A Matter of Pies.

[catch]

It was that in that trembling moment between sunset and true darkness that he found the place, inexpertly following nervous directions. He would not have come unless it was of grave importance, and it is with that importance that his fist finds the wooden door of the farm-house, pounding in as official a way as any of Glenn's Marshals. He would wait, patient, but not over-long; if there is hesitation, then the knock would come again.

And again, until the door is answered to reveal Catch upon the doorstep. He has taken such care in his appearance, knowing that it would be important in a case such as this, with coat and suspenders, and boots, neat and tucked, and his pale face pink from careful scrubbing, the trails of his curls still dark and wet; and this, of course, makes him shiver, for the nights have become chilly.

What is not normal about him are the apples. His arms are full of apples, and there is a scattering of apples upon the ground, for Catch has lost them in the attempt to knock on the door. He has apples shoved into his pockets, apples ballooning out his shirt. There are even hard lumps of apples thrust up, there under his cap, making his skull look even more misshapen, more twisted.

"I require a p-pie from the Wormwoman's Ma," he will say, with utmost gravity, doing his best to not stutter, though his teeth cannot help but chatter at his cold and wet.

[channe]

The man who opens the door is fairly young and covered in a layer of stone dust. His work pants are sturdy; his dark hair is tousled, and he shares many of the Northern features found on the numerous descendants of Magda and Karol Kaczmarek. He blinks twice at the man on the doorstep, and all of the apples discarded around him & lumped in his pants like a small child at harvest-time. Finally, he narrows his eyes a little. "There's no..." he pauses, obviously at a loss for words. "Worm Woman here. And, uh, we don't sell pies, really. Maybe you have the wrong house?"

It's obvious that he's trying to be nice, and it's obvious he honestly has no clue as to what the addled man is talking about when it comes to the identity of said wormy young lady.

[catch]

"B-b-but Ser Elliot says she m-m-makes pies!" comes the child-like wail, and from such a large man, as well. He has gone through much to get those apples - mostly, he took them, though he had left some small, precious items in exchange. An orchard-farmer may not feel that trinkets dug from a rubbish-heap to be an acceptable trade, to Catch, it had wounded him to his very core. Why, he had even given up on of his precious dolls, one who's bald, filthy head had been turned all wrong, and Catch had had to replace the missing arms with smaller, misshapen legs. He was certain that the farmsman would adore that one, left on his doorstep.

"I j-j-just. I n-n-need a pie," Catch says, struggling to get over his despair at, possibly, getting the wrong house. "It is v-v-very important. It... it is Miss Agnie's ma, th-then? Th-th, the one who makes pies?"

[channe]

So. He knows Agnie, he knows Magda makes pies -- but, surely, surely Agnieszka wouldn't be friends with such a pathetic-looking creature. Nevertheless --

-- the man sighs, and then steps back from the door. "You are in luck," he says. "There's one slice of rhubarb pie left." He narrows his eyes a little at the lumps in Catch's pockets. "But I think... you're probably more of an apple pie kind of guy. I'm Dom. You are?"

[catch]

"I am a Catch, Ser Mom," Catch says, mishearing Dom, and tripping in almost immediately with his apples, half-heratedly kicking in a scattered few over the threshold with him. "A G-G-Grand Catch. Rhubarb is v-v-very g-g-good pie, I like it v-v-very much, but this is a test, Ser. A t-t-t-test of the conning k-k-kind, and. And it is v-v-very important, d-d-don't you th-think, th-that the c-c-contestants start on, on an even b-b-base?"

Through this entire, rushed statement, one could accuse Catch of sarcasm, or of dishonesty. He could very well be a ruffian of the murderous sort. Yet as he spoke, his head thrust out on his neck towards Dom, his limpid eyes wide and eager, his whole face set in a slight frown of worry, concentration, and seriousness - his story rang true, and it was true, as ridiculous as it all sounds.

[channe]

Ser Mom --

Dominik is about to say something regarding that mistake when the name registers. After Jirai burned the farm, Agnieszka had kept them informed as to what and whom to notice; a name called Catch had been on the list. Dom, however, couldn't remember for the life of him why. Dom, however, knows where the weapons are stored, and he's handy with a dagger himself, of course; he moves to stand before the box at the door.

"... conning? Contestants? A test?" He looks a little lost. "What the hell do you mean?"

[catch]

Catch takes a deep breath - there - through his nostrils, bis broad chest expanding, until it seemed as if his clothes would no long fit him, and be torn apart through the effort.

"Ser Elliot t-t-tells me th, that Wormwoman Agnie's Ma m-m-makes g-g-good pies, but I th-think, that-that Miss Genny makes th-the b-best pies, and I m-must see if that is true, so n-now you see who it is v-very important to have lots of apples, and t-t-to have a pie fr-from the Wormwoman's Ma, and a pie from Genny, and maybe several pies so I may share th-them with Ser Elliot and Ser Eater and Cat and th-the Queen b-b-because sharing is nice, and also we would h-have, have a wide r-r-range of likes and dislikes, so th-that each one m-m-may b-b-be judged accordingly."

He says all this in the rush of air that leaves him, in a speech that might make Ser Glenn proud; indeed, Catch is so thrilled with the very smart sounding 'accordingly' that he draws himself up, and looks important, even if he drops a couple more apples in the process. He looks about himself, then, and then at Ser Mom; and since he sees nobody else, a hopeful look flutters across his dull face.

"Are you th-the Wormwoman's Ma?"