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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jul 25, 2020 2:12:37 GMT -8
(past) Courcy let herself relax in the tub, as the water rose past her feet and her waist. The warmth enveloping her was soothing. “Love. That’s what I want more than anything.” She inhaled deep and sighed from her lips. Her chest rising and falling, then submerged as the bath filled. “The way you care for Tilly. I wish I could have you.” Courcy cupped her hands, gathering water to wet her hair. She pulled her braids loose and looked toward Lekalis again. “Mama didn’t think a girl should be near the forge. Sometimes I would fetch tools for father, but I was too young to really help.” /Lekalis/
There was a humble, but still sly smirk that quirked Lekalis' dimpled cheeks as a long sigh left his nostrils and he set his attentions to Courcy with a familiar, tired gaze. "When I was studying in the Bathhouses of Byzantium and beyond, all wished to have me." There was an ego and steel in his tone as he eyed Courcy's ruddy hair with a small cluck of his tongue, noting the tangles and strands before diving down to fetch a vial of oil and a hard block of soap. A pouch of reagents also found itself on his hip as he moved behind Courcy and rolled up his sleeves.
"Tilt your head back." He requested politely,
"But don't think I am the only one like me. We all share the same red bloody blood; I do my best in Life to set an example for what I wish to see in the world... and what I consider to be the best a man can be." He intoned as he lathered his hands in an oil that immediately began to perfume the room with a hard smelling minty citrus. "You know, every Blacksmiths' apprentice begins by fetching tools for their master..." He mused with a shrug, "... it's not the worst way to start. And, perhaps, if you learn to shape metal... maybe you can help shape this house of ours."
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Post by black379 on Jul 25, 2020 6:25:28 GMT -8
Courcy laid her head back and rested her eyes. She hummed with content as the pleasant aroma wafted above her. She couldn’t remember being so relaxed in all her life.
“Maybe there are others, but I don’t know them. I admit,” The woman sank just an inch more beneath the water, stretched her limbs, then settled in the warm bath. “I’ve given in to plenty of bad men, because I just wanted someone.”
She peeked an eye open, spying upward at Lekalis.
“You tempt me, you know? The more I help you and your house, the more you tempt me.”
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Post by EloHim on Jul 25, 2020 15:48:22 GMT -8
[Volundr]
"Good...good."- he gets back up on his legs. He got enough assurances for now.
"I'll take care of the armor. And you need...take care of yourself. You almost cried your eyes out."- he didn't have anything more...meaningful... to say to her. He needed to get back to work. He needed to forget...all the shit this entire conversation had dredged up. All the fucked up memories. All the faces. Gods, please allow this to be easily forgotten...
“Your average layman drinks some hard liquor in order to dull the pain and honor the memory of the fallen...but i don't think you’ll agree to that.”
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Post by rosallora on Jul 25, 2020 16:01:53 GMT -8
[Toustain]
She stands, feeling the weight of the world again - it coagulates around her, thick and real. He has an air of activity to him - there are things that he needs to do. She's taking up his time. And she needs to see to things, as well.
She nods, then pauses at his words.
"No... I won't agree to that. You're right. But I'm... sure there are other ways. I'll find one." She doesn't know what it is yet. More prayer. More meditation. Something, anything, to make a space of quiet in her humming mind.
She steps towards the front, nodding briefly to Harold - she feels embarrassed. He knows something is off with her. "...Have a good day, Volundr." Say thank you, her heart says. Thank him. He's been comforting and sweet and he listened when you cried. Say thank you and know that he is a good man.
She doesn't know why the words stick in her throat. She's just left staring for a long moment. Her lips part, then close. She nods. Her fingers twitch at her sides.
She turns, and she leaves quickly.
--
The Hamlet can feel large sometimes, when you don't know exactly where you're going. Usually Toustain felt that everything was so easy to find, it was all just a hop or a skip away. Down the road and around the corner and over the perpetual puddle settled at the bottom of that one alleyway and another turn and you were there - and "there" could be just about anywhere. It was easy. It could even be nice, the size of town, how navigable it was. It didn't close itself off to her. It was welcoming.
Or at least, it usually was.
Maybe it was the day and the weather or maybe it was just the weight of the everything. It was like her heart was pressed into the concave shape of her ribcage, like it was aching back against the side of it like a wounded soldier holding onto a steadfast companion. What Volundr had said... it stuck, she thinks. She hopes. He was a good man, so hopefully whatever he said, she'd remember. Even if it was just the essence of it, the feeling, and not directly the words.
Even now, some of it was fading from her mind, lost to the grey of the sky and the sound of her footsteps. Things echoed.
She looks at what must be the newest building in the Hamlet - the bath-house. She hadn't been here since... well. She'd visited Tilly, and Tol. And that'd been ages ago. Or it felt like it'd been ages. Does she knock? Just step in?
