Daq awoke easily to the feeling of pressure on his foot. Morax's memories had ingrained a certain alertness into him, an implicit mistrust of anything but stark, sober consciousness. There was a twinge of pain in his head as his eyes adjusted to the light, but nothing serious. He judged that he'd feel better in an hour or so, after getting something to eat and a drink of water.
Pagusel stood above him, evidently trying to get him to move out of the way. He did so, and as he looked at her, he reevaluated his situation. There wasn't likely to be anything to eat or drink in the scrapyard, unless Pagusel had a supply hidden somewhere. Well, there wasn't likely to be anything safe to eat or drink.
He thought of the tavern, but the memory of how he had assaulted that girl returned to him. He tried to parse through his fragmentary recollection of the night and came up with little. He had the feeling that he'd come to important conclusions about himself and about his being, but they seemed to have burned away like the fog in the strong midmorning light. There was an impression of something, a sense of freedom and lightness, but the whole night seemed more like a dream than the dreams he'd just had. He could remember them clearly, each covalent bond, each warping electron shell. His dreams felt oddly substantive and somehow fungible, like an anatomy lesson. In contrast, the memories of his first night seemed as uniquely important as they were vague.
Another little twinge of pain just under the top of his head brought Daq back to more practical considerations. "I don't suppose you have a stash of food hidden in there," he said to Pagusel, gesturing to the cabinet she had wanted access to.
The Hustle
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
Pagusel knelt and dug with both hands into her modest cabinet. The dark circles visible around her eyes might have been tiredness pooled there, or merely an act of shadow playing on her bone structure. She was consumed by her urge for a morning dose, a prophylactic against the day, and didn't pay Daq any attention for a few moments. Her gaze was turned down to peer through the narrow window to her worldly possessions, her view restricted even more through by her hands. She had no space to manipulate her hands, and so used only the tips of her fingers to shift things left and right in search of her intended.
A few moments later, she had teased free a dry, woody sprig of the preferred drug, and she sat up with this pinched between her middle and ring fingers. Her pipe was cradled in the long hollow of her fingers and palm. Finally, she looked up at Daq and her lower lip pursed with acknowledgment of their mutual concern. She frowned down at her herb and shifted her body to sit on the edge of the armoire.
Her lack of response was probably answer enough for him. For her own part, she just couldn't address the subject until she had handled her first task of the day. It wasn't a daily need, this morning smoke, but she had a distinct feeling that today it was called for. To fill the silence as she prepared her smoke--stripping the leaves off their stem with the pads of her fingers, pressing them gently into the bowl with her thumbnail, fumbling for a matchstick down below--she addressed another relevant concern weighing on her mind, one that was perhaps more suited to discuss over drugs.
"Did you dream things?" she asked before she lit her pipe.
After a few small trial puffs, she drew a satisfactory drag. There would only be a few such breaths in this bowl; she was being careful, dealing with a supply that simply didn't replenish as quickly as she needed it. If things went well with Morax, however, she might remedy her situation.
This thought spurred an action of generosity on her part: she gestured to offer him a turn at the pipe. "Some find it staves off hunger for a time," she said, "though I suppose some find it rather piques the appetite." The offer on her part might indeed have been less motivated by generosity and more by the tendency of stoners to seek company.
A few moments later, she had teased free a dry, woody sprig of the preferred drug, and she sat up with this pinched between her middle and ring fingers. Her pipe was cradled in the long hollow of her fingers and palm. Finally, she looked up at Daq and her lower lip pursed with acknowledgment of their mutual concern. She frowned down at her herb and shifted her body to sit on the edge of the armoire.
Her lack of response was probably answer enough for him. For her own part, she just couldn't address the subject until she had handled her first task of the day. It wasn't a daily need, this morning smoke, but she had a distinct feeling that today it was called for. To fill the silence as she prepared her smoke--stripping the leaves off their stem with the pads of her fingers, pressing them gently into the bowl with her thumbnail, fumbling for a matchstick down below--she addressed another relevant concern weighing on her mind, one that was perhaps more suited to discuss over drugs.
"Did you dream things?" she asked before she lit her pipe.
After a few small trial puffs, she drew a satisfactory drag. There would only be a few such breaths in this bowl; she was being careful, dealing with a supply that simply didn't replenish as quickly as she needed it. If things went well with Morax, however, she might remedy her situation.
This thought spurred an action of generosity on her part: she gestured to offer him a turn at the pipe. "Some find it staves off hunger for a time," she said, "though I suppose some find it rather piques the appetite." The offer on her part might indeed have been less motivated by generosity and more by the tendency of stoners to seek company.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
Daq shielded his eyes with his palm and watched Pagusel to the best of his ability. There was something off about her behavior, something about the way she was digging with both hands in her cabinet, shifting things aside as she searched like a squirrel seeking a buried acorn. Here, at her residence, she seemed to move with the sort of speed and urgency he'd have expected of her in a public setting. In contrast, his impressions of her movements from the night before were that they had been fluid and slow, almost lethargic. Of course, there was no guarantee that those impressions were correct, given how little he could remember. Yet there it was, the suspicion. He started to consider how odd it was that this one break from normal behavior was the one that bothered him, as opposed to Pagusel's residence in a scrapyard, or the frequency of her drug use. Whereas those drugs they'd taken the night before might have been called recreational, her search for a hit in the morning far surpassed that designation.This seemed habitual.
The sun seemed more harsh than he'd remembered from the day before, and Daq wondered why Morax hadn't picked a more practical iris color for him than blue, something less sensitive to the sun. Then again, perhaps the sensitivity was what he was after with that design element.
Pagusel's response to his question about the food was so unexpected and off-topic that it almost didn't register. Did he dream?
... Of what? Of food? It took him awhile to realize that she was deflecting the question, a realization that brought him some displeasure.
