OOC: Och, no worries - and congrats on your scores!
[hr][/hr]
Craghley let go as soon as Harmon threw in the towel. He said to the drunk - not unkindly, despite his throbbing leg and shortening temper - while picking himself up off the floor,
"Right, get back oop and grab a seat. How d'you feel? Asides from a wee bit peckish," he finished somewhat louder for the benefit of the laughing dwarves (and the rest of the alcoholic congregation that felt itself in the mood for a chuckle).
Should the man comply he'd check through his hair first of all for any damage to the head. Seemed unlikely (if he were concussed then Craghley didn't think Harmon would have been able to latch on like he did), but best to be on the safe side.
Craghley drew back a chair for the man but his eyes were on the dwarves and Cecil. He sighed. Methinks I'll hae me work cut oot fer me, och aye. He took in Ophelia, noting the lass looked a little unwell. He tried to get Melissa's attention to mouth the words 'Is she alright?', but the landlady seemed busy with yet another newcomer. This brought a smile to his face at last. Welcome tae the Nether's Gate, guid lady. We've a fine choice of decor, refreshments, and disturbances of the peace.
"How you boys doin' there?" He calld out to Haalguard and his lads.
Last edited by Craghley on Thu Mar 06, 2008 5:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Ophelia gave a small laugh at Craghley's joking, but it was a wee one, for fear of anything aside from a giggle erupting. As Melissa offered stew, she nodded with great angst. She wasn't sure it was going to do the trick, but it was something, and something was better than nothing. Right? It was the words of D`arcy however, that forced Ophelia's somewhat sour expression into a true smile.
Words such as carminative went entirely over her head, but most of the rest of it she got. "Mmm.. yes.. alright.. Tea sounds a bit more promising." She looked at Melissa, "You think you could boil me up some water? Then I'll see if I might be able to handle some stew and bread. I really ought to eat something." It was said almost as a promise of a sale, to indicate that she did, infact, plan on spending some money in the establishment.
When Melissa turned to take care of her request Ophelia turned her attention to the girl at her side and offered a tentative hand. "I'm Ophelia, by the way," she smiled somewhat weakly, but there was the promise of beauty lingering beneath her ill exterior. "Thank you, I owe you already and I don't even know your name. Are you in for lunch? Please, let me take care of it." It was said with the insistance of one determined to make friends as well as one sure to repay debts. Ophelia had been raised thus. "So what brings you here to Pax? Are you from King's Court?" Being a human, she wasn't sure if the girl before her had been sent here, or had come of her own choice.
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
Avatar by the ever so lovely [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com/]Finnyface[/url]. Full size in journal.
The young Miss Graves smiles, then, reaching into her bag, setting a variety of unusual objects onto the table as she searches for the familiar small paper packet in which she kept herbs. As she at last pulls the small packets of ginger, cinnamon, and chamomile from her pouch the counter has already gathered a packet of tarot cards, a small bird's skull, a small flask, and a small sack of what appears to be red-hued earth.
"If you have a moment, could you fetch me a Glenn Garrich* with ice?" she inquires of Melissa, nodding evenly, hoping that this place-- remote as it is-- would have the infamous whiskey in reserve.
"Always glad to help," D'arcy begins with a soft smile, her voice sounding unusually soft-- in keeping with the overall motif of palor and otherwordliness. "My name is Graves. D'arcy Graves." The girl extends her hand, which despite her delicacy is firm in its grip and exact in its positioning. After the handshake is concluded, D'arcy commences replacing all of the incidental objects from the counter back into her pack. She leaves only the three neatly labelled packets of herbs on the table.
"I'm from World's Mouth originally, although my mother was from King's Court." Her hand lingers thoughtfully at the small silver necklace around her neck, offering her mother's place of origin only by way of explaining the lack of a 'Mouthie' accent. "Nothing in particular brings me here," the blonde lies gracefully, looking up at Ophelia's face and taking care to make eye contact as she speaks, something which manners demanded but was decidedly against her inclinations.
D'arcy assumes that beginning one's conversations with rumours of fleeing execution at the hands of the Purificatio was not a good way to begin, so instead she goes with something far more neutral.
"I'm an herbalist, looking for work primarily. Travel is the best way to learn my craft, and also the best way to market it." Nevermind that she actually considers herself a spiritualist and a healer-- those things have too often led to a lack of friends and a fear of isolation. "Not that I've had much success lately, but a living is a living. And for that precise reason, I will definitely take you up on your offer of a meal."
Her lips float upward into a smile that is lightening, but seems also to exacerbate the bleached nature of her outward appearance.
((OOC: *Glenn Garrich: Adanadhel informs me this is a brand of Islay whiskey, hope that its use is proper.))
Last edited by Graves on Thu Mar 06, 2008 12:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
[i]But remember when I moved in you,
And the Holy Dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...
"Pleasure to meet you D`arcy." Ophelia returned the firm shake with one of her own, her steely fingers wrapping around D`arcy's with perhaps more of a masculine tone than hers due to the lacking of elegance that the herbalist displayed. Widening eyes watched as the pallid beauty unpacked her bag to show a variety of of objects, few of which she recognized in any significant way aside from their natural properties of being herbs, earth or bone. The cards drew the most interest from her, but she merely looked at them with the interest of a child. "What're those?" She asked, curiously, but didn't dare try to touch any of her items.
There had been a woman, in her home town, known as an herbalist... known as a seer of things that ought not be seen. She told people's futures for a great cost, and often they left feeling soured and dismayed at the knowledge. Ophelia had been warned by her mother to never even speak to the woman, lest she let some secret go without realizing it. What secrets her mother referred to, O didn't know, but she understood they were meant to be discovered on one's own, not told from a mystical ball or read from the tarot. That being what it was, she felt a great enthusiasm to find out more about D`arcy as well as the herbs she carried.
