about her sides and plucking lightly at her gloved fingers.

Albeit, he still held up the square of his cloak for her to use as a makeshift hankerchief: going so far as to presume compliance, so he dabbed lightly at her reddend fuller and lips.

//

[Vanitypirate]

Another nook, she noted with a poorly, bloodied smile; albeit, it was certainly less reclusive than their last.

"Oh--" She began, as her heels hit the ground, before making to trot after him into that bitty cranny after him. Her hand bobbed up about her nose, and while she was grateful that the flow had staunched, there was still the matter of drippage.

"Yes! Grace'll be the one giving it." She told him cheerily, hand curling about the cloak, as though to assist, while he dabbed it on her upper lip. She sniffed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose instead.
It did not feel at all painful, and the air wasn't particularly dry come this spring.

She chalked it up as some freak occurrence, and little more.

"I went and trundled on, after that sermon, hoping and praying I'd stumble across your path. Naturally." She jested with as sincere a smile she could manage, what with it being tended to, and her own simple joy at having run across Lekalis.

"Are you at all interested in attending? I'd told Courcy and that... doctor that you'd be over in just a tic." She asked, staring back at his eyes with that smile plastered across her face. It turned dreamy, a bit, before she continued and it wavered with the mention of Brenton,

"I don't think I like that doctor much, by-the-by. He's an odd one."

[twostepsback]

"Nice to meet you, Tod," Charis replies with a nod. "How long have you been in the Hamlet?" She then asks "I've only arrived here a few days ago."

[Kidney]

Tod looked over, scratching the back of his neck again. "I've been here about two weeks. Mostly spent it in the sanitarium." He laughed quietly, "Got cut pretty bad on my shoulder..."
He moved his shoulder, showing Charis the cut in his coat, with dried blood crusted around it.

[twostepsback]

"I can help with that if the wound still bothers you." Charis offers, "I maybe wearing the colors of the 'Light of the Sword' Sect," Charis stated, indicating the white habit and red scapular she is wearing. "But that's because I lived at one of their abbeys for the past year. I'm a much better healer than I am a fighter."

[Kidney]

Tod waves a hand in the air, dismissing the idea. "Oh no no no, it's perfectly healed." Tod put his elbows on his knees and put his chin in his hands.

[twostepsback]

"Okay... Um... I heard there's undead in certain locations outside the Hamlet, is that true?" Charis inquiries worriedly.

[Kidney]

Tod looks at Charis, a little concerned, "Well, yes. It's been confirmed for me." He says, a little saddened. "I'm just an exorcist, my duties are going to be here, performing my duty."
He smiles again, in an attempt to lighten the situation. 

[twostepsback]

Charis shudders, "Not a fan of undead..." Charis pauses, before saying, "Mind if I share a story?"

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

"Grace..?" He remarked, both with surprise and confusion. There was a healthy amount of skepticism and critique already, as he rose a brow and let the cloak fall back to his side, if Tilly's own hand ould let it, though he kept his hand gingerly cupping her jaw and cheek.
His thumb ran over the bone of her skull's cheek, smiling at the sensation of flat skin transitioning to her lips, as that uncallous thumb traced her mouthly outline in thinly veiled intimacy, with their modicum of secrecy at the maw of another alluring cranny.

Lekalis hummed a little laugh, as she indulged in his humor, his own inky eyes scrunching up in amusement as his hand drifted to her neck; feeling her pulse and blood. It was frightening, how much he felt her. Something he knew he could never attain with Florence, yet, something he did not desire with her.
"Naturally." He agreed with a tiny laugh.

"Ah, well, now that you're here... I'm sure I can be lost in the archives a touch longer." He agreed, yet again, as he nudged her lightly in the ribs and, at last, patted the side of her arm before pulling his hand away. Or, at least, trying to; he couldn't resist delicately touching the tips of her fingers with his own.

Albeit, he sighed, smirking and raising his brows in mock surprise, as he rolled his eyes at her lastmost remark.
"What is it that's so difficult about being smart and, well, I don't know... somewhat normal? Look at me: better parts of my years couped up in dojos and schools and I turned out... Well--" He paused, and considered his own history and chuckled,

"-- Alright, maybe it is a wan difficult; but they could at least keep their insanity better hidden. Tell me then; what makes this Doctor Odd?" He 'ah-ah'd, raising and wagging a finger for her patience:

"Wait, let me guess: His slave is actually a psychological experiment? Or-or is it... He harvests the man's organs?.. Hmm... No, I didn't see any surgical implements. He'd no beaky mask, if I remember right: just goggles. Means he doesn't dabble with any medicines, really; smelled more of... cleanly items, and hypnotic wares." He hummed, running over his memory of the man, alwhile sharing his thought process as he chewed on it, mentally; albeit, his jaw flexed and tensed as though it were a more literal motion. He shrugged, squinting as he leered off to the central walkway, inbetween the pews.

"No mask means... he probably values showing off his face, though not so much to divine his identity immediately. Couple that with a serf he rather proudly displays, yet keeps bogged down: I'd say he has a touch of an inflated ego. He was eccentric, but lacked any real spine; hence the need for a downtrodden, even chained, fellow. Something for him to beat his ego's flame." Lekalis mused, tapping his chin as he pursed his lips, as though sporting a pipe for thoughtful musing. He upraised his chin, and closed an eye at Tilly as he nodded.

Rocking an equally sudden and cliche` accent of such an Investigator to wield a smoking pipe and cap, he tipped the imaginary latter and spake;
"MMmmyes, final answer: He has an Ego, frightful one. Like that Late Whately, No? I'd dare say our Brenton indulged in a rape or two, he's the face for it... Lewd, maybe, his serf?" Lekalis clucked his tongue and sneered.
"Color my taste soured for the man."

//