Furrowing his brow and squinting against the bright light, he answered her to the best of his ability, given that he had few memories of actual dreams, if any.
"To dream," he said. "That entails the creation of something, doesn't it? A dream world? A dream scene?"
He opted to lie back down and cover his eyes with the crook of his elbow. "I wouldn't say I dreamed. I'd say that I reviewed. I saw things, a Claisen condensation, a disulfide linking reaction, an alkene hydration... but nothing that was entirely mine, nothing overtly fictional."
When Pagusel offered him a hit on her pipe, he gestured for her to keep it. He was starting to surmise that his reaction to the sun was the result of a hangover, and he didn't want to try the hair of the dog just yet. As he motioned, the world seemed to wobble on its axis.
"I think I--er---we really need to.. um... to give some serious thought about finding something to eat."
The sun seemed more harsh than he'd remembered from the day before, and Daq wondered why Morax hadn't picked a more practical iris color for him than blue, something less sensitive to the sun. Then again, perhaps the sensitivity was what he was after with that design element.
Pagusel's response to his question about the food was so unexpected and off-topic that it almost didn't register. Did he dream?
... Of what? Of food? It took him awhile to realize that she was deflecting the question, a realization that brought him some displeasure.
Furrowing his brow and squinting against the bright light, he answered her to the best of his ability, given that he had few memories of actual dreams, if any.
"To dream," he said. "That entails the creation of something, doesn't it? A dream world? A dream scene?"
He opted to lie back down and cover his eyes with the crook of his elbow. "I wouldn't say I dreamed. I'd say that I reviewed. I saw things, a Claisen condensation, a disulfide linking reaction, an alkene hydration... but nothing that was entirely mine, nothing overtly fictional."
When Pagusel offered him a hit on her pipe, he gestured for her to keep it. He was starting to surmise that his reaction to the sun was the result of a hangover, and he didn't want to try the hair of the dog just yet. As he motioned, the world seemed to wobble on its axis.
"I think I--er---we really need to.. um... to give some serious thought about finding something to eat."
Re: The Hustle
Pagusel was conditioned. Before the chemicals she consumed had a chance to actually interact with her system, her body anticipated their effects. After one puff, she was calmer, and her mind produced those vague, urgent concerns at a quarter of its usual rate. She took another drag, held it in her lungs for an unusually long period. Her lips softened in something that could almost look like a smile, and the rims of her eyelids became glazed with dew.
She pondered the refused offer of her pipe and took her time with her next inhale. She was trying to put some context behind the words he'd said about dreaming. A lot of noun phrases.
"Ah," she exhaled. She realized he was describing what it was he felt he should have dreamed, and then a lot of vagueness about what he had. If she weren't already feeling a bit high, she probably would have shifted uncomfortably when he lay down again so near to her. As it was, she merely looked down on him and gave a sympathetic sort of scrunch of her chin. "What you're describing seems to me like a fair assessment of what dreams can be. Dreams are different things to different people."
She took a final, puff on her pipe; it was ashy and bitter. "You should not be so quick to dismiss your own." If there was an edge to her admonishment, it was muffled by her high and muddled by her disappointment that he didn't have more information for her. And then there was the food.
Pagusel cast a long look towards the city and rubbed the space between her chin and lower lip. "Please tell me what you need. Starch? Protein? We will need to find something that doesn't require money." She seemed to be avoiding his gaze just a little. No matter how stoned she was, if he was going to act like a teenager again, that would be very difficult.
She pondered the refused offer of her pipe and took her time with her next inhale. She was trying to put some context behind the words he'd said about dreaming. A lot of noun phrases.
"Ah," she exhaled. She realized he was describing what it was he felt he should have dreamed, and then a lot of vagueness about what he had. If she weren't already feeling a bit high, she probably would have shifted uncomfortably when he lay down again so near to her. As it was, she merely looked down on him and gave a sympathetic sort of scrunch of her chin. "What you're describing seems to me like a fair assessment of what dreams can be. Dreams are different things to different people."
She took a final, puff on her pipe; it was ashy and bitter. "You should not be so quick to dismiss your own." If there was an edge to her admonishment, it was muffled by her high and muddled by her disappointment that he didn't have more information for her. And then there was the food.
Pagusel cast a long look towards the city and rubbed the space between her chin and lower lip. "Please tell me what you need. Starch? Protein? We will need to find something that doesn't require money." She seemed to be avoiding his gaze just a little. No matter how stoned she was, if he was going to act like a teenager again, that would be very difficult.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
When Pagusel spoke, Daq lifted his arm to peek out at her from under it. She puzzled him. There were moments when her apparent naivety and insecure mannerisms made her seem almost childish, but there were also jarring moments that reminded him of how old she was and of the lessons and ways of thinking that must have accumulated and crystallized in those years.
Her being perched above him, looking down and making a facial gesture that--he assumed--was meant to appear patronizing, only strengthened his impression of her having the upper-hand in the situation. All of the 'tabula rasa' ideas he'd been nurturing the night before seemed to chafe at him. He longed for weightier memories, laden with years of emotion and context.
All of a sudden, he realized that he was feeling the same gnawing anxiety that had plagued Morax. There was too much nuance in her comment about his dreams, information being carried in the tone she'd used, the sort of softness to it, despite the comment's rather pedantic content. He could only handle its face value. He thought to avoid responding to it, then noted that a lack of response might, perhaps, be saying more than he intended.
Clamping his forearm back down over his eyes, he muttered a noncommittal, "I guess you're right," or something along those lines. He couldn't even devote any of his mental faculties to keeping track of himself--he had to begin with the next remark to decipher, her line about the starch and protein. Did she intend to feed him just those components that he specified? Was she mocking him?
