Solo A Tale of Two Strangers

[Gomer Caitiff]

87 Winter 517

Dutifully unbandaging his wrappings, Gomer spent the morning trying to figure out how to redo the dressing in the same way the man at the Mercy had done. Applying the healing paste had been simple, but he fiddled with the cloth for a solid bell: tying and retying, finding it too tight, too loose. Eventually, his aching body and weary fingers, of which the right still sent dull burning pains up his arm when he moved them a certain way, called for sustenance.

His temporary stint as a self-healer coming to a close for the time being, he shuffled through the motions of dressing himself. As the snow had since been somewhat conquered by the Streeters, a pair of linen trousers and a shirt under his sweater and cloak suited him fine. Slipping on his socks and stuffing his feet into his boots, Gomer wasted no time in heading out.

The night before had been trying, images of the hissing woman's face drifting in and out of focus. The more he had thought about it, the less he believed he'd killed anyone. There was nothing to suggest, as far as he could remember, that the three of them had been anything but disabled. While the thoughts sounded logical enough to him, rationality was hardly a worthy adversary for the creeping scratch of doubt.

As he had done for most of his adult life, Gomer took the streets of Alvadas to slip away from the pressing thoughts in his head. Though not nearly as nimble as he was accustomed to being, the chilled, fresh air was an immediate improvement, and he found himself striding into a busy street, filled with all the colors of the rainbow and then some.

Glancing around, he tested the air for any scents of food, preferably something baked and flaky, but was met with only the scent of winter and packed streets. Stepping into the foot traffic, he tried to be a bit careful with his movements to keep himself from being jostled. While not in threat of serious injury, he was sore enough not to want to aggravate anything.

Catching a young, blonde haired man who seemed to be walking alone by the elbow, Gomer offered an amiable smile, "Hallo, have you seen anywhere to eat?"

Not uncommon for Alvads to ask one another directions, knowing full well to take all answers with a healthy serving of salt, the man grinned in reply. "Are you treating?"

"I don't see why not."

With a chuckle, the man led him out of the main thoroughfare and offered a shallow bow in formal greeting. "Bishop Langley, at your service."

Returning the gesture, Gomer bowed in turn. "Gomer Caitiff, charmed."

Bishop seemed a model Alvad, from the garishly bright mix of teal and turquoise woven through his substantial scarf down to his neatly polished off-pink boots. His eyes were a bright, light blue and set beneath a pair of firm, dark blonde brows with a sizeably thick nose in the middle. From his side-swept, curly hair down to his solid square jaw and hint of a cleft chin, he made for a striking character. "Gomer? Quality name for someone who lives in a city always on the move."

Sucking in hair through his teeth, Gomer shook his head in a mock of wincing condolence, "Name jokes?"

Without missing a beat, Bishop innocently blinked back at him, "Shall we... go then?"

"Ooph." Shaking his head, Gomer fell into step beside him. "I do hope your taste in food is of a higher caliber."

Taking the lead, Bishop grinned, his voice merry. "It can't be any worse than my taste in strangers."

Snorting at the slight, Gomer shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose we are scraping the bottom of the social barrel."

[Gomer Caitiff]

As they rounded the corner, conversation took a turn, as it was wont to do, to city gossip. To Gomer's pleasure, Bishop seemed well informed, at least as far as recent events were concerned. "And they, supposedly, found something. I mean, there was water too - there is water - it's still being rationed but it's better than before." The curly blonde's brows knit as he regarded Gomer with a curious turn at his lips. "How did you... miss all of that?"

Waving the question away, knowing full well neither of them would find the truth to be a pleasant pre-midmorning meal subject, he vaguely explained, "I... fell down a well."

Raising his brows in surprise, Bishop stifled a chuckle. "You- were you alright?" Though his concern over Gomer's well being sounded genuine enough beneath the laughter in his tone, he didn't put much effort into hiding his amusement bought at Gomer's expense.