She closes her eyes for a moment, just resting her hand against the wooden door. And she feels like a fool, hearing others walk and talk about and knowing that she was just standing here, looking dumb as dumb could be. Meek. Toustain the Meek. Unable to open a door that likely wasn't even unlocked.
The handle was cool under her grasp. Open it. Open it.
She does, and she pulls the door towards her, stepping carefully inside. It was so different. Without people here, without revelry and drink and... there's that tightness again, that dull pain in her chest, that grip that spreads over her and makes her feel like she was dying, but slowly, so slowly that she could still manage things before she inevitably collapsed. She danced here in the Hamlet for the first time and it was because she had somehow arrived on the day of a wedding. A beautiful and wonderful wedding of lovely people and yes, she'd met him here. Roard.
The Lord's name. What was his name, recall his name - she'll need to know it. She brought him bread, he was excited about bread, but Excited About Bread was not a name. She thinks it starts with F?
Goddess above there was a sign outside, likely, and somehow she missed it and it likely had the last name on it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid-
She blinks. Brain in your head. use it. She's just been standing here with the door peeped open behind her. She turns quickly to close it.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jul 27, 2020 20:56:27 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
With a playfully sardonic grin, one eye closed to mimic Courcy's peering nature as he ran his fingers through her hair; the oil easing into her roots and freeing her strands from any unfortunate coils with only passing resistance. The aroma began to subdue itself as he began to work it into her hair, and scalp. "I tempt everyone, Courcy. T'is my blessing, and my curse." His grin turned to a small smile as he indulged in work that he was good at; his fingers at once present yet never there, his touch light yet precise and punctual. "I don't do it intentionally... that allure you feel is simply for basic human decency which you rob yourself of every time you stoop to low-hanging fruit..." The euphemism inspired a small giggle that betrayed his lecturesome tone.
"... Raise your bar, and hold others to it; I did much the same with Tilly, and I do the same with you, and all my other friends." His eye narrowed as both opened, his fingers momentarily cradling Courcy's skull in warm fingers. He leaned low and peered into her azure eyes; drinking deep from those pools alike to beachwater from the shores of Italy. His own, a penumbral mirror that caught the distant light in flickering red. "The sooner you have standards, the better. It will be hard, but my home is yours... any time you need a rest, a break; come here. Relax, reorient, and elevate yourself."
Lekalis leaned back as he heard a knock on the door, he took in a small breath through his nostrils, knowing well that demure echo couldn't be from anyone dangerous. He gave Courcy's forhead a playful tap with his finger as he scooted back and stooped down to pluck up the bar of soap, handing it off to her; "I trust you know what to do with this?" He teased as he left it with her and departed for the door quick as a falcon flies.
To Toast, the door was open in moments, the exagerant and pompous Lekalis standing in a smallish state of disshevelement; clearly amidst the chore of cleaning something as he was bereft of most of his gear, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He cocked a brow, genuine surprise and delight crossing over his typically enigmatic feline features, "Toustain?" He recalled, best to his ability, "You look sodden, and dower... come inside." He beckoned her in with a nod of his crown, stepping aside at once for the Vestal...
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Post by rosallora on Jul 27, 2020 21:04:56 GMT -8
[Toustain]
She feels herself stiffen at the sight of him. Again she's reminded that there are people so far above her station - so elevated she can hardly believe it. People who owned land, who had their own houses, businesses, and conducted themselves like stately folk. Purveyors of music or fine foods or smells - there was a scent about. Something so fancy, she knows, that she couldn't even possibly know the name of it.
"I... yes. Yes." Her voice is hoarse. She goes past him, averting her gaze down, hair falling to the sides of her face in two brown curtains of greasy half-curls. She puts her fingers to her mouth, considering. How.. how does she say it? How would she want to hear it?
She presses her lips firmly together as that feeling resurfaces like a person from a lake, needing to gulp air. They're dry. Untrustworthy, aren't they? Things that cause so much sorrow as this, lips that let such things pass between them as- "Roard... Ser Roard has. Passed away." She wishes she was strong enough to look at him but she clasps her hands together in front of her instead and looks at the fine floor. "He's dead. I'm sorry, I... I knew. I knew you'd want to know." Deed done. Deed done.
Don't cry. Don't cry again you stupid, useless girl, don't cry in front of the man.
She continues to look down.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jul 27, 2020 21:17:14 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
His cool half-lidded gaze follows her in as a raptor to a mouse, his hands moving to slowly close the door with narry a whisper as he watches her tread in with her shameful and sad demeanor. Even before she says the word, he expects the worst; death, excommunication, defilement of some kind.
A distant humanity reminds him to breathe, and sympathize with the mortal perils as she speaks the unfortunate news.
