ioduanlogs | in this town, don't we love it now

Entry tags:

in this town, don't we love it now

Characters: The Fool, Klaus, Devin, Rutile, Trahearne + you!
Date: Early October
Location: Throughout Aifaran; specifically, the Fool’s apartment, Die Rosa Tulpe.
Situation: A catch-all for October.
Warnings/Rating: None, will update as needed.

I. Some Uninvited Guests (Die Rosa Tulpe; Open + Klaus)

On a bright, early tropical morning when the Fool ventures downstairs to set up his display table for the day, he hardly makes it three steps beyond the stairs when he trips over--a pumpkin? Startled, he nimbly skirts beside it, catching himself against one of the cafe tables, and then looks after it, shocked.

“What--?” he begins, but the rest of his exclamation tapers off abruptly as he takes in the sight before him: Die Rosa Tulpe, besieged by--well, small gourd people.

Dealing with this mess is evidently his task for the day, so whomever happens upon the cafe today will be greeted by this spectacle. Enjoy.

II. Rude Awakening (The Fool's apartment; closed to Devin)

The change to the Fool’s relationship with Devin has his heart singing even when he and his paramour aren’t in each other’s company--but there are few joys in life more fulfilling than waking up beside the object of one’s affections. That is the Fool’s prevailing thought as he comes to one morning, peering across the blankets at Devin’s profile with the tiniest of smiles curling up the corner of his lips.

His second thought arrives abruptly, and is far less pleasant: they aren’t alone in the bedroom.

Seated at the foot of the Fool’s bed is a small child with uncanny, unnaturally exaggerated features, and it’s looking right at the pair of them.

The Fool stares back at it, then takes a breath. “Devin,” he begins rather too cautiously, “don’t be alarmed.” That’s always a good way to begin a conversation, isn’t it?

III. A Business Arrangement (Die Rosa Tulpe; Open + Rutile)

At some indeterminate point early in the month after the pumpkin pests are dealt with and the Dreaming Sickness is no longer a constant drain on his energy, the Fool is at last able to redirect his attention to his chosen vocation here in Aifaran: his woodcarving.

(And prophesying the future but--well. That gift doesn’t pay the rent.)

His latest pieces are staggeringly intricate; small posies that could have been plucked from a garden, were they not clearly of wood grain and solid to the touch; a bird upon a nest, its folded wings deceptively soft. There are many others, of course--all for sale.

IV. The Messenger (closed to Trahearne)

[in the middle of the night early on in October, Trahearne will receive a peculiar text message from the Fool.]

I have something important to tell you.

[a span of a few moments, and then another message follows:]

I think.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Trahearne is still trying to recover from his Dreaming Sickness, leaving him awake at odd hours of the night. It's not long before he responds.]

You do? Is something the matter?

No. My apologies, I hope I did not make you worry.

[some time passes before the Fool manages another response,]

I had a dream about you.

[no, that's not creepy or anything. He amends hastily,] At least, I believe it was about you. Or meant for you, somehow. My visions are rarely straight forward in this way.

A vision? You mean to say it wasn't a typical dream?

[He soon follows that message up with,] What did you see?

Edited 2018-10-05 05:17 (UTC)

It is difficult to describe.

[what an understatement; his prophetic visions had never been simple things, rather complex riddles that used imagery both foreign and familiar to spin their web before him. Nevertheless, he tries.]

I saw a length of thorny vines cloven into quarters, again and again until its many sundry parts were scattered across the lush green grass of a wooded vale. Hands stretched out towards each thorn, but I awoke before they made contact.

[There's a long pause before Trahearne finally replies.]

You saw my nightmares made real, Fool. The thorns put me in mind of that - of the lands Mordremoth corrupted. But pieces of a vine? Mordremoth's dead. Its power should have dispersed. I'm not sure what to think of this.

Nor am I. I know only that this vision was meant for you. I am but the messenger, I'm afraid.

[a pause, before another text follows,]

It is difficult, making sense of these things. Perhaps what I have told you will make more sense when you have slept.