"Your consideration for my well-being is touching." Gomer kept his tone lightly mocking, and Bishop cleared his throat and tried for a more contrite expression in response.

"Are you alright, really?"

"I'm fine." He tapped at the small scabbed scrapes on his face to emphasize that they were only a bit of a nuisance, grinning at Bishop's polite relief. "My clumsy escapades aside, you said they 'found something'?"

They rounded another corner and passed into a less populated street that looked very much like a long mirrored tube, complete with an echoing effect that muffled their voices to anyone but those in the immediate vicinity. Bishop nodded, his voice suggesting mystery, "Yes, but I can't seem to find anyone who knows what."

"Hm." Tapping on his lower lip in thought, Gomer slowly surmised a guess, "Do you suppose it was a favorable discovery?"

Sighing through is nose, Bishop shrugged, "I'm not even sure who all even went on the excursion. Just the rumor that came back with them."

"Another mystery to add to our city's never ending tapestry of the unknown, it seems."

The end of the alley was in sight and with it wafted the scent of an open air market. Unconsciously, the pair picked up speed. "I'll solve one of them, someday." Bishop grinned up at his reflection above them. "For now, I'll content myself with rumors and gossip. It's really just as fun." Making their way out of the mirrored tunnel, they began to peruse the stalls. Switching gears, he inclined his head towards a temporary stand of wood and purple fabric, from which hot steam billowed up into the sky. "Pies or..." Pointing at a jolly looking, large bellied man with a tray of pale white, partial spheres, he offered the alternative. "I think he calls them... snowballs?"

In Alvadas, judging things on appearance alone was the fastest way to find oneself disappointed; unfortunately, it was difficult not to do just that in a city were everything vied for one's attention. Finding the "snowballs" to be particularly odd in their utter lack of decoration, Gomer cast his vote. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of sampling that particular... food." There was nothing about the man nor the neat little white morsels to suggest what exactly they were.

Chuckling, Bishop caught the man's attention with a wave. "Are you peckish or... starved?" Upon closer inspection, the "snowballs" had little designs carefully carved into their front. Though characterised, there seemed to be two styles of snowflakes, one with three edges and another with six. He pointed to them in that order as he posed his question.

The heavyset man let out a bought of amused laughter, staring down at Bishop. "Had these before then, eh?" Winking at Gomer, he grinned wide, his pale teeth a sharp contrast to his bushy beard. "He's a kind lad, could have just as easily let you find out the difference yourself."

Not certain what the joke was, but enjoying the merry atmosphere, he plucked a snowball bearing the "starved" sigil from the tray. It was small enough to sit comfortably in the palm of his hand, had he the mind to do so. It was hard to the touch, like chocolate, but it didn't seem to melt between the heat of his fingers. Reaching into his coinpurse, he offered his payment as well as Bishop's who took a "peckish" with a conspiratory grin that he shared for a tick with the other man.

"You two enjoy!" With a wave and a laugh, the large man ambled on down the street, whistling a catchy tune Gomer swore he'd heard before.

"You have to pop the whole thing in your mouth all at once." Bishop tapped his snowball against Gomer's with a laugh. "Cheers."

Purchases1 GM for two "snowballs"

[Gomer Caitiff]

In near unison, the food found its way into their mouths. Eyeing Bishop, who bit down right away, Gomer followed suit. He was immediately met with an overwhelming explosion of flavor, and his eyes involuntary widened in surprise and delight. It was as if a full four course meal of turkey and gravies and biscuits and jams and greens and sweets had been compressed into a single bite. Oddly enough, each flavor was distinct neither melding or clashing with the others, and as he chewed, it seemed to cycle through them, one by one, dancing across his palate.

Bishop grinned at Gomer's changing expressions, nodding encouragingly as he chewed his own. After a good chime, the snowballs had since been swallowed, and Gomer's face had taken on a green tint. "Too much?"

If the flavor of a four course meal had not provided ample warning, the sudden weight in his stomach coupled with the uncomfortable sensation that he may not have chewed as thoroughly as he thought was enough to realize that when Bishop had asked him how hungry he was, "starved" had not been hyperbole. Groaning, he tentatively put a hand on his aching belly. "Too much."

