Scadrial Thread

[+Sorana]

11 hours ago, ZincAboutIt said:

"Are..." Nerin began, focusing on the immediate. She swallowed, tried again. "Are you alright?"

Surprised Attayl shook her head, stepped into the room and closed the door. Nerin cared. She wanted to know if she was alright.

"No, not really. Maybe. I'm not sure."

She sat down on Nerin's bed.

"More importantly, how are you?"

She asked, and was about to reach out for her hand, then let her hand sink into her lap. She'd already scared Brillin away with her endless touching, Nerin was the last one left. Still it felt strange to sit here, doing nothing and so she thought about something she could do. Maybe that seemed less like intruding, and more like actual helping, if she was doing something, and not only sitting here. Smiling she looked around the room, saw a closet and walked over, selected a new dress for Nerin and took it in her hands. It was of a darker colour, which probably fit Neri's mood well.

[+ZincAboutIt]

8 hours ago, Sorana said:

"No, not really. Maybe. I'm not sure."

She sat down on Nerin's bed.

"More importantly, how are you?"

Nerin stared at her palms, which were red and flaking with dried blood. Something hot hovered at the edges of her eyes - she blinked it away, pulling the walls of the Beautiful Room closer into herself. She took a deep breath.

"I'm...fine," she said slowly, rising from the bed and walking over to her vanity. Nerin washed her hands in the water basin, watching the water turn from clear to pink. She turned to Attayl, who was holding one of her dresses in her hands. It was a deep blue, almost black. Fitting. Nerin nodded at her, then she shucked off Lance's mistcoat and began undoing the buttons on her shirt. Her skirt came next, falling heavily onto the ground, weighted down with blood. Her knees were stained too, legs covered in scarlet streaks.

Scarlet. The Beautiful Room flickered for a moment. Blood on the floor, a word scrawled beside a ruined corpse. Nerin squeezed her eyes shut, hand shaking. Nothing can harm you inside the Beautiful Room. She opened her eyes, then removed her boots, turning to face Attayl in nothing but her shift.

"You can borrow anything you need," she said, voice light, hollow. She started burning brass, Soothing Attayl's anxiety, her fear, her sorrow. "Get cleaned up, sleep. Whatever you need. Someone needs to -" Nerin blinked once, swallowing hard, "to clean up, downstairs."

She turned on one bare heel, then walked out the door and down the stairs. The morning air set her bare skin prickling, though she barely felt it. She brushed past John, who stood wide-eyed on the landing, and stepped lightly over one of the dead thugs that lay in the main parlor.

Brillin sat at the table, slumped and drunk. Quietly, Nerin picked up his glass from the floor, went behind the bar, and refilled it. She set it down next to Brillin, then went and filled a glass of her own. Whiskey, deep and dark. She knocked the entire thing back, coughing once at the hot, searing sting in the back of her throat, then began to quietly, methodically, polish the bartop.

Her eyes flicked over the parlor, amber and distant. They never touched the kitchen door. Nerin poured herself another drink. 

[John Flamesinger]

John looked at disgust at the bloody floor. It was a mess. He found a mop, and then filled a bucket with water. He began the motions his mother had taught him so long ago.

"Like this John." The small 7 year old copied the movements, pleased with himself and his work, before jumping as a light floated through the roof as if descending stairs. John's mother glanced up and smiled. "No need to worry John, just another Rosharian." John relaxed and once again started mopping the floor of the small boathouse as it floated above the spheres...

[+Invocation]

Stravomenos sat on the one remaining barstool, calmly sipping a blue sunset (extra gin), completely unphased by the events unfolding. Stuff happens. It's just an everyday occurance, even if there appears to be someone frantically cleaning the bar near him.

====================================

Lance, a walk, an apple, and a fight having cleaned his mind but dirtied his hands, returned to the parlor, hopping into the stall where he had located the washing bucket to rinse his arms of their acquired gore.