"Fantastic, then... Melissa, why don't you make that two stews, then." Her charm was already returning with the thought of hot tea and foodstuffs. "King's Court.. I've only just come from there." She mentioned. "Your mother is smart for having left... though I hear that World's Mouth isn't in the best position as of late, anyway." It wasn't, and rumors of the unrest were on the lips of every barmaid and washergirl and none too far from the ears of anyone interested in the goings-on of the place they'd just arrived to.
"Either way, that makes us both strangers to this place, and both in need of friendship, so I'd say we're in luck." The blonde leaned on the bar, her elbows holding her up and displaying her lack of etiquette in posture as well as familiarity. You could take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl. "Where are you staying? I've not yet found somewhere myself. I was thinking of kicking around the city in a bit to see if something might turn up."
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
Avatar by the ever so lovely [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com/]Finnyface[/url]. Full size in journal.
"What's what?" D'arcy begins, too distracted by her search for herbs to notice what was being pointed at, before noticing what Ophelia is referring to. "Oh, those're my tarot cards. They can be used to consult spirits for advice, among other things," she responds evenly, not wanting to look like the insane seer/witch quite yet. That will probably come later, anyway the young woman thinks miserably, frowning for a moment despite herself.
Ophelia seems a solid and friendly person, and D'arcy has made precious few friends (and, in fact, has spoken to precious few people) since her arrival in Pax Balthasar. She reminds the pale young woman of a childhood friend, one of the very few D'arcy had ever had. Not that the thought particulary troubles or concerns her, but she is always in search of patterns and cosmic connections.
"World's Mouth is a pile of... well, let's just say I'd rather not describe what I think of it in polite company," D'arcy begins with a wry grin. Her thoughts wander to images of bodies in the Scillus, of wealthy women staring down their noses at the 'witch child', and of long and threatening lectures within the Prodesse Dominicus. "I am glad to be gone, let us leave it at that."
"I haven't set a place to live yet, I spent most of my first few days here learning as much as I could about the local herbs and surroundings. The nature of a place is almost as important as the people, you know," in truth, D'arcy hasn't really given any thought to where she might stay or get by. Pax Balthasar is supposed to just be an escape, and so far it has not exactly impressed her with its opportunities. "I think company is always a good thing, two eyes are better than one, and so forth. And there is little so important as a home." She feels suddenly that her wording is awkward, and smiles by way of apology. "By which I mean to say... well... you know."
"And what of you? Where're you from and what brings you here?" The question isn't quite a mirror to what Ophelia had asked, but Ophelia is generally curious: she knows what Trothgard is, but not much of its customs or present state... and furthermore, she had initially convinced herself that Ophelia had been a 'working girl', as they called them in polite company. As such, she is interested in learning anything that might prove her previous thoughts wrong.
[i]But remember when I moved in you,
And the Holy Dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...
"Tarot cards," she repeated, but found her mind revolving to her mother's words of the seer in town. "She'll misguide you my child... don't fall prey to the wiles of witchery. Her pleasant countenance is nothing to be fooled by, for she's a demon dressed as a woman." The sentiment had been strongly instilled in her. Ophelia's father, on the other hand, didn't take it to be so hard. "She lives a life like any other," he tried to explain to her, one afternoon in the stables when a younger, even more naive Ophelia had asked about the wise-woman. "If she lived in other places in the world her skills would be sought after even more... just like there are places where she'd likely be killed. If you think your mother has distrust, then you ought to compare her to the Oneists who's hatred would put her to the stake." "They're beautiful," she commented, but they were soon stuffed away, and with them went thoughts of their power and danger, but not wonderment over whether it was because of such talents that D`arcy had fled World's Mouth where Oneists were more than abundant.
"I had heard that there had been houses... before, when people first came here." Whether that was the case remained to be seen. "But I'm not sure if they've all been taken up by the influx of people. Maybe there's still one or two open, or space where tents might be set up. The weather is mild enough, atleast now that it's spring." She shrugged losely, but didn't move over-much, still mindful of her upset stomach.
At D`arcy's question, she paused, for she'd somewhat lied to the guardsman, but not to Michel... and she still was unsure of exactly what her purpose was. Well, she was unsure of what her stated purpose was. The pale girl next to her seemed trustworthy enough, though. What would your mother think? Thoughts of her mother were still close at mind thanks to having just recently left her. "Muchislie, if you can believe it," she says jokingly while looking down at her own fair complexion. "My father was from Trothgard." For some reason, she felt like she needed to explain herself, or, atleast, make for this girl to understand. "And.. I came for the adventure." Here she grinned. "I'm a bard, and storyteller, and I want to make sure the stories of these people are told." Her ulterior motive, and the land beyond here, that remained personal for the moment atleast.
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
Avatar by the ever so lovely [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com/]Finnyface[/url]. Full size in journal.
The thought of living in a tent for prolonged periods is somewhat distasteful to D'arcy, but after her experiences of the past few weeks, she is disinclined to say no to any offers of assistance or companionship. She crosses her legs casually, settling into a more restive mode as she sets the bag down casually at her feet, taking great care with it considering the delicacy of what sits within.
"Muchislie, I have read about that place, but never visited any of the Seven Isles. There was a whole mandatory semester offered on that part of the world, though, after-- well, you know-- recent events." She refers, somewhat casually, to the recent war and the fallout that had somehow brought the entire world of Tazlure closer together. D'arcy sighs at the memory of finishing school, how it left one polished but only in the presence of others. "As for Trothgard, the only things I had heard sounded too wondrous to be true. If I were to travel, it would definitely be near the top of my list of places to visit." A small laugh, pale as her complexion, perhaps pondering a future wherein such travel would be possible.
