As soon as Lanya said, “No, m’lady,” Metarie began to fold the back of the woman’s shirt up. The action was clinical and careful. Lanya moved some, but soon enough it was obvious to Metarie that sleep had claimed Lanya. Metarie gave a nod to herself. She wasn’t surprised. Metarie inhaled and exhaled a breath, then set about carefully removing the bandage covering the knife wound.
The wound had been treated once, but neither stitched nor healed with magic. Fortunately, the wound had been treated well enough that the effort to heal this wound would not be as draining as Metarie had expected; which was good. Metarie needed to stay awake and focused until Camulous returned. If ... Metarie shook her head. Thoughts like that would do her nor Lanya any good.
Metarie tilted her head from one side to the next, stretching out the muscles. Closing her eyes, she focused and centered herself. The warm, green glow began to emanate from her palms yet again as Metarie drew upon her essence to knit the underlying muscle, veins, dermis and epidermis back together. When the task was done, Metarie carefully unfolded Lanya’s shirt to return it to its original position. A gentle smile curved Metarie’s mouth as she tucked the blankets around Lanya. In an almost motherly gesture, Metarie stroked Lanya’s hair back from her temple. Lanya had been through a harrowing experience.
The last thing Metarie did, before she left Lanya to sleep for a while, was to heal Lanya’s hand. Metarie frowned slightly as she considered the nature of the cut. A weapon that could not be seen... Metarie concentrated an excess amount her own essence into the cut, seeking to wipe out any residual echo from the magic used to harm Lanya. At first the glow that indicated her healing ability in progress was a sickly black-green, but soon the black was overtaken by the cool, green color of Metarie’s essence.
Metarie let Lanya’s hand fall to the bed as she stepped back. Metarie felt a little dizzy from the effort. Lifting a hand to her forehand, Metarie rubbed slowly. The remaining healing could be done by tisanes and other means. Metarie moved the armoire and withdrew a linen robe and some other garments. Opening a door, Metarie entered the adjacent bathroom.
She did have luxuries and she did feel guilt about them. But, she would not give them up. Especially this one... Metarie reached a hand into the tub, but pulled an ingenious switch that allowed the water to flow from a pipe above her head. Several minutes later, steam filled the room. Metarie adjusted the temperature by turning another handle and then nodded in satisfaction. Divesting herself of her clothes, Metarie stepped into the warm flow.
A bard in time saves...
Re: A bard in time saves...
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
For once the natural sleep that she fell into featured no terror or pain, just a quiet and musical thrumming across her interior landscape. No thoughts or worries distracted her from this hum, and she was happy.
Her head shifted as the healer removed one hand from underneath her cheek. Lanya let out a small sigh and adjusted herself but remained asleep, far beyond this healer's physical presence. But the shift itself was enough to draw her back. Into the realm where her dreams waited.
The dream was peaceful enough. She stood in a barren field which stretched for miles in any direction she turned. She thought perhaps it would be a dream about starving, for she had felt the gnawing hunger for days now and it was not a pleasant experience. But just before her lay the only patch of life in the wasteland: a bundle of wildflowers mixed with assorted natural berries. Sustenance.
She sat down with her legs curled beneath her. Her bad knee wasn't acting up as much as it had before and she stared at it in confusion. It seemed like something was missing from this moment. Now she raised her hand to stare at the skin itself - the cut she'd gotten so used to was healed. Another light scar, soon to be gone forever from her palm. One final check against the skin of her back...no bandage. No stinging. The pain was dull and muted and fading.
The bard sat in awe. She'd gotten so used to the jolting and twitching in her muscles in the past few days...the sudden absense was disorienting.
She smiled.
Now she turned her attention to the berries before her. They were blueberries, ripe and plump and ready to be feasted upon. The woman smiled again and reached forward to pick an entire stalk's worth, plopping around ten of the berries into her hand. She loved the small fruit. It stained her hands and tongue blue; she remembered games with her siblings where they had crammed as many as they could into their mouths, blue dribbling down their chins and dripping against their clothing. Her mother had always laughed as she washed out the mess.
Lanya took five now and popped each into her mouth, waiting until the last one entered before biting down to savor the taste. But it wasn't the tart-sweet taste of blueberries she had in her mouth; something viscous and vile flooded her senses. Metallic. Salty.
She choked and spit it forward, but the stuff didn't spit easily. It spilled against the wildflowers as well as her legs and shirt. She didn't need to think the name; she knew the name. Remembered the sight of the little girl's. Remembered how sticky it could be. How impossible to wash out of clothing.
Tears flowed down her cheeks as she stared at the other berries in her palm. A small shadow fell over her and she turned to the black silhouette of a small child.
"I'm so sorry..."
Her voice was a quiet whisper against the wasteland. The silhouette said and did nothing. Instead, the twanging of guitar strings unraveling echoed against the nothing, and she felt a small wire twist around her wrist, begin to wrap itself and dig in. She screamed and tried to struggle but only blood bubbled from her mouth; another wire had already wrapped itself around her throat and began slitting the skin straight through; and her body was heavy, so heavy without all of the blood it needed to keep moving...
On the bed, Lanya's brow creased and her breathing became strained. She made no moans and she hardly twitched; she was not visibly tormented save for tension. Her hands clawed under the strain of her own subconscious...and still, she slept on.
Her head shifted as the healer removed one hand from underneath her cheek. Lanya let out a small sigh and adjusted herself but remained asleep, far beyond this healer's physical presence. But the shift itself was enough to draw her back. Into the realm where her dreams waited.
The dream was peaceful enough. She stood in a barren field which stretched for miles in any direction she turned. She thought perhaps it would be a dream about starving, for she had felt the gnawing hunger for days now and it was not a pleasant experience. But just before her lay the only patch of life in the wasteland: a bundle of wildflowers mixed with assorted natural berries. Sustenance.
She sat down with her legs curled beneath her. Her bad knee wasn't acting up as much as it had before and she stared at it in confusion. It seemed like something was missing from this moment. Now she raised her hand to stare at the skin itself - the cut she'd gotten so used to was healed. Another light scar, soon to be gone forever from her palm. One final check against the skin of her back...no bandage. No stinging. The pain was dull and muted and fading.
The bard sat in awe. She'd gotten so used to the jolting and twitching in her muscles in the past few days...the sudden absense was disorienting.
She smiled.
Now she turned her attention to the berries before her. They were blueberries, ripe and plump and ready to be feasted upon. The woman smiled again and reached forward to pick an entire stalk's worth, plopping around ten of the berries into her hand. She loved the small fruit. It stained her hands and tongue blue; she remembered games with her siblings where they had crammed as many as they could into their mouths, blue dribbling down their chins and dripping against their clothing. Her mother had always laughed as she washed out the mess.
Lanya took five now and popped each into her mouth, waiting until the last one entered before biting down to savor the taste. But it wasn't the tart-sweet taste of blueberries she had in her mouth; something viscous and vile flooded her senses. Metallic. Salty.
She choked and spit it forward, but the stuff didn't spit easily. It spilled against the wildflowers as well as her legs and shirt. She didn't need to think the name; she knew the name. Remembered the sight of the little girl's. Remembered how sticky it could be. How impossible to wash out of clothing.
Tears flowed down her cheeks as she stared at the other berries in her palm. A small shadow fell over her and she turned to the black silhouette of a small child.
"I'm so sorry..."
Her voice was a quiet whisper against the wasteland. The silhouette said and did nothing. Instead, the twanging of guitar strings unraveling echoed against the nothing, and she felt a small wire twist around her wrist, begin to wrap itself and dig in. She screamed and tried to struggle but only blood bubbled from her mouth; another wire had already wrapped itself around her throat and began slitting the skin straight through; and her body was heavy, so heavy without all of the blood it needed to keep moving...
On the bed, Lanya's brow creased and her breathing became strained. She made no moans and she hardly twitched; she was not visibly tormented save for tension. Her hands clawed under the strain of her own subconscious...and still, she slept on.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie turned her back to the warm stream of water as nimble fingers quickly unsnapped the paired grommets of the leather wristband she wore. Reaching around the shower curtain, she placed the bracelet on the edge of a beautifully carved shelf. Within, Metarie closed her eyes and stepped into the spray.
Leaning her head back, Metarie’s hands pushed her hair back from her face. On the inside of her right wrist, a black, curved and interwoven design stained her skin. On her left arm, faded marks denoted her training as a healer and tracker. Dark auburn hair deepened in color to almost black as the water soaked it. With her hair finally pushed back, one could see delicately curved ears tapering into pointed tips – the undeniable sign of her elfin heritage. Warm water sluiced over her scalp and down her shoulders tracing paths down her skin.
