Take two

Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Sat Mar 28, 2020 2:40 am

Io means Io, Io means ten, ten means Io, ten means ten.

When Io offered her a broken half of the bread, Gloria took it into her lone hand and smiled over the piece. Watching the famished girl partition and then consume the cheese and bread and jam, it was like seeing a hole scooped into the bottom of a lake — the meager food rushed, in its own madness, to be devoured. "If you don't slow down," Gloria warned, "you'll be make yourself ill. Here, slow down, see—?" Interrupted with a bite out of her own hard lump of bread, she demonstrated by doing: conservative bites, long rallies of chewing, chewing, chewing, during which her left jaw clicked, creaked, clicked, clicked...

She leaned forward and used her skirt-edge as a napkin, wiping a dollop of jam from beside her nose (how'd that get there?) before (as if this is what one did) offering an edge of her dull dress to Io for the same task. "Ten is a fine number. Someone teaching me arithmetic, she said ten is — is a powerful number: made of two odd fives, or built of five even twos, and it looks like a soldier with a shield—" she draws the line and the circle beside it in the air with a sliver of cheese, "—ready to defend order and balance.

"Or maybe it's just a little slip of a girl sitting on a stoop next to a fat one, eating supper, and that's all it has to be. It can be whatever you'd like it to be, I think. Like cheese and bread can be a feast, if you think of it well enough."

Long moments of quiet. Watching passers-by truck right beyond the stoop on their feet and on their carts, sometimes rolling barrels or slinging uncut candles over their shoulders. No guards here. No one of any import, it seemed. Just mud and folks in loose pants and old dresses. But they all seemed balanced on a wire, ready to jump at any moment, or turn and fight or leap and flee. Gloria, chewing bread, had it too.

"Will I send you away?" This, she considered, longer than the what still vibrating in the air between them. "I like you, Io. It — it wouldn't be kind to send you away, unless you felt it was smartest and safest.

"Should I send you away? Where should I send you, if you wanted it?"
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Re: Take two

Postby Io Ono » Sat Mar 28, 2020 6:14 pm

Will she like you when she sees...?

Yes...

One burned in the shine...

...

And then were there nine...


She sat there, silently, at war with herself. She wanted to tell her whole story, but, there were holes, gaps, discrepancies. She had more than a thousand words, but few that she could or wanted to speak. No, it was better to leave questions than half concocted answers. Proper questions could garner specific answers, answers that left her whole.

Reluctantly, with her free hand, she slowly peeled the worn, black, cracked leather from her eye. Her face held no scar or malformation, save for tentacles of unnaturally deep, velvety black veins just beneath the skin. It was quite stark, and inhuman, and clearly not the product of abuse or birth deform. Aside from the color, she probably could pass for simply suffering from the effects of exhaustion. Around the veins, the color seemed to seep, leeching ever faintly into the surrounding skin, though not in the exact manner of a bruise. Her eyelids remained firmly closed, twitching from discomfort, as staring at the sun would be. It had a foul radiance, though no actual odor, more akin to ill omens, curses, and the like. There was ill purpose to its existence and the veins pulsed weakly, as if adverse to the attention...or the light.

One lost to fate...

...

And then, eight...


Shielding her face from the daylight as much as she could, she attempted to open it, a seemingly Herculean task, and after a great struggle, she could only manage a sliver before shutting it tightly once more. Her face pinched with the effort, and it pained her to open it even the bit she managed. Twice she attempted before she simply gave up and replaced the patch. There was no force holding her eye shut, rather it was as if she were blinded by an overabundance of light.

There were undoubtedly stranger occurrences in the grand world, but her exposure to it was quite limited, and she’d seen this danger, firsthand. The eye itself would have seemed normal, properly shaped and lacking any obvious deformity, save for where the matching jade should have resided, there was only charcoal. The blood vessels matched those of her eyelid, a velvety black. It would have been a look befitting a demon, or at least a soul half possessed by one. It appeared as if it were the result of some manner of curse or bewitchment, but, on the surface did not seem to be spreading further than the current bounds.

Will she tell...?

It’ll be ok...

Does she think herself blameless...?

It’s not her fault...

Oh, but she enjoyed it...we enjoyed it...


“I don’t know what it is, but...” She seemed embarrassed, ashamed of her visage. In a manner of speaking, she was, but not necessarily because of the appearance. She was not a vain woman, not by any measure, but she had history, one she took no pride in. Though saved from petty theft, she wasn’t yet sure she trusted her with fouler deeds. She wasn’t decent folk, far from it, but she was decent enough to understand the legal complications of some of her exploits. Besides, she wasn’t totally inhuman as of yet, and even if she lacked a natural sense of empathy, she was not beyond having it reasoned into her.

She sat there, soaking in the silence, searching for the proper words and finding none. The wind was sharp, even through the borrowed cloak, but a quick shiver shook the chill. She had wanted to say more, but she couldn’t, not here, not now. She was distraught, though her face refused to show.

Dangerous people ask dangerous questions...