"Oh? A storyteller-- one of the most important jobs in all of the world, in my personal opinions. Historians are so... well, as they say: Belle parole non pascono i gatti." Even though it is spoken in the dialect of World's Mouth, the tone she uses makes what D'arcy says completely clear, or at least understandable. "I'd rather here a thousand creation stories than read one more story about Balthasar." D'arcy sighs, staring at Ophelia for a few moments, as if judging something, then after the woman who should have been here with water -ages- ago.
"Well, if you do not mind, could you share a story with me? It will help kill the time while we wait for the water and food to arrive. I love hearing about the legends of other cultures."
[i]But remember when I moved in you,
And the Holy Dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...
Harmon simpered for a few flickers after Craghley released his ear, carefully cupping his hand to the injured bit of flesh and shuffling unhappily to a chair. "Reckon I've got a bit of a headache now, sir." He didn't clarify as to whether the source was alcohol or his recent injury, but he avoid looking at the Highlander. Clearly he was a bit of a coward, it was a wonder he managed to attack Craghley at all.
Haalgard was already rejoining them at the table when Craghley spoke to him, chuckling with amusement at his joke about Harmon's appetite. The darker-bearded dwarf gave Cecil one last kick before he and the other returned to their almost-empty tankards. "Well enough, well enough. Nice to have a bit o' fun for a change, eh?" The dwarves mumbled in agreement ere Haalguard smiled regretfully. "Well lad, it be time for us to return to our duties. If I remember, yeh said somethin' about drinkin' to our health?"
Melissa had turned to go as soon as Ophelia asked for boiling water and stew (missing Craghley's attempt to catch her attention), though D'arcy spoke up and caused her to pause, looking back over her shoulder. Her eyes flickered to the tarot cards and the bird skull, but she only smiled dimly, clearly oblivious as to their purpose. "Aye, though it is a bit pricier than ale, luv." Again she advanced on what was most likely the kitchen door, before she was interrupted a second time by Ophelia's request for another stew. She only smiled and nodded -- after all, it meant more money. Finally she managed to bounce out of sight, emerging shortly with D'arcy's drink and some hot water for Ophelia. Then she disappeared again, leaving the 'Gate's patrons to tend to themselves for a few burns.
Last edited by Keaira Morgandy on Thu Mar 06, 2008 11:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[size=75]'All things truly wicked start from an innocence.'
-- [i]Ernest Hemingway[/i][/size]
"Ohhh, the water," she looked at it with the hunger of a half-starved pagan. Her large blue eyes glanced from the hot mug back to D`arcy, and she hoped that the girl was going to work some sort of magic to make her stomach feel all better again. "Trothgard is amazing!" She replied exuberantly, some of her color returning just at it's mention. Although she'd never been there, she felt a great kinship in the icy kingdom. "I'm going there.. or atleast.. I'd like very much to go there, once I've done some things here," She shook her head, realizing how silly and vague that sounded. "I want to learn more... more about life before I head off to Trothgard. I'd like to do my Rite of Passage. It's hard though, my father fled - and not under the best circumstances. I'm not exactly sure how welcome I will be. That's part of why I'm here. I'm sort of scared to go back there, scared to go where I thought I'd feel most at home." It was an unusual feeling. Part of her hoped she find that home here in Pax, though the more she heard of the place and it's strangeness, the less likely it seemed.
"Oh, well I know all sorts of legends and stories.. some of them are bawdy and a bit innapropriate for women to tell, but I think they are among my favorites." Here, she grinned, displaying the perfection of her facial appearance. Speaking of being a bard did more for her overall feeling than she could have imagined.
Waiting on D`arcy to make her potion, Ophelia reached below her right side, and unfastened a small lute from her bag, and set to tuning as needed, though it wasn't over-much. She wasn't entirely sure if the portal would've jumbled up her instrument as much as it jumbled up her insides. Luckily, it didn't.. though perhaps not so lucky for her. Pausing only to take a small sip from the mug, she went back to plucking and finding chords.
"I find that some stories are impossible to tell without music," she offered, and then lifted the cup up with both hands, allowing the mixture to simmer beneath her nose as she inhaled it's soothing properties. It seemed to be helping, and that was just lovely. The beautiful blonde took another, tentative, sip, and then set the tincture to steep properly, so that by the time she was done it would be properly ready for ingestion.
Whether or not the other patrons chose to listen was entirely up to them, but Ophelia had found it to oft be the case that when music was announced, many paid attention. With this in mind, she cleared her throat, and started to strum out full chords, building merrily into a jolly little diddy similar to that in a child's story, and this was meant to be just that. For, it was a Cautionary Tale.
"There's a place your mother goes
when everybody else is soundly... sleeping
Through the lights of beacon street
And if you listen you can hear her weeping,
She's weeping, cause the gentlemen are calling
And the snow is softly falling on her petticoats.
And she's standing in the harbour
And she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat.
See how they approach..."
At the last word, her voice dropped slightly, emphased by the dark, dissonance of the chords that were supplied along with it.
"With dirty hands and trousers torn
they grapple 'til she's safe within their keeping
A gag is placed between her lips
to keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming....
And they row her out to packets
where the sailor's sorry racket calls for maidenhead
...And she's scarce above the gunwales when her clothes fall to a bundle and she's laid in bed on the upper deck
And so she goes from ship to ship,
her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
'Til at last she's satisfied the lost of the marina's teeming minions,
and their opinions
And they tell her not to say a thing
to cousin, kindred, kith or kin
or she'll end up dead
And they throw her thirty banners
and return her to the harbour
where she goes to bed,
and this is how your fed
So be kind to your mother,
though she may seem an awful bother,
and the next time she tries to feed you collard greeeeens,
Remember what she does when you're asleep!"
