How to Confuse a Madman

[Tolleson]

(Very Late in the Evening 24th Day of the 7th month, 211)

The sight of Descant and Solena on the ramshackle remnants of the porch had been a little upsetting, but it was certainly not the reason she had clutched her beloved book close and ran with everything she had into town. No, she wanted to see if the rumors were true. She'd torn down a handful of the posters before giving up, there were dozens if not hundreds. It was dark by the time the poor sweaty girl trudged back to the Dagger, a dusty, disheveled mess.

Genny had calmed down substantially with the promise to speak with Descant the following evening, perhaps she could confide in him further about the recent string of missing items in Myrken. But it would have to wait. Skulking up the stairs and listlessly heading for her room she stopped just short of it in the empty hall. Her book, Descant would have grabbed it, that was fine. But the pause washed over her depositing traces of all the worries, the people, the problems that were compounding around her. Unfolding the wad, the parchment crinkled only slightly, still damp from the grip in her palms.

Tears began to well, rolling quietly down her dusty cheeks, leaving a path for more as they tapped against the Wanted Poster. She needed to unload this burden, to talk to someone, anyone.

[catch]

There was a single, blue eye that forced itself into a cracked door, a door that Miss Genny had, likely, passed, hundreds of times before, without nary a look. Perhaps that is a lie, for there always seemed to be some noise from there, and the faint, unavoidable odor of male cat. It was Catch's Room, and most of the maids refused to go in there, even when Catch wasn't in it. Oh, there had been special times; he had taken Ser Elliot here, after he had been stabbed by Jirai. And the Sky Lady had come voluntarily, and just thinking about it made his guts shiver under his skin.

Some sixth sense had driven him to the door, or curiosity, but what he saw made him stay. He did not understand the subtle things, the change of pitch of whisper and yelling, unless it was very loud, or the tone of sarcasm and cruelty, unless the words were very cruel. But he knew tears very well. His door opened even further, and there was a sound of skittering claws and muted noises as cats fled out the always-open window, but Catch knew that it was a war, pleasant night, and was not too upset as he, with great care and gentleness, crept to Genny and tried to curl his fingers about her upper arm.

"It's too pretty for rain," he tells her, after a moment's digging for something proper to say, and his tongue follows his words, moistening his lips as he peers down at her with barely-hidden sadness.

[Tolleson]

Surprised, she turned immediately to the madman, her long red locks sliding free of her shoulder and flopping down her back. The strands were as tangled and mussed as the rest of her. "Catch," the words burbled out with a failed attempt at the smile she saved just for him. Once she recognized him her eyes darted around the rest of the hall to see if the hall was as empty as she had previously assumed. It was true, she never noticed which room was his, though if she had been more observant perhaps it would have been more apparent.

The arm he held trembled; the paper and the key hidden beneath it, tangled in her fingers, trembled too. At once she crumpled the paper, not even sure if Catch could read. "What... Is, are you." Frustrated with herself for stuttering, not finding the words she looked down to her shaking hands and fumbled about sliding the key into the door. "Is everything all right," asking as if nothing was wrong and Catch were the only person so easily troubled by the things in his own mind.

[catch]

Sometimes, Catch could guess how long was too long, and his reluctant fingers slid from her sweaty arm without a moment's hesitation. His dull eyes flickered across the parchments she held, but he could not read, and only saw glimpses of pictures that, truthfully, fascinated him. So much so that he's already reaching for a piece that flopped down from her arm, slyly timing it so that she was busy with the key and her door.

"Except the rain-drops inside," he says, and though he surely cannot be that curious, his eyes do flicker pointedly to red-rimmed eyes and sodden papers. "What's this? Are they drawings of yours? I love drawings, like the worlds Ser Glenn makes."

