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Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on May 25, 2019 15:24:49 GMT -5
@alias & inky & ɪɴᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪɢᴇɴᴛ - - i'll make this pretty later
SAVE FOR CHARACTERS, INDIVIDUAL PLOTS, RELATIONSHIPS/FRIENDSHIPS
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Post by Deleted on May 28, 2019 13:27:33 GMT -5
Bridge on the outskirts of a town. silence is a curse.
"You're going to have to speak at some point, young man. I can't understand what you're trying to tell me."
The blond threw his hands up at the innkeeper in a gesture of finality, of totally giving up, which was an uncharacteristic expression of impatience and frustration for someone normally so collected. He'd grown accustomed to expecting more sympathy and effort to understand from women, since they, unfortunately, also struggled to have their voices heard in a broader social context, but this was about as opposite of his expectations as one could get. This seasoned woman stared down at him from her higher seat, looking unamused with her feline slitted eyes, ears folded back in annoyance at his attempts to speak. He'd heard people in the High Plains were difficult, but he never anticipated working with someone this difficult.
His emerald-green eyes flashed with anger and hurt, and he sighed sharply. This woman had been so unwilling to do the bare minimum in trying to interpret what he wanted, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why: here he stood, asking to pay her money, and she refused to go out of her way to accommodate him. He even gave up formal sign language at one point to play a sort of game of charades with her, but she wasn't having it. The blond signed the words 'I'm taking my business elsewhere,' to the innkeeper simply for his own sake at this point, then picked up his rucksack once more and headed out of the lobby. With a town this small, it wasn't likely he was going to find another bed and breakfast, but he'd rather spend another day traveling over attempting to bargain with that woman a second time.
Situations like those were what primarily kept the young man from entering towns in the first place. At heart, he was a social creature--everyone was, he firmly believed--so he always yearned for the steady company of other people and creatures. At the very least, resting his head on a feather-down bed and helping himself to a home-cooked breakfast was good for his body, and those were things he simply couldn't provide himself on the road. But it was so, so difficult to communicate. Too few people knew the type of sign language he used, since there was no standardized language across this loose confederation of kingdoms; he could almost completely forget about it in remote towns like this one. But most villagers were kind to him and welcomed weary travelers like himself, too, and they tried to make ends meet for him.
People who utterly failed to provide signs he could point to, or laughed at his attempts to sign what he was trying to get at, reinforced his strong desire to distance himself from the masses. That was probably why he did it, in all honesty. Learning to read, write, and sign were all his attempts to bring a certain kind of power and agency into his life again, and when he was able to get his point across, Bridge felt fantastic. It reassured him of his other competencies and skills in other areas, making him feel like a more complete human: he was a fantastic fighter and hunter. But on days like today, where he was stricken silent all over again, he was crushed. He preferred isolation to these kinds of continual letdowns.
To his incredible luck, he did find another inn at the other side of town. It was hard to hide his joy and relief upon seeing the vacancy sign, along with a list of rates for different kinds of rooms. The blond walked into the small wooden building and approached the desk clerk, filled with renewed hope to take another shot at this. The sign would certainly help.
The woman behind the counter this time was considerably older, and the same race as the other clerk (and most people in this town), though her horns were shorter and eyes quite a bit kinder. She regarded him softly. "Afternoon," she greeted, her sort of purr gentle as it was welcoming. "How can I help you?"
He met her eyes, then raised his hands and flashed a quick signed sentence. I need a room for a night or two. Do you sign? She instantly recognized what he was trying to do, but shook her head. "I always wanted to learn sign language as a youngin', but never got around to it," she admitted with some shame. "Sorry, young man. Let me try something--you just need a room for one, right?" He nodded. "Ok. How many nights?" He held up two fingers. "Lovely. We've got just the room for you--let me go grab your key. I'll be right back."