A few plucked notes ended the song almost abruptly, as the 'punch line' was delivered with well-practiced routine that proved it to be a song she was well versed in, even if it had not been one she wrote herself. Someday, she mused, the same charming little lyrics would come to her and she'd surprise the lot of them.. perhaps even herself with their wit. "A bedtime story," she suggested, with a wink. "That I heard when I was much older than the song might suggest it ought to be told to you." A small smirk crept across her lips, and she found herself looking to the mug for appraisal if none came from those around her. She busied herself with putting away her instrument before looking to D`arcy again.
OOC: Lyrics provided by The Decemberists (with the most subtle changing of monetary amount by me).. a most lovely and incredibly witty band whom I highly suggest finding out about if you've not heard of them. This is "A Cautionary Tale"
Last edited by Ophelia da Yrsa on Fri Mar 07, 2008 12:38 am, edited 1 time in total.
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
Avatar by the ever so lovely [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com/]Finnyface[/url]. Full size in journal.
Harmon seemed fine - as far as Craghley could tell. He gave the man a solid pat on the back and murmured, "Don't you be callin' me any dirty words like 'sir' - the name's Craghley."
Though he hadn't been eavesdropping on Ophelia and D'arcy, one thing that was said jumped out at him, burnign through to his brain like red-hot wires.
Glenn Garrich. His pointed ears perked as he awaited Melissa's reply. The seconds of waiting dragged... out...
... like...
... y e a r s...
... and then the Red Lady (as Craghley had come to think of her) nodded.
The Islayer's blue eyes turned skyward in heartfelt thanks to the Mother. They had Glenn Garrich - and home felt like it was just around the corner once more.
Keaira wrote:"Well enough, well enough. Nice to have a bit o' fun for a change, eh?" The dwarves mumbled in agreement ere Haalguard smiled regretfully. "Well lad, it be time for us to return to our duties. If I remember, yeh said somethin' about drinkin' to our health?"
"Aye, o'course!"
Craghley searched for his tankard and, with a sinking stomach, found it upended on the floor. Of course, he'd been carrying it when Harmon had made that low tackle. Hmph. His eyes settled back upon Harmon...
Craghley retrieved his own tankard and told Harmon he'd bring him his. He did so - leaving the other fellow with a slightly lighter mug and a muttered comment about 'doctors' fee', heading back to Haalguard and company. Craghley straddled his chair and raised the drink.
"Cheers fer showin' me the good bits of town! Ye merit a toast from me hameland. So here's tae us! Wha's like us? Damn few, an' they're a'deid!"
Craghley made the toast to the background of Ophelia's bawdy song. He couldn't tell whether it detracted from the moment, or fitted it nicely. The drink was raised, ready to be downed to the health of his comrades.
[hr][/hr]
OOC: I particularly like 'A Mariner's Revenge'
D'arcy smiles as the light re-enters Ophelia's face, glad to see the girl warming up-- while holistic methods are excellent and emphasizing the inherent goodness of one's interior, they do require some positivity to be within to work. Or at least, that is how the young Mouthie sees it. As she listens to the other gush about her youth and Trothgard, those spider-like fingers expertly pick up the three packets before her, plucking a single string attached to the side of each and twirling them into a braid. Her mysticism gets the better of her, and she whispers swiftly-- inaudible beneath Ophelia's own words.
Spirits, grant your rest to this woman's belly, fill her warmth with your warmth and the peace of the grave. It doesn't mean anything; and of course, D'arcy will believe that they respond whether they do or not. The delicate threesome of packets is then steeped carefully in the hot water, along with a pinch or two of sugar which sit available as well. Sliding the drink toward her companion of the moment, she covers her mouth a little, hoping that she didn't add too much chamomile-- considering whether she dried it properly and all of the other worries that always accompany a novice's early experimentations.
As Ophelia begins to sing, the pale woman's mouth parts slightly. She has heard bards before, of course, but hearing such an... impolite... tale coming out of this fresh and young mouth was certainly a bit shocking for a student of codes of conduct. Nonetheless, the music is flowing wonderfully, and the words have a kind of charm all their own, despite their inappropriateness. A hand is swiftly retrieved to place over her slack mouth.
As the words reach their conclusion, D'arcy offers a small round of rapid claps, hands close to her chin and delight resting in her lips like a child in a cradle. "That was absolutely -wonderful-, Ophelia. Almost appropriate to the establishment too, I should think." She laughs, taking a nice long swig of her Glenn Garrich, enjoying the warmth in her belly. Fire in the blood, fire in the belly, her father had often said-- and for once D'arcy doesn't quite mind the memory.
"Where'd you learn most of your songs? Or do you write them yourself? I don't have any sort of creativity, that's probably why I just pick what nature gives me and toss it together in proportions handed down through the ages." She laughs at her own inability, knowing full well that she is capable of things that most would only laugh at-- touching the spirit world, seeing and hearing the warnings others would not be aware of. Or at least, that's what she tells herself. "I mean, I've never heard that song before-- I can't help but wonder where it originates."
"I think it would be a delightful excercise to learn the songs of every place and put them together, somehow, in a little package for people to experience." D'arcy giggles, bemused at how far-fetched her idea seems, and blaming the spirits. The alcoholic sort, this time.
((OOC: I prefer the songs from The Crane Wife, but yes-- that song is one of my favorites. ))
[i]But remember when I moved in you,
And the Holy Dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...
Harmon squinted a bit at his lighter mug, but he obviously wasn't about to challenge Craghley -- the man whom had just hauled him about like a little child -- over a few swigs of ale. He was soundly drunk already anyhow, and so he simply bobbed his head in agreement to the toast for the dwarves, watching carefully for when he was supposed to drink. If he thought it rude of Craghley to toast during the girl's song, he said nothing.
The dwarves, however, seemed distracted by Ophelia's song, and raised their tankards distractedly even while turning toward the blond woman. By the time she had finished, Melissa had slipped back out of the kitchen and was standing by the door, listening. The end of her song was met with cheering -- even from the two quiet men whom had been chatting at a table on the other side of the room. Haalguard applauded loudly, actually setting his tankard down to do so. Melissa set two large bowls of stew and a small plate of bread down in front of the two girls, smiling widely.
