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Post by relentless on Apr 8, 2018 15:40:23 GMT -8
/The Blacksmiths - Villon/
The smoky aroma of the blacksmith bellowed forth from the it's Chimney held high above its straw thatched roof. The glow of the forge shined with a soft amber, and the harsh grind of metal against a grindstone could be heard.
Just in front of the Blacksmith, a newly fitted grindstone had been put in place by Boris, which seemed quite handy and had already seen some usage from citizens, guards and mercenary alike. For now it was quiet around the blacksmith, with only one person around its premise. A somewhat haggard old man was sat down on a stump that had been carried over to the grindstone so the pedal function could be operated correctly. Beside him lay three small pouches, given by the Heir for the expedition that had happened months ago. It felt like it would never end, a foggy hope. But now Villon is back, and despite some grim calling cards, the man was whistling to himself a light, warm and exciting tune.
His legs worked the grindstone at a moderate, yet careful rate whilst two hands were glasped around a detached axe head. Chips in the iron and blunting across the edge with the mercenaries lon voyage to save the winter wolf had bore fruit. So to save funds, Villon took it upon himself to grind his axehead to a nice angle, sparks filling the air at a slow, flickering rate whilst iron filings dropped onto the he grindstone wheel only to be rolled off.
For now; he relaxed himself without drink or grump, only with an executioners longest activity.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 11, 2018 7:11:42 GMT -8
"Oh... funny."
Florence found herself immediately disinterested in The Game, though she could still understand its inherent usefulness.
Now, however, she risked being made to perform silly and nonsensical tasks. Business as usual.
"I do not understand how bathing only with you is humorous."
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Post by relentless on Apr 11, 2018 9:11:54 GMT -8
Villon peddled long and tirelessly on the grindstone, the swirling of the large stone and the grind of metal against its surface was whistling out in the air with a constant grind to it. His left and right hand held steadfast onto both sides of the axe head,ensuring maximum stability as he differentiated the pressure on various sides of the axe's side. Eventually, one side of the axe would be a clean sheen of metal, grinded down and sharpened into a better form.
With a smirk through his tough beard, Villon took a moment to relax himself on the grindstone; stretching his arms and sides with various movements, causing abrupt cracks to erupt from within, releasing tension and undoing knots.
Turning to the other side, it was the same chipped and worn down quality as before. So with a huff, he decided to get to work.
"O' come all ye old sailor men, listen to me,
I'l sing yah a song of da fish in the sea-"
Villon sung under his breath as he began to peddle, eventually breaking off into a series of hums and whistles.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 11, 2018 10:01:32 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
With a wry chuckle he began to ply his way towards one of the winding streets away from the Coutyard; distinctly remembering his and Tilly's first sprint where they'd passed a few curious shops. One of them was probably a grocers store.
"It is... Because you could be waiting there... for hours." He chuckled, snickering as he covered his mouth. Perhaps it wasn't the funniest but the humor was enough to amuse him,
"Just waiting... Er-oh... I suppose you do that a lot already." He sighed at the last, pausing as he approached the road and then broke into laughter again, motioning to Florence again,
"Go on, it is your turn."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 11, 2018 10:16:07 GMT -8
Florence disapproved of the joke and failed to see the humor in inconveniencing herself. She promised herself to make exceptions if the situation called for it.
"It is my turn." She echoed Lekalis, thinking... and then poised,
"Truth or dare?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 11, 2018 10:25:02 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Hmmm... Truth." He decided in a subdued manner as he strode on, patiently and humbly as his thoughts grew more ponderous. He was rather surprised Florence hadn't heard of the game before, perhaps it was under a different name in Italy... Though she should have picked up the rules early enough.
Lekalis was rather sympathetic to her situation, to be denied such fun must have been horrible... He'd never pondered what she was like in the past; whether she was always so somber and grey, or if it was placed upon her like a veil.
The surgery she underwent came to mind, and he passed a glance back to her, levelling his gaze where he'd seen it last for a moment. Such a deed was bound to change a person... But she seemed content with the ordeal.
He nodded sadly, and began examining the storefronts for something implying a grocer...
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 11, 2018 11:22:40 GMT -8
Florence accepted her fate to ask on a Truth instead of being able to demand a Dare; it was the way of the game, especially if it, as a rule, alternated between a Truth and a Dare, between herself and Lekalis.
By that math, she could only tell Lekalis what to do a quarter of the time.
"Hm..."
But now she could force a Truth out of him. Unfortunately she always expected Lekalis to be truthful with her, and this was no exception.