As happy and relieved as Bridge was at his change in luck, and how much he was looking forward to a scented bath and a good night's sleep, his disappointment in the other innkeeper deepened. That's all it takes. Just a little creativity makes both of our lives easier--I'm the one paying you, for the Gods sake. The tall blond greeted her with a smile as she reemerged from the back with a key on a piece of twine, and she returned it from behind her wrinkles. "Let's get you set up," she said kindly. "You look like you've been on the road for some time. You'll get some good rest here."
He followed behind her closely up the spiraling staircase. You have no idea, ma'am, he thought.
--
By the beginning of the evening, when the sunset was turning the sky above this small town all shades of pink, red, and orange, Bridge had already settled comfortably into his room. This bed and breakfast employed a small army of young village teens to do guest laundry, so he was relieved of one task he had in mind (though he felt bad for handing off his clothes that had been through hell and back with him). Once he felt satisfied with the knowledge they were taking care of his biggest chore, he changed into a more comfortable outfit of loose linen pants, sandals, and a cotton shirt, and made his way to the lobby for dinner. He even let his hair down and brushed it after his bath, and the lavender soap had him feeling dainty. He welcomed it.
The bed and brekafast was busier than he'd expected; he was met with the sight of several others, some clearly other travelers, some clearly not, enjoying themselves down there. A few of them sat in small groups around coffee tables, chatting politely to each other, and the handful of others were dispersed around the lounge, soaking in the warmth of the firepit, reading newspapers or books of their own. Bridge quite happily found a bowl of fresh mulled wine by the entrance, still warm, next to an assortment of crackers and cheeses. Once he filled up a cup of the delicious stuff, with orange slices and cloves floating at the brim, and stacked his appetizer plate probably too high with the free snacks, he retreated to a seat by the fire, as far as he could from the other traveler sitting in the warmth.
He raised the mug to his lips and took a long sip, holding back a wince at the burn in his nose and throat. Alcohol was difficult to come by on the road, and generally was one of the more expensive provisions to buy, so he didn't dabble in it much at all. But he was thankful wine this good and flavorful was free of additional charge to him, and all he could hope was that he could handle it well; Hiladians like himself weren't a big drinking group, and he remembered old village gatherings where his parents, uncles, and aunts couldn't hold their liquor well.
Now's not the time to reminisce, he told himself sternly. Bridge was quick to chase those memories from his head, since as pleasant as they seemed now, they could quickly turn sad and sinister. Sometimes they were positive, and welcoming to visit when he was feeling nostalgic, but on this particular day, something about them was particularly melancholy. That was a dangerous combination with the wine in his hand. It was best to preserve his simple joys when he could.
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Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Jun 8, 2019 15:01:02 GMT -5
Faye a High Plains inn
High Princess Faye Songwood was not the kind of person to tolerate discrimination, and as someone who'd seen it a few times too many in her own kingdom, she certainly wasn't going to stay somewhere that so obviously didn't care about trying to compensate for the disadvantaged. So when the blonde boy who obviously couldn't talk had left that gods-forsaken inkeep standing behind her counter, Faye had grabbed her guard by the wrist and, quite literally, dragged him out of the inn before his complaint could leave his mouth. The pair then followed the boy to another inn, one much more understanding, and Faye felt a satisfied smile fall in place of her previous frown.
They paid for adjoining rooms once the boy had walked away, and Faye could hear Argent throwing himself to the bed once they reached their respective rooms.
"Don't break the bed, Ar. We need to save as much money as we can," she called quietly to him, knowing he could hear her with his Elven ears. She wasn't sure how an Elf of all creatures, let alone a Highborn one like Argent, had come to be her personal guard, but she wasn't complaining. His magical abilities and enhanced senses, paired with her own certain abilities, made the two a troublesome pair for those who would try to hurt or rob them. If she twisted her hand just right, she could still feel what it was like to break and man's ribcage with her bare hands. It was a short period of time before they had washed and re-dressed, but by then their stomachs were growling almost embarrassingly loud, so the two of them trailed down the stairs to go find some food. And, of course their luck was this good on such a night, they found the blonde boy down there as well, seeming to be thinking heavily by the fireplace. The princess and her guard loaded their plates up with food, and trailed over to the blonde boy's spot, sitting on the floor a respectable distance away, still in front of the fire.