"Mighty fine tune, m'lady, mighty fine indeed!" It seemed D`arcy was the only one who found the lyrics appalling, as Melissa spoke again after the deathly woman had finished her inquiries. "Would ya be interested in performing here? I bet the townsfolk haven't heard a good bard perform in some time, it might lift their spirits." And appease others.
"Aye!," Haalguard chimed in, turning and raising his eyebrows at Craghley, obviously looking for agreement. "We could use some good music in this town!"
[size=75]'All things truly wicked start from an innocence.'
-- [i]Ernest Hemingway[/i][/size]
Craghley nodded in agreement.
"Aye, sings like a bonnie birdy. Thoguh how I've learnt the song, they're a wee bit more generous and gi' her fifty banners."
He raised his tankard to the foreign blonde woman.
"Cheers! Tak the offer!"
He was about to ask Melissa for a wee o' whiskey, but realised he was a bit strapped for the time being. Damnable bearded freeloaders.
Ophelia gave an astounded grin at the appreciation from all of those around her, even those whom she hadn't particularly realized were listening. At the overwhelming applause she rose from her bar stool (somewhat tentatively) and gave a gentleman's bow. D`arcy had already come to the conclusion that she was distinctly lacking in trained etiquette, and the movement, though practiced, smooth and graceful, further fueled that thought. "Thank you!" She replied exuberantly, and was more than tempted to kick open her violin case in hopes of tips, but she refrained for the moment due to Melissa's reappearance and the offer of food.
However, it was the offer of job that tore her blue orbs from dish to madam and in turn to Haalguard, only to have them finally rest on Craghley to whom she gave a sly grin at his compliments. "Well, I'd suppose it'd depend on the pay, lovelies." She replied with a wink while picking up a piece of dry bread. "For a woman can't survive on adoration alone." Here, her attention went to Melissa, for she seemed to be in charge, even if the place were not her own. "But, it seems you already have a pretty good grasp on that." The fact the place was a brothel didn't escape her, and it would appear to be the only one in town. With a corner on the market like that, there would be a great many men come in and out of the establishment. Ophelia knew she had a pretty face and she was willing to use it if necessary. "I'd be open to an offer."
Musing on D`arcy's questions, she took a quick bite of the stew to test how it sat in her stomach. "Well, I picked up a bunch of them back home in Muchislie. With so many traders about there were a good many stories from all over. For all I know, it could've come from where he came from," her head tilted toward Craghley due to his chiming in about having heard it before. "But I haven't the slightest idea. My da told me some from Trothgard, stories mostly.. he's not much of a singer." The girl giggled lightly, and dipped the bread deep in the stew, allowing it to soak in it and soften before taking a large bite.
Around the mouthful she continued, "And.. well. I suppose most of my songs and stories are of places in the Seven Isles...." Gulp. "Which is part of why I wanted to come here, to learn these peoples' stories and maybe help them write some of their own. I have written my own, too... but I'm a little more nervous about performing them, you know?" She tore off some more of the bread, devouring it with zeal. It would appear her stomach problems were passing.
"Melissa, this stew is great. Might you grab me an ale on your next pass by?" Ophelia commented amidst the mouthful before washing it down with the rest of her tea and then returning to the conversation at hand. "Don't discount your talents, D`arcy." Ophy cautioned in the tone of a disapproving mother. "If I were to go out in the woods in search of herbs I'd likely come home covered in burrs and stuck with thistle. Maybe we could trade sometime? You can show me how to make magick stomach fixing potions incase I need to go through a portal again, and I'll show you how to strum a lute. Then maybe we can both work on putting together all sorts of songs." She nurtured the creativity that D`arcy displayed, even if she attempted to play it off as a quick flight of fancy.
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
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D'arcy smiles, enjoying seeing the effects of the herbal remedy on Ophelia's demeanor and appearance, neglecting of course to notice the positive effects of the attention and putting the illness out of mind. It is always best, after all, for the miracle worker to neglect that which does not seem quite so miraculous. Nonetheless, the positive reception which showers upon Ophelia's song somewhat unsettles the pale woman. Accustomed to places where failure to act up to etiquette in public can have negative consequences, she just smiles and nods along with everyone else.
After all, the song -is- a little funny, and despite herself she is definitely amused.
D'arcy takes another long draw from her Glenn Garrich before she begins delicately spooning the stew, enjoying the warmth, after the chill of the outside air. She doesn't take the bread, having had a bad experience previously in the Dortman when the bread made her very ill.
"It's not discounting," she begins wistfully, not looking quite at anything. "It's more of a modesty that's deeply instilled, a consequence of finishing schools. Besides, not everyone can be an amazingly talented bard or storyteller. Someone has to make up the audience, work quietly from the corner, you know?" D'arcy lofts her eyebrows and glances askance at Ophelia. "Though I do enjoy the idea of a trade, one cannot subsist on herbs and alchemy alone, after all." She, too, hears the offer of money from the matron, and is suddenly aware of how light her pockets were.
"But we shall see where the night leads us, I suppose. We do need a place to stay before the night is through. I don't suppose you have any particular ideas?" D'arcy is new here as well, but assumes somewhat that Ophelia had a better notion of the place before her arrival. "And then perhaps we can share drinks and ambitions, a sleepover of some sort? It's been ages since I've had one of those."
D'arcy laughs lightly, the sound very clear, although she is only half joking.
[i]But remember when I moved in you,
And the Holy Dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...