“I...I want only to stay... Io wishes not to return...” Barely a whisper escaped her lips. She stared at the dusty ground in front of her, resigned to an unknown fate. She did have a story to tell, and no matter the outcome, there was no going back.
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Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Sun Mar 29, 2020 4:15 pm

A lump of cheese squeezed between her thumb and forefinger hovered for too long in front of her half-opened mouth as Io peeled away that coin of hardened leather. What she expected was—

Nameless, perhaps some evidence of damage, or a half-opened divot where an eyeball had been. Or perhaps the starburst-scar of a puncture, or the unmistakable trauma of a gouge, a piercing blade, anything but this: it looked like a crude and scribbled map to nowhere, all bugling and trembling and black, like a cursed stone or a sickened gem. Some heinous presence about the thing—

(like the foul mist curling up, up from the burst bodies of Sun-punished criminals boiling in the Jernoan heat

like the stink of Threepoints Marsh, its dead leaves and belching fungi, reeking of corpses)

—instinctively drove Gloria back, as if she'd stared too quickly over the edge of a chasm. The button of cheese fell from her hand, struck her knee, lost itself between two cobbles. Her only hand gripped at her skirts and squeezed them into submission. For several moments, she sat stiff, stark, staring, couldn't drag her dull gaze away from that wretched thing, until her lips parted and she realized she was glaring and she shook, shook, shook her head in violent denial of the urge, averted her eyes, whispered, "Ghe'doz," in clumsy apology as she looked anywhere at the ground, at her muddy boots, at something that didn't so powerfully turn her stomach or drag the gorge into her mouth...

One breath. Two. Three, and more. She showed you, else she might burst. That's why she showed you, Glour'eya. She showed you so she didn't suffocate on it. "If you don't know what it is, then — then—" she ought to have known, she should know these things! "—then I can hardly see reason in holding you accountable for it." She swallowed a few times, then tried to find a bit of bread, anything. "If you don't know what it is, then it would be cruel to leave you long without an answer. Io, you—"

Tried to reach down, every gently, and touch the back of the girl's hand. Just a tap. A brush of the finger. Contact.

"You stay. But this place, it has fear in its heart. We're fearful souls. Show it but sparingly, else someone might try to destroy it."

Or you along with it.

Nobody else had seen, had they? Nobody else had been paying that much attention to them, dusty girls they were. Had they?

A sparing smile, but a heavy one. "You should eat. I — I oughtn't be left to all this food on my own."
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Re: Take two

Postby Io Ono » Mon Mar 30, 2020 7:33 pm

It was an infernal, grotesque abomination, confirmed by the woman sitting across from her. She had noticed the apprehension, felt the reservation. She could almost smell the disturbance, like a fruit’s pleasant descent into bitter alcohol. She could feel it, like an itch just below the skin, easily satiated, yet still persistent. Still, she took no offense, there was none to be taken. Even she, herself, was oft repulsed by the accursed thing. Perhaps not the eye itself, but the contrast from her youthful visage was the real dilemma. Yes, she would convince herself so.

Dangerous questions are better left to dangerous people...

It was a selfish play, revealing her trauma. Io indeed felt a weighted need to share with someone, anyone who didn’t have exploitation on the mind. Though just acquainted, she felt the woman before her was of a true character. Still, she knew what was coming, on both sides of the line. She knew the dangers of knowledge, of the contents of the coffer that could not be resealed. She knew the dangers questions could bring. She knew about...them. Rather, she knew, at the least, more than anyone in this town, even if not the entire story. It was no trivial matter, and before long, she would have much, much more for which to atone. For now, however, even if not a home, as she’d abandoned that idea, a haven would suit her just fine.

Oh? And how will you provide measure? Recompense?

She’ll manage...

Will she? She has no talents, aside for...No one of character will have use for...

She can learn, she will...

Mmm...a treat, to be sure...


Io took another empty bite, far less voracious than before, at her host’s insistence. Her gaze was empty, focused at nowhere in particular. Perhaps more hollow, as there was life, a small measure of hope, maybe even some semblance of a plan. After finishing the bread, she licked as much of the jam as she could from her less than clean fingers. Her jade pupil oscillated subtly, as would be the case when reading the minuscule contents of a slip of parchment. Io had a mind that was ever traveling, ever calculating, though, in some cases, the destination may be a bit of a mystery. She tended to hover in between a childlike naïveté (mostly due to rather extreme sheltering) and an elder’s wisdom, though hardly ever settling on plain common sensibilities.

“Io...can be teeth.” Again, her voice hovered just above a whisper. To anyone with a shred of sense, the logic was downright ludicrous, and she fully expected more questions to arise, considering most of her appearance was rather...uninspiring. At full measure, she would probably have trouble scaring stray cats, nor was she thuggish in her build. By all accounts, she would have simply appeared to have been a normal girl anywhere between nine and thirteen full seasons. In truth, she was a few years older, however, a steady diet of not enough to eat stunted her growth quite a bit. There was some strength hiding below her skin, however, but it probably seemed more suited to some manner of labor, as opposed to combat, which was at least partially true, she did prefer to avoid combat when she could...