It does seem like something related to the world I came from, and that makes it quite important. I'll take the time to consider it and see what I can glean from it. Thank you.

Though this is not the first time Rutile has been in the vicinity of Die Rosa Tulpe in the last several weeks, it is the first time they've gone inside since the chaos at the Turtle's Head. They take a moment before entering, internally rolling their eyes at the prospect that they might be nervous. Nervous, after nearly three thousand years? Of all the ludicrous things. The bell jingles as they open the door.

They a cut a striking figure in the new clothes Pepper helped them pick out: though simple and inexpensive, the sage green tunic and yellow embroidery compliments their colors well, and is a far cry from the clinical black and white they had worn the rest of their life. It takes not a moment to spy the Fool surrounded by his wares, delicate pieces that would steal the breath of any who actually breathed. Rutile approaches him reverently, and with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Fool," they greet him. "Your garden seems to be coming along nicely."

Striking indeed; the Fool, when he notices Rutile, is immediately taken in by the vibrancy of their clothes, unable to stop himself from looking them over admiringly. (He is going to find out where those lavish threads come from, just you wait.)

Then--

"My garden?" The Fool looks bewildered, and then, "ah," and a sly smile, as he reaches down to collect up the little posy figurine and twists it about between his fingers.

"This one will fair better than my living plants, I imagine," he murmurs dryly. Then he smiles again, the expression warming more for his friend, and flourishes a hand at one of the empty seats nearby. "Do sit," he encourages, "I would love the company."

Devin has grown accustomed to sharing a bed with someone astonishingly quickly. After so many years living alone, sharing nothing with no one and only having woken up next to someone day after day one other time in his life, he'd expected to be more restless. It's the Fool's voice that brings Devin fully to consciousness, and what he says chases away sleep in an instant.

He sits up, not abruptly but with alertness in his eyes, expecting a threat. But what he sees is a child that resembles one he's seen before, more than 500 years ago. They look similar, but there's something off, something missing. The child Tu Vishan used as an avatar had a presence. This one is-- thin.

"You're not Tu Vishan," Devin points out bluntly. "Why are you here?" Usually, there was a message of some kind.

"You're not Tu Vishan. Why are you here?"

The spectre of the human child is not a stranger to the Fool, but this is the first time that such a vision has visited him in a way that others could see. And he realizes, with a sinking sensation in his gut, that he will need to provide an explanation to Devin before too long about just how this came to pass.

(That will be a fun conversation.)

"To see me," he supplies quietly. Already he's sitting up some beside Devin, drawing the bedsheets up to his chest as he does so. A silly thing to be preoccupied with; the turtle does not have the same preoccupation with privacy and modesty that humans do. He looks to the child and gestures between them, a wistful smile quirking the corners of his lips. "We're acquainted now, you and I." This, ostensibly, he directs to the child.

A frown pinches Devin's brow, his gaze returning to the Fool. In Keeliai, the childlike avatar Tu Vishan sent to them had appeared in waking hours and in sleep, though he only ever seemed to communicate using words in dreams. But it was to all of them, all of the Dreamfolk; something else is going on here.

"I've never heard of them selectively interacting with Dreamfolk like this," he says carefully, keeping the apparition in his peripheral vision. Granted, Devin's knowledge is not exhaustive, and things could be different with younger turtles.

The absence of a sentiment or feeling impressed on his mind still has Devin skeptical, if not concerned. Slowly and making an effort to seem as non-threatening as possible (just in case he's wrong), the vampire reaches out. He wants to see if the child is corporeal or not.

The Fool watches as Devin reaches out to touch the childlike spectre--and of course, his fingers pass straight through its arm. Still, it turns its too large, dark eyes towards him, as though aware of the attempted gesture; but already it is dissipating like mist, and before long, it is gone.

"I've never heard of them selectively interacting with Dreamfolk like this," Devin had said. The Fool sighs. Well. Better get the lecture out of the way sooner rather than later.