"I'm sorry about that lady at the other inn," Faye said without really looking at the boy. She signed along with her voice, in case he preferred that method of communication. She continued in the same small voice. "I've never been in High Plains this long, but I'd always been told they were kind here - regardless of who or what you are. I guess that wasn't entirely true, was it? There's always going to be people who think lesser of you, or don't try to help when they can," she murmured. Without saying a word of it, she made it clear that she understood the frustration of being forced to leave because someone couldn't - or wouldn't - understand you. Argent, as intimidating as ever, made himself smaller as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, allowing her to lean her head on his own. "Sorry if we're bothering you. We just - we saw that lady at the inn being so unhelpful and disrespectful, and I couldn't stand it. I told Argent we were leaving, and we came to this inn, where we saw you again. I just wanted to say - I'm sorry. And I know coming from a stranger that must mean nothing, or sound like pity, but it's not. You were obviously able to handle yourself when it came to communicating. She just - I don't even have words for it." Her eyes grew fiery with anger, and Argent had to pinch her arm before she let herself go too far.
The pair sat back quietly, staring into the fire, and ate their food thoughtfully. They'd been traveling for months now - Faye kept count - and the weariness was obvious. It had settled in the bags under their eyes, and in the way that, if they moved just right, you could see their ribs through their clothes. Argent, for his sake, still had the muscle he'd worked up over years of training and fighting, but it looked sad on him now, like he hadn't had a chance to work on it again in a while. He closed his eyes as his head leaned back, and Faye was starting to look like she might fall asleep at any second. Her eyes had taken on a weird look - almost canine in feature, which was strange, considering her very human appearance. No one would see it, but the hand bundled up in her coat was starting to grow claws, though only slightly. She sighed softly, and sat up.
"We should probably go get some sleep. We've been walking for days now. If you're still here tomorrow," she directed this towards the blonde boy, "you're welcome to eat breakfast with us. My name is Faye, and this is Argent. It was nice to meet you." She stood and pulled Argent up beside her. Silently, the pair began moving back up the stairs, in one fluid motion. To an outsider, it would look like they knew each other so well that they didn't have to think as they walked, they just moved. And, while that was true, the real story was that Faye was carrying Argent's weight on her shoulder with ease, allowing him to move freely without falling as he was already half-asleep.
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Post by ɪɴᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪɢᴇɴᴛ on Jun 14, 2019 1:45:08 GMT -5
Sirona
Seh-rone-uh ;; Goddess in Celtic polytheism associated with healing springs. Attributes include snakes and eggs ;; "My friends call me Rona, sometimes" .
Sirona was a wanderer. Ever since she was little, she found it hard to stay in one place. She remembered her parents frantically collecting her from neighboring villages and making her promise not to wander off anymore (a promise that only lasted a few more weeks until she forgot again). To her there just seemed to be so much good in the world that needed to be done, and so little time to do it.
As time passed and Sirona grew, she found that her longing to wander stemmed from a desire to help. Sirona wanted to help everyone and everything. She had this ache in her chest that only seemed to dim slightly when she was helping out in whatever small way she could. As she grew, she found that she seemed to have a knack for healing. Whether it came from her ability to catch, heal, and release stray animals, to nursing an almost dead plant back to life, to make seemingly the perfect cup of tea to cure any ailment (physical or spiritual), Sirona seemed to just know what to do.
So, when she left, it was with a heavy heart, and sadness swept through the village. Friends from all corners crept out to pay their respects and reiterate their thanks, some begging her to stay. A few even seemed cold, bitter, although Sirona saw past their defenses to the hurt inside and eased it over with a warm hug and kind words. Leaving was the hardest thing she ever had to do. But Sirona knew she had to; it was her calling.