She can be teeth, and they can ask their questions...
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Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Wed Apr 01, 2020 12:23 pm

"Is teeth what you would want to be?"

Gloria, no stranger to peculiar turns of phrase, understood — at least as much as she could. What she sat beside was less a being of self-direction and determination than a something, an object, a tool as flexible in use as a hammer but dull to its own nature.

She knew, because objects like that, they often ran last.

Ran when they were pushed out. Or ran when they were lost.

Rarely, if ever, did they run by choice.

Devoid of food for the moment, her hand reached down, found her own knee, her legs, and rubbed at them as if to soothe an old ache or to soften a distant, too-old pain. Her rough fingertips whicker-whisked across the fabric. The motion, like a ritual habit, became its own music of flesh against wool, nursing from herself a quiet trail of words — so quiet that they almost lost themselves against the clipping hoofbeats or wooden shoe-soles clicking by. "I fight people. I grew up fighting people. Other girls and other boys. Not because I had to, so much, as I enjoyed how it made me feel. Enjoyed breaking people's jaws, especially. When you do it, you have to use the smallest two knuckles, like so, because they're strongest, you see. But specifically, I liked it most when they hit me.

"No need to hurt yourself begrudgingly when others will do so very, very happily."

Was there purpose to this? Gloria's dry lips parted, closed, parted, as if trying to taste the words before they came to life. She found a spot on a building across the way, the tanner's, and locked her gaze upon it — a knot, a stain in the wood, a hole, anything. "Gloria could be fists and can be fists, even if she's only got one. Some days I don't feel like being fists. Others, I want very much to be them. The days that I do, when my head feels full of words and feelings and ire built up in my belly for no particular reason or maybe every reason imaginable, Genny will just hold my hand and ask me to listen for the canaries."

Io was small. Small, a slip, a tiny fracture in the normal of this place humming with life around them. A crack even as tiny as Io could cause a whole world to stumble...

(She'd looked into the Black Smoke, and saw just how many cracks there were.)

"You can tell me why you're here. Or, just as reasonably, you can say nothing at all, and I'd never ask. I think it's best if Io makes the choice that's most worthwhile for her."

Spring, with all its infinite, replenishing wonder, began to toss warmth on the day. A hint for the future, or a grand jest. Meanwhile, Gloria placed her only hand between them, knuckles down on the stoop and palm upright, fingers splayed wide and expectantly. Her mouth formed a thoughtful line, and she tilted her head toward an invisible suggestion. "We could listen together," she said.
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Re: Take two

Postby Io Ono » Wed Apr 01, 2020 3:24 pm

Want.

A foreign concept to one who’d never had the freedom of thought before. It was a curious thing, a wide world of possibilities that never existed. For one such as her, there were objects, directions to be pointed, instructions to be followed, wills, not her own, to be manifested. Simply put, she’d never been offered a choice before, and any desire for one had been stripped, layer by layer, until at her core, she was the embodiment of the desires of another. Of course, that is until recently, the events of her life and her instincts to master her own destiny would remanifest. That is, until she landed here, a stray on a foreign doorstep.

She lowered her own hand to the dirt, mirroring Gloria’s, her own far smaller, and much more delicate, as if she’d never been taught a trade. There were no scars, no roughness, no calluses, none of the usual markings of an honest day’s labor, just the expected quantity of dust one would find from simply being alive...and not bathing for some time.

“I don’t fight...” Quite the seemingly obvious statement, considering the quality of her hands, coupled with her size and the lack of long term evidence of fair conflict, save the scarring on her back (which would have probably been more akin to discipline than a fight, fair or otherwise), though, there was something else there. Another meaning perhaps. In truth, she’d really not had much contact with many other people, probably also obvious, considering her patterns of speech and idle behaviors, not that one would consider meaningful anyway. None that lasted long enough to spark an actual fight.

“People fight back.” Yet another obvious statement. Yet another potential second meaning.

Her ears perked at the story, short as it was, and in an odd way, it was comforting. It wasn’t as if she didn’t believe the tale. She absolutely did, especially considering the evidence. She’d known just how to hit someone, and her hand held the signs of repeatedly doing so. For Io, however, fighting was one thing, and whereas it had merit, it also had limitations. Fighting required strength, something which could be matched. Io preferred efficiency, having the first, last, and only word in a physical conversation. She preferred techniques that could not be matched. She was, after all, what appeared to be a child, not even the full weight of eight stones (perhaps even if she were holding one to tip the scales), and openly fighting, in the sporting sense, would always be a losing proposition. She was reminded of her own deeds, which, if asked specifically then, and there, she would recount without hesitation. There were ears still about, however, and she thought the better of simply volunteering the information. Perhaps there were better ways, however, of beginning the tale.

“Io does other things...” She stood from her haunches, straight up. It was a controlled unbalance, a curl from her feet to her head, like a stone rippling still water. With soundless steps, she walked right up to the door, until her nose was just a breath from the wood. Confident that eyes would not discover the truth of her actions, she removed, with the stealth of someone learned, another needle, similar to the one that caused the misunderstanding from the hem of her sleeve and spun it backwards in her hand. It was dulled, and ever slightly flattened, and she poked it into the lock.