The time spent in the warmth seemed too little as Metarie returned the handles to their starting positions. Metarie pushed aside the curtain and stepped out onto a soft, white rug. She quickly dried her skin as it prickled in the cooler temperature of the room and pulled on a soft, white robe. Another towel was ruffled over her hair to remove the dampness there. Metarie ran a comb through her hair and let it stay tucked behind her ears. Pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt, she moved around the bathroom making sure everything was put back neatly in its place before padding on bare feet into the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Metarie set about making something for them to eat. A light broth made of vegetables and herbs was soon heating on the stove, giving off a savory scent.
Crusty bread was cut into thick slices and smeared with butter. A kettle set to boil added to the aromas filling the room. Brewed tea sweetened with honeysuckle finished her task.
Metarie banked the cooking fire and moved the pots from the heat so the contents would not be burnt. She ladled the broth into a deep, round, ceramic bowl and poured the tea into an equally deep, round teacup. Metarie stretched up onto her toes to open a cupboard and retrieve a tray. She usually used the tray when she was reading through books on her trade, seeking to improve her knowledge and skills. Now, Lanya would be able to stay in bed while still getting nourishment she obviously and desperately needed. Bowl and cup were placed on the tray. Along side them, a utensil and napkins were also placed. Metarie then set about tidying the area she had used. In the time it would take, the food and drink would be an acceptable temperature for consumption.
Metarie smiled to herself and nodded. Picking up the tray, soft footfalls preceded her entrance back into her bedroom. Metarie used one hand to relocate the books and her glass of water further back on the bedside table. The tray was placed on the now vacant spot. Perching on the edge of the bed, Metarie reached out a hand to Lanya’s shoulder.
“Lanya, wake up… I know you are tired, but you must eat.” Metarie waited a little before giving Lanya a gentle shake to rouse her from her sleep. “Lanya? Wake up…”
Leaning her head back, Metarie’s hands pushed her hair back from her face. On the inside of her right wrist, a black, curved and interwoven design stained her skin. On her left arm, faded marks denoted her training as a healer and tracker. Dark auburn hair deepened in color to almost black as the water soaked it. With her hair finally pushed back, one could see delicately curved ears tapering into pointed tips – the undeniable sign of her elfin heritage. Warm water sluiced over her scalp and down her shoulders tracing paths down her skin.
The time spent in the warmth seemed too little as Metarie returned the handles to their starting positions. Metarie pushed aside the curtain and stepped out onto a soft, white rug. She quickly dried her skin as it prickled in the cooler temperature of the room and pulled on a soft, white robe. Another towel was ruffled over her hair to remove the dampness there. Metarie ran a comb through her hair and let it stay tucked behind her ears. Pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt, she moved around the bathroom making sure everything was put back neatly in its place before padding on bare feet into the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Metarie set about making something for them to eat. A light broth made of vegetables and herbs was soon heating on the stove, giving off a savory scent.
Crusty bread was cut into thick slices and smeared with butter. A kettle set to boil added to the aromas filling the room. Brewed tea sweetened with honeysuckle finished her task.
Metarie banked the cooking fire and moved the pots from the heat so the contents would not be burnt. She ladled the broth into a deep, round, ceramic bowl and poured the tea into an equally deep, round teacup. Metarie stretched up onto her toes to open a cupboard and retrieve a tray. She usually used the tray when she was reading through books on her trade, seeking to improve her knowledge and skills. Now, Lanya would be able to stay in bed while still getting nourishment she obviously and desperately needed. Bowl and cup were placed on the tray. Along side them, a utensil and napkins were also placed. Metarie then set about tidying the area she had used. In the time it would take, the food and drink would be an acceptable temperature for consumption.
Metarie smiled to herself and nodded. Picking up the tray, soft footfalls preceded her entrance back into her bedroom. Metarie used one hand to relocate the books and her glass of water further back on the bedside table. The tray was placed on the now vacant spot. Perching on the edge of the bed, Metarie reached out a hand to Lanya’s shoulder.
“Lanya, wake up… I know you are tired, but you must eat.” Metarie waited a little before giving Lanya a gentle shake to rouse her from her sleep. “Lanya? Wake up…”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
The dream hadn't ended by the time the healer returned. Instead Lanya had only sunk deeper and deeper into the visions of pain and suffering. Strings and twine and rope and wires all attacked her flesh, wrapped around her limbs and served to both hold her restrained for abuse as well as drag her down further into the darkness. She flailed and sobbed through the life burbling from her throat and wrists; tears stained her cheeks as terror enveloped her. She already knew that there was no escape. She'd had this dream before.
A light, gentle voice drifted through the hell she was encased in, urging her to wake up. It spoke once more, telling her she needed to eat. And within the dreamscape her stomach rumbled; even this far down, she felt the pain of her own hunger.
The various strings fell away with a final shake, and Lanya's breathing evened out as she rose from slumber. She snapped to instant wakefulness, as was her way, and her eyes popped open to stare at the healer. A moment's blind terror reflected in her gaze but was washed away with a few confused blinks. She creased her brow and pushed herself up onto her elbows, rubbing a hand across her face to rinse away the remaining drowsiness. It didn't eliminate the worried brow, though.
"I'm sorry, I fell asleep."
She sounded genuinely apologetic as she pushed herself onto her back. She remembered that this healer had wanted her to remain awake, but she'd drifted off despite her best efforts. She certainly felt better, though. Something seemed odd and out of place. Or rather missing. What...
She stared at her knee. It was far smaller and less painful than it had been in days. She kept her jaw from dropping, but it was a near thing. Instead she opted to reach up and rub her fingers delicately under her eyes, where tears waited to fall. She wouldn't cry if she could help it, but her appreciation threatened to make a loud sob spill from her lips. The food she could both see and smell didn't help her efforts, and she began taking deep, concentrated breaths to calm herself. After about a minute she felt calm enough to speak.
"Thank you."
She met the healer's eyes while she spoke these words, wanting the force that she felt behind them to register with the other woman. She was truly grateful for this woman's help, what she had done for the bard already. She could feel the lack of sting in her back and hand, and the various bruises that she'd gotten so used to were gone. Despite her best intentions, a tear managed to drop from her eyelid to hit against her shirt. She looked away from the woman's eyes now...and found her gaze fixed on the delicately pointed tips of the healer's ears.
Lanya couldn't help another moment's terror at the realization that this woman wasn't human, or at least not purely human. She'd had nothing but bad luck when it came to fae and hybrids...but she swallowed her fear and looked away once more. This woman had done nothing but help her; it would be more than a little rude to suddenly be suspicious of her motives. If she'd intended real harm Lanya would be dead now.
A light, gentle voice drifted through the hell she was encased in, urging her to wake up. It spoke once more, telling her she needed to eat. And within the dreamscape her stomach rumbled; even this far down, she felt the pain of her own hunger.
The various strings fell away with a final shake, and Lanya's breathing evened out as she rose from slumber. She snapped to instant wakefulness, as was her way, and her eyes popped open to stare at the healer. A moment's blind terror reflected in her gaze but was washed away with a few confused blinks. She creased her brow and pushed herself up onto her elbows, rubbing a hand across her face to rinse away the remaining drowsiness. It didn't eliminate the worried brow, though.
"I'm sorry, I fell asleep."
She sounded genuinely apologetic as she pushed herself onto her back. She remembered that this healer had wanted her to remain awake, but she'd drifted off despite her best efforts. She certainly felt better, though. Something seemed odd and out of place. Or rather missing. What...
She stared at her knee. It was far smaller and less painful than it had been in days. She kept her jaw from dropping, but it was a near thing. Instead she opted to reach up and rub her fingers delicately under her eyes, where tears waited to fall. She wouldn't cry if she could help it, but her appreciation threatened to make a loud sob spill from her lips. The food she could both see and smell didn't help her efforts, and she began taking deep, concentrated breaths to calm herself. After about a minute she felt calm enough to speak.
"Thank you."
She met the healer's eyes while she spoke these words, wanting the force that she felt behind them to register with the other woman. She was truly grateful for this woman's help, what she had done for the bard already. She could feel the lack of sting in her back and hand, and the various bruises that she'd gotten so used to were gone. Despite her best intentions, a tear managed to drop from her eyelid to hit against her shirt. She looked away from the woman's eyes now...and found her gaze fixed on the delicately pointed tips of the healer's ears.
Lanya couldn't help another moment's terror at the realization that this woman wasn't human, or at least not purely human. She'd had nothing but bad luck when it came to fae and hybrids...but she swallowed her fear and looked away once more. This woman had done nothing but help her; it would be more than a little rude to suddenly be suspicious of her motives. If she'd intended real harm Lanya would be dead now.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Under Metarie’s hand, Lanya was tense and Metarie could hear Lanya’s fingers scrabble against the fabric as they were clenched into fists. Metarie gave Lanya’s shoulder another gentle shake, “Come on, Lanya, wake up and eat…” This last was said as Lanya’s eyes popped open suddenly. There was fear in the depths of them, but soon the fear was replaced by the drowsy blinking of someone who still desired to sleep.