Almost involuntarily, Daq shied away from Pagusel and curled into a tight ball on his side. "I'd need more than that," he said mechanically, much in the same quiet, unsure way that Morax would have answered in such a situation. "There are essential vitamins, cofactors, fatty acids.. other components to this body that need replenishing."
In his new position, Daq's eyes were being besieged by little spears of sunlight. His stomach gurgled insistently. Perhaps Pagusel had meant to place emphasis on the low availability of suitable food, given her means?
"But, uh," Daq said from between his arms. He felt a little dizzy, but he was unsure as to what he should attribute the feeling. The hangover? The staggering limitations of the social skills he'd inherited? "I guess we could.. procure the.. ah.. appropriate nutrients at the.. the Malatrast mansion? She's got a, uh, cook there. And, you know, money."
Her being perched above him, looking down and making a facial gesture that--he assumed--was meant to appear patronizing, only strengthened his impression of her having the upper-hand in the situation. All of the 'tabula rasa' ideas he'd been nurturing the night before seemed to chafe at him. He longed for weightier memories, laden with years of emotion and context.
All of a sudden, he realized that he was feeling the same gnawing anxiety that had plagued Morax. There was too much nuance in her comment about his dreams, information being carried in the tone she'd used, the sort of softness to it, despite the comment's rather pedantic content. He could only handle its face value. He thought to avoid responding to it, then noted that a lack of response might, perhaps, be saying more than he intended.
Clamping his forearm back down over his eyes, he muttered a noncommittal, "I guess you're right," or something along those lines. He couldn't even devote any of his mental faculties to keeping track of himself--he had to begin with the next remark to decipher, her line about the starch and protein. Did she intend to feed him just those components that he specified? Was she mocking him?
Almost involuntarily, Daq shied away from Pagusel and curled into a tight ball on his side. "I'd need more than that," he said mechanically, much in the same quiet, unsure way that Morax would have answered in such a situation. "There are essential vitamins, cofactors, fatty acids.. other components to this body that need replenishing."
In his new position, Daq's eyes were being besieged by little spears of sunlight. His stomach gurgled insistently. Perhaps Pagusel had meant to place emphasis on the low availability of suitable food, given her means?
"But, uh," Daq said from between his arms. He felt a little dizzy, but he was unsure as to what he should attribute the feeling. The hangover? The staggering limitations of the social skills he'd inherited? "I guess we could.. procure the.. ah.. appropriate nutrients at the.. the Malatrast mansion? She's got a, uh, cook there. And, you know, money."
Re: The Hustle
Pagusel stood as Daq retreated into his physical space. Her own physical space was so much more pleasant now that her flesh felt syrupy and vague. The shift of inertia rippled her diaphragm. She couldn't help but smile for a moment.
Her face was tilted upwards; he probably wouldn't see the smile. But it was an unusual expression for her--this was no melancholy, swooning gaze for an imagined lover in the sky. This was actual simple pleasure.
She rose up to her tiptoes, lifted her arms high above her head in a stretch. A fine shower of powdery ash snowed down on her and frosted her hairline and eyelashes. The arches of her feet and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. She glanced down at Daq while slowly lowering her arms.
"I would like to change my clothes first," she said. It sounded very much like she was agreeing to the plan. Truly, she was also in need to many of those vitamins Daq sought. It was only a few times a week that she bothered with scavenging human nourishment. "So keep your eyes closed," she added.
Pagusel sat down on the packed earth behind the head of the armoire. A dark spot on the ground nearby caught her eye--the site where Daq had blown up some unknown substance the night before. She gave him a wary glance over her shoulder to see that he was staying put, and then reached into the narrow hollow beneath the armoire and pulled out a balled-up mass of muddy-gray material.
She proceeded with another act she would have found utterly impossible without her recent pick-me-up. First, she pulled at the fastening end of her wrapped shirt and shimmied to loosen its coils. Loops of the long strip of suede gathered at her waist. With one hand, she tugged at these to disentangle herself, while with the other she massaged the upper part of her sore breast. With the shirt lying at her feet, she moved to unbutton her shorts. The cold air hardly registered with her mind or her body: the goosebumps on her forearms were halfhearted, and rather than pucker against the frigidity, her breasts hung relaxed in their freedom.
The symmetrical arcs of tattoos over her hips disappeared in the cleft of her buttocks. In the front, and lower, the lines converged, obscured by the dull down of hair. Oddly, unlike the unusually well-maintained hair of her head, that on her body reflected some of her nutrient deficiency in its fineness and lack of luster. The dimples at the small of her back appeared shadowy, as did the rougher skin around her elbows and at her kneecaps.
She shook out the ball of material, and it unfurled itself as a dress of crocheted woolen yarn. Its color was like lichen, although it didn't have much in the way of dirt or mold on it. Crammed beneath the armoire, it seemed to have maintained pretty well. Pagusel pulled it on over her head and wriggled to find each appendage to its proper outlet.
"Okay," she said as she pulled down the lower edge of the skirt. It came just past her knees. The dress was not at all in the local style; if this was the style of any place, then that was nowhere near here. The neckline was a collar of some sort of ornate macrame, from which the rest of the garment hung quite plainly. The swoops and angles of her body's shape were mere notions beneath the twill. In direct light, the weave was close to transparent, and it didn't seem to offer much warmth. It had no sleeves.
Pagusel leaned over to tuck her old clothes away and pick up her cloak. She hesitated, then picked up the wooden box as well.
"Come and show me the way." She took his shoulder in her hand and gave it a commanding squeeze.
Her face was tilted upwards; he probably wouldn't see the smile. But it was an unusual expression for her--this was no melancholy, swooning gaze for an imagined lover in the sky. This was actual simple pleasure.
