What's the Catch?

[Glenn]

Cinnabar Calomel would, perhaps, find his second journey to Glenn Burnie's Inquisitory far more peaceful than it had been the day before. There was no Mary to talk his ear off. He was prepared for the gazes: knowing, suspecting, friendly, respectful that had greeted him as he walked down the path of desks and researchers in the building itself. He had seen, in all of its chaotic glory, the madness of strewn information that was Glenn Burnie's office.

Hopefully then, when the former governor saw that the boxes were more properly packed, better organized, that progress had been made, just in one day's time, it would be a heartening thing. Apparently, his return, the handing off of objects of office, official and otherwise, had prompted some movement which might not have occurred otherwise.

Upon that large, beautiful desk of Burnie's there were relatively few papers, one stack of notes in preparation of what was to come. In front of the comfortable seat that Cinnabar was to occupy was placed a book, a gift for the gift given in secret the day before. It was embossed with the seal of Myrken Wood surrounded by various creatures of myth and legend, dragons and griffins and the like. The new governor was one for certain sorts of preparation. Symbolism was terribly important to him as was symmetry. Beside it was a pen, the sort Calomel most favored. Glenn served under him for quite a while, after all. Some important things he had heard from others (thus the book). Some he had seen with his own two eyes.

Burnie would not rise to greet him this time. Simply a smile and a nod beckoning the man who was once, undoubtedly, his best friend, to sit. There was much yet to do.

[Cinnabar]

Calomel's arrival was punctual, almost overly so, but informed by a familiarity with the rhythms of government and bureaucracy. Enough time given for the Inquisitory to open, for the day's initial business to be addressed, and then on to his appointed meeting.

A cordial "Good morning, Governor." as he was invited into the office, but less formal once the door had closed behind him. "You're well, I hope? Cam says you should visit the farm sometime. Or rather, you're welcome to visit, whenever you've time."

He noted the small gifts with raised brows and a faint smile, then picked up the book for a moment's inspection and appreciation; smile widening as he traced over the imprinted patterns on the cover with a light touch, the seal and the beasts around it. A book and a pen... hm. Curiosity has him opening the book to the first few pages, with a couple of suspicions as to what he'll find.

[Glenn]

Quite often there would be someone in that building even at nighttime. Candlelight was carefully managed there considering all of the papers within but, as had been evidenced by the response to the recent quake and fire (perhaps the very event that made it so important for Cinnabar to be here now, to speak on this particular subject), there were barrels of water located in the building's cellar, in case of potential mishaps.

Still, Cinnabar's timeliness was welcome. There was always much to do.

"Quite well. I'm sure we'll come out at some point." Then a little pause and a smile, though not nearly as sheepish of one as the following words warranted. Glenn Burnie seemed no longer capable of such things as sheepish smiles. "Perhaps just me. I'm not sure if Rhaena possesses the proper clothes for such a rural excursion currently. In truth, I'm not sure what the proper clothes would even be. Maybe when it warms up." That was far more of an issue than it used to be, but he was eternally humoring when it came to the love of his life. Maybe, he even had a choice in the matter.

Was there any really surprise when Cinnabar Calomel opened that book only to find it empty? Now Burnie's smile was a bit more sly, though those crystal clear eyes behind it bore down upon the still standing man. "I imagine there are some muscles you've not stretched for a time. If you get a cramp, we can always pause." A desk drawer was opened. A small, ornate bottle of brandy was pulled out and placed next to the pen upon the table, quite obviously a way for the silver-haired man to signify such a need.

"I'll be truthful, Cinn." Familiarity returned in kind. "I am going to tell you this chronologically, but that's likely not the best way. There IS no best way, however, and it may take some time before it's fully clear why I want your help here, as opposed to with hunting down Karolinger or Jirai and Suede."

The quick and almost harsh laugh that followed those words was sudden and, perhaps after the last conversation the two had, somewhat unexpected. "Ah, but I'm already going about this backwards. Best that you come into this with an open mind. Sit down, then. We've a long road ahead of us."