[John Flamesinger]

John wiped his brow as he surveyed the now clean room. He set the mop out to dry outside, then sat down on the floor next to the bar stool. He pulled out his mobile, and brought up the app called Xbox Mobile. Clicking on Halo, which was the only game on there, he began to play Halo: Combat Evolved, which had interesting textures. The person he had bought this from said that this game had been extremely popular in 2001. Whenever that was. He was distracted from the game when he got kicked in the back of the head. He turned around, glaring. "Do you mind?"

@Invocation

Edited June 21, 2019 by John Flamesinger
You should play Halo.

[+Invocation]

2 minutes ago, John Flamesinger said:

"Do you mind?"

Stravomenos hefted a good-sized whiskey bottle, anger flaring and his eyes going a little ferally canine with the emotional burst. "I didn't ask you to sit here. Stay here and the only thing you'll be minding is this bottle over your head. I don't have the patience to deal with you right now."

[John Flamesinger]

John nodded. "Sorry, sir." He smiled as he thought of the last time he dealt with a drunk. At least this one wouldn't try to read his mind.

[+ZincAboutIt]

Nerin stopped her polishing, noticing John sitting down. Her eyes flicked towards the bucket, now nearly-empty, and she sighed a small sigh. She walked over, treading quietly through a pool of pinkish suds, and picked up the bucket. Her vision swam, that second glass of whiskey starting to take effect, and she walked to the back of the parlor, out the back door to where the water pump stood.

She worked the lever, watching as cold, clear water filled the nearly-empty bucket, until the world tipped a little too far to one side and she staggered, losing her footing and sitting down hard in the dirt. From her vantage point on the ground, she saw a pair of shoes standing in the bathing stall. They seemed familiar, though she couldn't quite place them. The alcohol had dulled a fair bit of her resolve, and the walls of the Beautiful Room around her wavered, suddenly malleable. Nerin stood slowly, walking towards the stall and knocking on the wood. 

She knew she should be afraid, but that knowledge was beyond the walls at the moment. 

"Hello?" Neirn said quietly, her voice soft, blunted at the edges.

@Invocation 

[+Invocation]

Just now, ZincAboutIt said:

"Hello?" Neirn said quietly, her voice soft, blunted at the edges.

Lance stiffened. That sounded like Nerin, but she shouldn't have been out of bed yet. "I was not expecting anyone to be out here. Pardon my assumption, but I needed to clean my hands off something awful."

@ZincAboutIt

[+ZincAboutIt]

3 minutes ago, Invocation said:

"I was not expecting anyone to be out here. Pardon my assumption, but I needed to clean my hands off something awful."

Nerin stepped back a bit. Was that Lance? One hand curled around the edge of the stall, and she very nearly peered around the panel before turning and pressing her back to the wood instead.

"It's no trouble," she called back. The world fuzzed before her, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. "Your coat, it's still up in my room."

The sound of water pattering on stone echoed through the wood. Nerin squeezed her eyes shut, which was a mistake, and she nearly teetered to the side again. She righted herself, leaning against the stall. "I'll go get it."

[+Invocation]

Just now, ZincAboutIt said:

The sound of water pattering on stone echoed through the wood. Nerin squeezed her eyes shut, which was a mistake, and she nearly teetered to the side again. She righted herself, leaning against the stall. "I'll go get it."

"No need. I'll get it myself. I can tell you're still hurting from what happened earlier." Lance, having now finished washing the blood off, came around the panel and grabbed Nerin by the shoulder in a firm and hopefully reassuring grip. "You should, honestly, still be resting."

[John Flamesinger]

John raised his head as he saw Nerin and Lance talking together. He looked around, and saw that there was a community here, one he wasn't part of. He should leave. He stood up, and turned towards the door, and froze in his tracks. There was the person, the 3rd person he had saw back in the payment station. His breathing rate accelerated, and it wasn't because he was storing breath. He fell, face first onto the recently cleaned floor, out cold. The wraith looked at the collapsed clump that was John, and turned and walked away.