She rose up to her tiptoes, lifted her arms high above her head in a stretch. A fine shower of powdery ash snowed down on her and frosted her hairline and eyelashes. The arches of her feet and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. She glanced down at Daq while slowly lowering her arms.
"I would like to change my clothes first," she said. It sounded very much like she was agreeing to the plan. Truly, she was also in need to many of those vitamins Daq sought. It was only a few times a week that she bothered with scavenging human nourishment. "So keep your eyes closed," she added.
Pagusel sat down on the packed earth behind the head of the armoire. A dark spot on the ground nearby caught her eye--the site where Daq had blown up some unknown substance the night before. She gave him a wary glance over her shoulder to see that he was staying put, and then reached into the narrow hollow beneath the armoire and pulled out a balled-up mass of muddy-gray material.
She proceeded with another act she would have found utterly impossible without her recent pick-me-up. First, she pulled at the fastening end of her wrapped shirt and shimmied to loosen its coils. Loops of the long strip of suede gathered at her waist. With one hand, she tugged at these to disentangle herself, while with the other she massaged the upper part of her sore breast. With the shirt lying at her feet, she moved to unbutton her shorts. The cold air hardly registered with her mind or her body: the goosebumps on her forearms were halfhearted, and rather than pucker against the frigidity, her breasts hung relaxed in their freedom.
The symmetrical arcs of tattoos over her hips disappeared in the cleft of her buttocks. In the front, and lower, the lines converged, obscured by the dull down of hair. Oddly, unlike the unusually well-maintained hair of her head, that on her body reflected some of her nutrient deficiency in its fineness and lack of luster. The dimples at the small of her back appeared shadowy, as did the rougher skin around her elbows and at her kneecaps.
She shook out the ball of material, and it unfurled itself as a dress of crocheted woolen yarn. Its color was like lichen, although it didn't have much in the way of dirt or mold on it. Crammed beneath the armoire, it seemed to have maintained pretty well. Pagusel pulled it on over her head and wriggled to find each appendage to its proper outlet.
"Okay," she said as she pulled down the lower edge of the skirt. It came just past her knees. The dress was not at all in the local style; if this was the style of any place, then that was nowhere near here. The neckline was a collar of some sort of ornate macrame, from which the rest of the garment hung quite plainly. The swoops and angles of her body's shape were mere notions beneath the twill. In direct light, the weave was close to transparent, and it didn't seem to offer much warmth. It had no sleeves.
Pagusel leaned over to tuck her old clothes away and pick up her cloak. She hesitated, then picked up the wooden box as well.
"Come and show me the way." She took his shoulder in her hand and gave it a commanding squeeze.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
Daq did as he was told and closed his eyes. As he waited, it occurred to him how difficult this task might have seemed to the old Bekkar. He caught himself in the midst of making the distinction--old Bekkar, new Daq--and tried to correct his errant thoughts, but he couldn't quite bridge the logical gap necessary to start thinking of Bekkar's past as his own. The way that ash had settled on her like dew might have settled on morning grass was not alluring and not exotic to Daq. It was simply dirty and somewhat unhygienic.
Even the issue of Pagusel herself was an example of how the disconnect seemed rational and appropriate. Bekkar had, at the very least, lusted after her, if not even cared for her in a deeper way. He would have jumped at the chance to see the lines of her pale tattoos that were normally obscured by her clothing. Yet now, just as Morax had never understood Bekkar's longings, Daq could not understand them either. Lost in these considerations, he kept his eyes closed for even longer than was required of him, until Pagusel gripped his shoulder firmly.
He turned to evaluate her new choice in clothing for a moment. In its own way, it seemed appropriately formal for a reception at the Malatrast mansion. At first, he thought this to be a result of its exoticness, but then he realized it was because of its apparent impracticality. The ornately knotted collar and the thin fabric that hung from it were totally at-odds with the realities of Marn and with the chilly morning in particular.
Nodding in affirmation, he turned to head for the Malatrast property. His first few strides went off in the right direction, but his confidence in the route was shaken as soon as he began to try to conjure it in his head. His legs could lead him there, but not if he thought about where he was going actively. He allowed himself to simply move forward again. To distract himself, he turned to Pagusel and said, "Would you mind having a discussion as we walk? I'll leave our choice of topic to your discretion."
Even the issue of Pagusel herself was an example of how the disconnect seemed rational and appropriate. Bekkar had, at the very least, lusted after her, if not even cared for her in a deeper way. He would have jumped at the chance to see the lines of her pale tattoos that were normally obscured by her clothing. Yet now, just as Morax had never understood Bekkar's longings, Daq could not understand them either. Lost in these considerations, he kept his eyes closed for even longer than was required of him, until Pagusel gripped his shoulder firmly.
He turned to evaluate her new choice in clothing for a moment. In its own way, it seemed appropriately formal for a reception at the Malatrast mansion. At first, he thought this to be a result of its exoticness, but then he realized it was because of its apparent impracticality. The ornately knotted collar and the thin fabric that hung from it were totally at-odds with the realities of Marn and with the chilly morning in particular.
Nodding in affirmation, he turned to head for the Malatrast property. His first few strides went off in the right direction, but his confidence in the route was shaken as soon as he began to try to conjure it in his head. His legs could lead him there, but not if he thought about where he was going actively. He allowed himself to simply move forward again. To distract himself, he turned to Pagusel and said, "Would you mind having a discussion as we walk? I'll leave our choice of topic to your discretion."
Re: The Hustle
Pagusel walked with an inconsistent stride--hasty at first, to meet Daq's first confident steps, and then slower, halting, as she fussed with her dress's hem, which tended to cling and ride up. While Daq hesitated briefly, she more got the hang of wearing the thing, and settled on taking smaller steps to keep it in place. Her steps were quick so as to keep up with him.