It was just shy of four seconds of teasing, twisting, and slight of hand before, click, and she nudged the door open a hair. She sat down again, right where she was, the same way as before, like a cat, on her haunches. She absolutely looked like one at the door, waiting to be let in for the evening.

“...At night. I hear whispers.” A rather vague statement, perhaps too much so. “Io wants to help kind Miss Gloria with her dangerous questions.” Another hint of a smile crept up on her face, as she glanced over her shoulder. This time, however, it was slightly less wholesome than before. It was not quite sinister, but perhaps very distant kin.

“I want to help Miss Gloria. Io will tell Miss Gloria what she wants, if she asks the proper things. Open jars of bitter things. Be Miss Gloria’s hands. Guard. If Miss Gloria is kind, then Io will be. If Miss Gloria wishes to hit Io, then it will be.” She would have preferred not to have the last part, but, it was her nature. Her voice, seemingly trained, at this point, was as flat as ever, but, if she had a tail, it’d probably flicker, ever so subtly back and forth. There was purpose in that statement, misguided as it was, but, one nonetheless.
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Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Thu Apr 02, 2020 1:53 am

Io knew a needle in ways that Gloria did not. A little conversation between metal and tumbler, the encouragement of mechanisms chilled by the quiet night, and the door cracked open like a sleepy eyelid. Half-turned where she sat, Gloria's ears suddenly warmed with unique embarrassment, and she shot a glance down the street — this way, that way — to be sure no one else had seen the girl do this.

Then, small and unassuming, the girl sat again, and the world seemed no different. But it was: this girl could certainly do things, and between the horror of that inhuman eye, the swiftness of lockpicking fingers, and the unabashed willingness to deliver poison, Gloria realized — not in epiphany, nor even in surprise, but with smooth acceptance — that one only asked dangerous questions of dangerous girls.

She heard no canaries. This was a deafening place. The bonnet framing her dark face, stained as it was with black sweat, kept turning left, right, left, as if she sought out permission from an unseen presence before giving herself permission to—

Open jars of bitter things.

"What — what kind of whispers?" That was the woman's first question, spoken as easily as though theirs was a conversation about buttons and thread. "To whom do they belong, Io? Do you know? Do you heed them? Do they bring you happiness, or — or do they frighten you?" To ask the proper questions was a practice of elimination. Never once looking at Io in the course of it, Gloria large body seemed to shrink into itself, and she huddled, elbows-on-knees, in the commission of the questions. She lifted her left boot-tip, then her right boot-tip, finding their distraction welcoming. Those were easy questions, easy, safe as sandcastles.

Io smiled, but when Gloria looked up to her, she did not. She frowned. Her chin turned into a prune.

"By my nature, Io, I am not a kind woman. I have ruined lives. I've destroyed the sanctity and safety of other people's comforts. I am happy to be kind, but — but I am at my happiest, truly, when I am given the indiscriminate freedom to unravel other things. You ought to know this," she said, in muted apology. "This place means a great deal to me because it must, and because the very few beings I love call it home. If ever something came and sat beside me which — which threatened that balance, I would hit it. I would shatter it, even if it made me feel very poorly to do so. You understand," the woman reasoned, a faint tremor in her voice.

Dangerous questions indeed. The questions one might ask a child were often the most dangerous of all.

"Should I be afraid of you, Io? Should I trust you?"

Then, an afterthought:

"Have you already poisoned me to protect yourself?"
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Re: Take two

Postby Io Ono » Thu Apr 02, 2020 3:55 am

She might have been offended at the notion of randomly poisoning others, if she weren’t so perpetually expressionless. Sure, it may be interesting to see how some react, and sure, some deserved it, but she was no villain, not by choice anyway. Besides, as far as she was concerned, only snakes bit the feeding hand, and she was still a person, mostly. It could not be discounted, however, that most of her actions were those that would cause most to be wary. She drew in a deep breath, but released it slowly.

“If Miss Gloria is kind, then Io has to worry. If Miss Gloria is not, then I can help. Kind people cannot ask questions.” It was a simple wisdom, one not born in the world of the innocent, but of the underworld. It was the product of spending a lifetime with people whom dealt in the currency of information...and of course, currency. It was a world filled with ambition, politics, and secrets. It was a world where the kind kept their heads down, and the depraved took what they could. In contrast, Io was not actually a cruel soul, and, if left to her own devices, tended to fall on the gentler side of things. Life, however, did not oft let her fall where she may, and she learned quite early the darker nature of the soul. In a partial sense, she was a product of her environment, a damp, groddy pit, where her only utility was to take from other rotting souls.

“Men who know things, say things in the darkness. They say things to men who need to know things, want to know things. They trade things with secrets. Secrets are power. Secrets told in the night, in homes and on the streets. Io hears them, the whispers of men at night.” She motioned to her ears, which, were quite thankfully normal. “It is what Miss Gloria wants to hear, yes? I can help Miss Gloria hear the secrets at night, to answer her questions.” Io was not a wordsmith. Simply, her survival usually depended on her silence, and that was not only when she was apparently wandering about in the moonlight, eavesdropping. She was beginning to feel comfortable, however, despite the rapid decline in the comfort of her hopefully-soon-to-be-but-perhaps-not-now-host.