"Don't apologize." Metarie smiled at Lanya, “You stayed awake longer than I thought you would. Sleeping is good for healing, but so… is eating. Eat and then you can return to sleep.” Metarie reached for the tray and propped it on her thigh, waiting for Lanya to get settled further. The woman seemed to be emotionally drained as well by the ordeal; something else for which Metarie would find no fault.
When Lanya’s gaze met her own, Metarie knew the woman was expressing her thanks. Metarie’s own gaze was guileless, open, and filled with concern. She could see tears threatening to overflow; indeed one fat blob of tears fell to Lanya’s shirt, staining it. Lanya’s gaze moved from her own and focused on a spot to the side of her. A look of terror seemed to fill Lanya’s eyes so much so that Metarie turned her head quickly to look in the same direction giving Lanya a view of her other pointed ear. No one was there. Metarie turned back to Lanya with a quizzical look on her face. Moments passed before the real reason dawned on her. Metarie chuckled and looked down to the tray on her lap. Her head shook back and forth a little.
“He didn’t tell you where he was taking you or to whom did he? Yes, surprisingly enough our ‘humanist’ captain has brought you to be healed by an Elf. Hopefully, though, you will realize that if he would bring you to me, then I must be worthy of a modicum of trust.” Metarie ducked her head down to peer into Lanya’s face.
“I have made vegetable and herb broth and ginger and honeysuckle tea. There’s buttered bread as well. I think you will be able to eat this size portion without trouble.” Metarie held out the tray to Lanya giving the woman a chance to deny the offer because of her fear.
“And afterwards, if you can stay awake, you should give in to those tears, Lanya. Holding onto that ball of tension in your gut will not make things any better.” Metarie then gave Lanya another one of those luminous smiles. Her gaze was filled with warm humor. Sometimes, laughing can also relieve the tension…
"Don't apologize." Metarie smiled at Lanya, “You stayed awake longer than I thought you would. Sleeping is good for healing, but so… is eating. Eat and then you can return to sleep.” Metarie reached for the tray and propped it on her thigh, waiting for Lanya to get settled further. The woman seemed to be emotionally drained as well by the ordeal; something else for which Metarie would find no fault.
When Lanya’s gaze met her own, Metarie knew the woman was expressing her thanks. Metarie’s own gaze was guileless, open, and filled with concern. She could see tears threatening to overflow; indeed one fat blob of tears fell to Lanya’s shirt, staining it. Lanya’s gaze moved from her own and focused on a spot to the side of her. A look of terror seemed to fill Lanya’s eyes so much so that Metarie turned her head quickly to look in the same direction giving Lanya a view of her other pointed ear. No one was there. Metarie turned back to Lanya with a quizzical look on her face. Moments passed before the real reason dawned on her. Metarie chuckled and looked down to the tray on her lap. Her head shook back and forth a little.
“He didn’t tell you where he was taking you or to whom did he? Yes, surprisingly enough our ‘humanist’ captain has brought you to be healed by an Elf. Hopefully, though, you will realize that if he would bring you to me, then I must be worthy of a modicum of trust.” Metarie ducked her head down to peer into Lanya’s face.
“I have made vegetable and herb broth and ginger and honeysuckle tea. There’s buttered bread as well. I think you will be able to eat this size portion without trouble.” Metarie held out the tray to Lanya giving the woman a chance to deny the offer because of her fear.
“And afterwards, if you can stay awake, you should give in to those tears, Lanya. Holding onto that ball of tension in your gut will not make things any better.” Metarie then gave Lanya another one of those luminous smiles. Her gaze was filled with warm humor. Sometimes, laughing can also relieve the tension…
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
At the mention of eating, Lanya placed a hand over her abdomen where her empty stomach waited patiently. Her eyelids drooped in anticipatory pleasure at the description of the food. It sounded like a feast to her malnourished self, not just because she hadn't eaten in so long but because she hadn't eaten well in longer. She nodded as she took the tray without any of the suspicious hesitation the woman might've expected. She didn't think someone would go through the trouble of healing her just to poison her a few hours later.
"Thank you."
She considered the healer's earlier words as she took a sip of the soup. As the nourishment flooded past her throat her stomach reawakened. Not only was this food, but it was delicious. Lanya fought her own compulsion to attack the plate and eat as quickly and as much as possible. She remembered that would be more damaging than eating at this slow, deliberate pace.
"He told me nothing. Not that I expected him to - but his actions confuse me. He's the one who brought me to the jail in the first place, and now he's helped me to leave it."
She shook her head and sipped the tea with a grateful sigh.
"I'm not sure about him or trusting him, but you are a healer."
This statement was said with some force. Lanya held the same belief as most commoners - a healer was only ever trying to help you and wouldn't bring harm upon your head. Even if the healer wasn't human.
She closed her eyes as she took a bite of the bread, savoring the taste of buttered grain that she hadn't had in so long. It reminded her of happier, safer times. Of home where her family might still live. She swallowed and opened her eyes again to meet the healer's own. Lanya was in the habit of maintaining eye contact when she spoke.
"Tears won't help anything, and I don't enjoy crying. You said your name was...Metarie?"
Here she used her own abilities to mimic how the elf herself had stated her own name. Lanya let the name roll from her tongue smoothly, and smiled at the light musical lilt she managed to give it. She was still a bard; it was a relief to hear that the skills she had worked so hard to maintain were still functional.
An odd sight indeed was occurring outside the house. A small bird fluttered from window to window, pressing its tiny head against each pane to listen. It seemed annoyed at times, fluffing its entire body and letting forth an exasperated chirp, but it kept up until it found what it was looking for.
In the silent moment, a light tapping started from behind the curtains of the window. Lanya froze as she listened intently to the pattern - there was nothing random about the movements she could hear, and a bright smile suddenly broke over her features. She itched to leap from the bed and throw open the window, but the tray sat in her lap and it would be a rude gesture besides.
"It's my...pet. A robin. Would it be alright?..."
"Thank you."
She considered the healer's earlier words as she took a sip of the soup. As the nourishment flooded past her throat her stomach reawakened. Not only was this food, but it was delicious. Lanya fought her own compulsion to attack the plate and eat as quickly and as much as possible. She remembered that would be more damaging than eating at this slow, deliberate pace.
"He told me nothing. Not that I expected him to - but his actions confuse me. He's the one who brought me to the jail in the first place, and now he's helped me to leave it."
She shook her head and sipped the tea with a grateful sigh.
"I'm not sure about him or trusting him, but you are a healer."
This statement was said with some force. Lanya held the same belief as most commoners - a healer was only ever trying to help you and wouldn't bring harm upon your head. Even if the healer wasn't human.
She closed her eyes as she took a bite of the bread, savoring the taste of buttered grain that she hadn't had in so long. It reminded her of happier, safer times. Of home where her family might still live. She swallowed and opened her eyes again to meet the healer's own. Lanya was in the habit of maintaining eye contact when she spoke.
"Tears won't help anything, and I don't enjoy crying. You said your name was...Metarie?"
Here she used her own abilities to mimic how the elf herself had stated her own name. Lanya let the name roll from her tongue smoothly, and smiled at the light musical lilt she managed to give it. She was still a bard; it was a relief to hear that the skills she had worked so hard to maintain were still functional.
An odd sight indeed was occurring outside the house. A small bird fluttered from window to window, pressing its tiny head against each pane to listen. It seemed annoyed at times, fluffing its entire body and letting forth an exasperated chirp, but it kept up until it found what it was looking for.
In the silent moment, a light tapping started from behind the curtains of the window. Lanya froze as she listened intently to the pattern - there was nothing random about the movements she could hear, and a bright smile suddenly broke over her features. She itched to leap from the bed and throw open the window, but the tray sat in her lap and it would be a rude gesture besides.
"It's my...pet. A robin. Would it be alright?..."
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie easily released the tray to Lanya when Lanya reached for it. She tilted her head to listen to Lanya and smiled a little, watching the woman eat. Helping people made Metarie feel good.
Metarie nodded and gave a light chuckle, that warm humor filling her gaze once again. “He is exactly what he is - Captain of the Guard. It is his duty to uphold the laws. Questioning whether they are right or wrong is something that is unfathomable to him. That is what makes him an excellent Captain. That is also what makes him a most annoying and frustrating human. But, I do respect him on occasion.” A deadpan smile followed the comment.