"There's no need to apologize, here, take a seat." He moves forward and draws out a chair, a light and easy smile resting on his complexion, unmoved as far as one can tell.
"He certainly was an imposing figure; what slew him?" Lekalis inquired as he sat upon the table and idly flicked away water droplets from his fingertips; implying his work to be done as he glanced to the door slightly ajar from where he'd left Courcy.
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Post by rosallora on Jul 27, 2020 21:23:50 GMT -8
[Toustain]
Could she lie well enough?
She hears the scrape of wood on wood as he mentions the chair - she looks. Yes, there it was. Her eyes dart to his face - he didn't look sad, why didn't he look sad? For a moment the breath goes from her lungs, but she commands her feet to walk. To sit. Her fingers play with each other, dirty fingernails flecked underneath with dried blood.
"His... illness," she murmurs. "It was... he w-was. Delirious. It happens... t-the sisters say it happens, sometimes. To the strong, ones." The ones who continue to persist. The ones that refuse to give up until their minds were claimed as much as the rest of them, yes, this enough was true. "I... was going with a friend to ask him some questions and when we arrived he..." her face twists for a moment, then she closes her eyes, tight. Her shoulders draw up and hold for a moment, nearly touching her ears. She forces a breath from her nose, nostrils flaring for a moment.
Disgrace. By the Goddess, get yourself together, you have no right to speak so, you can't even look him in the eye. When you speak of death, you do it with frankness. It is part of life, you can't let it possess you so violently. Meek, sad, little thing.
She takes a breath, and it stings the back of her throat like winter's piercing airs. "He ranted. Raved. ...He said he wished for the end, that there was nothing left. He bled... he opened himself up, by..." she moves a wavering hand to her own chest, gripping the thin air by her heart and making a motion like she was opening a door. "his... chestpiece... Andy, m-my friend..." were they? "the bolt fired m-made it. Quicker. Merciful."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jul 27, 2020 21:40:00 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
He closed his eyes to steel himself to the image described, even with so few words, it was vivid. Lekalis shifted uncomfortably as he clasped his hands together and opened his eyes to peer at Toustain. Her tensed throat and choked tone plucked at his heart and he reached out; a finger curling underneath her chin to lift it.
"I am happy you were there for him, in the end. It's a blessing to have a sweet soul when one's end comes to pass... Thank you for being there for his tormented soul." He spoke softly and moved from his seat at the table to shut his eyes, to quietly cope with the loss of a comrade and fair defender.
He brought his hands up to idly pinch at his wrists, before looking down to Toustain.
"Will there be a ceremony?"
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Post by rosallora on Jul 27, 2020 21:47:29 GMT -8
[Toustain]
She doesn't know how to tell him that she was no comfort at all. That she stood there, mute, unable to do anything but watch as Roard commanded Andy to shoot him, and they complied. What was she? A betrayer? Is that why it was so terrible to feel, this squeeze in her chest? Because by doing nothing, she allowed him to be taken by the bolt? Or was it a mercy... a mercy not to feel the rot take him further, its tendrils wrapping around his kind heart and mind and wringing every drop of him from it. His soul. His semblance.
The finger on her skin was ice instead of fire. It feels like less-than-nothing. Like a wind that brushed on reeds, bending them just so. And then, it was gone. Her eyes are wet when she is forced to look at him. She wishes she was stronger.
"I... y-you were his Lord," she says. "...He said he h-had no kin. I have r-rung the bell... for him. If there is a ceremony, you will hold it." And the words sting, but she knows them to be true. "And none but I will attend, for he s-said there was no one else who made him.. f-feel human. And his b-body isn't.." it isn't safe. "There will be nothing left of h-him to have."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jul 27, 2020 21:59:13 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"And so that is how it will be." Lekalis nodded amicably, his nature kind and gentle as plans manifested themselves behind his inkish eyes. He let go of her chin, and flicked a sleeve to his fingertips so he could deftly wipe away a tear or two from her dusted cheeks.
"I'll send for foods for a feast, wood for a pyre... I'm not sure how you'd like to conduct it, but I will supply whatever you need."
He sighed punctually, his lips tightening as he considered the loss once again, but he relaxed as he rolled up his sleeve again. His eyes going to her fingertips, and his hand moved to fetch her hand up; his thumb running over her nails, before his gaze flicks to the kitchen, then to Toustain's rheumy eyes,
"I've my baths ready, and there should be a warm loaf by the kitchen fire... would you partake? Perhaps... stay a day or two as we set this ceremony up?"