She still had her cloak draped over her shoulder, and had again tucked the little box into the crook of her elbow. She fell behind for a moment as she inspected the miniature landscape of hives that had cropped up on the fleshy place between her thumb and forefinger near where she had held the box for a few moments. The bumps were as fleeting as they were mysterious, and soon disappeared once she turned her attention away from them.
"A discussion?" she said half-breathlessly as she minced along beside him. Her gazed turned forward, in line with their path. The Malatrast mansion was somewhere that way, and though she couldn't pick it out on her own, she could feel certain she was gazing in its direction at least. Probably Daq's captors would be there.
Pagusel became aware of the beating of her heart as she tried to form some basis for a conversation. She felt the discomfort of urgency. She considered for a moment that she could mention how she had once before kept ward of a civil prisoner, and talk about what they had experienced between themselves at that time, and how all that had ended. Then she suddenly realized that this was a terrible topic for many reasons. Her heart beat louder in her mind. A new urgency: she mustn't share too much about herself at all.
"How. . ." Pagusel's mouth was dry and formed the syllable poorly. She waited a moment and tried again. "You, ah, said that Morax is. . . Morax is fully inhabiting the former body of Daq?" She pressed her lips tightly together as she glanced at Daq. This gave her a moment to moisten her sluggish tongue. "How do you, ah. . . feel about that?"
She still had her cloak draped over her shoulder, and had again tucked the little box into the crook of her elbow. She fell behind for a moment as she inspected the miniature landscape of hives that had cropped up on the fleshy place between her thumb and forefinger near where she had held the box for a few moments. The bumps were as fleeting as they were mysterious, and soon disappeared once she turned her attention away from them.
"A discussion?" she said half-breathlessly as she minced along beside him. Her gazed turned forward, in line with their path. The Malatrast mansion was somewhere that way, and though she couldn't pick it out on her own, she could feel certain she was gazing in its direction at least. Probably Daq's captors would be there.
Pagusel became aware of the beating of her heart as she tried to form some basis for a conversation. She felt the discomfort of urgency. She considered for a moment that she could mention how she had once before kept ward of a civil prisoner, and talk about what they had experienced between themselves at that time, and how all that had ended. Then she suddenly realized that this was a terrible topic for many reasons. Her heart beat louder in her mind. A new urgency: she mustn't share too much about herself at all.
"How. . ." Pagusel's mouth was dry and formed the syllable poorly. She waited a moment and tried again. "You, ah, said that Morax is. . . Morax is fully inhabiting the former body of Daq?" She pressed her lips tightly together as she glanced at Daq. This gave her a moment to moisten her sluggish tongue. "How do you, ah. . . feel about that?"
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
The truth of the matter was that Daq had never really thought about it. His new body was, in most ways, superior to the former one, and the old body didn't really look the way it had looked while he was occupying it. Perhaps it was the alchemist in him, but the prospect of his body being occupied by Morax made him think of a hermit crab finding a new shell. What particular did the prior owner have to its exoskeleton? Wasn't his 'body' nothing more than about 50 kilograms of oxygen, 20 kilograms of carbon and 10 or so of hydrogen?
Judging by the way Pagusel had asked the question, with the false start, the breathlessness, and the pause to look at him, Daq decided that she was expecting something more. He assumed that she wanted to see some sort of righteous indignation on his part. At the same time, he didn't want to get caught in a lie
"Well," he said. "I don't... err. It might be nice to have the old one.. to still live in it, for.. ah.. continuity's sake.. I suppose."
His sole caught on an uneven cobblestone, causing to have to skip forward quickly to avoid losing his balance. Acting practically on its own, as if it wanted to undercut his silly, sentimental comment about "continuity," his torso twisted back mid-skip. His legs and feet followed it, and he landed gracefully to transition into a backwards walk, facing Pagusel.
"But I have to admit," he said. "This new one is verrry handy." He smiled slowly, still as impressed as he'd been the day before by his new body's periodic displays of dexterity and strength. He wondered how long it would take for the feeling to wear off.
After walking backwards and looking at Pagusel for a few moments longer, he nodded and turned around again. In the distance, he was just beginning to see the Malatrast mansion, with its waves of decorative arches, puffy turrets and little bunches of gables, peek out from behind a cluster of apartments. Part of him felt impressed by its architectural complexity, but many of his inherited memories spoke to him of what it had been like to live in a ducal residence.
Judging by the way Pagusel had asked the question, with the false start, the breathlessness, and the pause to look at him, Daq decided that she was expecting something more. He assumed that she wanted to see some sort of righteous indignation on his part. At the same time, he didn't want to get caught in a lie
"Well," he said. "I don't... err. It might be nice to have the old one.. to still live in it, for.. ah.. continuity's sake.. I suppose."
His sole caught on an uneven cobblestone, causing to have to skip forward quickly to avoid losing his balance. Acting practically on its own, as if it wanted to undercut his silly, sentimental comment about "continuity," his torso twisted back mid-skip. His legs and feet followed it, and he landed gracefully to transition into a backwards walk, facing Pagusel.
"But I have to admit," he said. "This new one is verrry handy." He smiled slowly, still as impressed as he'd been the day before by his new body's periodic displays of dexterity and strength. He wondered how long it would take for the feeling to wear off.
After walking backwards and looking at Pagusel for a few moments longer, he nodded and turned around again. In the distance, he was just beginning to see the Malatrast mansion, with its waves of decorative arches, puffy turrets and little bunches of gables, peek out from behind a cluster of apartments. Part of him felt impressed by its architectural complexity, but many of his inherited memories spoke to him of what it had been like to live in a ducal residence.
Re: The Hustle
Daq spun around in the middle of what looked like a stumble. Pagusel startled, and she herself nearly tripped. It wasn't even so much the suddenness of his movement that surprised her, as it was the strangeness of the unexpected outcome to what looked like an inevitable tumble.