It was within a few more flickers that the dwarves had finished off their ales and rose to clap Craghley on the back, mumbling their thanks good-heartedly. Haalguard lagged behind the others, looking a bit gruff and irritated before grumbling, "Even if there's nothin' yeh can do, I was glad for the company." It seemed he wasn't used to such 'open-heartedness,' for he frowned deeply ere shuffling off after the others, even before the Highlander could properly respond. Harmon had fallen asleep again, propped against the table, while Cecil was attempting to get up from the floor, muttering something about those damn dwarves.
Melissa smiled widely at Ophelia, clearly pleased by her response and inquiry toward pay. Here was a woman after her own heart! "I'll think of an offer, then," she said with a laugh, her green eyes twinkling at the bard. She'd bring in a lot of business, I bet. Then her glance shifted to Craghley, whom she'd regrettably had to desert. She wanted very much to 'speak' with him, but then Ophelia requested an ale, and the shift of her feet that would have taken her to the man's table led her to the ale instead.
A tankard of ale was set before Ophelia within flickers and mentally added to her growing tab, which Melissa was counting carefully. D`arcy's mention of a place to stay brought another beaming smile to the woman's lips. "We've plenty of rooms, for a good price as well! Four banner a night, three if you pay in advance for two or more. Stay for a week and we'll do your laundry and give you a bath for no additional fees." Her smile widened. Clearly she considered this to be an excellent deal.
"As for you, little lady," she said to Ophelia, "how about a week's free stay with meals included in exchange for a performance?"
As Melissa chatted with the girls, a pretty little thing with long blond hair entered the bar, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Her gaze shot round the bar quickly before landing upon Craghley and she advanced on him at once, dropping into a chair next to him without so much as a proper greeting. "I've never seen you before," she began immediately, apparently eager to share her excitement with someone else. "There's an elf out there fighting with Calavis, ain't that wild? D'you know him? The elf I mean? He's all covered w' sticks and mud! Why's that, d'you think? He looks as if he's tried to bring the forest with him." A giggle interrupted her barrage of questions, giving Craghley a chance to answer.
Last edited by Keaira Morgandy on Fri Mar 14, 2008 12:34 am, edited 1 time in total.
[size=75]'All things truly wicked start from an innocence.'
-- [i]Ernest Hemingway[/i][/size]
Ah, such a bittersweet smile as touched his lips, painted on with Haalguard's parting words. Craghley merely shook his head sadly as the dwarves disappeared around the door. Poor fellows. He'd look into it if he could, even if it was the last thing they did before their group moved on.
His gaze was still set upon the door when the new arrival came in, and so it was with a eyebrow rising proportionately to the distance closed between him and her that Craghley followed this girls' progress towards the table.
Keiara wrote:"There's an elf out there fighting with Calavis, ain't that wild? D'you know him? The elf I mean? He's all covered w' sticks and mud! Why's that, d'you think? He looks as if he's tried to bring the forest with him." A giggle interrupted her barrage of questions, giving Craghley a chance to answer.
"Sweet tap-dancing hoors!" Craghley muttered under his breath quiet enough for only himself to hear, then looked about guiltily as he remembered who some of the employees were. Of course he'd forgotten about Draydis. Ah, but he wasn't his mother, was he? Hmm, and what would Melissa make of being accosted so by this stranger? The petite blonde's bizarrely comfortable attitude spoke volumes about a relationship between them that, as far as Craghley knew, didn't exist.
Och, and when did you and Melissa get married, aye? He replied, but his eyes remained on Melissa in an attempt for her not to misread the situation... so it was when she sent a look his way he was speaking to the as-yet unnamed lass, but returning the red-headed womans' gaze with an added quick wink.
"That's, uh, Cimorgas Boord, our sacred travelling hermit. His religion specifically forbids bathing in anything except mudpools."
Craghley's mouth was forming the words, but there was a sneaking suspicion that it was the ale actually speaking. "And followers must spend an hour each day slapping themselves with various tree branches. It's a form of earth worship. Though if they're in a hurry they can just climb a few trees and fall out, so they hit each branch on the way down."
"Finishing schools?" The blonde queried. "Sounds important. I've had tutors, but nothing more than that.. and even that is pretty unusual in Muchislie where most everyone would rather learn a trade of some kind and then sell it to someone else who hasn't got any idea of it." She smirked. "My da, he worked with horses, so anyone who needed one, they came to him... but if he needed much of anything, he'd have to go elsewhere to get it. I suppose horses and carving were the only things he could manage. My ma just handled the children and the cooking, was about all she was good for. I don't want to be like that. I want to be able to depend on myself - make my own way." It was embarassing almost as soon as she'd said it, but she was a proud girl and didn't let on. "Hmm.. somewhere to stay-" But Melissa returned with mead and a suggestion almost before she could give it much thought.
Ophelia considered the offer. "How about two nights' stays for me and my friend, here, and food for the ten for me? The rest I'd rather have in pocket, I'm sure you understand." D`arcy was going to have to figure out her own food situation (aside from this one offered meal), but she surely could give the girl some help for a place to stay tonight and the following evening. Plus, they'd already decided to try to find some sort of housing together. This, atleast, would give them a few days to figure something out. "So.. that would be..." Here, the girl paused and used her fingers as guide for the math. "Two lance for cash." So, her math skills weren't anything to write home about, but it was fairly close.
All in all, it was a winning plan, so far as she was concerned. And, it seemed about fairly priced to what Melissa had initially offered (infact, it'd save the madam a few banner due to Ophelia's poor calculation skills). For just one performance! Ha! I'm going to do wonders here... maybe I'll never leave for Trothgard after all. "When would you be wanting that performance, ma'am?" Ophy exposed a bright grin after the question. She shovelled some food in her mouth in the mean-time.
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
Avatar by the ever so lovely [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com/]Finnyface[/url]. Full size in journal.
Because there is no more winning place to stay than a brothel, right? the thought comes to Ophelia's mind as she smiles politely and nods along with the innkeeper. One does not go from finishing schools and catering to wealthy patrons all the way down into the dregs of society. It simply isn't done.