[Cinnabar]

Ah, suspicion confirmed. Echoes of an earlier meeting, an earlier recounting that had ended with three lives spared and a score condemned. Time would yet tell the tally from this conversation.

So, an explanation - a chronicling, even, putting the facts in one place. Well, if that's how it was to be then there were a few small preparations to be made - pulling that comfortable chair closer to the desk, slight presumption in moving an inkwell to where it might easily be reached. Only then did he take a seat, opening the empty book to the first page and theatrically flexing his fingers before taking up the pen. A deft dip charged the nib with ink, and he finally looked up from his preparations to meet the Governor's gaze.

The precise subject of their conversation had not been explicitly stated, Calomel's task not specifically named. Various options had been mentioned and then eliminated: those with a title, a committee post or official mandate; pursuing the renegades, also removed from the table. That left a couple of possibilities from the dozen given. So, as the nib paused at the top of a page waiting to be filled with the Governor's account, an educated guess:

"Catch?"

[Glenn]

Cool, clear, patient eyes would watch Cinnabar set everything up for his comfort and to his liking. No pardons would be given today, but lives were certainly on the line. Put simply, Calomel was a last resort of sorts, one that had arrived at the most opportune of times. Few people that Glenn had met understood the line between mercy and necessity quite like him. Few that he had met understood the perils in finding one's own humanity. Few were as capable and deadly when it came to doing what MUST be done. And so, after offering his services so vehemently, now he would be called upon as last chance, and failing that, as judge, though hopefully not executioner. There were others better suited for THAT particular task.

"Catch." He repeated. "There's danger in perusing this path, but it's more the spiritual sort, for you at least." For various reasons a mystery to most, the silver-haired man was a particularly durable sort. "Less so in going after outright murderers and villains. You'll forgive me for choosing this, then, with your family in mind. In truth, we've tried almost everything else. You'll see. And also, though, in the telling, we'll come across other things worth knowing. As I said, Cinnabar, the mystery is mostly solved, save for certain exact details." Mostly, so long as they were correct in their assumptions, but those assumptions were years in the making. Still, an error at this juncture could be disastrous.

So, looking across at the now apparently prepared man before him, a true scion of law and order, of making everything fit in understandable ways, Glenn allowed for a small, quite familiar smile and allowed for one last preparatory glance at his notes. "We're ready, then?"

[Cinnabar]

That name was written in neat copperplate at the top of the page, with a brisk stroke to underline it; the mention of spiritual danger was enough to have him glancing up at the Governor with a touch of curiosity, but questions can wait - for now, at least. There'd certainly be time for them later, to draw forth the tale where the thread snagged and tangled, to tease out details where recollection became muddied or incomplete.

"Those'll be the details most needed, I imagine." No doubt Glenn's investigation had been rigorous, thorough, as complete as humanly possible. He was nothing if not tenacious.

But in any investigation, no matter how meticulous, there are gaps between different lines of inquiry - enough to render the entire matter incomprehensible. A linen thread might make up the slightest part of a garment, but without that thread the garment is no more than a jumbled heap of scraps and swatches. And that thread is always the last thing added, long after the greater body of information has been assembled.

So. It was time to examine the pieces, to see where they line up, and to put them into a coherent whole.

"Begin" A wry smile accompanied the Constabulary's stock phrase. "at the beginning."

[Glenn]

"The beginning." Burnie would smile across the table and it was an easier smile than before, perhaps. Funny, since they were getting down to business, but then again, business was something that the two of them were used to, something they were good at. Oh, he had that crystal clear gaze now and that strange immunity to such things as awkwardness and doubt, but still, this was just like old times. It just so happened that they had switched which sides of the desk they were on.

It was a knowing look that went along with that smile. "Now and again, Cinnabar, people come to Myrken lost. They do not know themselves, yet they find themselves drawn here. Sometimes it's just for a new start, but sometimes, it is something else, a pulling force." And yes, Glenn knew exactly what drew Catch to Myrken, but this was a narrative and Cinnabar would hear it as Glenn lived it, though perhaps some of the memories were just a bit scattered. There was REASON for that. "Sometimes they find themselves here. Sometimes they become something new."