“But Miss Gloria is kind, even if she wishes not to be. The kind...” she was searching for words, and had to pause for a moment to find the proper one. “Regret things, in the darkness, when they should sleep. Miss Gloria thinks herself not kind because of things she does, but is kind because she feels. Fear, regret, they make Miss Gloria kind.” Sure, it was a very, very preliminary read, and taken far too matter of factly, but at least for the moment, it was what she could see. A quiet soul she was, but when called, she spoke her mind, as true as she could, to a fault. Likely, it accounted for at least a portion of the scars she wore.

“Miss Gloria should not trust Io. Miss Gloria should trust no one. If it can help, Io is in need of a roof in the rain, and things to eat, and does not know how to get either.” This was partially true. There was always the option of foraging, and hunting, and thieving, and sleeping under trees, or piles of thatch, or whatever makeshift shelter she could fashion, but, even without formal schooling in numbers and odds, she knew her chances were greater here than elsewhere, and now rather than later. “Io will trade what she can give to Miss Gloria, for that. Io will give Miss Gloria her trinkets, and she can decide when they are used.” Though it was akin to her normal arrangement, it was still a position of relative vulnerability. She was not completely harmless when disarmed, something she figured Gloria would suspect, though she was still far more so, especially when most others would have at least some manner of utility blade or pointy tool on their person. If confronted, she was likely to flee anyway, armed or not, as she was better at it than fighting square, but this removed all but last options.

Io had seemingly made the decision for her, and with five muted clinks, laid her tools on the step beside herself. There was the one she’d used on the shopkeep earlier thin like sewing needles, with a hint of blood on the tip, and another its pair, and the one she’d used a moment ago, sturdier, with its twin, And a longer, slightly crescented one, likely useful for dealing with some manner of corner, or wedging between windows and sills, and removing jams therefrom. All were a silvery steel, and worn from use, though, reasonably clean, aside the blood spot. All had at least one point, though the first two were tipped on both ends, and all had the ability to deliver poison, if required. With hesitation, she trailed the tips of her fingers over their surface, before pulling away and clutching her own knees, resting her chin between them.
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Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Sat Apr 04, 2020 2:31 am

Miss Gloria should not trust Io. Miss Gloria should trust no one.

The skin on her temple bulged as she swallowed. The words tasted bitter, hearing them, forcing them down. Trust no one. Wasn't that the advice on the jowls of wolves and on the bloodied beaks of vultures? Trust no one. As Io retreated into the safety of herself, chin-to-knees, Gloria turned her head only so much as to glance at the girl, surveying her in softness.

A cinder sparked to life in her gut. Hot. Enraged. She stifled it; Gloria, as good as she was at leaving nothing hidden, had grown masterful at suppressing. Good girls, they denied impulse. Even those who'd lived twenty-and-one year, they could be good, they could learn—

Her hand hesitantly rose, then sought out the crown of Io's head. If the girl didn't draw away like a frightened wildling, the seamstress' warm palm would clasp, brush, and then ruffle with all the odd, misplaced brutishness of a sibling who might have wanted to provide affection but hadn't hardly the understanding of the right way to do so. "I'll trust anyway. Because however little I ought to trust people, Io, I trust the world much, much less. And the cruelties it sees fit to put upon girls like—" you "—like us cannot hardly be reduced if we spend our every waking hour being afraid of one another."

Fear. Regret. The words still lingered in the air. She tried her damndest to avoid them. They fell into her lap, bundled together with kindness. Her bleak teeth, her dry lips, they dragged themselves into a leaden smile. A smile, because if she did not, she might be sick.

Sick at the idea of men and their whispers.

At what they might be whispering about.

At what they wanted.

"If you wish that I should hear," she said, without a breadth of hesitation, "I will listen as — as well as I am able, Io. As much as you want me to hear."

Her eyes traced down toward the surrendered implements, the needles, the pikes, all of such varied character and purpose, placed there one-by-one as if they ought to have their own determined space. Gloria's throat spasmed. She considered, for a moment, denying them. Ignoring it, this offering. Instead, she rolled the tiny needles closer to herself, gathering three, but leaving to Io the two she'd earlier put to use: the Guard needle, the Lock needle. "For now, these will do," Gloria reasoned. "Until — until we spend time with questions and whispers."

In her satchel, with cheese and jam, they weighed as heavy as she imagined stars might be. Then, brushing away crumbs, she stood.

"Come, then. A body ought to have a roof and food for its belly. These are easy solutions—"

A one-sided smile, full of brown-boned teeth.

"—if I might contract your particular expertise, Io."
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Re: Take two

Postby Io Ono » Sun Apr 05, 2020 3:15 pm

Respite, if only for a night. The ruffling of her already ruffled hair was oddly comforting, a welcomed change from the stick. She shut her eye and basked in the experience. Her mind, however, was still ever mired in industry.