"Finishing schools, really a formality," she smiles delicately at Ophelia's comment. "Tutoring probably makes one more well-rounded and less catty," she teases gently, remembering some of her classmates with a sigh that is either nostalgic or grateful. As Melissa makes the quite generous offer for Ophelia to sing bawdy songs in exchange for room and board, and Ophelia makes the equally generous offer to share some of her fortune with D'arcy, the pale girl's mouth forms a small 'oh' of surprise.
"Well, if you wanted to be self-sufficient suffice it to say that you're well on your way," D'arcy intones politely-- feeling somewhat terrible that her new companion is being so open while D'arcy is being so inscrutably secretive. Nonetheless, the pale girl is aware of what normally accompanies her honesty, and remains silent for the moment. "Thank you for the offer, but I think at most I shall need one night. I was going to talk to the Provost tomorrow about a more permanent residence." Among other things... the thought flows through her mind.
It is, she supposes, a peculiar trait of the lower class: immediate, uncautious intimacy.
"Is this your first long-term stay away from home, or have you done much travelling previously? It's my first time away, and I am amazed I never did it before... there's something exhilirating about the notion that the sea itself could sweep over you, and nobody would know."
Last edited by Graves on Mon Mar 17, 2008 7:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[i]But remember when I moved in you,
And the Holy Dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...
Though Melissa lifted a brow at Craghley, his companion didn't seem to notice, and the redhead was soon distracted once more. She couldn't very well leave these two ladies when she was right in the middle of a great business opportunity. Business before boys, she thought with an inward chuckle, ere looking back to Ophelia and D`arcy. If she was troubled by the new arrival, Melissa didn't show it.
"Alright then, I'll settle for this: a free night for your friend, and two free nights with meals for you, and two lance for your pocket. I can't afford much more than that, sweetheart." Melissa smiled pityingly, then continued. "As for when..hmm..." Her thoughts roamed. Tomorrow night was Fryday, which was a good night for a trip to the bar. But a day's notice was so little; she needed time to spread the word more. So the best date would be -- "Two nights from now, Rasday evening. Is that right for you?"
The blond whom had cosied up to Craghley gaped at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw as he explained the wild-looking elf. She was sitting sideways in her chair and rocked back, looking as if she were about to tip over the edge. Then, at the last moment, she rocked forward again and clapped her hands together once, leaning toward Craghley with obvious curiosity. "Mud pools? How on earth d'ya get clean in a mud pool?? An' hittin' 'imself with branches? Wild, that's just crazy! Why on earth would'ja wanna be a member of that religion? We sure do get some strange types 'ere in Pax!"
[size=75]'All things truly wicked start from an innocence.'
-- [i]Ernest Hemingway[/i][/size]
Well, Melissa was busy. He didn't blame her. When you have customers to look after... and employees to negotiate with... and, uh, stuff, to do...
He was a little caught up in watching the lady La Rouge. Something about red hair was captivating; mayhap its' vibrancy, maybe its' reminiscence of home, or maybe just its' rarity made it exotic. Melissa stood out like a beacon with her beaming smile, smooth, milky, freckled complexion, sparkling green eyes... and, of course, her curves. But she hooked your eyes first off with her enthusiasm-
Craghley nearly fell out of his seat. The girl next to him had slowly retreated from his field of vision and then WHAM! Shot right back with a startling clap. He couldn't help but lean back a little apprehensively as she closed in.
Keaira wrote:"Mud pools? How on earth d'ya get clean in a mud pool?? An' hittin' 'imself with branches? Wild, that's just crazy! Why on earth would'ja wanna be a member of that religion? We sure do get some strange types 'ere in Pax!"
He just stared. Alright, no more being cruel to lass. He was toying with the idea of seeing how Draydis was going, for now being courteous and staying to chat.
"Aye, an' I'm sure they say that all along halfway 'roond the world. Wha' religion do ye practice, lassie?"
Maybe he could ease the pain. Maybe he could afford one more tankard of ale...
Her bartering wasn't going as well on Melissa as it had against the merchant, nobleman, Friendly or Michel. She suspected it had little to do with a change in her ability and more to do with the audience. Apparently the madam wasn't as impressed with her naive blue eyes or pretty face. Oh well, she thought somewhat glumly. But, she was quick to change her attitude as the realization of making money settled in. "Good enough!" Ophelia said and stuck out an enthusiastic hand to shake on their deal. "Rasday evening it is, then." The blonde gave a bright grin and when Melissa left she gave an excited sigh. "It's a real performance," she said. Whether or not it was directed at anyone (such as D`arcy) was difficult to say, but it was obvious that she was rather chipper.
With renewed glee she dove back into her food, taking in D`arcy's comments with the interest of a child. "Well, atleast tonight you'll have a bed to sleep in," she said. "Formality or not. I will say one thing about brothels - the madam watches her own." Here her eyes flicked over the the redhead. "So it'll be a safe place to rest our heads until something else can be figured out. I'll have to see if maybe Michel can help us with the Provost... I do hope they're friends."
As far as the travelling, she replied through a mouthful of stew with a shake and a somewhat garbled 'no'. After swallowing (and a quick sip of ale) she continued with more depth. "My parents travelled... they told me I was best off in Muchislie, but - I hated it there. Everything was about the Merchants and who owned what and what who controlled," she rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Boring! And it certainly makes no great tales. Well, excepting for maybe the Tyrant, but everyone back home knows all about him, and they don't want to hear any tales of how horrid he was." She shrugged and dipped a piece of bread into the bowl, allowing it time to absorb the liquid before devouring it. Chewing thoughtfully, she said: "I've heard the merchants are a pretty big deal in World's Mouth, too.. right? I suppose I wouldn't like it much there, either."
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
Avatar by the ever so lovely [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com/]Finnyface[/url]. Full size in journal.