She knew that she was meant to be a wanderer, to go from city to city and help where she could before moving to the next. Her gifts and talents were given to her with the intention that she would share them and spread them among as many people as possible before her life ended. No matter how exhausted or weary it left her; Sirona had a purpose, and she was sticking to it.
And this purpose of hers seemed clear, and she was all set to continue as a nomad for the rest of her days. Until the genocide happened. Never had Sirona felt so confused and directionless in her life. She usually felt the pull to go a certain direction where she felt the most pain and hurt. But now, she just felt pain everywhere. All raging, masked by anger and disease and bitterness. There was so much bloodshed and hatred and discrimination everywhere that Sirona felt directionless and powerless. She was only one person, and she could only do so much. It wasn't until this point that she encountered a wound she couldn't heal.
Wounds of the heart.
But Sirona was determined to make a difference, no matter how small. And even if she couldn't heal the wounds of the heart, she would ease them. In some way. And so, she made herself a new purpose and set on the road to achieving that. After about three towns, she realized that in this time, most people needed an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a small animal to curl upon them (her cat proved worthy, for those who didn't have an allergy), and a cup of tea to lift their spirits. And so she did just that. She'd camp out in a small town for a few weeks, go around and help with odd jobs, mend relationships between neighbors (and lovers) as best she could, and do her best to ease the pain of the town before she set off. Sirona knew it wasn't much, but it was something and it kept her going. So she did her best.
It wasn't too long, then, before she arrived at the small inn. She was exhausted, her cat mewling and rubbing against her leg, begging her to stop as they arrived outside an inn in the High Plains. The moon had just begun to peek out in the sky, small stars winking out.
"What do you think Asa?" She asked, scooping the dark feline up into her arms. A small purr resounded from the tomcat as he nuzzled her chin, and Sirona couldn't help but smile. "Me too, little one," She replied, kissing his head before letting him down to trot in ahead of her.
"Good evening," She greeted the woman behind the desk with a soft smile, small dimples poking out. The woman smiled back at the rosy-cheeked, dark-eyed girl. Before long, Sirona and Asa found themselves in a cute room with a warm bed and a warm bath. Sirona sank into the bubbles as Asa disappeared into the room to investigate their new home. The girl scrubbed herself with the flowery soaps, dirt floating off her. She combed out knots and leaves from her long, dark curls, enjoying the feeling of the combs along her scalp. After emerging, she changed into her nightgown, a white, cotton dress with small flowers along the sleeves and hemline. She slipped on her indoor flats, running a hand over Asa as the cat pattered along behind her, following the girl downstairs. Upon reaching the lounge, Sirona felt an onslaught of emotions, enough to unsettle her stomach. There were joy and laughter, warmth and happiness, and she welcomed those. But from one corner there just seemed such an immense onslaught of pain and anger that she almost gagged, turning her gaze to where a strange group had conglomerated. A man, blonde with pointed ears and waves of deep, heart pains radiating off sat with a plate full of cheese and fruit as a strange couple approached him. Another elven man escorted a seemingly human girl that carried herself in a manner that commanded respect.
"Must be royalty," She mused to Asa who swished past, pressing against her leg before heading off to investigate and make his way around the room, pausing patiently to let a small girl with horns scratch his back with her clawed hands. He gave her an appreciative purr before shaking her off, tottering along to ponder the other guests. Sirona, meanwhile, made herself busy with a cup of tea, heading over and tucking herself into a chair near the strange trio, enough to be within earshot. She observed them, trying not to be too obvious or rude about it, and soon enough Asa found his way into her lap, curling up with a content purr. Sirona watched as the woman with deep circles beneath her eyes and strong arms signed at the blonde haired man. So he's mute. She noted, hoping her signing was up to date enough for her to communicate with this man. She yawned, glancing down as Asa returned the behavior, nodding in agreement. Tomorrow, for sure. It seemed the royal couple was heading to bed anyway, and the blonde haired man looked as if he might follow suit. However, she stayed put for the time, enjoying her tea as her tired eyes drooped, lazily running her hands over Asa, enjoying the warmth from the fire and the opposite side of the room.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2019 22:42:00 GMT -5
Bridge the inn is a place of warmth.