"Yes--about that..." He takes a sudden interest in a bit of loose thread in one of the blankets tossed across them, fiddling with it absently. "Perhaps no other Dreamfolk have ever given them the opportunity to do so." He lifts his eyes to Devin's again; the unspoken until now is clear in his expression.

Maybe the avatars don't have to be solid, and maybe it doesn't matter one way or another (since even if this is a waking dream, the turtle is still showing up in the Fool's sleep). Devin studies the Fool in silence for a few moments, taking in his fidgeting and absorbing the meaning in his expression.

Rather quickly, his mind wants to jump to all sorts of unwise conclusions; it's always been his tendency to consider the worst possible outcomes. Devin takes the Fool's hands before he can start unraveling the blanket. "Tell me," is all he says.

The Fool allows his hands to be taken, looking at his fingers as they curl against Devin's palms. What an unexpectedly gentle touch his lover has; doubtless few others in Aifaran would believe it even if the Fool was of a mind to share it. (He isn't. Not yet.)

He draws in a slow breath, lets it out, then gently lifts his hands from Devin's to tug that ever present soft leather glove from his hand. As soon as his silvered fingertips are in view, he looks to them, and then to Devin. "I believe I told you something about this strange, borrowed magic," he says quietly into the space between them. "King Verity used it to pour his soul into a stone dragon that he carved with his own hand. But he was also born with this silver in his blood. It enabled him to speak into the minds of other men, among other things. Mine is an overly simplistic explanation, I'm sure."

A pause, and he reaches for his glove again to replace it. "My talents are nothing in comparison, but with a physical touch..." He lifts a shoulder in a slight shrug. "Now, it seems the turtle and I have a connection."

Devin stares at the Fool's hand in silence even after the glove is replaced, doing his best to consider the situation analytically and running up against the problem of how he feels. There's worry, first and foremost - he's only ever heard of groups managing to communicate directly with the turtle and then only for short periods of time. Granted, Tu Vishan had been much, much larger and older than the turtle they currently reside atop, but that doesn't make it any less serious.

"Why did you do that?" It's a softer question than it could be, and his eyes are empty of accusation when he looks up. Devin really is trying to understand first and be upset later, though there's an edge in his tone to indicate his middling success. "We're not built for that kind of contact, you could've been hurt." Or worse. Permanently brain damaged or even dead, and neither of those things Devin is really prepared to consider right now. "Are you okay? How long has this been happening?"

"...Are you okay? How long has this been happening?"

Gently, he reaches up to touch Devin's cheek and reassures him, "I am fine." But it does not sit well with the Fool, to know that he is responsible for the wounded look in Devin's eyes now; that is reason enough not to look away now. He presses his lips into a thin line and admits softly, "Since early August."

(So. Quite some time, then.)

There are no good reasons, no good excuses, for his reticence on this subject; whatever the tumultuous events of the past three months that might have preoccupied them, the Fool has had the better part of a month to share this secret with Devin, and he hasn't. Keeping secrets was one of many old habits, old survival instincts that have made up the only armour that protected him in the Six Duchies; he had not lain them aside even for Fitz, who had known him better than anyone else in his old life. But he and Fitz had had decades to build a bond of trust that could bridge each other's need for secrecy. This--this new, wonderful bond he's nurtured with Devin, demands some concessions if it is indeed going to thrive.

He will have to do better.

"I should have told you," he confesses quietly, a pained wince at the corners of his eyes. "I am sorry, Devin." He strokes his thumb gently across Devin's cheek, before letting his hand fall back to his lap.

The length of time at least indicates that the Fool is not in any immediate danger, and that is some reassurance. Perpetuating the connection, however, could expose him to other, completely unknown and unforeseeable hazards.

Devin almost, almost lets a sharp agreement escape him, but the rational part of him can recognize the hypocrisy of lecturing his lover on keeping secrets. Secrecy has defined most of Devin's life, too, and he has by no means learned to be fully unguarded yet in this private space. It would be unfair of him to lash out simply because he isn't used to these kinds of hurts and because a century of hard living has crafted instincts against this sort of vulnerability. Those instincts are useless to him if he wants this relationship to work.