This in contrast to when Daq had, on the way to the battlemage's home, fallen flat in the alley, prone at her feet. However, she allowed, at that time he had been missing not only the nimbleness of youth, but the nimbleness of id intact. Handy indeed.
She averted her gaze from his strange smile. Down the street she saw a young lady had paused in her errands to look at them. Pagusel recognized her from the night before--a bright-eyed, pock-faced brunette, less obnoxious than some of her companions, and apparently thus lucid enough to have remembered the night. When Pagusel looked her way, the girl hastily pretended to itch her temple to partly obscure her face. As Daq turned around again, a horror of certainty lit the girl's face, and she turned fully away and hurried down the street, her bonnet fluttering at her nape where it had blown backwards.
Pagusel clipped her steps forward just enough that she was again walking more or less alongside Daq. Continuity. She saw the way his gaze hovered above the horizon. She edged closer to him to see what her eyes would find if they followed the same path. That was probably the Malatrast home. Architecturally, at least, it was not unattractive.
If Pagusel sensed some pensiveness in Daq's breathing, it was probably only in her head. This Daq wasn't really the hemming-and-hawing type, and yet she conveniently confused that for a moment, as the mansion bobbed into view. Her hand moved sideways to take his. She didn't look at him again, and just held his hand as they walked on.
This in contrast to when Daq had, on the way to the battlemage's home, fallen flat in the alley, prone at her feet. However, she allowed, at that time he had been missing not only the nimbleness of youth, but the nimbleness of id intact. Handy indeed.
She averted her gaze from his strange smile. Down the street she saw a young lady had paused in her errands to look at them. Pagusel recognized her from the night before--a bright-eyed, pock-faced brunette, less obnoxious than some of her companions, and apparently thus lucid enough to have remembered the night. When Pagusel looked her way, the girl hastily pretended to itch her temple to partly obscure her face. As Daq turned around again, a horror of certainty lit the girl's face, and she turned fully away and hurried down the street, her bonnet fluttering at her nape where it had blown backwards.
Pagusel clipped her steps forward just enough that she was again walking more or less alongside Daq. Continuity. She saw the way his gaze hovered above the horizon. She edged closer to him to see what her eyes would find if they followed the same path. That was probably the Malatrast home. Architecturally, at least, it was not unattractive.
If Pagusel sensed some pensiveness in Daq's breathing, it was probably only in her head. This Daq wasn't really the hemming-and-hawing type, and yet she conveniently confused that for a moment, as the mansion bobbed into view. Her hand moved sideways to take his. She didn't look at him again, and just held his hand as they walked on.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
It was a strange sensation for him, having his hand held. There was something more than just the brief touch of skin, as with a handshake. There was a warmth to it, both physical and... He didn't want to say spiritual, but 'emotional' or 'mental' were words that failed to live up to the sensation. He wondered, though, if the sensation flowed both ways, if Pagusel's hand was tingling with an ineffable warmth, or if it was just slowly growing clammy from being pressed against his sweat-moistened skin.
Morax hadn't been the type to hold hands, and he'd only seemed to perceive the physical sensation when the alchemist's body had held hands with someone else's. The activity's most interesting features were something that Daq was perceiving for the first time. The dim, alcohol-numbed memory of the touch of the loose women from the night before seemed to pale in comparison.
And yet, he had to force himself from becoming outwardly excited. He didn't want to scare Pagusel away, or even to startle her momentarily. He wanted to continue collecting uninterrupted data. His stomach seemed less keen on the idea. As he walked, careful not to put any excess pressure on Pagusel's hand, or to let the arm attached to it begin swinging out of sync with his, his stomach gurgled loudly.
The brief moment of nimbleness had taken his focus off of his hunger, but it was back with an edge. He'd made it only twenty or thirty yards before an awful stabbing pain shot through his innards. Instinctually and before he could recognize what he was doing, he'd jerked his arms back inward. His hands were pressed over Pagusel's hand, and, separated from her by only a thin layer of fabric, his abdomen rumbled beneath it.
Morax hadn't been the type to hold hands, and he'd only seemed to perceive the physical sensation when the alchemist's body had held hands with someone else's. The activity's most interesting features were something that Daq was perceiving for the first time. The dim, alcohol-numbed memory of the touch of the loose women from the night before seemed to pale in comparison.
And yet, he had to force himself from becoming outwardly excited. He didn't want to scare Pagusel away, or even to startle her momentarily. He wanted to continue collecting uninterrupted data. His stomach seemed less keen on the idea. As he walked, careful not to put any excess pressure on Pagusel's hand, or to let the arm attached to it begin swinging out of sync with his, his stomach gurgled loudly.
The brief moment of nimbleness had taken his focus off of his hunger, but it was back with an edge. He'd made it only twenty or thirty yards before an awful stabbing pain shot through his innards. Instinctually and before he could recognize what he was doing, he'd jerked his arms back inward. His hands were pressed over Pagusel's hand, and, separated from her by only a thin layer of fabric, his abdomen rumbled beneath it.
Re: The Hustle
Pagusel did feel something as they walked with their hands together, although it was not quite the same as what Daq felt. She of course had prior experience holding hands, and wasn't so much surprised or even startled by the sensation of another's palm against hers--it was something like the satiation that came off a good yawn. Rather, she took in the experience as something unanticipated and yet entirely reasonable and familiar, like the smell of an old friend's home.
At face value, the feeling was not at all bad, and that helped Pagusel to stifle the great unease she was apt to invent in herself. While Daq concentrated on keeping his cool in his own way, Pagusel also put one step resolutely after the last, as if softly treading down the well of anxiety. As she did, she reminded herself that this felt pleasant.