[+ZincAboutIt]

20 minutes ago, Invocation said:

Lance, having now finished washing the blood off, came around the panel and grabbed Nerin by the shoulder in a firm and hopefully reassuring grip. "You should, honestly, still be resting."

Nerin started slightly at the touch of Lance's hand on her bare shoulder, tips of his fingers pressing against her skin with a firm insistence. Her eyes flicked downward, tracing the line of his wrist up his forearm, across his shoulder and to the hollow where his collarbone met his neck. She could see each bead of water shimmer against his skin from where he'd been washing; a single droplet traced a cool line down her arm where Lance's thumb met her shoulder. 

She shivered, feeling all the hair on her body rise at once, and met his eyes. They were slightly obscured by the tinted glass of his mask. Nerin drew in a breath, too tipsy to blush, and began absent-mindedly Soothing him. 

"Someone has to take care of things," she said, voice almost a whisper. "There's so much..." Blood. So many corpses. Jeb. Nerin blinked, biting her lip. "So much to do."

[+Invocation]

9 minutes ago, ZincAboutIt said:

"Someone has to take care of things," she said, voice almost a whisper. "There's so much..." Blood. So many corpses. Jeb. Nerin blinked, biting her lip. "So much to do."

"So much to do, yes, but if you do them in the state you're in now, you're going to hurt yourself. Worse than you already are, I mean. Go rest. Everything will be fine. The downstairs is taken care of already. Just go rest.

Trust me, you need it," Lance said. This poor girl reminded him of his sister from so long ago and he couldn't bear to see her worse off than she had to be.

Especially if it was partially his fault. 

Edited June 21, 2019 by Invocation

[John Flamesinger]

1 minute ago, Invocation said:

I'll start cleaning up the downstairs inside while you lay down.

Quote

John beat you to it, Lance. Sorry Invo.

A bolt of breath raced through his body as John tapped a full 8th of his metal mind. Sitting up, he blinked, before remembering why he had passed out. He groaned, and slowly got up. What the hell was that?

 

[+Invocation]

Just now, John Flamesinger said:

Quote

John beat you to it, Lance. Sorry Invo.

 

Quote

Rough. Alright I'll edit it. Thanks for the heads up!

 

[+Sorana]

Attayl watched Nerin head downstairs, and stood there for a while, then she followed, without changing. No use to clean herself before they had finished cleaning up. She stepped outside the parlor and used her last coins to tell a boy to send them someone for the corpses, then she returned inside. Nerin had vanished and John was cleaning up the floor. That was good.

Quietly she placed a glass of water next to Brillin, without talking to him directly. He should lie down, but she was hesistant to tell him that. She respected decisions, that was all it was about.

Without saying a word she left John to the main parlor room and headed to the kitched. Nobody had been here yet, and she cleaned up as well, covered Jeb's body. When the men came, she paid them, and they took the corpses away, promised her to bring Jeb to next cemetary and that the others would vanish, as was custom. It took her a while and in the end she pulled a rug over the remains of the blood on the woodden boards. They would need to polish them again, get rid theit top layer to rid them of the stain completely.

When she returned to the main parlor room, the floor had dried and John was doing something with this device of his. Men. How they always thought cleaning up was done, when the floor was clean. Still silent she rearranged the stools, stacked the broken chair and smashed table in a corner. Then she cleaned the tables again, until the room looked almost, as if nothing had happened.

[John Flamesinger]

John made his way into the corner, murmuring his embarrassed thanks to Attayl as she rearranged the room. He glanced out the window and saw the ghost thing again. He stopped, and slowly made his way out back. "What or who are you," John whispered toward the wraith as it stood in front of him. The last thing he remembered was that ghostly hand reaching out to him. When he got up, the sun was setting, and John walked back inside and sat down, his confused mind turning over what happened. He wouldn't tell the others, he decided. A couple of them already thought he was delusional, and Nerin had enough on her plate.