He breathes deeply and runs his fingers through his hair, resting his head in his hands. "At least now I'll know about it in case something does go awry," Devin reasons, trying for neutral and missing again. He is not the Fool's keeper, Devin can't and won't try control him, but he also can't help if he doesn't know what's going on. He straightens. "Just-- explain to me why, please. Why would you put yourself at so much risk?"

It is a stumble, but not a fatal pitfall. Some of the anxious tightness that had wound itself about the Fool's heart begins to ease, though he doesn't relax entirely--in part because answering Devin's question is... difficult.

He smiles thinly, a bittersweet sort of expression. "Why? I am a Fool," he points out, but knows that is not an answer that will satisfy. (Though in many ways, it is explanation enough for much of his behaviour.) He looks away, letting out a slow breath. "We're at the edge of a precipice here, aren't we? The city, the archipelago--the whole of Konryu. After what we have all seen here, I realized that there was one being we had not yet tried to consult. It seems to me his perspective could be a meaningful one--if only I could truly parse what he tried to share with me."

Reluctantly, he reaches up to touch the side of his head, and admits, "It was reckless, even for me. Rutile helped me back to the cafe afterwards, though I am sure that Klaus would have preferred it had I gone directly to a hospital." He looks guiltily towards Devin again. "I will make the appointment in the morning."

Learning that Rutile and Klaus knew before he did is not a welcome realization, though he sees why they would. The rest of the explanation isn't enough to mollify Devin (aside from the promise to go see a doctor in the morning), but it does give him more insight.

"Good." Devin pauses when he realizes how that might sound and adds more gratefully, "Thank you."

He reaches for the Fool's hand again and holds it between his own. "It was reckless," Devin agrees without condemnation. The ghost of a smile crosses his lips for just a moment. "And had I been there, I'd have carried you off kicking and screaming if I had to." His gaze drops to their hands. "If there is anything I've learned here - however grudgingly - it's that it is better not to do this sort of thing alone. This precipice-- we're all standing on it together, Fool. This is not a responsibility you should have taken on your shoulders, or had to carry, without support."

Devin's shoulders hunch a little and he squeezes the Fool's hand gently. "I'm hardly one to talk, I am terrible at relying on other people, but-- that's my job now. Being there for you, whether you need me or not."

"...whether you need me or not."

"I need you." The reassurance is offered softly, sincerely, and coupled with another thin smile. The Fool gently frees his hand from Devin's grasp so that he can touch his cheek again; touch, he's discovering, is capable of conveying so much more than words--even for a wordsmith like the Fool. "Please," he insists nevertheless, "never doubt that."

This was undoubtedly not the relaxing early morning lie-in that either of them had been hoping to enjoy together, but the Fool resolves not to become melancholic over it. He leans in to kiss Devin gently, savouring the intimacy before his own promise requires him to pull away. "I should call the doctor to arrange an appointment."

The Fool says he needs him without hesitation, as though it's only natural, and Devin wonders if his lover knows the power in those words. Most likely, even if the Fool doesn't know the full extent. It cannot have escaped his attention that Devin is bad at accepting kindness and care from people, and his expression now makes up for his silence. He closes his eyes when the Fool kisses him, and keeps them closed for a breath or two after.

Everything is alright. Probably. A doctor will have the best tools and skills to recommend next steps, if any. Devin finds himself confronted with peculiarly intractable anxiety that just lingers in the background in the short time until they get any answers; it's low-level, thankfully, but this is a brand of worry he's rarely experienced. This must be what partnership is like, which ironically he's grateful to feel.

He manages not to hover. He does, however, start diving into the Academy's resources to search for anything related to communications with the turtles, and the related effects on people. It gives Devin somewhere constructive to put his concerns while they wait for results.

It's definitely not what X expects when he visits the cafe today. The door's propped open when he gets there, and three small pumpkins waddle through the doorway, looking -- and X couldn't explain this perception if he tried -- angry.

Little pumpkin people. That's strange.