Starting into a laugh, Bishop interrupted himself with a belch, his wide eyes belying his surprise at the sudden outburst, to which Gomer tried to return his own laughter, but fell short as any jostling of his stomach threatened to expel its contents. Finding a dry bench, he eased himself down while Bishop shook his head, a knowing grin on his face. "What did you get? Mine was a hearty stew with a peach cobbler and... I think a beet salad?"

Letting his eyes close in a futile attempt to help the sorry state of his overfilled tummy, Gomer's voice was soft and cautious, not wanting to exert too much effort for fear he might expel more than words. "Turkey and potatoes with gravy, green beans and..." He put a hand up to his mouth, unable to continue.

"Oh! I had that one a few days ago." Though Gomer couldn't see the other man's face, he could hear the surprise in his voice as he continued. "It came up as fast as it went down for me. Maybe you really were starving."

Weakly smiling, Gomer started to say something, but his gut had other plans. Just enough time to lurch to the side, the entire contents of his stomach, and what he imaged to be a small piece of his soul, shot out of his mouth at an alarming speed. Around him, the knowing passersby on the street all cheered, "Turkey dinner, snowball winner!" as he coughed up what little was left. Though he was unable to decide if it was fortunate or not, the snowball had tasted the same coming back up as it had going down, and he found himself making a mental not to not partake of turkey for the foreseeable future.

There was a warm pat on his back as Bishop winced down at him. "Feeling better?"

Reaching down into the snow that wasn't sullied with the surprisingly colorful liquid he'd just expelled, he used a handful to wipe away the last of the mess from his lips, spitting one final time before weakly grimacing up at his companion. "I'm going to get a pie. They are pies?"

Chuckling, Bishop helped him to his feet. "Guess you'll have to find out." The tease in his voice was mixed with enough pity that Gomer took it on good faith that the pies wouldn't result in a similar state of distress. Those who had cheered for him earlier amicably patted him on the back, sharing their own individual times and laughing at his sallow visage.

To his relief, the woman selling pies gave him one free of charge, quoting her own time as a regretful three ticks. "I counted at least thirty for you, boy. You earned this." Her gap toothed grin and congratulations did help to make him feel not quite so ill, and gratefully accepted the piping hot pastry.

"Thank you." He sighed the words out before taking a bite, and was pleasantly met with the light undertones of a chicken bullion that ran beneath a heady mix of basil and cream. The breaded exterior was soft and flakey, more texture than flavor. Finding it exactly what he needed, he contentedly nibbled away at it as he trailed after Bishop's lead, glad to have found someone to spend the day with to keep his mind occupied, even if said occupation wasn't purely smiles and sunshine.

[Gomer Caitiff]

The market eventually petered out around a small park. The snow seemed reluctant to settle on the quiet benches and soft green of the grass, and they had opted to stop and rest their legs, taking in the limited but refreshing scenery. "Do you ever wonder if Ionu plans all of these personally?" Bishop fiddled with a leaf he'd plucked earlier, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully.

With the pie in his hands about three-quarters eaten, Gomer broke some of it off and tossed it to a passing two headed pigeon, of which one of the heads had been staring pleadingly at him for the better half of the past few chimes. "Well, they are a god." It wasn't much of an answer, and he in turn considered what Bishop had said. "But, then again, there's so many of them and in such detail." The pigeon's heads had begun to peck at one another, fighting over the scrap of pie which Gomer quickly complemented with another to quell the dispute.

"Delegation then?" Bishop flicked his leaf out in front of him, watching it drift benignly through the air to disappear into the blades of grass. "Or perhaps there's several of them?"

"Mm... delegation seems possible, but Ionu in multiples?" Chuckling, Gomer shook his head, taking another small bite of his dwindling pie. "That sounds absolutely too mundane. Even if there were two or three of them, I imagine they'd each have their own city."