And perhaps Cinnabar Calomel would see the first glimpse of why the Governor was looking to him for this task. The narrative to come would be full of many more reasons. "Catch arrived two years ago, just as fall was giving way to winter." Lately, the once-mapmaker rarely waxed nostalgic but occasionally something slipped through. There was an almost wistful moment here. Two years, truly? Almost two and a half? Winter was almost over, after all. It was remarkable. He had not spent that long on the Ashfiend, but then the Fiend was in many ways far more pressing. "Thin, emaciated really, but tall with lanky, long limbs. A strange scar in the center of his head. Mismatched eyes, one blue, one black. One somehow bigger than the other. It's unsettling, really. But they were doe-eyes, at first. An animal, all instinct and skittish innocent. That would change in time," Burnie shrugged slightly. though there was little reason to be concerned at first. Just another stray found his way to Myrken."

[Cinnabar]

The gifted pen skimmed across the page, leaving behind orderly lines of notes in an elegant, looping script; not a verbatim record, but more sifting the essential details from the Governor's account. Grey eyes flicked up from the page at that description of not knowing oneself, just for an instant. Meanwhile certain words stand out, catch his ear through the emphasis or inflection given. Scarred. Emaciated. Instinct. Stray.

"Is it known where he came from? Accent, turns of phrase?" Could he even speak? "How well-healed did the scar seem at the time? Fresh, or an old wound?" Such injuries might leave a man simple, addled, or "lost".

But... yes, it was becoming clearer now. Striking similarities, elements all too familiar, all too personal; that loss of self, of history, a story entered mid-sentence with no indication of how it began.

Just another stray.

"Do you know who met him first?"

[Glenn]

They danced around things. Burnie was one of the only people in the province, perhaps in the world, to know Cinnabar Calomel's secrets. They were speaking in private. People in this building would spy, if that was what it took, but not upon Burnie, not when the former governor was in there. It wasn't worth the risk. Yet still, they danced around personal things. Was it mere caution, a return to old, familiar paths, or all part of some larger design of the narrative being explored here today, the story of Catch?

"Ah, good questions. Some I can answer. Not an accent but a tone: sheepish, curious, but like an animal. Within a few months amongst us, it could range from a light sing-song patter to the verbal representation of something that felt itself crafty, but like a child." An animal and then a child. Growing, but like a pile of leaves repeatedly knocked over by the wind or like a snowfall that accumulated but a short time before thawing. Through some cranial injury or the the cruel hand of nature itself, he was never allowed to get too high.

Burnie sat back now. If there was an urge to look upon Cinnabar's notebook, it was easily stifled. Now as he spoke, there was nothing wistful in his voice. "To be honest, I regret my lack of foresight in those first few months. Catch is a very particular man. He stands out, is easy to spot and hard to forget. The scar can take the appearance of...wetness, of a certain depth. At that point I could have likely traced back his path to Myrken. Unfortunately, I was distracted. You were becoming more and more the recluse. Ariane had returned for a time. In her wake came hints of Bromn and the Baie. Most of my time was focused on easing the burden upon our absent Governor and yes, crafting a personal solution to the problem of Jirai." But they would get that later as well. As for the comments about the man across the table, no accusations were obvious in Glenn's voice. They had worked past that yesterday, whether it had been obvious or not. It was a simple statement of fact. Cinnabar had retreated for the sake of family and Burnie worked hard to keep the province moving smoothly as his first line of contact, his chosen proxy.

"He found his way to the Dagger, though we would later come to understand that it was the lake itself that drew him. As such, Dulcie was the first to truly find him, to take him in. Over that winter, under her care and the care of those at the Dagger, a starving, wild thing gave way to something more akin to a man with strength in his arms and unstoppable curiosity about everyone and everything." Tea was good for pauses in conversation, for the need to catch one's breath. In general, these were not things that Glenn Burnie needed. "But the strange behaviors only became more plentiful the more comfortable Catch became."

[Cinnabar]

More notes taken as Glenn spoke, the dry sound of nib upon paper forming a constant undertone to his voice.

"Wetness? It remains unhealed?" Unpleasant, but if Catch was as much a wild man as his description implied it might be likely for the scar would mend poorly, or not at all; a note made in the page's margin to consult with the Rememdium's healers, to learn more about such matters.

A light shrug excused the matter of distraction, of more matters to attend to than attention available; a small grimace of contrition at the reference to his absence, accusation or no. Undoubtedly he would learn in more detail the cost that his absence had opposed on those he counted as friends, but for now his focus remained on the subject at hand.

Dulcie's name joined that previous note in the margin, what would likely extend into a list of leads before the tale was done. His eyes lifted from the page at mention of the lake, though, some concern over that matter evident in his gaze. The Silver Lake had played a part in more of Myrken's horrors than was comfortable to consider; a source of pestilence, an abode of monsters, a resting place for secrets best hidden forever. At times it seemed better to fill the damned thing with rocks, to keep down whatever lay in the depths.

"Given that he was taken in and cared for, I assume that - while strange - he was at least not thought dangerous? He was not violent or aggressive at all?"

[Glenn]

"Wetness, like someone who scratches at a wound and never quite allows it to heal." Then a little smile by Burnie as he took the tale in a sideways direction. "But while he was the very sort to scratch and itch and pull and prod, it was rarely at the scar. Oh," idly, drawing it out but only the tiniest bit. This was business after all. He had chosen to tell this story as a chronological narrative, but that was not truly to make Calomel suffer. "And not once did it fester."

The grimace was noticed. Forgiveness had been given once and it was not offered again. Causality was causality after all. Having blind spots in Glenn's line of work, any of his lines, really, could be disastrous.

The newly minted Governor told this tale with only the most minimal of notes before him. With the massive amount of paperwork and records to be found in the building, it might have been just a little surprising that he was working off so little. Catch certainly had whole collections of files devoted to him, though so much of it would be false trails and various paths of research that had led to nothing but wasted time. That was one benefit of having a whole staff to do this work. Every avenue could be explored.

"At first there was little he could do, weak and underfed. As the days and weeks went on, however, certain unsettling behaviors DID start to form. He would position and stack the chairs just so within the dagger, creating tottering spires and crude designs that had no meaning to anyone but him. If they were to fall or if someone was to move them, he would become hostile." To the furniture only, obviously. At that point Catch was not actively hurting anyone. "You have to consider, though, compared to what we often had to deal with in Myrken, it seemed a rather..benign danger. He was almost quaint compared to the drow and fiends, and he was coming along, was socializing a bit better everyday. Of course then, there also were the animals."

[Cinnabar]

More notes, an increasingly dense mesh of observations and details crawling line by line down the page; perhaps this recounting of Catch's history was as much for Glenn's benefit as for his listener's, an opportunity to review only the confirmed facts, the speculation and misguided theories trimmed away.

That their subject's wound had not festered or gone bad - that was certainly interesting, something to set the man aside from the addled vagabond one might take him for. At Glenn's explanation of his priorities Cinnabar simply nodded in acceptance. Given the information available at the time, and the more pressing matters at hand, no fault could be found in his reasoning.

"So: strange, eccentric, but nothing to really distinguish him from, say, a wandering vagrant, a common madman. Myrken Wood is not lacking in the sort. Unpredictable, perhaps - were there patterns to his actions? Did he speak about what he was doing - even incoherently? Did he even try to explain himself to onlookers?" Even a madman might be troubled by an incomprehending or critical gaze, and attempt to rationalise, to make them understand.

"Animals?"

[Glenn]

It was good that Cinnabar had an entire book to work with. Catch's first year at the Dagger had been relatively uneventful compared to what was to come. These were just the first signs of abnormalities, a beginning to a story that would get far more complex over days and months. Yes, the strange patterns, the wound that neither healed nor festered, those were clear signs of something strange, but they were only the very start of it all.

"That's exactly it, Cinnabar." Glenn's neglect, at that point, HAD been justified. "He wasn't going on about making bloody offerings to bloody gods or hearing unsavory secrets from the voices of the dead. It was all.. vague madness. Colors. Likening things to nature. Oh, sometimes it was pained and frustrated. Sometimes his inability to hold a thought, to understand conversation, to express himself in a way others could make sense of... all of that was visibly frustrating to him, but none of it was overly worrying relative to what we were used to. He tried to explain, to onlookers, and to the people who looked out for him, but it never made much sense. Even the patterns lacked obvious patterns."

But yes, the animals. "Eventually he began to look after strays of his own, a family of cats who he likened the king and queen and all their princes and princesses." That was close enough to the exact details of it. "I gave him a rabbit one day who he named the Chamberlain. These were all names and concepts he came up with on his own; he saw them as nature's royalty. All well and good. He loved them dearly." Perhaps the slightest undertone of tragedy entered Burnie's voice here. If so, it was mainly for show. "Too much so. Catch had grown into a hulking figure by that point. He spent the second half of the winter cutting wood to earn his keep. By the end of it, he didn't know his own strength. And animals are fragile things. The barmaids would tell it better but no one was overly surprised to see Catch walk around nervously with a severely broken rabbit." Tragedy that gave way to horror. "No, what surprised them was when, the following day, the bunny was healthy and hale once more."

[Cinnabar]

Little remarkable about the man - no, that's wrong, there was plenty that was remarkable, but little that was directly dangerous. So in a land full of thoroughly dangerous things there'd be little reason to pay him more than glancing attention.

The madman's family of pets seemed innocent enough, and positive in that at least it indicated he'd rather be caring than cruel, given the choice.

"You gave him the rabbit as... what, a gesture of friendship? Compassion?" Curiosity? Perhaps Glenn had been looking to see what reaction it would draw. Calomel winced in sympathy as the story took its tragic turn, but the unexpected twist drew his gaze up from the page, pale brows raised in surprise and interest. Though there was scepticism a moment later - no, not scepticism, but a consideration of alternatives.

"And it was absolutely the same animal? You can be certain of that?" One rabbit can look very much like another, and it would not be beyond the realm of possibility for some soft-hearted soul to have furtively replaced the dead pet to spare a poor oaf his sorrow and guilt. An act of well-intentioned deceit.

"What was Catch's response to this?"

[Glenn]

"Compassion is a good word." For a moment, Burnie seemed, if not at a loss, then certainly in deep thought. He was playing with the concept perhaps. "Compassion." He repeated, before shrugging just a little. "It was a while ago now, Cinnabar, and so much has happened since. I did not want anything out of the exchange. Kinship and compassion seem to be the most likely reasons. A small effort on my part to cause great happiness within him. That usually is worth doing, no?" It was a very clinical explanation of what should have been a simple concept. Glenn could have well been going to such lengths for the former Governor's sake, in an almost patronizing way, but there was such neutrality in him now that it was hard to tell.

"Absolutely the same animal." Then Burnie actually smiled, thought it was a slight, wry thing. "I'll admit that giving the animal to Catch was compassionate to him, but certainly not to Chamberlain. Before its injury it was skittish, scared. Afterwards, well, I now believe that woodland creatures as simple as a rabbit can go mad from terror." No need for details there. Suffice to say, the rabbit had not been seen in years and most who had encountered it towards the end would think the idea of its death a true mercy.

And yes, Catch's reaction, because people did then finally begin to suspect. They began to suspect a great deal. "A true innocence followed by a feigned one. First the simple statement that he 'fixed' the rabbit, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. When people responded accordingly, he played the fool on top of the madman he simply was. Confused, troubled. More and more he would mention a wolf, within his mind." A monster in the mind, Cinnabar. "Something that scared him, something that he ran from and that we should as well. Something to avoid, something not to provoke."

A hand raised, momentarily, the once-mapmaker's stock way of pausing the question. "Here is something that will likely become apparent in the telling, but that is worth pointing out clearly at this juncture. Catch, on his own, was never much of a worry. It was always the outside stimuli from others that caused both setbacks in our civilizing attempts, and later on, more drastic and dangerous reactions in him. At this point in the story, now that we've introduced the wolf, it's also worth mentioning the werewolf."