"Where will your wedding be located?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 11, 2018 11:41:30 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Oh! At the plot of land I own, now..." He remarked happily, turning to face her now as he made to fish out the writ proudly, before stopping himself. She probably didn't need to see it... So he chuckled and nodded,
"... I believe I mentioned it; it is not too far from the Tavern, I'll bring you... By it sometime. Probably tonight to... To deliver--" He motioned to a sign of carrots and barley, rather harshly, but proudly painted on a slab of wood hanging above a door.
"-- The foods." He nodded with a humble grin, raising a brow as he turned to face Florence while backpedalling towards the door.
He placed a hand over his sternum poshly, mimicking the subtle fluctuations of Florence's accent,
"It isa My turna : Trutha or Dare-eh?"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 11, 2018 11:51:24 GMT -8
If Florence could somehow convey a frown easily, with the mask secured to her face, she would have.
"That is not your typical speech pattern." She observed keenly before stepping with great care and deliberation into the shop.
She awaited Lekalis to follow as she spoke, cleverly, so as to not be tasked with more inconvenient dares,
"I shall choose Truth."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 11, 2018 17:18:18 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
There it was, perhaps curiously, he wanted more Truth from Florence... Granted, she wasn't one to lie. But to properly bring it up was... Difficult. Even if the grace of conversation was lost on the Doctorly... Doctor Florence.
He caught her frown in the subtle shifts of her shoulders and perhaps some yearbuilt connection, he offered a quick apology before darting into the Grocers store after her.
The grey, old and tired fellow barely stirred, as he looked up at the subtle ring of a bell; he mumbled something that sounded vaguely english before waiting, patiently, watching the two.
"Hmmm; what did you want to become before you were a Doctore?" He didnt' mean to, but he still mimicked Florence's accent, out of habit.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 11, 2018 19:00:55 GMT -8
Florence looked between the grocer and Lekalis, as though she felt inclined to speak without having any particular wish to.
She took a step back, behind Lekalis, to allow him to manage the transaction.
"I knew I would be a physician ever since I was old enough to think. My education had to have started early to be as knowledgeable as I am today."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 11, 2018 19:04:55 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Come now, does not answer my question!" He declared with a chuckle and shake of his inkish hair, happily plucking up a few carrots, a bushell of apples, and a head of cabbage, as well as a loaf of hard bread that Lekalis eyed with some scrutiny.
He twirled on his heel and faced Florence with a cocked brow,
"Did you ever want to be something else?" He asked curiously with a teasing smile as he flared his canines. Yet it was a warm smile still, kindly trying to pull an answer from the beakish confines of Florence's mask.
He gave a small sigh and turned to place the objects on a scale beside the grocers man, who looked to it with a dead look in his eyes; whether it was the iron scale that creaked or the old man, Lekalis couldn't be sure.
Either way, Lekalis began to plant coins on the scale to even out the weight, sizing up to a fair 15 coins that rounded out some rather bland rations. But it would be good enough to cook with, he supposed.
Lekalis gave a quick, dismissive hiss-click of his tongue as he nodded to the door, collecting up the supplies in his arms before making his way towards the exit with a wicker basket of groceries....
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 11, 2018 19:08:42 GMT -8
Florence hummed and then shrugged, indecisively,
"No. I did not think about it. It would have been pointless."
She followed along after the red-cloaked Lekalis as he left. Florence seemed untroubled about the answer.
"...Yes, I do not know."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Apr 11, 2018 19:12:00 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
He sighed, sad for a moment before shaking his head; it was a shame but... if this was all she knew... He looked back to her with an exaggerated, forlorn look.
Perhaps it was best she stay that way.
Being so drunk, he'd hoped the thoughts would be like a blade dipped in mud; less sharp and more... playful, amusing and silly. But they still clove depressive gashes in his mind that stung his eyes with wetness again.
Lekalis gave a short scoff and shook his head free of tears, and continued on across the courtyard; aiming to skirt past the Tavern to path his way back to his new home.
"I see..." He offered, almost forgetting the game, he looked back to her with a small smile and beckoned her keep pace with a shrug,
"... That is a point for me! Ha-ha. Hmm, do you know of any games?"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 11, 2018 19:16:01 GMT -8
"Hmm..."
Florence plodded along after him in all her seriousness, trailing after him through the alleys and streets of the Hamlet.
She blinked, as though to shake off the muddledness of her mind; what memories she had before she left home were cloudy and difficult to grasp.
Drinking was inconvenient. Surely it was the drinking.
"I do not know of any games."
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