He edges carefully around them into the cafe and bumps into the Fool, who looks like he has his work cut out for him dealing with an array of living gourds doing their best to make the Die Rosa Tulpe a living theatre of surreal proportions. X can't help smiling. "A bit of Shadow Nights magic gone wrong?" he asks, nudging a particularly active pumpkin with his foot. It immediately latches onto his ankle.

The ordinarily quite glamorous Fool looks decidedly unglamorous by the time X arrives and bumps into him. His glossy golden hair has been tugged into the most perfunctory of pony tails, loose strands held at bay with a red bandana. Bits of gourd viscera (from where the Fool has, accidentally or otherwise, dropped the errant pumpkin person here and there) stain the front of an apron that used to be pink, but now has several unsightly yellow smears in the fabric. He looks terrible, there's no getting around it.

And whatever tart reply he's on the cusp of snapping at X is forgotten when the little monster latches onto his friend's ankle.

"These little beasts!" He exhales in exasperation and quickly snatches up his broom to, yet again, swat at the pumpkin pest trying to make a meal out of X's ankle. "Shoo! Get off!"

That time when the Fool defended X against a Sentry guard -- physically standing in the way and giving the guard a piece of his mind -- was objectively far more impressive than what's happening right now, as he swats a living pumpkin off X's ankle with a broom. Yet, X's level of gratitude is exactly the same, due in large part to the living pumpkin's bite being much sharper than it has any right to be.

X yelps, and kicks it right into the broom's trajectory. It successfully sends the pumpkin flying, but the impact of his foot connecting with the broom cracks part of the lower half of the handle.

"How long have they been here?" he asks, rubbing his ankle, now fully on board the 'these little beasts!' train.

"Long enough," the Fool huffs, swatting at the hissing and spitting little monsters as they cavort and caper around like... well, like he might've, when he was just a little Fool. One or two of Leo's bibirus hop past to nibble at a few errant vines; Klaus's solution, apparently.

"Since this morning," he allows at last. "I don't know where they came from, but I wish they would go back!"

"Since this morning?" X sounds incredulous. "You've been dealing with this for hours?"

No wonder the whole cafe looks like a smushed pumpkin patch.

X takes a moment to examine the bare skin of his ankle -- no wound, no broken skin -- before he looks around for another apron or another broom. "Let me help," he says. "We can herd them out. Then we can track down whoever's responsible and convince them to come and help clean up."

On their own, the words could be a joke, but X is perfectly serious. He'd come to see the Fool for a reason, but rescuing his livelihood from what's probably a magical prank comes first.

The thought of having to trek across the city in his current state--without so much as the opportunity for a proper bath--is unconscionable to the Fool, who rarely leaves his apartment without taking time to care for his appearance first. (He is vain; he won’t deny it.)

“Oh,” he scoffs exhaustedly, “let’s just get them out, and quickly.”

He hops right to it, too, alternating between herding the little monsters (daemids, Klaus called them) out with his reedy arms and legs, or with the aid of his broom. Realistically it doesn’t take that long to get them out of the cafe; the bibirus that Klaus had turned loose upon them earlier in the day did a good job of clearing out the worst of them.

Once the last of them have been sent packing, the Fool leans against his broom and drops his head atop his hands. Ugh.

Klaus was not long behind behind the Fool, descending the stairs in his pyjamas and dressing gown. The sun was a few hours from rising and he had to get things set up around the bar for when he unlocked the doors at 5am.

But first, he needed to get some coffee in him.

"Good mo- mor-," he covered his mouth as a huge yawn escaped him, and cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon. Good morning. Is something the matter?"

The Fool looked rather puzzled, propped against a table. Klaus wiped the sleep from his eyes, and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

"...Oh for heaven's sake..."

The floor was utterly covered in vines and pumpkins - and quite a few were all over the bar as well. Good grief - it looked like Die Rose Tulpe may be closed for the day while they sorted this out.