"I suppose it would be a disappointingly simplistic solution." Bishop grinned down at the pidgeon, its beady eyes focused on the foot in front of its faces. "You know, a lot of people think the illusions are the city's work, not Ionu's. Delegation there."

"Have you heard the theory they're not illusions at all, but the city is actually some sort of alternate reality?" They both chuckled at the absurdity of it. "I can't speak for it's validity, but I find it romantic to think of Alvadas as alive with a will of its own." Scraps scooped up, the pigeon took a few cautious, hopping steps towards Gomer's boots, cooing expectantly. Breaking off several more pieces, he gently tossed them to the ground.

Turning a warm smile to regard him, Bishop nodded in agreement. "I am also partial to that possibility. And I believe Ionu agrees."

"Oh ho!" Grinning wide, Gomer bowed his head in mock reverence. "I was not aware I had engaged in conversation with one of the priesthood."

Flicking the top of Gomer's exposed neck, Bishop rolled his eyes, smile still curled about his lips. "Be careful, or I'll have to ask him to meter out some divine punishment."

"I do believe I've been punished enough for the day." Wiping his hands on his trousers, his meal finished and pigeon happily scavenging through the grass a short distance from his feet, Gomer leaned back into the bench. His body was still sore, though the events of the day had helped him keep his mind off of the worst of it. "Bishop." Though he kept his voice casual as he turned his head, his eyes were alight with a somber curiosity. "May I ask you a purely hypothetical question?"

Blinking in dramatic surprise, Bishop straightened. "You mean to say that isn't what we've been doing?" Chuckling at Gomer's dismissive roll of his eyes, he continued, his tone sincere. "Ask away."

With a nod, Gomer took a moment to gather his thoughts. "If one were to defend one's self and, in that defense, take the life of another person, what would you label that as?" To him, the subject of punishment was bridge enough, as the thoughts had been on his mind for the past couple of days. As far as his companion was concern, it was left field.

Clearly surprised by the drastic shift in subject, Bishop took a couple ticks to consider. "Well..." He settled into a thoughtful frown. "I wouldn't really call it anything in particular, I don't think. It wouldn't be 'murder', right? Maybe... an accident?" He chewed gently on the inside of his cheek. "Well, no, that sounds a bit too benign."

"Then, the act, whatever its name, is one of malignancy?" Gomer shifted in his seat, propping one of his feet on his knee so he could more comfortably face his companion.

[Gomer Caitiff]

"Hm... 'malignant' seems too, well, malignant. I think it's a matter of intent. For example," He mirrored Gomer's position, settling down into his anecdote. "Several years ago there was a man - I can't remember his name, maybe Forscythe? Anyhow, he was a well-known reprobate among the dodgier population, always talking bigger than his britches and getting into scuffles."

Bishop rolled his eyes, his hand gesturing an unspoken et cetera. "One night, he actually won a fight, of course, it was by smashing a bottle over someone's head and," He made a clicking sound with his tongue and moved his hand back and forth in a stabbing motion. "In that instance, I'd say it was murder. There was a bit of a debate about it, and I believe it was... the Serpent? Well, whoever dealt with him, he ended up with no tongue and few tears shed."

It made sense to Gomer, and though none of it directly pertained to him - not that he had expected it to, as he'd hardly given Bishop indication that it was, indeed a question of his own morality -, he found it helpful, uplifting even. He'd not been searching for trouble, and he'd clearly tried to avoid the entire thing. They had attacked him, and he'd done what he'd needed to survive.

Holding up a hand for emphasis, he continued. "The point here being: Forscythe was constantly putting himself in situations were accidents like that could easily occur. On the other hand - and this was... oh, maybe a good eighteen years back? I heard about this from my mother." He cleared his throat, eyes growing distant as he recollected.

"Her name was Evelyn. Evelyn... Curtis. Have you heard of her?" Gomer shook his head, a little downward curve of thought on his lips but no recognition coming to mind. "Ah, that's alright. Anyhow, she was a bright young thing - a dancer, I believe? And she had quite the long line of suitors, of which were two very competitive young men." Bishop seemed to draw out the word "competitive", his face slightly scrunched in a distasteful grimace.