His sudden movement was good for her--even having smoked a bit, she could only stave off this long-lost brand of anxiety for a short time. Something had to give in order to push her one way or the other.
Her eyes widened with acute alarm, and she practically lost her breath in that moment. It had hardly ever happened that one of her obsessive worries actually came to pass, and yet this was tragically close to such a thing: her own hand was commandeered in a moment of negligence and made to touch his torso.
Still, the moment served to break her from the tempest of anxiety she was starting to work up during their walk. She had stopped short and pulled her arm inward in a reflexive gesture that lacked any oomph against his grip. As a result of this inertia, she found herself turned in at an acute angle towards him, looking into his face.
"My word," she half-stammered, breathless. Her word, indeed: in the time since she'd first met the original Bekkar, she'd loosened the purse strings somewhat on her economy for words, and now allowed interjections and even small talk to escape.
An wave of unbearable dizziness had come over her and gone again in a second's time. "Are you. . ." She inhaled and exhaled again to steady her words, and when she spoke again, she sounded entirely calm. "Are you going to be ill?"
Her eyes were searching his face, but every few moments she averted her gaze so as to not get caught in his. She was processing the sudden sense of guilt and responsibility that came with realizing she might have ways of plying him, after all.
At face value, the feeling was not at all bad, and that helped Pagusel to stifle the great unease she was apt to invent in herself. While Daq concentrated on keeping his cool in his own way, Pagusel also put one step resolutely after the last, as if softly treading down the well of anxiety. As she did, she reminded herself that this felt pleasant.
His sudden movement was good for her--even having smoked a bit, she could only stave off this long-lost brand of anxiety for a short time. Something had to give in order to push her one way or the other.
Her eyes widened with acute alarm, and she practically lost her breath in that moment. It had hardly ever happened that one of her obsessive worries actually came to pass, and yet this was tragically close to such a thing: her own hand was commandeered in a moment of negligence and made to touch his torso.
Still, the moment served to break her from the tempest of anxiety she was starting to work up during their walk. She had stopped short and pulled her arm inward in a reflexive gesture that lacked any oomph against his grip. As a result of this inertia, she found herself turned in at an acute angle towards him, looking into his face.
"My word," she half-stammered, breathless. Her word, indeed: in the time since she'd first met the original Bekkar, she'd loosened the purse strings somewhat on her economy for words, and now allowed interjections and even small talk to escape.
An wave of unbearable dizziness had come over her and gone again in a second's time. "Are you. . ." She inhaled and exhaled again to steady her words, and when she spoke again, she sounded entirely calm. "Are you going to be ill?"
Her eyes were searching his face, but every few moments she averted her gaze so as to not get caught in his. She was processing the sudden sense of guilt and responsibility that came with realizing she might have ways of plying him, after all.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
Daq felt the ineffectual jerking motion as Pagusel tried to free herself from his grasp, but he was too consumed by the physical sensation in his gut to do anything about it. Most of the other pains he had memories of were either quick, brilliant flashes like a strong, exergonic reaction in a crucible or dull and grinding like a salt being pulverized with a mortar and pestle. This new pain had such a depth and such a resonance to it that it was impossible to ignore. He wasn't sure if he was remembering correctly, or if he was even remembering at all, but he believed that he'd experienced the sensation just once before. There had been a blinding light, and a pain that seemed to tug at his very core.
The pain receded, and he found himself face-to-face with Pagusel, who, despite a momentary look of anxiety and a brief exclamation, appeared remarkably calmly. Indeed, he felt that he was more excited than she was. Seeing her standing before him, alternatively observing him and glancing away, Daq felt rather strange, as if all of his blood was displacing itself into the upper half of his body.
He didn't believe that he was going to be ill, but replied in the affirmative, so that he could bring his hands to his mouth and release hers without making a show of it.
"Yes; I think so," he said. Covering his mouth, he gave a little hiccup for effect. His face felt hot, even a little feverish. He wanted to turn away from her before she noticed or commented on any potential change in his appearance. "I'm.. very hungry. We should hurry."
Abruptly, he began to stride toward the house. He opened the sombre, wrought-iron gate and proceeded onto mansion's the porch without even glancing back to see what sort of progress Pagusel was making, and once there, he had something else to occupy his attention. Before he could even touch the tall knotty-alder doors, much less knock, they had been opened. Morax, with his unnerving, yellow eyes, his wild shock of red hair, and all of his imposing height, was standing before him.
"Back so soon? What's wrong?" He asked. Daq noticed that Morax only seemed to be half looking at him. He wondered if Pagusel had caught up, and if the question was, in part, addressed to her, his supposed 'caretaker.'
The pain receded, and he found himself face-to-face with Pagusel, who, despite a momentary look of anxiety and a brief exclamation, appeared remarkably calmly. Indeed, he felt that he was more excited than she was. Seeing her standing before him, alternatively observing him and glancing away, Daq felt rather strange, as if all of his blood was displacing itself into the upper half of his body.
He didn't believe that he was going to be ill, but replied in the affirmative, so that he could bring his hands to his mouth and release hers without making a show of it.
"Yes; I think so," he said. Covering his mouth, he gave a little hiccup for effect. His face felt hot, even a little feverish. He wanted to turn away from her before she noticed or commented on any potential change in his appearance. "I'm.. very hungry. We should hurry."
Abruptly, he began to stride toward the house. He opened the sombre, wrought-iron gate and proceeded onto mansion's the porch without even glancing back to see what sort of progress Pagusel was making, and once there, he had something else to occupy his attention. Before he could even touch the tall knotty-alder doors, much less knock, they had been opened. Morax, with his unnerving, yellow eyes, his wild shock of red hair, and all of his imposing height, was standing before him.