[Tolleson]

Rain drops inside, he was worried about her crying? It was a sweet comment that allowed a hint of a smile which for some strange reason only increased the cascade of salty tears. Oh Catch, if only they were drawings or maps. "No... Ser Glenn," she repeated, not able to or bothering to elaborate on her answer to Catch's question. Mr. Burnie, the map-maker, whom she had given a cherished, truly precious, and utterly stolen book - of all the people in Myrken, couldn't she tell him what was happening. The door was hastily swung open, distracted but now free of Catch she stepped forward letting it hang open behind her.

Only the light from the candles in the hall illuminated the floor of her dark room but without hesitation she'd stumble in, letting Catch have the poster that would soon enough be plastered in the Dagger itself. Not two steps in and she was already tripping over her own awkward feet. There was a swish of fabric and a thud as her body landed followed instantly by a great crack in the darkness beyond the door.

"Ugnnn," it was a distorted voice, Genny's but captured in a moan as she lie crumpled, half in the shadow beyond.

[catch]

It was a sweet thing to say, wasn't it? And polite. catch was beaming at her words, and beaming at the poster he had crumpled in his hands, so busy with both things that he notices not a bit that Miss Genny has stumbled and fell, all over her floor. His dull eyes flicker and twitch over the drawing, and he, with far more grace than a man his size should have, steps daintily over her, invading her room.

"That is a hat", he says, voice full of purring admiration, and Catch turns it every-which-way to catch the light from the hall so he may see it better.

[Tolleson]

Catch had more grace than she! As Catch invaded the room and asked his questions, the pie-maker sat up and felt out for the dresser that had attacked. Her right hand would climb it slowly and with measured care she came, wobbling to her feet.

Both hands blindly searched the top of the dresser. Eventually she'd strike a match the scent of sulfur burned and the smoke stung her eyes. The tiny flame was set to the lamp that rested upon the neatly organized dresser and there was instant illumination. Stacks of books, hundreds of different colors and sizes, like a city skyline were stacked pressed nearly against the walls.

From the empty curtain rod over the window pane hung her Ball gown, a soft, nearly white dress with a tangled and lovingly embroidered hem of flowers. She would wait until the door could be shut behind them both before her now irritated and puffy eyes looked to catch.

"Tricky Hat," there was a dry swallow as she spoke the words, leaning her back against the closed door, letting her head set back onto the wood with a small thump. She didn't mind his jovial nature, if anything it was reassuring to know he didn't find significance in the poster. It probably meant he'd never seen the bandit, at the very least.

[catch]

Large eyes peered at Genny over the poster, once the light was lit. He was quite fond of it, and wondered if she would let him keep this one, as he hadn't been to town lately. Before he could ask, or focus down on her sad, weepy eyes, the sight of the ball-gown obliterated all else including this Tricky Hat, and he gasped in delight. The poster was thrown away in favor of the white fabric, though he was very, very careful not to grab, and only stroked the embroidered flowers, trying to coax them into singing. He was sad, when they refused, but only a little. They weren't real flowers, after all.

"You'll look darling," he coos.

[Tolleson]

Green eyes, glistening in the newly found light followed him rather than actively watched. There was no protest to him touching the gown. It was inspiring to see how such simple things enthralled him, such a good mood he was in, she ought to be happy with him. At his reaction to the gown and his compliment she smiled weakly. The Ball, how could she go now?

"We can dance together if you like," it was all she could offer even with her newfound reservations on attending. Her heart was trying to be in the right place but she could barely muster the will. Her smile became more genuine as the tears began to dry, a small bead of blood trickling from under her hair, down her temple, and catching softly in her ginger eyebrows staining them a darker red as the mesh of hair swelled with the liquid.

[catch]

It was the smell that caught him, rather than the sight, the tang of maggots invading his nostrils, tugging at his chin, until he was forced to turn towards it, to see with eyes that didn't want to see such an injury. Small as it was, Catch's tongue slides past his lips, which curl in a distress clearly marked in his eyes.

"You'll have to get b-back together, before we dance," he warns, though he's secretly happy with the compliment. There were worse things at stake, such as teary eyes and bloodied scalp, and Catch would gingerly step closer, trying to rub away the red stuff to show her. It tickled on his skin, and after she had a good look, he'd suck it off his fingerpad.

"Why are you so sad?"

[Tolleson]

The sudden change in expression caught her off guard, but she wasn't in a position to be afraid of the addled man, not anymore. "I'm not broken," she reassured him, her voice hinted towards trying to comfort him but the edge of it was curious why he would say it at all. His approach was almost comforting if it weren't for the fact that after his touch she saw blood on his fingers. Her blood, from her own head.

How hard had she hit the dresser? Delicate, trembling fingers replaced his as he sucked the blood from his fingers. The unheard question was ignored at least for the moment as her hand traced the trail and felt upwards until her fingers were quite literally under her hair, not under strands or pieces of the coppery red, but hidden under a solid mesh of it. Her opposing hand came up and began to frantically pull pins free, though her hair was no up as it usually was when pins needed to be freed. "I'm sorry Catch," but why was she apologizing?

[catch]

Catch only shook his head, the blood already forgotten save for what was stuck in his nose and sliding down his throat. He watches her manipulate her hair in fascination, but he must look away, quickly. He may have been Healed, some of him, but it still made his stomach clenched to watch her flesh in the flames, even if they did not turn black or shrivel away. Carefully he scooped up the abandoned poster and splayed his fingers over the Tricky-hat, before lifting again so that Catch could nibble on his pinky.

"Are you sad b-because it doesn't look as pretty?"

[Tolleson]

Genny was a little less sane than usual, but not mad enough to understand what he meant. "I'm sad because of my brother," she had talked to him once about brothers. But even now it wasn't likely he'd understand. He only mentioned Elliot anyway, whom she'd hardly met and barely knew. And for the most part explaining it again was the least of her concerns.

Peeling back her hair, a whole head of it woven together at the base where her scalp should have been, the wig toppled to the floor. It was all of her hair, a good yard at least of the flames, crumpled like the poster had been, in a pile where hair ought not be. The removal revealed another layer of messily cropped, near ear length hair. The fiery, copper color, the thin soft strands, nearly every aspect identical save that it was cropped short and the fresh gash near the crown of her head stained the strands near it. There was a fair amount of blood there, her fingers blindly feeling until they found the sticky mess and she looked at her fingers with anxiety.

"Gods," she whispered, tears returning.

[catch]

Catch's eyes wandered from the up poster with that moaned word, worry heavy in his features, and then gapes at the floor that was suddenly swimming in flames around Miss Genny's feet, the muted embers of her scalp smoldering against her skin. He could not help himself, even if his mind knew they could not be flames. That there must be a reason. A small, frightened mouse-shriek spilled from his throat, and he shrinks back from the bald-haired girl in sudden fright, the paper of the wanted poster slapping up against his face, pressed there by his hands to hide his eyes from the terrible sight. And to hide the frightened tears that sprang to his wide eyes.

"Your pretty hair!" he moans in reflected agony, muffled by the sheet of paper. She hit her head so hard that her hair fell out! "I-I-I-I c-can pu-put it buh-back together!"

[Tolleson]

The wig lay motionless, unlike fire it didn't move or burn, it didn't consume the floorboards nor was it warm to the touch. His shriek pulled her wide green eyes to him.

The wig had been cut from -her- hair and under it new, shorter hair grew though it was matted down with blood. She'd close the distance carefully, she didn't want to startle him any more. Her wrist cleared the tears on her own cheeks since her finger tips were sticky with drying blood.

"Catch," her voice was weak and even, trying to hold back sobs, "please, don't be afraid... I need you to help me... You don't have to put it back together." It was nearly impossible to keep from getting smudges of blood from the poster as she tried to gently pry it down and away from his face. Hoping her eyes would lock on his before he had a chance to drift to the unfamiliar, shorter flames that had sprouted on her head.