"They relentlessly subjected her to their advances to the point of near lunacy. To illustrate, if one were to bring her a bouquet of flowers after one of her performances, the other would bring twelve the next night, and the night after a plaque of proof that one had named a garden after her." Gomer's brows rose at the extravagancy, and Bishop emphatically nodded.

"Needless to say, she didn't fancy either of them. In fact, she wasn't even interested in men at all." His voice had taken on a somber quality. "I can't recall her lover's name... Loraine?" He muttered to himself his guess and went with it, resuming his usual volume as he continued. "They met in secret, Evelyn and Loraine. She wasn't a fool, and she knew that her two 'greatest fans' wouldn't take kindly to outright rejection."

He shook his head, a disappointed frown on his face. "Everyone knew about the two men, but no one did anything. They all just laughed it off." With a sigh he broke their shared gaze to stare out into the afternoon sky. "After one of her performances, they caught her with Loraine. They were well known faces around the venue, and though obsessive, nobody really considered them dangerous."

Turning back to level his gaze with Gomer's, he let out a puff of dismissive air through his nose. "They attacked Loraine. Apparently the only thing in which they were unified was their jealously. Evelyn tried to stop them, and the accounts aren't clear on what happened. What is fact, however, is somehow she managed to slit both of the men's throats. Loraine was killed as well, but no one, even now, is clear on in what order those events happened."

"Gods..." Gomer's whisper was soft and sad.

Nodding, Bishop continued, his voice no longer animated. "She blamed herself, for all of their deaths. I'm... unclear as to whether the Speakers had had a performance planned for her or not, but she took it upon herself to mete out her own punishment." Pausing in his story, he posed a question, presumably still on tangent. "Have you ever come across a plaza with a single tree going in its center?"

Chewing on his lower lip in consideration, he slowly nodded. "I believe so... several times, actually. It's always at least twice the height of the buildings around it, yes?"

"Precisely. Then you know it. Beneath that tree is where she met Loraine, where she said her life truly began, and," Bishop softly shook his head, his voice quiet and respectful. "Beneath that same tree, she ended the tattered remains of that life."

[Gomer Caitiff]

Drawing a deep breath in through his nose, he let the air out steadily through his lips. "How?" It wasn't necessary to the narrative, but he felt he needed to know. Death in and of itself wasn't something that bothered him - it was the loss of life either taken or wasted that was difficult to hear and consider. The initial shock of the story had passed, and while his heart felt heavy, he could tell Bishop had intended he ask the question.

"Hanging." He shook his head, leaning back into the bench with a metered exhale through his nose. "After that, people took obsessive fans more seriously. It's probably the only good that came out of the whole thing. There were plenty who thought it a tragedy, but plenty more who said she got exactly what she'd deserved." A wry grin pulled at the edges of Bishop's lips as he looked back at Gomer. "They called her a murderess, a slut and whore. Whatever names to push away their own guilt, I think."

"But as for me, I don't think what she did was murder in the slightest. I don't believe she should have borne that weight. I don't know why, but... I've thought about what I would have said her over and over again." Realizing he was speaking out of context, he tried to clue Gomer in. "Evelyn Curtis was my aunt."

"Bishop, I'm so s-"

He held up a hand, shaking his head and smiling kindly, the light illuminating the understanding glimmer of his blue eyes. "It happened a long time ago, and I can see it plainly on your face." Nodding quietly, Gomer shut his mouth and let his companion continue. "Anyhow, your question just reminded me of all of that. And I don't know why you'd ask it, but..." Bishop regarded Gomer with a soft smile. "If you don't mind, I'd like to tell you what I wish I would have been able to tell her."