One of the sneaky little vines is in fact attempting to skirt its way around the Fool's ankle, and he kicks it away with an annoyed scoff. "Klaus, I don't care for the new tenants overmuch," he observes tartly--then quickly hurries over to his display table to make fast the latch on it before one particularly enterprising pumpkin vine can divest him of his work.

He hisses, "Oh no you don't--!" as he quickly secures the case and snatches one or two smaller wooden baubles out of grasping range. Already exasperated and more disheveled than he ever cares to look in front of mixed company, he turns to stare at Klaus. "How are we meant to manage this?"

Klaus shook one of the creeping tendrils off his own ankles as he took in the sheer scope of how much of his shop had been taking over. He'd been warned about this - Daemids apparently. And while he was generally inclined towards curiosity, they were already causing chaos with the Fool's woodwork and that. That was untenable.

"Please hold them off for one minute," Klaus said, now quite awake. "I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for an affirmation from the Fool - an idea had occurred to Klaus and he bolted upstairs. There was the sound of his heavy footfalls as he shuffled around his apartment, and he returned shortly, his arms full of Leonardo's tiny army of bibirus.

Setting down the soft little bunbirds, they charged like little soldiers into the patch of pumpkins, crunching, munching and nibbling at stalk, leaf and gourd.

The Daemids, seeing the dreaded lagomorphs, fled as their pumpkin homes were gnawed on.

Klaus grabbed the brooms from the cleaning cupboard and tossed one to the Fool.

"We can shoo them off, and then we'll handle the remains."

Exasperated, the Fool snips back, "Hold them off with what, precisely?" but Klaus has already gone off to fetch... a herd of bibirus apparently. His expression of bafflement is short-lived, however, as the little creatures quickly set to work doing what rabbit-birds do best: eat things, apparently.

The broom tossed his way startles him, but he catches it before the handle can bonk him across the forehead. "Should I expect this to be a common occurrence, this month?" he asks tiredly, and gives one of the capering Daemids a firm whack with the broom to send it scampering towards the door.

A small group of daemids had clustered together, ready to try to take down the largest and fattest of the bibirus. Klaus very gently swept them into the dustbin and deposited them unceremoniously outside.

"I certainly hope not," he remarked, herding a few more out the door. "I'd hate to have to constantly close the shop. They didn't damage any of your work did they?"

As they take modest strides in the direction of managing this mischief, some of the Fool's harried irritation at last begins to ebb. He sweeps a few more of the daemids out the door and then sighs, leaning against the door frame to draw a wrist across his forehead, pushing his hair back. "No, thankfully," he says and looks back towards where a few of his more elaborate works remain displayed on a small shelf behind the work station.

He kneels down to gather up one of the bibirus into his arms before it can hop out the door, and affectionately strokes the little thing across its downy head while carrying it back towards its fellows. "Are all of these Leo's?"

Klaus was gathering up the unnibbled pumpkins to set aside for later - he could probably fix up a number of pumpkin dishes for later.

Klaus's answer, however, is uncharacteristically noncommittal. A simple 'mm' of affirmation, before he realized just how rude he sounded.

"Ah - sorry. Yes. They were very much drawn to him. I doubt a week would go by that he didn't bring one home," he explained.

The uncharacteristic response communicates far more than anything else Klaus might have chosen to say. The Fool feels a pang of sympathy; it is terribly, wretchedly unfair what has befallen those two.

He crosses quietly over to the tall man's side while he gathers up the pumpkins that are able to be salvaged, and reaches out to touch his arm. "I'm very sorry," he says quietly, "that he is gone."

The swish of the broom he was brushing across the floor stopped.

"He's home," Klaus reassured. "Safe. ...As safe as one can be in Jerusalem's Lot in any case. And among friends. Many return simply to death."

He resumed sweeping, head lowered.

"But thank you. I know others do not have the comfort of knowing whether or not they'll see him again."

Ilda is in much better spirits when she drops by the Die Rosa Tulpe that morning. For the past couple of weeks she’s frequented the shop to ask for any leads on Yato’s whereabouts, even requesting to have one of her missing posters put up. But now her godly friend’s returned, and she’s eager to share the good news.