Brothels the word alone made this place seem even more distasteful than it previously had been. She tilts her head and offers a tinkling laugh, that might be described as wan if it were a smile.
"Don't even get me -started- on the merchants," D'arcy rolls her eyes as she downs the rest of her whiskey. "The Tyrant?" she asks lazily, "I can think of many people back home I would call tyrannical, but none deserving of a formal title." She grins, thinking whether she would give such a name to Ottavio or even the late Hieronymous Hart. World's Mouth was such a power struggle that it was difficult for anyone to be called 'the' tyrant. More like a bunch of tyrants fighting over an anthill.
"The merchants are so terrible with all their bickering and the way they have made everything about ownership," she agrees dismally. "But I think ownership could make for interesting stories all their own. It's such an interesting concept. Does a man own his wife? Does he own his love? And so forth," she shook her head at her own far-fetchedness. "Pardon me, I am given to whimsical ideas. Call it rebellion against the society that birthed me."
"How is it that you afford the means to travel? It seems expensive, unless you simply work yourself from place to place-- which is an adventurous life all on its own... though probably quite glamorous." She bit her tongue, wanting to decry such an impermanence for its impracticality, but deciding that an argument was out of place for the moment.
"Someday you should visit World's Mouth... it is a bit merchanty, but there's this gristly and beautiful underside to it... spirits and gangsters and religion, all commingling in a rather intricate dance. I'd write stories about it, had I your apparent talents." She nods and stares at her empty class, sliding it closer to the bar and trying to catch the matron's attention without appearing too needy. Nonetheless, more alcohol was definitely required if she was going to continue to learn more about Ophelia-- whiskey tended to calm D'arcy and tighten her lips, quite the opposite effect as it had on most.
Last edited by Graves on Mon Mar 31, 2008 6:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
[i]But remember when I moved in you,
And the Holy Dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...
Melissa shook Ophelia's hand with a broad smile of her own, quite pleased with the agreement. She was sure she would be more than able to make up the cost of the blond girl's services -- naturally, or else she wouldn't have made the deal in the first place. Not only that, but she wouldn't have to lose a room for a week. "Excellent, excellent, pleasure doing business with you," Melissa said a twinkle in her emerald eyes. "It will be nice to have new faces, even if only for a little while." Here she directed her smile at D`arcy.
But now was the time for escape, for the women would want to chat and she had some "chatting" of her own to do. The redhead bobbed away almost immediately after the hand shake, taking the roundabout way toward Craghley's table, hoping to sneak up on him while he was distracted.
The blond stranger quieted when the Highlander inquired about her religion, the frown in her eyes betraying her discomfort despite the small smile on her lips. "Well, I don't really..." The upward shift in her gaze was Craghley's only warning before he felt fingertips upon the back of his neck, Melissa's voice traveling over his head. "Rosie, go mind the bar, would you?" Her words sounded cheerful, but Craghley couldn't see the subtle lift in her eyebrow. The girl, whom had turned out to be named Rosie, stood quickly and smiled at Melissa. "Of course Miss LaRouge," she said, before gathering up all the empty mugs from Craghley's table and making her way toward the kitchen. Yet the poor girl was easily distracted, and the word "spirits" met her ears, causing her to pause and interject the very flicker D`arcy was done speaking.
"Spirits? D'you mean like ghosts?"
[size=75]'All things truly wicked start from an innocence.'
-- [i]Ernest Hemingway[/i][/size]
With business out of the way, Ophelia turned her attention back one hundred percent to her newest friend D`arcy. The Mouthie lady might've assumed it a trait of the lower class to be so quick with their affections, but it happened to be that Ophy was just that sort. She got great enjoyment out of every person she'd met. Infact, even the run in with Tyrone would prove to be inspiring in it's own way thanks to a melody that was circulating through her musical mind due to his fanatasism. She considered working it out before the performance, but already thought better of it. Something of that sort would be better suited for a more private endeavor with only the pagans to view. She doubted Michel would appreciate her deprecating tone toward Oneists.
"Don't tell me you've not heard of Silk... the Tyrant." She said dubiouly, with great emphasis on his title again, though her eyes seemed to betray a general feel of unease at even mentioning him with the way she looked around the room briefly. Perhaps she was looking for said Tyrant, making sure he wasn't lingering in the shadows. Silk was renowned for such.
"Please, don't discount your ideas, D`arcy," she said with a genuine smile. "I guess I hadn't ever really thought of ownership as being a topic worth looking into, but you're right. There are so many things we say we own that we definately don't... even the land. Who's to say any one person owns a plot? What of those who came before, and those who come after?" Ophelia carried the whimsy easily, as she was one often daydreaming. Nothing seemed out of reach to the naive young woman.
As D`arcy asked about the practicality of discovery and travel, Ophy blushed a bit. "Well.. to be honest, I didn't give it as much thought as I probably should have.
"In Trothgard you're expected to go on a journey, it's called a Rite of Passage - to see the Ice Queen herself. That's where I'm headed. Well, eventually. I have to become something first. I can't go the way I am, I'm not ready... and I wasn't going to get ready by hanging about in my papa's barns. I figured Pax was as good a place as any to start. Plus, there will be plenty of stories here... I hope," she finished with a sanguine tone to her melodic voice.
As D`arcy speaks of World's Mouth she finds herself more interested in it by the flicker. Rosie's interruption barely broke the spell, but not by much. Instead, Ophy looked at the bargirl with a smile. "You have an interest in ghosts, girlie?" She slid her emptied tankard to meet with D`arcy's empty glass, her interest both in getting them a drink. If it meant talking to Melissa's employee for a burn, then so be it.
"One good thing about music, when it hits- you feel no pain"
~Bob Marley
Avatar by the ever so lovely [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com/]Finnyface[/url]. Full size in journal.
- and congrats on your scores!
))