A look of pure contentment crossed Lanya’s features as she bit into the thick, crusty bread. Metarie smiled more to see such an expression. She, too, appreciated good food. Metarie’s stomach grumbled slightly as a reminder that she needed to eat as well. Just as she was about to excuse herself, Lanya spoke again. Metarie waited.
“I do not like to cry, either, but sometimes it helps to cry... or laugh. What we feel is not wrong...” Metarie lifted her hand to her heart, “although it may sometimes be inappropriate for the occasion.” Metarie chuckled, “So if you will not cry, then laugh for you are whole, well-fed, and can say my name with out butchering it!” Metarie smiled broadly once and inclined her head in a nod. Metarie liked to keep eye contact as well, and did so, while she bowed her head. A love of life was evident in that warm, green-gold gaze.
The tapping noise was a new sound to her house. Metarie moved with the quickness inherent to her race. A short bow and a single arrow were retrieved from beside the bed with the arrow notched and its tip tracking the noise within seconds flat. The string creaked as the archer brought the arrow back, readying it to harm any who would invade her home. Her stance was poised and her visage was no nonsense. Only Lanya’s voice saved the little bird from becoming pierced through. Green-gold eyes widened as Metarie cast a glance to Lanya from the corner of her eyes. The woman was smiling happily.
“Your pet?” The string creaked a groan again as the tautness was released slowly. Grasping bow and arrow in her left hand, Metarie sighed in relief and moved toward window that overlooked one side of her lawn.
“Is it one of the guards?” Was Metarie’s wry answer to Lanya’s query. A look to Metarie’s face would find her smiling yet again, the seriousness of her former stance gone; returned was her relaxed body language and the laughter in her eyes. Metarie reached for a latchkey and began to turn it in circles. The latch brought the window up slowly; opening it just enough for a little robin to fit through. A pair of large paws suddenly appeared. Kona snuffled at the window as if to say, “What about me?”
“You won’t fit through the window you great beast.” Metarie’s voice was affectionate and gruff. Kona only replied with a huff of sound and dropped from sight. Metarie chuckled as she closed the window. “So long as you do not mind Kona.” Metarie strode to the doors leading into the backyard and waited until Kona scratched impatiently before opening the door. Like a grey shadow Kona slipped into the room and padded over to something that looked like sheep skin. The dog circled around three times before lowering his great bulk to the floor. Once there, he rested his head upon his paws, looking to each person and creature in the room. Metarie closed and locked the door behind him. For a moment, she felt for any excess magic; attempting to confirm whether someone had followed either bird or dog. Finding nothing immediately, she returned to stand beside Lanya and placed the bow and arrow back to their hiding spot.
“See? Another thing for which you can be glad; your robin has returned! When you finish eating, you can put the tray on the table. I have a bathroom you can use if you feel up to it. I think we are of a size to one another if I provide you with some of my looser leggings and shirts from which to choose. Or you can go back to sleep, whichever is your preference.” Metarie had clasped her hands before her as she stood beside the bed.
Metarie nodded and gave a light chuckle, that warm humor filling her gaze once again. “He is exactly what he is - Captain of the Guard. It is his duty to uphold the laws. Questioning whether they are right or wrong is something that is unfathomable to him. That is what makes him an excellent Captain. That is also what makes him a most annoying and frustrating human. But, I do respect him on occasion.” A deadpan smile followed the comment.
A look of pure contentment crossed Lanya’s features as she bit into the thick, crusty bread. Metarie smiled more to see such an expression. She, too, appreciated good food. Metarie’s stomach grumbled slightly as a reminder that she needed to eat as well. Just as she was about to excuse herself, Lanya spoke again. Metarie waited.
“I do not like to cry, either, but sometimes it helps to cry... or laugh. What we feel is not wrong...” Metarie lifted her hand to her heart, “although it may sometimes be inappropriate for the occasion.” Metarie chuckled, “So if you will not cry, then laugh for you are whole, well-fed, and can say my name with out butchering it!” Metarie smiled broadly once and inclined her head in a nod. Metarie liked to keep eye contact as well, and did so, while she bowed her head. A love of life was evident in that warm, green-gold gaze.
The tapping noise was a new sound to her house. Metarie moved with the quickness inherent to her race. A short bow and a single arrow were retrieved from beside the bed with the arrow notched and its tip tracking the noise within seconds flat. The string creaked as the archer brought the arrow back, readying it to harm any who would invade her home. Her stance was poised and her visage was no nonsense. Only Lanya’s voice saved the little bird from becoming pierced through. Green-gold eyes widened as Metarie cast a glance to Lanya from the corner of her eyes. The woman was smiling happily.
“Your pet?” The string creaked a groan again as the tautness was released slowly. Grasping bow and arrow in her left hand, Metarie sighed in relief and moved toward window that overlooked one side of her lawn.
“Is it one of the guards?” Was Metarie’s wry answer to Lanya’s query. A look to Metarie’s face would find her smiling yet again, the seriousness of her former stance gone; returned was her relaxed body language and the laughter in her eyes. Metarie reached for a latchkey and began to turn it in circles. The latch brought the window up slowly; opening it just enough for a little robin to fit through. A pair of large paws suddenly appeared. Kona snuffled at the window as if to say, “What about me?”
“You won’t fit through the window you great beast.” Metarie’s voice was affectionate and gruff. Kona only replied with a huff of sound and dropped from sight. Metarie chuckled as she closed the window. “So long as you do not mind Kona.” Metarie strode to the doors leading into the backyard and waited until Kona scratched impatiently before opening the door. Like a grey shadow Kona slipped into the room and padded over to something that looked like sheep skin. The dog circled around three times before lowering his great bulk to the floor. Once there, he rested his head upon his paws, looking to each person and creature in the room. Metarie closed and locked the door behind him. For a moment, she felt for any excess magic; attempting to confirm whether someone had followed either bird or dog. Finding nothing immediately, she returned to stand beside Lanya and placed the bow and arrow back to their hiding spot.
“See? Another thing for which you can be glad; your robin has returned! When you finish eating, you can put the tray on the table. I have a bathroom you can use if you feel up to it. I think we are of a size to one another if I provide you with some of my looser leggings and shirts from which to choose. Or you can go back to sleep, whichever is your preference.” Metarie had clasped her hands before her as she stood beside the bed.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
The bard's stark joy changed to outright terror when the healer produced a bow and arrow that she clearly knew how to use. Lanya set her tray to the side and started to leap from the bed, waving her hands and spilling some of the soup in her desperation to move. Her strained voice cracked as she cried out.
"No, no!"
By the time Lanya's own words registered and the woman stood down the bard was on her feet, her chest heaving as she stood at the brink of a true panic. To have her robin killed after all this!...but it was not to happen. The woman re-assumed what seemed to be her more natural cheery demeanor and approached the window to open it. She ended up opening it too far - the robin which perched on the sill outside was noticeably smaller than a normal robin, more like a chick still growing. But he was fully formed and feathered, his colors brighter than the average robin's as well. He hopped over the ledge and under the window, fluffing his feathers out and peering at the healer with bright button eyes.
After far longer than a normal bird would take to examine someone he snapped his little wings open and flew across the room to Lanya's waiting hands. The bard raised him and kissed him gently, actually trembling from the joy coursing through her. He was alive and safe with her, and she was able to stand without the agony of before. By her own reckoning she was doing fine; for once she didn't anticipate the day getting worse by leaps and bounds.
As Metarie left the room, Lanya lowered her hands to the bed and sat to allow Flame to begin his thorough inspection of her. She looked far better than she had in days. She was clearly at least a bit rested and the pallor in her skin was giving away to a healthier glow. She held out her previously cut hand and opened the palm wide so that her little bird could leap into it to more closely inspect where her injury used to be. She smiled as he fussed and chirped quietly during his inspection. Now he hopped onto the injured knee and regarded her. She reached out and ran her fingers lightly over his head and back, the gentle joy that she normally felt rising underneath the gesture.
"I'm alright now. The woman's a healer and is helping me."
Her voice was low and conspirital; for all that she trusted the healer, she wouldn't risk her robin's life. Knowing that an animal had a human's intelligence couldn't end well in this city.
Lanya lifted her eyes as the healer's large dog returned and then the healer herself. She folded her hands into her lap as she considered Metarie's offer. Flame began a steady game of tumbling across the bed and fluttering his wings to bring a smile to the bard's lips. She chose not to introduce the little bird just yet. For now he was her own private joy and the time would come later.
Sleeping still sounded wonderful but the thought didn't carry the exhausted desperation from before. She had in fact eaten her fill; she hadn't eaten much in over a year and would need time to develop her ability to eat more. Her eyes fell over the healer's stature; she was far more willowy than Lanya herself but she was certainly of a height. Lanya couldn't help but be impressed; she was rather tall for a woman.