"Of course." Straightening up, Gomer let his foot fall back to the ground, the sudden motion startling the two headed pigeon that had since settled down in one of the nearby trees waiting for more scraps but instead dozing off. Both sets of eyes shot him a dirty look, but he paid the creature no mind. Instead, he turned on the bench, his nearest knee pressed firmly into the wooden edge so that he was squared up with Bishop.

Following suit, he did the same, and their knees just barely brushed against one another, the bench suddenly feeling that much smaller. He cleared his throat before he started, his voice gentle and quiet. "You're not a murderer. What you did, you did to try to save the woman you loved, to save yourself. Those men... they were wrong, it wasn't your fault that they attacked her, that they killed her. You could have run away, you could have been killed yourself... but you fought back. You tried to protect what was important to you, what was dear to you."

He paused, his eyes fixed on Gomer but seeing someone else entirely. "And that's nothing to be guilty about. They made their choices, and you reacted in the bravest way possible. And I-" Catching himself, Bishop stopped mid sentence, his cheeks flushing red as he seemed to remember he was speaking to a man who had up until early that day been a passing stranger.

"And you...?" Hardly interested in what was proper, he found Bishop's words to be those he'd been needing to hear, even if they were intended for someone else. His chest felt tight, and his eyes were glassy, forcing him to blink at twice the rate he usually did. "And you what?"

"And I forgive you." Bishop met Gomer's gaze with his own, a tender flame in his eyes. "So please, forgive yourself."

[Gomer Caitiff]

Though no longer than a tick or two, it felt like bells before Gomer broke their shared stare, running a hand through his hair and drawing a deep, steadying breath. "Thank you."

Shaking his head, Bishop put a friendly hand on Gomer's knee. "No, thank you, Gomer. I..." He sighed through a smile, shrugging, "I never thought I'd be glad to bear soul with a stranger."

Returning his own weak grin, Gomer nodded. "Perhaps that made it easier, knowing I know nothing about you, or you me."

"Perhaps." Glancing at the sky, Bishop slowly rose to his feet, Gomer following suit. "But now you do, and I have no regret in sharing."

"Nor I." They clasped hands, the sun having since slipped into the golden quality of evening. "Should I see you home?"

Pulling his key from his pocket, Bishop grinned but shook his head. "I think I can manage. The next time we run into one another, food will be on me. This time... with spirits, I think."

Chuckling, though the light of his laughter didn't quite reach his eyes, Gomer agreed, "Yes, that is certainly an arrangement I find myself in support of."

With a wave, they parted, Gomer lingering in the park as he watched the blonde head of curls slowly disappear between the trees. His own thoughts had since calmed some, and as he turned to follow the slight tug of his own key, the little two headed pigeon, deciding there was no longer any further chances for food, fluttered up into the air with a beat of its wings as it retreated into sky.

Passing back through the market, Gomer purchased some dinner and took his time ambling through the streets, letting the gravity of what Bishop had said settle in his head. When he did finally cross the threshold into his quaint, sparsely decorated home, he eased himself on his bed after removing only his boots and stared up at the familiar wooden grain of his ceiling.

He knew that Bishop had not been speaking directly to him when he'd said those words that still resonated throughout his thoughts. He understood that his circumstances had been different enough from Evelyn's that the comparisons between them were weak at best. Yet, as he'd already found to be true - at least in the subjective sense - was what he felt outweighed what he knew.

Even if Bishop had not done so intentionally, the hissing woman's screams had been mottled. His fears that he may have killed someone remained - it was not as if he had magically healed from his worries. There was, however, a calm that had seeped into his memories, an understanding that, no matter the outcome, he had done what he had done to survive.

He had no desire to spend that life earned through those desperate measures wasting away under the weight of guilt. He'd already spent countless years doing so, and it had taken a substantial amount of time invested by both him and his brother to begin to chip away at the burden he had created for himself.

Now, he had a chance to avoid the heartache, the desperate grasping void. As his eyes grew heavy, the bruises of his body and faint sting of his cuts deadened by weariness that still stuck with him from the events of the days before, Bishop's words gently drifted into his dreams.

"...forgive yourself."