[+Sorana]

Attayl filled a bucket with water and returned to Nerin’s room. She undressed slowly, let her bloody dress fall to the ground. Wordlessly she stared at herself in a mirror, at the cut in her side, it had stopped bleeding, not deep, not threatening, mostly painful, at the dried blood on her skin. She looked at herself, tried to see what people saw in her figure, what they liked about her. The soft curves of her body, her face. When she turned it do the side and hid the scar, there was nothing but her dirty blond hair around her face, nothing to distract from her eyes and her mouth. She never understood why some called her beautiful, why they sighed when they saw the scar, told her, that she had such a pretty face, if only her cheek wasn’t destroyed that much.

Using a rag she cleaned herself, washed the blood off with the water, until she was shivering in the cold air of the morning. Nerin had allowed her to take whatever she wanted, and so she selected a dress, that looked like it had been worn several times. It’s hem was slightly frayed and the colour had lost some of its former intensity. Hesitating, she looked at her own, blood soaked underwear and then took some of Nerin’s as well. She could repay her – she couldn’t. She had no money left. Quickly she dressed, had to put the dress back and select one, that was wider around the chest and the hips. It was a bit too long and too wide around her waist, but at least it wasn’t showing off her womanly features anymore.

She braided her hair back and walked downstairs again. Making sure the sign “closed” was still hanging from the front door she saw the guy whose name she had forgotten and placed a smile on her face. He had apologized about forgetting the bodies, whatever that was supposed to mean. How could you forget a corpse? Probably only when you were used to them. With a sigh she emptied the bucket and placed it next to Brillin’s stool. More alcohol, some water and now a bucket. If she added a pillow he could stay there until he was sober again.

Then she leaned against a wall again, careful to keep an eye on Brillin. If he fell asleep, or started to throw up, she would probably need to help him.

“What is that thing, that makes noises?”

She asked John politely, partly because she was curious, partly because she wanted to break through the silence, that had followed the death of their attackers.

@John Flamesinger

Edited June 21, 2019 by Sorana

[I think I am here.]

Brillin noticed the glass of liquid and bucket someone had put beside him but when he lifted the drink to his lips he was disappointed to have it be just water. Something had happened, something important. They had to do importwnt things, there was things to be done. But his mind was a thick and cloudy haze, and Brillin found it hard to think even slightly complex thoughts.

His body seemed not to work the way he ordered it to, he tried to stand up but his legs gave way before him and he dropped to the ground. Not wanting to make a scene, he lurched upwards and stumbled to a wall, leaning against it and corss8ng his arms tightly around himself, eyes wide. There they were, Attayl, another man. He watched them, feeling a little sick, but not enough to throw up. Just another benefit of his heritage, he guessed, but the disdain that came with it vanished as his vision turned blurry again and his stance wobbled, grabbing onto the wall for more stability.

[+ZincAboutIt]

Sleep - how could Nerin sleep? Still, Lance seemed insistent, and there was a sensible whisper of her mind that was still afraid of him. She should at least get back inside, check on the others.

Nerin nodded, stepping sideways out of Lance’s grip. He let her go, and she turned, moving back through the parlor, surprised to find much of the chaos had, indeed, been dealt with. Attayl stood in the main room, along with Brillin, who was surprisingly lucid, though still deeply drunk.

She was still burning brass, Soothing the room indiscriminately of worry, fear, sorrow, pain. Just another job, just another day in the parlor. She could do that.

”You cleaned all this?” Nerin asked Attayl, gesturing to the room. Her eyes strayed traitorously close to the kitchen before flicking away. “Even...even...”

She faltered, her voice going quiet, and she’s crossed her arms as she suddenly realized how little she was wearing. Her legs were still streaked with blood. A wave of slight dizziness passed over her, and she leaned up against the wall next to Brillin. Nerin looked up at him. 

“Will this be making it into your book, then?” She murmured.