She didn't need more food and sleep would come again. Instead...
"Might I take a bath?"
"No, no!"
By the time Lanya's own words registered and the woman stood down the bard was on her feet, her chest heaving as she stood at the brink of a true panic. To have her robin killed after all this!...but it was not to happen. The woman re-assumed what seemed to be her more natural cheery demeanor and approached the window to open it. She ended up opening it too far - the robin which perched on the sill outside was noticeably smaller than a normal robin, more like a chick still growing. But he was fully formed and feathered, his colors brighter than the average robin's as well. He hopped over the ledge and under the window, fluffing his feathers out and peering at the healer with bright button eyes.
After far longer than a normal bird would take to examine someone he snapped his little wings open and flew across the room to Lanya's waiting hands. The bard raised him and kissed him gently, actually trembling from the joy coursing through her. He was alive and safe with her, and she was able to stand without the agony of before. By her own reckoning she was doing fine; for once she didn't anticipate the day getting worse by leaps and bounds.
As Metarie left the room, Lanya lowered her hands to the bed and sat to allow Flame to begin his thorough inspection of her. She looked far better than she had in days. She was clearly at least a bit rested and the pallor in her skin was giving away to a healthier glow. She held out her previously cut hand and opened the palm wide so that her little bird could leap into it to more closely inspect where her injury used to be. She smiled as he fussed and chirped quietly during his inspection. Now he hopped onto the injured knee and regarded her. She reached out and ran her fingers lightly over his head and back, the gentle joy that she normally felt rising underneath the gesture.
"I'm alright now. The woman's a healer and is helping me."
Her voice was low and conspirital; for all that she trusted the healer, she wouldn't risk her robin's life. Knowing that an animal had a human's intelligence couldn't end well in this city.
Lanya lifted her eyes as the healer's large dog returned and then the healer herself. She folded her hands into her lap as she considered Metarie's offer. Flame began a steady game of tumbling across the bed and fluttering his wings to bring a smile to the bard's lips. She chose not to introduce the little bird just yet. For now he was her own private joy and the time would come later.
Sleeping still sounded wonderful but the thought didn't carry the exhausted desperation from before. She had in fact eaten her fill; she hadn't eaten much in over a year and would need time to develop her ability to eat more. Her eyes fell over the healer's stature; she was far more willowy than Lanya herself but she was certainly of a height. Lanya couldn't help but be impressed; she was rather tall for a woman.
She didn't need more food and sleep would come again. Instead...
"Might I take a bath?"
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie hadn’t quite left the room as the doors were in the bedroom, but she studiously chose not to listen in on the woman’s comments; an elf’s ears were quite keen. Metarie smiled at the little bird as it did little mini-acrobatic routine. Then, she nodded to Lanya.
“Of course you can. Let me get the clothes.” Metarie stepped away from the bed and moved to the armoire. The open doors revealed a few changes of clothes neatly hung in a row. Metarie paused before reaching in to pull out a forest green colored shirt and loose tan pants. The fabric was thick linen and finely woven. Metarie turned, garment in hand.
“I am sorry for frightening you. Kona is special to me as well.” Kona’s tail thumped against the floor at the mention of his name. Metarie gave a little contrite smile and stepped towards the door joining the bathroom to the bedroom. “The bath is through here.” She opened the door and gestured so that Lanya could precede her.
“There are towels in the chest beside the bath. Everything else should be on the ledge beside the bath.” Metarie held out the garments to Lanya. “I do not think my undergarments will fit you.”
The bath would be to Lanya's left if she entered the bathroom. Before Lanya would be a clear, clean bowl sitting upon a wooden stand. To the left of the stand was a raised, oddly shaped, white bowl with a square back. A single handle was attached to the square back. To Lanya's left would be the door leading into the hallway. Against the wall directly to the right of the door was a low, wide seated chair. Over the bowl a metal pipe arched like a swan's neck. Two handles lay to either side, spread like swan's wings. Closer inspection would show a drain within the base of the bowl. A mirror hung above the bowl. Beside the bowl lay a neatly folded white towel, a very small brush, and a small bottle filled with a white powder. Between the alcove and the door sat the chest to which Metarie had referred. If Lanya chose to lift the lid, within she would find thick, soft, clean, white cotton towels.
The tub itself was large and white and sat upon four claw-shaped feet. The tub sat within a recessed alcove across which a curtain could be pulled. The end of the tub was raised slightly higher than the side against which a metal pipe curved and split in two directions. One pipe curved and jutted into the body of the tub. On this pipe were two handles and a little metal button like thing. The opening of the pipe was of medium width, no wider in diameter than if Metarie encircled her hand around it from middle finger to thumb. The second pipe rose up and curved over the center of the tub. This pipe ended in a wide circular piece of metal with many small holes drilled into it. A final pipe led from the underside of the tub and disappeared towards the wall.
The ledge to which Metarie had referred was recessed within the alcove. Upon it were various items - a sponge or cloth of some kind seemingly made from the husks of some fibrous plant, and also a clear glass bottle with a glass stopper upon it.
“Of course you can. Let me get the clothes.” Metarie stepped away from the bed and moved to the armoire. The open doors revealed a few changes of clothes neatly hung in a row. Metarie paused before reaching in to pull out a forest green colored shirt and loose tan pants. The fabric was thick linen and finely woven. Metarie turned, garment in hand.
“I am sorry for frightening you. Kona is special to me as well.” Kona’s tail thumped against the floor at the mention of his name. Metarie gave a little contrite smile and stepped towards the door joining the bathroom to the bedroom. “The bath is through here.” She opened the door and gestured so that Lanya could precede her.
“There are towels in the chest beside the bath. Everything else should be on the ledge beside the bath.” Metarie held out the garments to Lanya. “I do not think my undergarments will fit you.”
The bath would be to Lanya's left if she entered the bathroom. Before Lanya would be a clear, clean bowl sitting upon a wooden stand. To the left of the stand was a raised, oddly shaped, white bowl with a square back. A single handle was attached to the square back. To Lanya's left would be the door leading into the hallway. Against the wall directly to the right of the door was a low, wide seated chair. Over the bowl a metal pipe arched like a swan's neck. Two handles lay to either side, spread like swan's wings. Closer inspection would show a drain within the base of the bowl. A mirror hung above the bowl. Beside the bowl lay a neatly folded white towel, a very small brush, and a small bottle filled with a white powder. Between the alcove and the door sat the chest to which Metarie had referred. If Lanya chose to lift the lid, within she would find thick, soft, clean, white cotton towels.
The tub itself was large and white and sat upon four claw-shaped feet. The tub sat within a recessed alcove across which a curtain could be pulled. The end of the tub was raised slightly higher than the side against which a metal pipe curved and split in two directions. One pipe curved and jutted into the body of the tub. On this pipe were two handles and a little metal button like thing. The opening of the pipe was of medium width, no wider in diameter than if Metarie encircled her hand around it from middle finger to thumb. The second pipe rose up and curved over the center of the tub. This pipe ended in a wide circular piece of metal with many small holes drilled into it. A final pipe led from the underside of the tub and disappeared towards the wall.
The ledge to which Metarie had referred was recessed within the alcove. Upon it were various items - a sponge or cloth of some kind seemingly made from the husks of some fibrous plant, and also a clear glass bottle with a glass stopper upon it.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
"Hello, Kona."
The bard tipped her head in greeting to the large animal, smiling faintly as her own bird began twittering in jealousy. Lanya ran her finger along his back again, then pushed herself up from the bed and accepted the clothing offered. She nodded as Metarie explained where the towels and supplies were, and couldn't help but chuckle at the comment on undergarments. Lanya hadn't been wearing any for a couple of days now; a few more wouldn't hurt.
"Thank you."
She closed the door to the bathroom and wasted no time in preparing the bath, sighing as she adjusted the temperature to a steaming froth. She glanced through the soaps offered, but decided to skip on the bubbles themselves in favor of actually washing while she was in the bath. Slowly she removed the clothing she'd been given at the infirmary, folding it and setting it aside to be washed. They weren't bad clothes and she hadn't bled in them; she thought keeping them would be a good idea.
She stepped into the bath, wincing as the hot water forced circulation back into her stinging toes. She waited until the pain settled, then sank down with another long sigh, resting back in the tub for several long moments while the water settled over her. The cocoon of warmth brought an easy smile to her face, and Flame chirped a quiet birdsong while she relaxed.
She allowed herself too long and began to doze, her arms floating in the water before her. A sharp whistle woke her and she jerked in the tub to stare at Flame, who stood fussing at her. She'd started to fall asleep and he wasn't about to let her do something so dangerous - or at least, that's what his fussing meant.