Just when he had been perfectly content to mind his business, the incident at the other inn almost completely forgotten, a pair of travelers approached him with a conversation that would truly change his life and his mindset forever. Not that he'd ever been religious, nor consented to the event that resulted in his drastic change in demeanor, but Bridge had always believed that he would be blessed in the long run for being meek.
Never before had a stranger gone out of their way, unprompted, to speak to him, and never before had a stranger expressed any other form sympathy besides just a furrowed brow and uncomfortable expression when someone was rude to him. He was beyond stunned at this whole encounter. The blond's jaw literally dropped, his mouth forming a little lowercase "o" shape as he listened, and watched, this woman speak to him. Suddenly, he was enraged about it all over again: she was right, that woman was disrespectful, and had he been able to shout his frustration at her, Bridge certainly would have--at least, now he would have. But, above all, he felt possibly more validated than he'd ever had the privilege to feel in his entire life. Finally, finally--someone was upset for him, not with him. It was a liberating wave of emotion.
There was so much happening that he found himself struggling to keep up, and before he could even completely register it, the two were getting up to leave, just as quickly as they'd sat down to join him. Bridge sucked in a deep breath, realizing that his chest had been painfully tight through the entire conversation, nearly standing up with him. The expression on his face was raw and desperate for more, for more connection, to learn about why this woman knew how to sign and where they were from, the vivid green in his eyes shining with fervor. It had all happened too fast, but he was reassured by the fact that these two would also be staying the night here.
He quickly lifted his hands from where they'd suddenly somehow become clenched at his sides and rattled off a couple of signs quickly back to them before they turned their backs on him, and he fell silent again once more. It was wonderful meeting you as well. The blond smiled weakly at them, socially exhausted from it all in the best way. My name is Bridge. I'll join you all for breakfast. Thank you for inviting me. Bridge watched the traveling pair disappear into the comfortable, warm darkness of the inn as they made their way back to their room, and then he sighed. He became acutely aware of a huge weight that had been settled firmly on his shoulders for some time, and strangely, he felt it want to budge, to jump off and leave him the hell alone. Perhaps this was the first step in all of that--he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy. The joy he got from a down-feather bed or an excellent pot of meat stew was intense, but fleeting, but this warmed his chest and a coy little grin threatened to break the cement of his lips.
Maybe happy wasn't the right word, he considered, sipping on his mulled wine. Fulfilled seemed like a better substitution. Restored, reinvigorated. Reinstitute with purpose. He hadn't realized it until now, but his soul was drooping; it was a sick, sagging, soft little plant, and whoever that mysterious woman was brought a watering can with her. He knew he had to meet with her again--her soul was attractive to him in the most platonic way he'd experienced.
After finishing off his mug and plate, feeling just the slightest bit slower and heavier in his head--a good sign that the wine was hitting him gently, softly suggesting that he ought to not have another to keep tomorrow's headache from ever coming--he stood up, brushing cracker crumbs off his clothing, prepared to take them to the kitchen and then head up himself. As Bridge stood, however, a small black cat, nearly indistinguishable from the rug in the darkness of the lounge, manifested near his legs, approaching him cheerfully, expectantly. He couldn't help but smile down at it, and gave the cat a good couple strokes before heading off on his way.
The young blond took note of another feminine figure sitting close by him, only a couple chairs away from where he'd just been seated. That black cat he'd just stroked headed off happily in her direction, and she received it warmly. Must be its owner. Bridge flashed the woman a kind expression, then dropped off his plates and headed off to get the best sleep he'd gotten in weeks.
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