"Back so soon? What's wrong?" He asked. Daq noticed that Morax only seemed to be half looking at him. He wondered if Pagusel had caught up, and if the question was, in part, addressed to her, his supposed 'caretaker.'
Re: The Hustle
If Pagusel first lagged behind as Daq set off without her, she picked up the pace the closer the mansion loomed. If they were celestial bodies, and she had to hold him through gravity, then she'd have to rely on the advantage of proximity to strengthen her pull. The mansion was massive. It wouldn't be helpful, at the moment, to try to address the issue why she was interested in keeping governance of Daq.
By the time Daq reached the stoop, Pagusel was closely at his heels. He seemed to have managed not to heave yet, but she stayed back a few feet for the moment, just in case.
She looked up past Daq's shoulder as the doors opened to frame Morax. She'd had her mind on other things and had forgotten to prepare herself for the sight of him. It was the first time for her to see Morax since any pretense of Daq's coexistence had been snuffed. Now, this was all Morax. She glanced aside as if disinterested and sidled closer to Daq, the better to exert her gravity.
They must have been quite the sight: Pagusel with her impractical, improbable dress that hung like a web of gray curds; hungover Daq in his slept-in clothes and his consternation with his morning peckishness.
When she looked back at him, she had assumed the soft, aloof expression of an aristocrat on promenade. "Soon?" she responded slowly. "I think we must have come at exactly the appropriate time for breakfast."
By the time Daq reached the stoop, Pagusel was closely at his heels. He seemed to have managed not to heave yet, but she stayed back a few feet for the moment, just in case.
She looked up past Daq's shoulder as the doors opened to frame Morax. She'd had her mind on other things and had forgotten to prepare herself for the sight of him. It was the first time for her to see Morax since any pretense of Daq's coexistence had been snuffed. Now, this was all Morax. She glanced aside as if disinterested and sidled closer to Daq, the better to exert her gravity.
They must have been quite the sight: Pagusel with her impractical, improbable dress that hung like a web of gray curds; hungover Daq in his slept-in clothes and his consternation with his morning peckishness.
When she looked back at him, she had assumed the soft, aloof expression of an aristocrat on promenade. "Soon?" she responded slowly. "I think we must have come at exactly the appropriate time for breakfast."
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The Hustle
Observing the exchange between Pagusel and Morax, Daq felt very much like a young child staring up at his parents as they spelled words back and forth to one another. Something was going on, but it was occurring on a level he couldn't understand. Why, for example, had Pagusel decided to challenge Morax? Daq couldn't imagine being so dismissive to him, especially not on the doorstep of his home, and he'd had Pagusel pegged as someone who avoided conflicts unless she deemed them absolutely necessary.
There was very little that registered on Morax's face in response to Pagusel's answer, maybe a brief flash of consideration but nothing to indicate that he was taken aback by her sudden shift in expression and bearing.
"Only just," he said. "The table is about to be cleared. We're early risers here in the Malatrast house."
Morax stepped aside from the door, but left his pale hand resting on its top edge. He gestured in front of his torso, evidently expecting the two of them to enter by walking under his arm. It was not an awkward thing to do, given his height and the length of his arms, yet it implied something that Daq found slightly intimidating, if not threatening.
Daq had to bow down slightly to enter in Morax's preferred manner. It was dim in the foyer, but it was a rich dimness, an intentional one. His eyes adjusted quickly, and, looking into the dining room, he saw that Morax had been telling the truth. Morraigne and one of the younger servants, perhaps a cook, were already beginning to collect silverware and plates to take back to the kitchen.
"Uh, wait," Daq called out. Morraigne, who'd had many years of training to recognize when he was being addressed, turned to him and nodded. He waived off the younger servant and disappeared himself, melting away into the darkness of some antechamber like a shot of cream into a cup of hot coffee.
Although the table he left behind had already been picked over, it was still an impressive display. From his spot in the foyer, Daq could see a platter of different bread slices, running a full spectrum from dense and dark to light and fluffy, an assortment of cheeses and spreads, cold cuts of ham and cured salmon, and strangest of all a pineapple, which must have been imported from Darleone.
He took a seat at the table, and spread his napkin on his lap without even thinking twice about it. The surroundings just seemed to insist on that sort of gesture.
There was very little that registered on Morax's face in response to Pagusel's answer, maybe a brief flash of consideration but nothing to indicate that he was taken aback by her sudden shift in expression and bearing.
"Only just," he said. "The table is about to be cleared. We're early risers here in the Malatrast house."
Morax stepped aside from the door, but left his pale hand resting on its top edge. He gestured in front of his torso, evidently expecting the two of them to enter by walking under his arm. It was not an awkward thing to do, given his height and the length of his arms, yet it implied something that Daq found slightly intimidating, if not threatening.
Daq had to bow down slightly to enter in Morax's preferred manner. It was dim in the foyer, but it was a rich dimness, an intentional one. His eyes adjusted quickly, and, looking into the dining room, he saw that Morax had been telling the truth. Morraigne and one of the younger servants, perhaps a cook, were already beginning to collect silverware and plates to take back to the kitchen.
"Uh, wait," Daq called out. Morraigne, who'd had many years of training to recognize when he was being addressed, turned to him and nodded. He waived off the younger servant and disappeared himself, melting away into the darkness of some antechamber like a shot of cream into a cup of hot coffee.
Although the table he left behind had already been picked over, it was still an impressive display. From his spot in the foyer, Daq could see a platter of different bread slices, running a full spectrum from dense and dark to light and fluffy, an assortment of cheeses and spreads, cold cuts of ham and cured salmon, and strangest of all a pineapple, which must have been imported from Darleone.
He took a seat at the table, and spread his napkin on his lap without even thinking twice about it. The surroundings just seemed to insist on that sort of gesture.