She shook her head and sank below the water a moment, ruffling her hair and untangling the knots until satisfied. It was always harder to wash curly hair in the tub, but she didn't care; she was comfortable and warm and fed. Being clean would make this the most perfect hour she'd had in over a year.
She rose from the water, scrubbing her face with her hands, and got to work with the soap. Days of dirt of grime clouded the water along with the suds until the water itself was a healthy gray. Satisfied with her efforts, she released the water to drain and stood from the tub. Flame continued fussing and chirping until she finally fluttered her fingers at him, distracting him from his perch long enough to silence the little bird.
She dried herself off, ruffling her hair against the towel until it wasn't sopping wet, and then examined herself in the mirror. The bard was hyper-aware of her own physicality; as a performer, she had to take note of her basic appearance and how to use her body to maximize a story telling or song. Still, mirrors would always be a curiosity to her; her family hadn't had one when she was younger and she had no need for one while on the road or performing in a tavern. Oftentimes the rooms she stayed in at these taverns had not had mirrors of any kind; functional but not for the high-end clientele. Her most common view of herself was in rippling water, and so she didn't have the immediate sense of self-recognition that one accustomed to seeing themself so defined would. She always had one split-second moment where she wondered who the woman looking back at her was before remembering that it was herself.
She eyed the injured knee - still painful but not the raging agony it has been for days. She turned to examine the knife-wound - a small scar marred the skin where she assumed it had been, but otherwise no stain of the wound remained. All of the bruises she'd gotten so used to were gone; turning forward again, she had to admit that she didn't look half as bad as she thought she would. Only the dark circles under her eyes needed improvement. She felt these could be easily remedied.
She dressed and wrapped the towel around her head; her hair was thick and wild enough that it needed this gesture before it would be merely damp rather than soaking. Content with her appearance, she looked at Flame and held out her arms - a small show for a small audience.
"What say you? Am I ready?"
The robin fluffed his feathers and huffed as his head bobbed up and down - his version of a nod. With a light laugh, the woman opened the door to step back out into the room.
The bard tipped her head in greeting to the large animal, smiling faintly as her own bird began twittering in jealousy. Lanya ran her finger along his back again, then pushed herself up from the bed and accepted the clothing offered. She nodded as Metarie explained where the towels and supplies were, and couldn't help but chuckle at the comment on undergarments. Lanya hadn't been wearing any for a couple of days now; a few more wouldn't hurt.
"Thank you."
She closed the door to the bathroom and wasted no time in preparing the bath, sighing as she adjusted the temperature to a steaming froth. She glanced through the soaps offered, but decided to skip on the bubbles themselves in favor of actually washing while she was in the bath. Slowly she removed the clothing she'd been given at the infirmary, folding it and setting it aside to be washed. They weren't bad clothes and she hadn't bled in them; she thought keeping them would be a good idea.
She stepped into the bath, wincing as the hot water forced circulation back into her stinging toes. She waited until the pain settled, then sank down with another long sigh, resting back in the tub for several long moments while the water settled over her. The cocoon of warmth brought an easy smile to her face, and Flame chirped a quiet birdsong while she relaxed.
She allowed herself too long and began to doze, her arms floating in the water before her. A sharp whistle woke her and she jerked in the tub to stare at Flame, who stood fussing at her. She'd started to fall asleep and he wasn't about to let her do something so dangerous - or at least, that's what his fussing meant.
She shook her head and sank below the water a moment, ruffling her hair and untangling the knots until satisfied. It was always harder to wash curly hair in the tub, but she didn't care; she was comfortable and warm and fed. Being clean would make this the most perfect hour she'd had in over a year.
She rose from the water, scrubbing her face with her hands, and got to work with the soap. Days of dirt of grime clouded the water along with the suds until the water itself was a healthy gray. Satisfied with her efforts, she released the water to drain and stood from the tub. Flame continued fussing and chirping until she finally fluttered her fingers at him, distracting him from his perch long enough to silence the little bird.
She dried herself off, ruffling her hair against the towel until it wasn't sopping wet, and then examined herself in the mirror. The bard was hyper-aware of her own physicality; as a performer, she had to take note of her basic appearance and how to use her body to maximize a story telling or song. Still, mirrors would always be a curiosity to her; her family hadn't had one when she was younger and she had no need for one while on the road or performing in a tavern. Oftentimes the rooms she stayed in at these taverns had not had mirrors of any kind; functional but not for the high-end clientele. Her most common view of herself was in rippling water, and so she didn't have the immediate sense of self-recognition that one accustomed to seeing themself so defined would. She always had one split-second moment where she wondered who the woman looking back at her was before remembering that it was herself.
She eyed the injured knee - still painful but not the raging agony it has been for days. She turned to examine the knife-wound - a small scar marred the skin where she assumed it had been, but otherwise no stain of the wound remained. All of the bruises she'd gotten so used to were gone; turning forward again, she had to admit that she didn't look half as bad as she thought she would. Only the dark circles under her eyes needed improvement. She felt these could be easily remedied.
She dressed and wrapped the towel around her head; her hair was thick and wild enough that it needed this gesture before it would be merely damp rather than soaking. Content with her appearance, she looked at Flame and held out her arms - a small show for a small audience.
"What say you? Am I ready?"
The robin fluffed his feathers and huffed as his head bobbed up and down - his version of a nod. With a light laugh, the woman opened the door to step back out into the room.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie was not in the bedroom when Lanya emerged. Instead, she and Kona were in the kitchen area. Metarie sat in one of the chairs beside a small, square table. A book lay open on the table top before here. Beside the book sat a steaming cup of tea. Metarie’s fingers were curled through the cup’s handle. Her chin rested on her palm. Her gaze scanned the page of the book.
Standing in the arched doorway across from the bedroom would allow a person to look forward, left, and right. The room was a single room, laid out in the shape of a rectangle. To the left lay a sort of gathering area. A long settee, in a dark chocolate brown color, looked inviting for seating. This sat against the wall between the two arched doorways that led out of the long room. The fireplace, designed for both heating and aesthetics, dominated the wall opposite the settee. As mentioned previously the remainder of the room possessed shelves of books, a desk, and a suit of hardened leather armor. The lighting in the room was subtle and dim as if from candles instead of harsh electric lights. To the front and right one would see the dining and kitchen area. Despite all the luxuries, the place was small; big enough for two people and a large dog.
At the sound of Lanya’s footsteps in the bedroom, Metarie sat up and turned to look. She smiled kindly. “I see you are done. Did you want me to brush and plait your hair? I have no siblings; it could be fun to have a sister if only for a day.”
Standing in the arched doorway across from the bedroom would allow a person to look forward, left, and right. The room was a single room, laid out in the shape of a rectangle. To the left lay a sort of gathering area. A long settee, in a dark chocolate brown color, looked inviting for seating. This sat against the wall between the two arched doorways that led out of the long room. The fireplace, designed for both heating and aesthetics, dominated the wall opposite the settee. As mentioned previously the remainder of the room possessed shelves of books, a desk, and a suit of hardened leather armor. The lighting in the room was subtle and dim as if from candles instead of harsh electric lights. To the front and right one would see the dining and kitchen area. Despite all the luxuries, the place was small; big enough for two people and a large dog.
At the sound of Lanya’s footsteps in the bedroom, Metarie sat up and turned to look. She smiled kindly. “I see you are done. Did you want me to brush and plait your hair? I have no siblings; it could be fun to have a sister if only for a day.”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lanya strolled barefoot until she hit the arched doorway. She rested against the door-frame and twisted her foot at an odd angle, using it as a brace to balance herself. The clothes lent to her fit snugly; where they would be loose on the slim elf, they were form-fitting on Lanya's sturdy frame. She crossed her arms loosely in front of her, a gesture of comfort rather than defensiveness, and eyed the book the woman had been reading before focusing her gaze on Metarie's face.
The mention of siblings brought a pained smile to the bard's lips. She longed to see her family again, and takes a moment to wonder what they might be doing at this very moment. She wondered what they would think of her. Especially her older brothers.
"I had two younger sisters. They can be a pain."
She dropped her arms and stepped further into the room; the scent of the previously cooked meal still hung in the air, and it was warm besides. Lanya felt better than she had in months, and the healer's cheerful disposition was helping to warm her spirits. Another more open smile replaced the pained one as she reached up to unwrap the towel around her head.
"That sounds lovely. I'm afraid this mane is hard to tame at times."
Her hair fell free - curly but weighted while wet, it hung below her shoulder-blades. The towel had taken enough of the water so that it was damp but not dripping. She drew a clump forward now to tug at the end of a curl.
"But you can't brush it - combing with fingers is better."
Unsure of where to sit, she started walking to the settee - the most comfortable and convenient-looking furniture in the area.
The mention of siblings brought a pained smile to the bard's lips. She longed to see her family again, and takes a moment to wonder what they might be doing at this very moment. She wondered what they would think of her. Especially her older brothers.
"I had two younger sisters. They can be a pain."
She dropped her arms and stepped further into the room; the scent of the previously cooked meal still hung in the air, and it was warm besides. Lanya felt better than she had in months, and the healer's cheerful disposition was helping to warm her spirits. Another more open smile replaced the pained one as she reached up to unwrap the towel around her head.
"That sounds lovely. I'm afraid this mane is hard to tame at times."
Her hair fell free - curly but weighted while wet, it hung below her shoulder-blades. The towel had taken enough of the water so that it was damp but not dripping. She drew a clump forward now to tug at the end of a curl.
"But you can't brush it - combing with fingers is better."
Unsure of where to sit, she started walking to the settee - the most comfortable and convenient-looking furniture in the area.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie smiled and nodded. She carefully marked her place in the book and stood. Sliding the chair back into place, Metarie stepped over to the kettle and began to make Lanya fresh cup of tea. With cat-like grace, Metarie padded over to Lanya and sat the cup on the low table before her.
"Let me get a few things," said Metarie as she exited the room. Soft footfalls could be heard moving down the hall. When Metarie returned she carried a few things in her hands. These were placed on the table before Lanya as well. They were a glass jar with a stopper, filled with something creamy colored, a wide toothed comb, and a hair tie. Metarie sat on the low table in front of Lanya.
When she began, she un-stoppered the bottle first and allowed some of the thick liquid to flow into the palm of her hand. Rubbing her two hands together, she then began to distribute the liquid through-out Lanya's hair using her fingers. The scent was nice and clean. Metarie continued to run her fingers through Lanya's hair until each strand was a curl coiled tightly together in a thick spring. Metarie smiled.
"You have beautiful hair. Sometimes I think I would like to have hair as red as the sunset. Why don't you tell me your story while I do this?"
"Let me get a few things," said Metarie as she exited the room. Soft footfalls could be heard moving down the hall. When Metarie returned she carried a few things in her hands. These were placed on the table before Lanya as well. They were a glass jar with a stopper, filled with something creamy colored, a wide toothed comb, and a hair tie. Metarie sat on the low table in front of Lanya.
When she began, she un-stoppered the bottle first and allowed some of the thick liquid to flow into the palm of her hand. Rubbing her two hands together, she then began to distribute the liquid through-out Lanya's hair using her fingers. The scent was nice and clean. Metarie continued to run her fingers through Lanya's hair until each strand was a curl coiled tightly together in a thick spring. Metarie smiled.
"You have beautiful hair. Sometimes I think I would like to have hair as red as the sunset. Why don't you tell me your story while I do this?"
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
Profile | Thread Tracking
Profile | Thread Tracking
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
The bard closed her eyes and drifted as the woman began working in her hair. The actions brought her back to being a little girl at her mother's hands. Lanya had been the first girl and thus the recipient of many experimental techniques. Not all of them pleasant, but none of them outright painful. And her mother's cheerful hum had always brought a smile to the young girl's lips.
Metarie's comment served the same purpose, and Lanya couldn't help a light blush coloring her cheeks. She couldn't easily accept a compliment, but had learned to at least graciously work around them.
But the final part of the elf's request made her tense and uneasy. She still didn't fully trust this woman - a sentiment that she hated, for she remembered how she had trusted before and missed the innocence it represented. Still, the tension remained. She needed to say something or the two of them would be stuck in silence while the woman braided her hair.
Lanya didn't care for silence. It led her to thinking, and thinking led to depression. She aimed to fill the silence instead - but she didn't want to tell the tale of her capture and travesty of a trial. Instead...
"How about when I met my bird?"
She reached out a hand to allow Flame to perch on her finger, smiling. She would edit certain pieces, but the memory was distant enough that it was comfortable to speak of.
"I was in an area called Rashinvale - I was passing through as a wandering bard, and I had an old family guitar at the time." Her voice cracked a bit at this - the guitar is long gone, and had been beloved, but she continued on.
"I met a man named Chrishton, who decided to escort me to a tavern so that I could find work...once inside, he revealed himself to be quite a creature of violence. He provoked a...drow?...into a fight."
Now her voice lowered as she remembered the moments of terror that followed.
"The creature had control over the shadows. The room went dark. Entirely dark, pitch black - I couldn't see anything. And the drow was attacking me. In the darkness I could hear them fighting - but I was not about to try and follow the sounds. I tipped a table over and hid behind it. And then I heard a noise - an odd scraping, and very loud. The drow had tipped a table over and kicked it toward me. I jumped from behind the desk, only just barely out of the way. The tables slammed together and shattered my old guitar...at the same moment, my cloak caught and I twisted my ankle. I could hardly walk, and the fight raged on."
She sighed to herself; to this day she missed the old guitar. More than just an instrument, it had symbolized home - with the added benefit of not being murderous.
"Another patron could see, I suppose - she took me to the safety of the bar. Then threw a dagger into my lap. Without telling me. I cut my hand on it; I still have a scar from that. You may have noticed it earlier. The drow closed - she of course could see perfectly in the dark. Chrishton could not. He tried to follow my voice, but he was too slow - she ran a finger across my head, here (she brushed her fingers across her forehead) and then he tackled her behind the bar. I think he was trying to protect me, not just fighting - but he was very rash.
"I'm not sure what happened next. The dark lifted - the drow was gone - and Chrishton was covered in blood. I think she smashed a full bottle into his chest - glass everywhere. I was lucky not to hurt myself when I knelt next to him to check his wounds. I had to help him, but I had a sprained ankle and the other patrons had left. Luckily it was a tavern - I simply went upstairs to find the supplies I needed to move him at first. It was...somewhat difficult, but I couldn't move him with all of that glass so quickly.
"At this point a most curious thing happened. A coyote actually came inside of the tavern, sniffing about. I was terrified - I thought surely it was feral and attracted to the blood - but it was intelligent and actually understood me. We convinced him together to move by playing on his male pride. We managed to get him upstairs and into a bed. The coyote - merciful chance that it was - was able to go back down and find the cloth and alcohol I needed to clean his wounds. I found small tweezers in a man's room, and we set to work.
"It was messy business, but he drank enough that I hardly think he felt a thing. I've no idea how someone such as him survived for so long. I ran out of rags at one point, but I couldn't go any further. My ankle was so swollen and painful, I couldn't have possibly walked. But the coyote, clever muff that it was, was actually a...shifter. She became a human, right there before my eyes, and gathered the additional supplies needed to finish. I bandaged Chrishton and finally took it upon myself to rest.
"Turns out he could actually heal a bit - one would hope so, with such a temperament! He brought the swelling down on my ankle, helped to seal the cut in my hand, and helped me to bandage both. I suppose we were even by then. It was at this point, with the tavern main room completely destroyed along with most of the inventory, blood covering the floors, myself with no sleeves and the man with no shirt but bloody bandages across his chest - it was at this moment that the tavern owner appeared."
Lanya shook her head slightly, chuckling at the image this must've made. She wanted so badly to know the owner's thoughts at that moment.
"Gracious woman, she offered me a room despite everything. I couldn't possibly have said no - my guitar was completely destroyed and I had no way to earn my living any longer. It was the next day that I met this little darling. She brought me a staff, something left by a previous patron. The robin came with the staff. He turned his little head and joined me in a song - and has since stubbornly refused to abandon me."
She dropped her voice then, almost as though whispering a precious secret to a childhood friend.
"His name is Flame."
Metarie's comment served the same purpose, and Lanya couldn't help a light blush coloring her cheeks. She couldn't easily accept a compliment, but had learned to at least graciously work around them.
But the final part of the elf's request made her tense and uneasy. She still didn't fully trust this woman - a sentiment that she hated, for she remembered how she had trusted before and missed the innocence it represented. Still, the tension remained. She needed to say something or the two of them would be stuck in silence while the woman braided her hair.
Lanya didn't care for silence. It led her to thinking, and thinking led to depression. She aimed to fill the silence instead - but she didn't want to tell the tale of her capture and travesty of a trial. Instead...
"How about when I met my bird?"
She reached out a hand to allow Flame to perch on her finger, smiling. She would edit certain pieces, but the memory was distant enough that it was comfortable to speak of.
"I was in an area called Rashinvale - I was passing through as a wandering bard, and I had an old family guitar at the time." Her voice cracked a bit at this - the guitar is long gone, and had been beloved, but she continued on.
"I met a man named Chrishton, who decided to escort me to a tavern so that I could find work...once inside, he revealed himself to be quite a creature of violence. He provoked a...drow?...into a fight."
Now her voice lowered as she remembered the moments of terror that followed.
"The creature had control over the shadows. The room went dark. Entirely dark, pitch black - I couldn't see anything. And the drow was attacking me. In the darkness I could hear them fighting - but I was not about to try and follow the sounds. I tipped a table over and hid behind it. And then I heard a noise - an odd scraping, and very loud. The drow had tipped a table over and kicked it toward me. I jumped from behind the desk, only just barely out of the way. The tables slammed together and shattered my old guitar...at the same moment, my cloak caught and I twisted my ankle. I could hardly walk, and the fight raged on."
She sighed to herself; to this day she missed the old guitar. More than just an instrument, it had symbolized home - with the added benefit of not being murderous.
"Another patron could see, I suppose - she took me to the safety of the bar. Then threw a dagger into my lap. Without telling me. I cut my hand on it; I still have a scar from that. You may have noticed it earlier. The drow closed - she of course could see perfectly in the dark. Chrishton could not. He tried to follow my voice, but he was too slow - she ran a finger across my head, here (she brushed her fingers across her forehead) and then he tackled her behind the bar. I think he was trying to protect me, not just fighting - but he was very rash.
"I'm not sure what happened next. The dark lifted - the drow was gone - and Chrishton was covered in blood. I think she smashed a full bottle into his chest - glass everywhere. I was lucky not to hurt myself when I knelt next to him to check his wounds. I had to help him, but I had a sprained ankle and the other patrons had left. Luckily it was a tavern - I simply went upstairs to find the supplies I needed to move him at first. It was...somewhat difficult, but I couldn't move him with all of that glass so quickly.
"At this point a most curious thing happened. A coyote actually came inside of the tavern, sniffing about. I was terrified - I thought surely it was feral and attracted to the blood - but it was intelligent and actually understood me. We convinced him together to move by playing on his male pride. We managed to get him upstairs and into a bed. The coyote - merciful chance that it was - was able to go back down and find the cloth and alcohol I needed to clean his wounds. I found small tweezers in a man's room, and we set to work.
"It was messy business, but he drank enough that I hardly think he felt a thing. I've no idea how someone such as him survived for so long. I ran out of rags at one point, but I couldn't go any further. My ankle was so swollen and painful, I couldn't have possibly walked. But the coyote, clever muff that it was, was actually a...shifter. She became a human, right there before my eyes, and gathered the additional supplies needed to finish. I bandaged Chrishton and finally took it upon myself to rest.
"Turns out he could actually heal a bit - one would hope so, with such a temperament! He brought the swelling down on my ankle, helped to seal the cut in my hand, and helped me to bandage both. I suppose we were even by then. It was at this point, with the tavern main room completely destroyed along with most of the inventory, blood covering the floors, myself with no sleeves and the man with no shirt but bloody bandages across his chest - it was at this moment that the tavern owner appeared."
Lanya shook her head slightly, chuckling at the image this must've made. She wanted so badly to know the owner's thoughts at that moment.
"Gracious woman, she offered me a room despite everything. I couldn't possibly have said no - my guitar was completely destroyed and I had no way to earn my living any longer. It was the next day that I met this little darling. She brought me a staff, something left by a previous patron. The robin came with the staff. He turned his little head and joined me in a song - and has since stubbornly refused to abandon me."
She dropped her voice then, almost as though whispering a precious secret to a childhood friend.
"His name is Flame."
You're wearing your anguish again.
-
Alibi of Tyrants
- Citizen
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Dec 12, 2007 3:24 pm
- Name: Everett
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
Smoothing out his hair with his real hand (as if hair trained to stay flat would do anything else other than stay down), Everett opened the door and entered the main room. He would probably have to tell Watson that he popped one of the automated arms out of place on the dryer. Hopefully that’ll get under the lucid little bastard’s skin; his gadgets and gizmos are docked from his pay, as prior to the contract that Everett had drawn up and he had signed. Everett doesn’t have to dole out even 1/8 of a Bishani to cover expenses unless he wants to. Plus, Gnomes tend to get angry when you break their stuff; there have been a couple of occasions where Watson was noticeably annoyed from Everett’s accidental maltreatment of one of his gizmos (the closest thing to inflection comes to his voice when this happens). It was good being the boss; it gives excuses aplenty and keeps the blame far, far away from you even if it is squarely your own.
The main room was modest in size, to say the least. It wasn’t much bigger than his office (maybe by a few square feet). It also had the same scheme as the office: Dark, wooden, and with crap strewn out everywhere. Paperwork, coffee cups, liquor bottles, and other sundry things dotted the room. Furniture was few and far in-between. There was a brown shag ensemble for the living room, situated parallel to the exact center of the room (right where the dastardly plank is situated). The lounging chair looked like something straight of a brothel: It was oversized and incessantly matted with layers of faux fur. The couch wasn’t much better; in fact, Everett sometimes lovingly refers to it as “The Furry Turd.” The couch was more comfortable than anything but it looked like…well, a long furry turd. In the whole apartment, this was the very thing he called “bed.” The last piece of furniture in the set didn’t look bad; in fact, it looked very out of place in comparison to the other two. The faux fur wasn’t overwhelming and it was relatively small. A coffee table was situated right in front of the Furry Turd.
The kitchen and dining room seamlessly melded into the living room. It didn’t even look as if there was any distinction between the two rooms. To make the distinction, of course, Everett made sure that there were indicators. A big-ass pot belly stove marked the beginning of the kitchen. It was a large, black mass of cold iron that sat on four curved legs. Wood and coal was stacked up underneath of it---one provided heat to the whole apartment and the other helped cook food. A small assortment of cast-iron fireplace utensils were burrowed somewhere close to the pile (buried somewhere in that mess). Running along the wall adjacent to the stove was the countertop and the sink, piled with dishes galore. Cheap cabinets. The end of the kitchen was marked by a tall box that was overflowing with what could only be described as trash. The beginning (and ending) of the dining room was marked by a table made of hickory and a matching set of tables nestled in the corner right by the edge of the kitchen. A stained glass light dangled over the table precariously, almost like the proverbial Sword of Damocles.
Watson was standing by the door, a thinning brow raised in question.
The Gnome was given something of a look by his boss, one that implied incredulousness to his own actions (a common exchange between the two). “Well,” Everett said after a moment of awkward silence, motioning to the door. “Let ‘em in.”
Everett made a beeline to the Furry Turd and plopped down right into it, his whole mass sinking into its hairy depths. A languid sigh escaped from between his lips, a sound that was a cross between attained comfort and obvious malcontent.
The main room was modest in size, to say the least. It wasn’t much bigger than his office (maybe by a few square feet). It also had the same scheme as the office: Dark, wooden, and with crap strewn out everywhere. Paperwork, coffee cups, liquor bottles, and other sundry things dotted the room. Furniture was few and far in-between. There was a brown shag ensemble for the living room, situated parallel to the exact center of the room (right where the dastardly plank is situated). The lounging chair looked like something straight of a brothel: It was oversized and incessantly matted with layers of faux fur. The couch wasn’t much better; in fact, Everett sometimes lovingly refers to it as “The Furry Turd.” The couch was more comfortable than anything but it looked like…well, a long furry turd. In the whole apartment, this was the very thing he called “bed.” The last piece of furniture in the set didn’t look bad; in fact, it looked very out of place in comparison to the other two. The faux fur wasn’t overwhelming and it was relatively small. A coffee table was situated right in front of the Furry Turd.
The kitchen and dining room seamlessly melded into the living room. It didn’t even look as if there was any distinction between the two rooms. To make the distinction, of course, Everett made sure that there were indicators. A big-ass pot belly stove marked the beginning of the kitchen. It was a large, black mass of cold iron that sat on four curved legs. Wood and coal was stacked up underneath of it---one provided heat to the whole apartment and the other helped cook food. A small assortment of cast-iron fireplace utensils were burrowed somewhere close to the pile (buried somewhere in that mess). Running along the wall adjacent to the stove was the countertop and the sink, piled with dishes galore. Cheap cabinets. The end of the kitchen was marked by a tall box that was overflowing with what could only be described as trash. The beginning (and ending) of the dining room was marked by a table made of hickory and a matching set of tables nestled in the corner right by the edge of the kitchen. A stained glass light dangled over the table precariously, almost like the proverbial Sword of Damocles.
Watson was standing by the door, a thinning brow raised in question.
The Gnome was given something of a look by his boss, one that implied incredulousness to his own actions (a common exchange between the two). “Well,” Everett said after a moment of awkward silence, motioning to the door. “Let ‘em in.”
Everett made a beeline to the Furry Turd and plopped down right into it, his whole mass sinking into its hairy depths. A languid sigh escaped from between his lips, a sound that was a cross between attained comfort and obvious malcontent.
A legendary character...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...