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Post by rosallora on Jul 27, 2020 22:10:45 GMT -8
[Toustain]
A feast...? A pyre? Anything she needs? She blinks, unsure of what to think. And his hand, again, cold, it... passes over her skin. And it's a confusing gesture. What to think of it? She doesn't know. It was. A non-thing. Maybe this was just part of it, now. This... whatever it was. Her cheeks were wet. Now, they're drier. It was a man's doing and yet the idea of a man was almost abstract. A living thing with organs that were not infested with fungi. Dark eyes. Intentions beyond what she knows. But what good was there to wondering about them.
Everyone who needed to be told has been. She won't have to tell this story again, she thinks. And with that, there's a measure of relief.
"I wish I could've played him something on the harp," she replies, and the words come automatic, pushed out of her by some unseen force, "but I have none." She sniffs. "Lots of cheese?" She says, and the smile she gives him is awful and strained, her lips cracked, skin peeling in places from the abundance of salt she's put on her freckled skin as of late. She tries to laugh. It half-works, and that's worse than no sound at all. Her hand is in his and yet it seems to float in the air on its own.
"Forgive me," she looks down, pressing the heel of her free hand to her left eye. "I... whatever accommodations y-you offer I won't spurn. I won't be r-rude to you sir."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jul 28, 2020 5:09:13 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
The state of Toustain's personage is enough to inspire an internal grimace; he wondered what woes she'd suffered on her way to this Bathhouse, but surmised he could inquire upon the matter later.
"Good; go fetch yourself some water and some food from the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you want... then find me down the hall." Lekalis gestured to the door slightly ajar,
"I'm tending to Courcy, for now. Once I'm done with her hair, I can tend to you as well." He nodded and looked down to his hands. There was a time when news of a Ser's death had them covered in blood and mud, and trembled; now they were clean, and still.
It was a somber and brief reflection that swallowed his smile for a second, before he sighed and settled into his small amused look again; he cast a nod to send off Toustain and moved to return to where he'd left Courcy in a bath.
Lingering at the room's door, he looked off to Toustain to make sure she didn't tarry...
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Post by rosallora on Jul 28, 2020 5:39:36 GMT -8
[Toustain]
"Yes sir," she nods. The comment on seeing to her as well nearly goes unheard altogether - she lets it slide off of her, content to act on the orders she'd been given. She was good at that, at least - was she not? The woman moves from her chair, walking to the kitchen. She remembers from that first day where it was, and how she had accidentally left her too-big armor in one of the corners, only to fetch it later.
The kitchen did hold water, and bread, which sat next to a hearth-fire on a table. She feels it with her fingers first, and there's an air of quiet judgment. She presses, hearing the slight crackle of the crust, and though she'd be happy to have anything to eat at all, it turns a quiet resignation into something a bit more grateful. Toustain rips off part of the heel and puts small, fluffy, torn-off pieces of the bread into her mouth. Dry. Her mouth was dry, this was no fault of the bread.
She sights wine, and there's a long pause.
Grace used it to keep away the horrors - either of things she had seen, or done. Volundr had nearly made light of it, how the people of this Hamlet drowned themselves in drink. Was it celebration of life, or was it a dark and terrible act? Maybe it was both, and that was how people were so tricked by it.
She feels the cool, green bottle in her hand. She didn't remember picking it up from the shelf, but there it was. It was smooth, the liquid inside sloshing as she turns it to and fro.
Take anything you want, he said.
She sets down the last scrap of bread she had in hand, and pinches the cork that was wedged tight in the bottle. With some pulls and some twists, it was freed. The resounding sound was almost musical; a single, deep note rang out in the kitchen. Toustain smells the contents. Familiar. She knows the taste of church wine. Her thumb runs around the rim of the bottle, the smooth lip pressing into the flesh of her thumb. At some point her lips open, she feels the intent to drink, but she stops. Her hand refuses to move.
No. No, not this.
The next motions are quicker - the cork is picked up and jammed back into the bottle, the thing is put back upon the rack, she shoves the last of the piece of bread into her dry mouth.
She locates water, and brings the ladle to her lips. She drinks, closes her eyes, and thinks it's a rather bad sign of all her crying if plain water from a well tasted so sweet.
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Post by black379 on Jul 30, 2020 9:23:21 GMT -8
Courcy clutched the bar of soap, but laid still beneath the warm water. Her eyes followed Lekalis to the doorway he vanished through. She listened, but only heard faint murmurs from the pair.
Instead she resigned to continue her bath, and to consider the man's advice. It was easier said than done - everything seemed to be. Courcy threw herself at any semblance of love, for fear she might never find something as deep as the bond between Lekalis and Tilly. Her standards lowered for each lover she'd lost. It was her own fault they died, or grew to hate her.
She wrung the bar in her hand until it slipped out of her grasp and plunged into the water. Courcy sighed with exhaustion, and tried to settle. Tried to relax and drown her guilt in the comforting bath. She set about cleaning herself intently, ignoring long-past mistakes, and all but forgetting what occurred moments before with Raleigh.
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