@I think I am here. @Sorana

[I think I am here.]

20 minutes ago, ZincAboutIt said:

A wave of slight dizziness passed over her, and she leaned up against the wall next to Brillin. Nerin looked up at him. 

“Will this be making it into your book, then?” She murmured.

“Hum, book, yes,” Brillin mumbled, looking blankly ahead, but when he saw Nerin was looking up at him he quickly straightened, still leaning heavily against the wall but trying to appear professional, hopefully she wouldn’t notice he was drunk. In fact, Brillin was half sure he wasn’t even that drunk, and that Nerin wouldn’t notice, though it was apparent he was actually very, very obviously, drunk.

“Oh, yes, the book,” he said distractedly, still thinking over her question. “Err, I can relate? Books, I... I think in a, a long time maybe yes it will, right?” He mumbled the last part and looked at her inquisitively like he’d asked a question that had made perfect sense.

Edited June 21, 2019 by I think I am here.

[+Sorana]

Attayl heard his reply, saw Nerin's face and groaned. She left John standing where he was and turned towards the two of them.

"Sit down. Now. Both of you."

She pointed at two stools and stepped closer to catch Brillin should he fall again.

"Your book will be great Brillin. You can write about all of this, and about us. But not if you break your neck, stumbling drunkenly though a room."

Her face softened when she looked at Nerin.

"And you should stop drinking as well. I'll make a tea, and yes, I cleaned everything up. John helped, he took care of the floor, I took care of the rest. Go upstairs, finish dressing yourself and when you come down the tea is ready."

@I think I am here.

@ZincAboutIt

Edited June 21, 2019 by Sorana

[I think I am here.]

5 minutes ago, Sorana said:

“Your book will be great Brillin. You can write about all of this, and about us. But not if you break your neck, stumbling drunkenly though a room."

“Oh, yes,” Brillin said, suddenly unnaturally worried. “I don’t want to break my neck, and books, yes they might be great, it’s... I’m so glad you agree..” he followed Attayl’s instructions, moving towards a nearby chair.

“But I’m not drunk, you know,” he insisted. “Just a bit woozy, but I’m sober, promise.” Just then his vision became blurry and he stumbled forward, calling into another chair, but he pretended like that was what he had been aiming for the entire time.

Edited June 21, 2019 by I think I am here.

[+ZincAboutIt]

6 minutes ago, Sorana said:

“And you should stop drinking as well. I'll make a tea, and yes, I cleaned everything up. John helped, he took care of the floor, I took care of the rest. Go upstairs, finish dressing yourself and when you come down the tea is ready."

Nerin looked at Brillin again, then Attayl, then simply stood and walked up the stairs to her room. She wiped the blood off her shins and the bottoms of her feet, then sat down quietly at her vanity and stared blankly into the cracked mirror. 

With rote efficiency, Nerin unpinned her hair, setting the pin daggers on the vanity top, and picked up her brush. She pulled the bristles through her hair, working at the knots as the girls had taught her, spinning the curling ends around her fingers as she went. The long dark brown strands framed her slender face, giving her a pale, drowned look. For once, Nerin left her hair down, sliding a pot of rouge out of a drawer and tapping some onto her lips. She pulled a piece of kohl across her upper lash line, working it into her lashes until they, too, were thick and black. 

She stood, the whiskey and the shock of the day giving her room an odd dreamlike quality. Nerin slid the dress Attayl had picked our earlier off the bed and stepped into it, buttoning it up. It was one of her better dresses, cut in a newer style with a dipping neckline and no sleeves. The deep blue fabric echoed her mood, and she gave herself on last look in the mirror before sliding her dagger pins off the vanity and into a pocket, then stepping back downstairs.

She wandered towards Attayl and Brillin, sitting quietly across from the drunken man and setting her chin in her hand, looking at him.

”Your eyes are so blue,” she said on impulse. “Did you know that?”

@I think I am here.