“Mister Fool, hello!” she greets, a warm smile on her face and an obvious skip in her step. “I’m here to take down Yato’s missing poster. He’s back, and thanks for your help!”

The bell attached to the cafe's door jingles merrily as Ilda skips across the threshold, and the Fool looks up from his work to return her smile with one of his own. "Hello, Twin," he teases lightly, before a slight furrow creases his brow.

"Yato...?" He repeats the name aloud bemusedly, as though trying to recall a dream that is already escaping from him. Then he glimpses the missing poster as Ilda marches over to pull it down, and brightens. (Oh yeah, that guy.)

"I'm so glad that he's returned," he tells her sincerely, and if there's a touch of melancholy in his eyes for a moment, he masks it well.

"Me too! It was really boring without him." Ilda looks sheepish at the admission, but it's the truth; even if she has other friends, Yato's probably the only one who's able to match up to her hyperactivity and dorkiness.

But once the poster's in her hand, it's quickly forgotten, and she bounds over to the Fool, grinning. "What are you up to, Mister Fool? Any interesting story lately?" She pulls out a small paper bag from the leather satchel she's carrying with her. "I brought some apricots to trade for one!"

At that question, his melancholic expression gives way to something cheekier--though of course he can't divulge the most interesting of his stories, at least not yet. (Not without Devin's permission.) Instead, he replies lightly, "None more interesting than the one we find ourselves enmeshed in, I daresay. But I will take an apricot, if you will part with one." He flourishes a hand at the empty seat across from him, inviting her to sit and keep him company while he works.

Well, that’s true. There is nothing more interesting than this island adventure.

With that excited energy of hers, Ilda takes the offered seat, and holds out an apricot in return. She’s really just kidding about trading the apricots for stories, as she’s content to watch while the Fool does his work.

“You’re really so very talented, Mister Fool!” The compliment is genuine, even if she sounds as chipper as she usually does. “Where do you get the ideas for all these?”

Pleased, he accepts the fruit and gazes at it with a curious twist to his lips; really, who could look at an apricot and be stirred to such melancholy? He sighs airily and sets it down on his table, well away from the delicate-looking carving of a crane that is before him on his table. Nearby is a small canister of varnish, and a cloth for applying it to the wood grain.

“You’re really so very talented, Mister Fool! Where do you get the ideas for all these?”

"In my dreams." He picks up the cloth with his gloved hand and dips it into the varnish, then brings it up to apply a delicate coat of the stuff to the sweeping slope of the wooden bird's neck. Ilda receives another sly look. "Did I tell you I once rode on the back of a dragon? Into a battle, no less."

Edited 2018-10-19 02:03 (UTC)

Ilda rests her forearms on the edge of the table, resting her chin on top of them in turn. She loves stories, especially a good story, and while she seems to have the ability to talk non-stop, she can also be a very good listener. At certain times.

Her eyes dart back and forth between the Fool and his carving, interested both in what he’s doing and what he’s saying. “In your dreams? Really?” She knows she has quite the imagination, but if that’s translated to her dreams, she doesn’t know. She barely remembers them, and those she does remember aren’t the good ones. “Whoaaaa! A dragon battle? That is so cool.”

He laughs quietly at her response, sparing her another little glance before he returns his attention to his work. The varnish brings out the smoothened lines of the woodgrain in the carved crane's neck... as well as the startling detail work that has rendered the feathers of its wings. The Fool turns the little carving just so in order to pay proper attention to one of its slender legs.

"It was a terrifying experience," he admits wryly, applying more of the varnish. "I was little more than a child myself at the time, though I entertained delusions of being far older and cleverer than I was. But yes," he sighs, "a dragon battle, to save the Six Duchies from the Red Ship Raiders, and from the rule of Regal the Pretender."

There follows a slight pause as he focuses on his work, before he remarks quietly, almost wistfully, "I cannot say that good shall always triumph over evil, but it did that day."

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IV

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

III!

no subject

II

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

III

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject