Placeholder Once Foes (Philomena)

[Ignotus Everto]

Ignotus paused a moment at that. He had expected something along those lines, but it still didn't feel quite right to bare himself like that- he had attempted empathy once, and it had gone quite disastrously. Why should now be any different?

"Because the person on the other side follows no laws of mizaharian logic?"
'That is a good reason..."

A slight shift of his weight, and a slight pursing of his lips, "It's a very long story... Do you mind if I sit?"

The Nuit did not wait for Minnie to answer before lowering himself down and leaned against the tree, gangly legs sprawling awkwardly outward. "She was a friend. She was strong and I was not, but we both liked to spin stories, and we both had big dreams."

A ghost of a smile came to the old corpse's face. "She was... Bold. Of a broad mind and broader ambition." he chuckled morosely at that. The laughter of a man remembering the virtues of a loved one lost too soon. "I suppose I took after her. She always was the aggressive one. We..." another brief, bitter snicker. "We kept hatching plans to hop on a caravan to Syliras and become Knights. Leave the ugly fisher life behind. She'd be the shield bearer and I'd be the spell-slinger. I was a wizard even then, did you know?"

Ignotus grimaced. "Or perhaps wizard is the wrong word... The wizard commands and defends. I pleaded and was defended."

A small globule of gel bubbled up from the Nuit's collar, drifting lazily into the air to hover, ripple and turn at his eye level.

"Res takes great effort to truly use like the part of oneself it is. It is alien at the beginning- and so it was then. Thus, I could not command. And because my lungs were weak, I could not defend, but required defense from those who sought to hut me. Perhaps Benjamin didn't mention that." the sphere of Res shook and shrank, "he and his friends' liked to beat me as a hobby."

"Minnie was brave unlike me, though, and robust for a girl. She couldn't lick 'em every time, but she never hid her disdain, or her relationship. In a way, she was the most precious thing I could have."

The Res began spinning slightly faster.

"Of course, they could only have their pride wounded so many times. I'm sure Ben told you all about old Danny? He really didn't like having his mettle compared to a woman's. She was the strong as a girl. He was strong as a man."

Ignotus was silent and stony then, but the sphere of gel in front of him began to roil and bubble. Cold as he was, the Hypnotist could not control the quiver of his jaw, the twitch of his fingers, or the shivers coming from the depths of his frame that shook dust from his clothes. And though the ducts had long since died and dried, there was something in the eyes that death could not take away. Though it dulled the features and did away with many of the little things that communicated emotion, it could not take a man's grief from him.

[Philomena]

Philomena turned back, at the story. There were few things that would have compelled her to, then, turn back, very few triggers more powerful than her fear. But story... story... story was one. And so she turned, looking at him, her flesh nearly as dead as his, her eyes hollow and sad. She waited quietly. IT was her gift, that of listening to a story. IT was the thing at which she excelled, for she was an active audience, not merely an old fiddle to scratch a story out over, but a fine violin of story. The story teller who drew the bow of his voice across her could withdraw sweetnesses and echoes of his craft, for in the presence of narrative, of narrative freely given, something in her melted, and become responsive.

She closed her eyes when the story was gone. She did not cry, she did not waver but a softness, deep and sweet entered her features. And then, very softly, she put a hand into her satchel, and with a quiet hand she withdrew a letter. She offered no commentary on it, just pushed her spectacles up her nose, holding the paper centimeters from her face, peering in the dim, and in her own nearly faded eyesight. She read in a low, gravel-tone, broken by phlegmy coughs.

"My dearest niece, Shiress,

There are so few people left to me to love. Perhaps even you are not. I had a sister once, your mother, but she too is taken by the slavers, and I do not believe she is so long for this world. I had a friend, once, a little fisher boy. He is most likely dead, now, for he disappeared from me so long ago. I had a daughter, of sorts once, I gave her my own name. She is likely dead, too, for I left her in the Kennels.

And so it is, all I have left is you, my sister's daughter. I am a slave, here, in Sunberth. I do not know how your mother has ended in this same predicament. I pray she did not bring you into it, as well. I am grown old, I cannot have so long left, for when a slave is aged past her usefulness there is little reason to keep her. I give this into the hand of a friend, who is escaping. I have no gift left to give you, but a lock of my hair, I have torn free for you. To remember, perhaps, that though I was far away, your Auntie loved you in the end.

Be well, my niece. And be wiser than I, an old whore, have been.

Yours,

Philomena"

She turned then, and looked hard at Ignotus.

"Shiress is dead, more than likely. She went with her mother to Sunberth. She was... like a daughter to me. And this, perhaps, concerns me, directly as well, you might argue. But I have written it down. This letter then, perhaps, is meant for you, Mr. Everto."

And she began, very slowly, painfully, to hobble toward the fence.

"I feel... Mr. Everto... we might have been friends in different circumstances."x

[Ignotus Everto]

Ignotus reacted to the sudden reading of a letter first with confusion, then with suspicion, then with a personal examination. He did not like the contents of this letter. They were too... Convenient. As such, the wizard closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and focused. His astral body from the neck up loosened, then split from flesh entirely. After that, it was easy to stretch it to read the letter himself. Minnie would only see that Ignotus' face was awfully relaxed. Or rather, she wouldn't, on account of the letter.

What the Nuit saw was not happy at all. The handwriting caused him to freeze, but the mention of slavery prompted his mind to motion. Odds were judged, times were calculated, and plans were laid and compared all before Ignotus' astral head shrunk back into his body.

Zeltiva was in flux, and as such, he needed to be present to take advantage of it. He would not have another opportunity. This meant that he could not go to them without an extremely fast mode of transportation. So, naturally, they had to approach Zeltiva. No doubt slavers had long since disposed of their merchandise. As such, he could not arrange a buy. However, there was one man there who just might be able to assist him... Albeit unwittingly.

"Yes... That would work... The only thing necessary would be a courier."

Ignotus then looked up from his thoughts at Philomena just in time for her to speak. The Nuit was quiet a moment, his brow furrowed, before finally saying, "Thank you, Philomena. This was important to me."

All of a sudden he sprang to his feet, features lit by fresh vigor. "I shall retrieve the three of them, alive or dead!" Ignotus announced. He could not do a thing fifty four years ago. Things were different now. So very, very different. He wasn't going to fail this time. He could not. He refused to allow it. "But I'll need a bit of assistance, my dear."

A smile, defiant to those forces of the world which sought to hold him down, lit upon his face. "I need you to pen a couple letters to a certain Anar du Farro..."

[Philomena]

She wrapped the parcel up again, carefully, folding the lock of rough, sparse iron grey hair inside of it. Then, she set it in a curl of the wrought iron fencing near the nuit, and turned away, tottering backwards again. Only when she'd reached the far end of the tulip bed again, did she speak once again, facing away towards the house.

"Mr Everto, you will understand if I am not terribly..." Her voice is interrupted as her throat thickens with mucus, and she begins to cough violently, a moment, spitting up a mass of red streaked phlegm into the last remnants of snow. She gasps for breath through the constriction of her throat before reaching a full standing position again.

"I have very few days left of my life, hmm? I will be dead long before any letter ever reached its destination, I imagine. I have no time for work in which I do not believe. I say... You will understand, we COULD have been friends. Not that we are. My niece is dead. Her mother, I knew only casually, and in the end, as the woman who took my girl to a city that murdered her. And this... Woman who bears my name. You will understand that our two perspectives on her virtues will differ. If it was a simple matter of doing a good deed for someone else... I would perhaps try to be of use. But my experience, Mr Everto, of you suggests to me that lowering my emotional guard near you results in you manipulating me in return. I have perhaps, failed to stop your little games. But I won't contribute to them."

She shrugs.

"All things considerd, for all I know, this letter may be an elaborate forgery, albeit a very, very cruel one, by you. You wish me, for all I know, to feel you are more human."x

[Ignotus Everto]

Ignotus rolled his eyes at that. "Then be cold and suspicious as you write. I simply want to know the fate of this letter's author. This is not dangerous work for you. Anar du Farro is a very intelligent man in Sunberth who will undoubtedly be able to provide answers we both want. Your Shiress might be alive. She might not. Knowledge of either is preferable to anxious uncertainty."

A hypnotic pulse billowed then from the wizard, bringing with it the faintest of that most precious and dangerous of emotions- hope. Or perhaps the yearning for hope was a more precise term. Even if there was a small chance... It was not stated outright of course. Implanted subliminally. The human mind was absolutely awful with probability. A small chance, coupled with desire, would quickly mushroom in a person's consciousness.

"There is no benefit in this to me- Indeed, I risk my life in it. I simply need a hand other than my own to pen a letter. Nothing more, nothing less. You shall not facilitate any crimes, immoral acts, or heartbreak."

Another statement with subliminal weight affixed; it was harmless. As benign as lending a neighbor a cup of flour. Even a catastrophic failure or misuse of such a thing would only result in a few minutes' unpleasant aroma, and even then only in the misuser's kitchen. There was nothing to lose. Coupled with the possibility of Shiress' survival... Everything to gain.

"What you will do, is pave way for your dear daughter's rescue if she is alive," another suggestion. She is alive. "and a proper burial if she is not." Nothing to lose. "As for it being an elaborate forgery... You should know as well as I do that you are incomprehensible. A story of a poor man might prompt murderous instincts in you, and a tale of murderous wolves might evoke a strong predilection for chocolate pudding. I would not even have the slightest idea what to forge. And then, of course, there is the matter of the hair."

Ignotus pursed his lips. "It is, perhaps, two chimes of your time at most. And then it is done."

Finish this one thing first, then proceed from there. Start with something easy- preferably just to get acclimated- then proceed. He could do this, as long as he clung to experience and not impulse.

[Philomena]

Minnie stands, listens, and hears the word 'alive', and a certain hope, one she was hiding steadfastly underneath her protective shield of misery bubbles up, pulls forth from the mire, like a drowning man: she cannot help but take its hand, a little bit. The hypnotic pulse intensifies this, for it blends so strongly with what she is already feeling, that it does not strike her to suspect it.

//Shearsy... if its possible, I can't ignore the possibility... Minnie Lefting, you bitch-mare of a mother, you knew this, you knew it when you got the letter. And you ignored it, you ignored it, because you were too frightened. You petching coward.//

Hope makes love in her mind with guilt, and makes her breath in, hard and shut her eyes again.

//Hush... hush... hush... Shearsy might be... no, no, no, we cannot think of that. We simply need to think in terms of practicalities. What. Must. Be Done.//

Her mind barrelled along with it.

//Its harmless. What can it hurt?//

Something in her frowned at this.

//Harmless... no... no, I... its not harmless, I could... this man could take Shiress... he could use her against me, or... or against my executor...//

//She is alive.//

This thought... this had been bubbling, yes, but the word, the clarity and affixation of it, that was too much, it filled her with a certain horror of herself. A feeling of the darkness of things, of the obscurity of what she was doing.

//I cannot think that, I cannot, I cannot, I cannot... hope, hope, hope in the abstract, nothing solid, nothing solid... Oh Qalaya, Qalaya forgive me, Help me... No! No, no, no, no, he must be pushing me, he must... he must be pushing me, I would not let that come, not now, we CANNOT THINK ABOUT THAT NOW. NO.//

Her hand, very slowly, very quietly rose, her one good hand, and went to her hair. In the top of each braid, there was a single hairpin, performing no necessarily apparent function in terms of holding her head, but matching her bauble-ish, poorly coordinated sense of style. It was a simple thing, slender, wooden, and she drew it out quiet pulling it to her side, and leaning the tip against her skirt, against her leg, then pushing, gently, then harder, harder, slowly harder.

//Stop it. STop it. Petching stop it you petch. Concentrate, concentrate, speak. Ignore him. Pay attention to what you know, not what you feel, gutterslut.//

"Mr. Everto, it is the practice of the poor..." she hesitates, slightly, pushes the pin harder against her side, "... the poor scholar to assume that what he does not understand is inherently incomprehensible, rather than simply a result of his own lack of understanding. I would have expected better of a student of the University."

She presses, trying to think, trying to separate out her tnesions and emotions, clumsily. The pin goes through the skirt, the bloomer, hits the wasted skin of her thigh-flesh, hard. She gasps, a moment, audibly, surprised. But she relaxes slightly maintaing, but not increasing the tension now. Her hand shakes just perceptibly.

"I will... write the letter on my own terms, if you like. Write down what you wish to write on a slice of paper. Place it in the fence. I will come back in a bell, and retrieve it, then, and if you have asked me nothing untoward, I will rewrite it in my own words, and seal it with my seal. Include the address."

//Yes... its alright, Minnie-Wren... its alright... breathe, my love, breathe, breathe...//

She releases the pressure, takes her stick again from where it leans on her leg, and moves to depart the scene.x