Your expertise, eh? Who else took advantage of that?...

It’s not the same... She wants to help...

Such a poppet...Time, love, time...


With a tender hand, she returned the two needles to the hem of her sleeve. A portion of her felt less than, not necessarily because she surrendered the other three, after all, she was quite used to oft having none of them. This, however, was an unfamiliar circumstance. She was given a clear purpose in her past life, a tainted stability and security. Now, even though she’d seemingly made a friend, she was left without the surety of a purpose, like an axe with no forest to fell.

Her friend was indeed kind, and though she wished herself to be the same, she was still a predator. It was the entirety of her life, chasing prey with sharp senses and metal claws, prowling about at night. She took no pleasure in it, not because of any developed sense of morality, as morality was not necessary for her existence, but because it was the only thing she knew.

“I will hear only what Miss Gloria asks, that the day cannot tell. I will see only what Miss Gloria cannot, in the moon. Io only wants to repay the kindness.” A fair arrangement, or so she thought. She could exercise, without crossing her old lines. Perhaps she would actually be doing a service. Or... she could take up dressmaking...

“Io has more trinkets to give, as well. After the sun sets, I will gather them. Io will trust Miss Gloria with her things, and with Io.” She offered a clumsy looking curtsy as she sat on the step, her head sweeping low, illustrating that she neither knew what a proper curtsy was, nor was used to formalities. She’d never been taught niceties, and never had a use for them. In truth, she’d only known what a curtsy was, because she’d seen women in the evening do it, after coin exchanged hands.

Afterwards, she daintily prodded the door just enough to slink inside. Clearly, she’d taken a few too many cues from cats, and too few from people. The smell was homey... ash from a winter fire, proper foodstuffs and other livingwares. Candles. Wood... it was everything she thought a proper home would smell of, infinitely less detestable than...damp. It was a proper home, for proper people, living proper lives, quite unlike that hole.

It was an extravagant place, for one with far too much coin, and far too many deviancies. There were ill-gotten fineries, both stolen, and conned, as well as blackmailed and some purchased legitimately, for show. The pantries were always well stocked, with sundries from far traveled caravans. The best regional cloth of every color lined the beds, and made up the furnishings and curtains. At least, that’s what she believed. Io...was not allowed near, let alone in the home with the plain facade, like the one she just entered. Io’s domicile was down the stairs on the side. It was perpetually dark in more than one manner, save for the glow of the candle she was rationed, and the books she borrowed, without express permission. It was small, and perpetually cold, probably out of necessity for the bottled and barreled neighbors she’d had. The floors, if one could call them that, were less wooden, and more earthen, and were perpetually damp and cold.

“Euhhh...” Her back arched in a deep stretch, as if she was shaking off the weight of the world, and after a brief moment, she plopped flat on her face, arms to her side, spread eagle. She didn’t think she could love anything so much as wood. It was improper of one such as her, to flop so, but for the first time, in a very long time, she felt safe.
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Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Tue Apr 07, 2020 1:10 am

I will hear only what Miss Gloria asks, that the day cannot tell—

She'd read books about fae, about Faerie, that world of tricksters and dreamers, compiled in dull human words with even more crude perspectives on what could be on that plane. And while this book might have labeled them as mere pranksters and that one as insidious warmongers, what persisted between all of them was the faery love of bargaining, of this-for-that.

I will see only what Miss Gloria cannot, in the moon—

To trust a faery's bargain was to discard the autonomy of the self. To draw in fae favor was to welcome fell fortune. For Io to offer this poesy, this inconclusive guarantee, it made her think all at once of those books, of those attempts at quantifying the otherworldly, be careful, Glour'eya, for stubbornness does not protect a soul sold to clever salesmen, made her mouth dry, maybe this girl, maybe she was something else, maybe she was the Other Woman's agent, maybe some reed infiltrating beneath the thumbnail, sent by Fionn — her name was Fionn, that's what he said — to unravel her, undo her—

Io only wants to repay the kindness.

So Gloria smiled. Because that was proper. Because even strange girls deserved smiles. Next minute—

Next minute, they were inside, Io sprawled like a fish out of water upon the floor and Gloria laughed a hard, chest-deep man's laugh, and she said, "I'm liable to trip on you," as if this was all very normal. The girl deserved her moment, didn't she? From a skirt-pocket, she procured chewed-down clay pipe, held it in her lone hand — shaking hand, strangely trembling — and from a candle upon a nearby bureau lit the knuckle of half-burnt coltsfoot in the bowl and blew two long ribbons of smoke out of her nostrils like dragon's breath.

This room, this building, it was an unlively place: all the wood Io could ask for, and an appropriate mixture of necessity carpentry mixed with the occasional splash of ornate furniture: a grandly-upholstered chair here, an old writing nook there, and several desks scattered with all matters of dry parchment and stained quills. Stacks of ledgers and books lined the walls, and the floors had been scuffed by a thousand pairs of boots, a million brushes of skirt-edges and shoe-heels.

Gloria stood near a small door, dwarfing it, the gaps in her teeth spilling over with smoke as she spoke: "When you're quite done doing your best impression of a puddle, Menna Io," she offered playfully, "I'll show you to where you can stay for now, at least, until by your industry you can afford a room at the inn, or some other lodging. As for trinkets?

"I'll accept trinkets only if you truly wish to give them to me, and if you'd rather not keep them. I like pretty things as much as the next girl, but — but there's not much I've found that can fix this—" she motioned to her face, "—unfortunate work."

Then, she tilted her head.

"Will you mind a rope bed?"
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Re: Take two

Postby Io Ono » Tue Apr 07, 2020 3:24 am

Industry indeed...if only she knew how truly useless...

...

What can you do? What use can you be?


Instinct brought her to her feet, a desire to not defile hospitality. She knew as much to come when called. Even tamed beasts knew such. Her spirit, however, remained where it was, prone on the floor. Io had spent much time in the shadows, questioning the world and her purpose in it. Though she had seen little of it, she knew of the workings of the hand, of the land, and of war, and she had no measurable skill in any of it. She could mend holes in her own garments, crudely. She could mend holes in her flesh, crudely, applying dressings and salves and the like. There were few potions and concoctions she could produce when necessary, though, without prior instruction she could not imagine their creation. Aside, she had little skill with needles, medicines and mixings. Far too little to become a serious apprentice at any of these, anyway.

Likewise, her skill in cooking was quite probably more likely to cause mass illness than fanciful delight. In truth, if pressed, she could only recall even setting foot in a kitchen or cookhouse twice in life, neither of which were under circumstances that required preparation of meals. She had never held a sword before, let alone trained with one, and considering her size, she probably would have been assumed too weak and shooed at the suggestion. An axe was similarly out of the question. Hunting was a potential, as she could track, however, it was not often, nor at all acceptable to eat men of potential stature or influence. Aside, she had little skill in chasing prey of more than two legs, unless rabbits counted. Neither was fishing ideal, as she had neither the tools, nor the stomach for baits.

Her hands were astute, though perhaps not for crafts, as she tended to lack the requisite imagination. When it came to the raw gifts of the earth, she could see them, and naturally, she could see the refinements of the hand. Her trouble came in the in between. She was not daft, and could take instruction, however, her talents simply did not fall in the manipulation of earthenware, but rather the manipulation of her own body. Of course, it could simply be that she just was not given opportunity to adequately learn or practice. After all, none of these were necessary to her intended purpose.

Her talents were her agility, her perception, her relative invisibility, her anonymity. She was quite skilled at sleight of hand, and at stalking, and moving unheard, and hiding, a skill set usually reserved for those who resided not at the inn, but in the stockade. She could read, somewhat, and ask questions as well, however, without the aforementioned teeth, those questions generally remained unanswered, in her experience. So, she also learned surgery, of sorts. Of course, then there was the other half of her face...

Industry indeed...

She could not help but notice the bindings on the shelves. She was compelled to them like a moth to flame, to the leather bindings of various shades, the cracks from use, and the smell of the long dried ink, and the musty parchment. If there was a truth to an earlier question, she did indeed have a habit of taking things, various books and writings. In part, she was required to, but just as well, they came to be her only true companions. The manuscripts, ledgers, letters, and the like became like people to her, and if there was such an imagination in her mind, it would have been to create people around the writings. It was a difficult fight to avert her gaze from the repository, as she ambled toward her host.

She offered a subtle double nod at the offer of the bed, though something about it caused her unease. Perhaps it was her prior experiences that caused the mistrust, or because she’d never slept in one, or because she just wasn’t used to kindness, but, a weight of guilt began to settle on her shoulders. She wanted to tell her anything, everything, her history, her crimes, her fears and dangers, but her programming simply would not allow it, not without the proper prompting. She wanted to give her the proper questions to ask of her, to settle her host’s mind, but her lips would not part.

The frustration in her mind manifested on her face, and just before reaching the woman, she spun on her heels and searched for the proper tool...ink. She made a beeline toward it, and snatched the quill. It was a hasty, messy affair of dipping the quill, and scrawling it over the closest parchment she could find, the back of a letter she did not bother to read. When she was done, and before the ink had dried, she spun back around and displayed the note. The handwriting was about as crude as expected of the haste, barely legible, but enough so. It was a simple request:

Please ask how many
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Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Wed Apr 08, 2020 4:24 am

How many?

An odd question, a haunting question, rooted in arithmetic. Lessons on arithmetic. On this Myrken arithmetic, or this Easterner arithmetic, it made no sense, made no—

Here is a drawing of fruit. There are twelve apples — a dozen — and if you take away four-and-a-half, how many—

Io's frantic scrawling told Gloria tales. The girl could write. The girl knew words, knew ink and quill, knew the value of paper and of language, to fit this letter with that letter in service of thought. When she flashed the paper, Gloria's head cocked inquisitively.

How can you have a half a fruit without it going off?

It's a mathematics problem that you're expected to solve. The numbers matter, not the fruits.

I hate this; this isn't necessary, I hate it — I'm not stupid, though.

I never said you were.

Chewing upon the end of her pipe, Gloria stood still for a moment that seemed to stretch, at least to her, into days. How many what? Had she been daft, overlooked something? Dully, an ache in her gums drew her brief attention. It's not there anymore.. Her tongue darted at the place, at the spot in her mouth, its musty taste and its lumpy shape. Why didn't the girl ask, instead, with a voice? "I can ask you how many," she reasoned softly, "but to ask would be unnatural." Then, her voice slowed, considering each word in its placement, intending absolute clarity: "I want you to want to tell me whatever you choose to, not fulfill what you believe I must inquire, Menna Io.

"I refuse to take choice away from you. Away from anyone. I did so once. I broke someone."

So, her pipe falling cool, she looked not at Io, but at the paper, filled herself with a breath, and said, quietly enough as if they were the only people in the world:

"How many?"
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Re: Take two

Postby Io Ono » Wed Apr 08, 2020 5:53 am

Want.

Want, want, want...

Want...


Perhaps it was want that forced her to leave, or that kept her alive, or that brought her here, now. Perhaps it was want that caused her to write the request. She still wasn’t sure, not only of why she was here, but how to live. Perhaps it was simple desperation. Either way, there were things she could not overcome, not yet. Some had troubling hexes, or enchantments, concoctions, and all could be undone with the proper application of counteragents, but for some, some such as Io, her affliction ran deeper, and became part of her, such as a scar becomes part of the skin after a wound. There was just too much repetition, too much history. She was a defective creature, of thought, of flesh, of spirit. She was something only the thread of time had hope to mend.

She did want, however. Food, family, normality, all were on her list. She wanted freedom, or at least what she considered freedom to be. She wanted to feel. She wanted...to want.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the query, as if it were the first of many weights lifted. The note, crudely scrawled slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor, resting at her feet. In its place, one hand, an index finger separated from the fist, and on the other, all five splayed. This time, there was no hesitation in her answer, silent as she was. Despite the prompted prompting, it was an answer she’d wanted to give, even if she couldn’t on her own.

After a moment of eternity, she turned that finger to herself, to the patch over her eye. She thought to remove it once more, as the room was less bright than outside, but, she remembered the prior apprehension, and left well enough alone. There would be time enough for examinations, and now was not it. There were other things to know, things that may help, things she wanted to say. Besides, in her mind, technically, she gave more than the required answer.

“I...have learned things...in tomes, and from others...I...” She took another breath. One weight may have fallen, but others remained. “I have learned not to want, and not to speak openly. Miss Gloria must ask...” because Io wants to tell, is how she wanted to finish, but swallowed instead. It was a defense, protection, but not for herself. It was a difficult thing to say, considering that in actuality, she’d been taught not to speak at all. It was something she never thought she could have said, and though she’d rather have finished, at the least, she was relieved to have managed that much. It was another question answered.

“And if it should please Miss Gloria, Io will not break.” A strange attempt to reassure, and she accompanied the words by shedding the cloak given earlier and reminding the woman of the scars adorning her back and shoulders. If there was a talent that she had, it was that of endurance, acceptance. “Io would like to rest, however, before she retrieves her trinkets, if Miss Gloria would allow.” She was trying to accept, trying to adapt, trying to befriend, in her own odd little manner.
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Re: Take two

Postby Rance » Wed Apr 08, 2020 10:38 am

A question couldn't live if it couldn't be spoken, and that is the dull philosophical wonder that strikes Gloria Wynsee as the girl extends six fingers as indeterminate proof. Does a question exist before it can be spoken? Or is it just some spark, some mushroom eating away the bark of the brain, barely alive yet essential to the delicate system around it, and altogether poisonous. Six. Six. If Io was ten, then what of these others, and what deeds had been done to them? Pressure rolled off Io's shoulders, but tightened in Gloria's breast—

"I understand," she said, her chin darting down in a sincere nod. "Or, I — I am trying; I want to speak the language that best fits you, however quiet it ought to be, or however loud, Menna Io."

In mimicry, Gloria jabbed her thumb against her own chest, then held up that same thumb and her fore and middle fingers.

Three.

And yet, her demeanor toward this scarred girl changed not a hair, not a hint: Gloria remained Gloria, stinking now of pipe-smoke, and wondering how long it might take the glass of the self to shatter under so many secrets.

"Now, Io," she whispered, "you are here. Here, we start as fresh pages. New ink, new parchment, if you so choose. Those fingers, they're — they're simply fingers: they may mean nothing to others, and perhaps that is for the best. If questions ought to be asked, if you need them to be asked, I will ask them unless—" she ground her teeth on the stem of her pipe, finding the coltsfoot suddenly unpleasant, turning her stomach. "Unless another asks first, and only if you wish them too. Answers are reserved for special people. Deserving people. You understand?"

She jerked her chin toward the scars, the marks.

"Not people who do that," she said. "Not people who make you hurt."

She knocked the bowl of her pipe against her boot-side.

Was it like this for you too, Glour'eya? What questions did you need asking?

"I'll dress the bed. It's a small room, where — where I do my work. I hope it suits."
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