Solo And Put It in Your Pocket

[Gomer Caitiff]

The 54th of summer, 511 AV

Though he had taken to sleeping with his window open thanks to mildly warm nights of Alvadas' temperate summer, when he woke, he found his room uncommonly chilly. Groggily, he rolled to his side, groaning quietly as, even through his shut eyes, he could tell the sun had yet to rise. Though not always an indication that the day had started, more often than not, it was light in the daytime and dark in the nighttime. As far as he could tell, there were no lights anywhere in the comfortable but cold room.

Before he could settle back into his well used pillows and drift back to sleep, he felt an icy chill on his neck, enough that he jerked his head back in surprise, blearily blinking in an attempt make sense of what was going on. Passing through ghostly body, he felt the spirit's frost-like soulmist linger in his muscles and bones. Shivering in reflex, Gomer squinted at the swirling vaporous figure in front him, "Who's that, then?" The words came out as sleep-riddled mumble, but they were enough to draw the spirit's attention.

"Finally. I've been breathing down your neck for the past bell." Without so much as a simple "good morning", Piers had an exasperated look on his face, the mists within him slowly roiling. "Get your pants on, we're going out."

Typically, a Craven told ghosts what to do, not the other way round, but Gomer was hardly typical - and he was yet to even be recognized as a Craven. This would be why. He thought to himself with chagrin, as he rolled out of bed and stumbled about in the darkness in search of his pants and trousers. "And, may I ask, where we're going?" The "why" didn't matter quite as much. He more so needed to know to help him decide whether he would need his cloak or not.

"Didn't I say? Out." There was an uncharacteristic frustration in his voice, one that typically creeped in when he wasn't getting what he wanted. Having made no indication that he wasn't doing exactly what he'd been asked - or rather, told - to do, Gomer frowned in the darkness, giving him a legitimate reason for his tone.

"Well. Both the 'why' and the 'where' now, if you would be so kind." He paused in his preparations wearing nothing but a blind frown, and waited expectantly in what he assumed to be the middle of the room.

"Can you just-"

"No, I cannot just. If you're going to be dragging me out to Ionu only knows where at some godsforsaken hour, the least you can do is answer a simple question." He could feel the room grow colder in response to Pier's mounting aggravation, but the ghost seemed to take a moment to calm himself before he replied, his tone less irritated.

"That's... fair. I think I might have found something from my past. Something Kemen used to own." He grew quieter at the mention of his once-lover's name. Though he hadn't specified the second half of where they were going, Gomer started again in his sightless shuffle about the room to locate his pants.

"Well, you could have just said that at the start." More tired than annoyed, his grumbling tone more suggested the prior. "Would you pull back the drapes, please?"

Without a word, Piers drifted over to the window, drawing the heavy curtain and letting the moonlight spill into the small room. With the aid of the moon, he was able to finish dressing himself. Yawning as he pulled over his shirt and fumbled with the buttons, he nodded towards the ghost. "Alright. Ready."

Returning the nod, Piers led the way, passing through the door and down the hall. Made of flesh and blood, as he wiggled his feet into his partially laced boots, Gomer quickly pulled his door open, squinting in the half-dark of the hallway as he let the door click shut behind him. Hurrying along the hall, he kept on hand against the wall to help him gauge where he was going.

In a short time, they had arrived in the foyer. It seemed even bigger in the darkness of the night, the tall windows and small slivers of moonlight they cast suggested the vastness of the sky above. Paying little mind to it, he pulled on one of the heavy door as Piers passed through it. There was a muffled rattle, but the doors remained firmly shut.

"Right." He whispered to himself, heading to one of the ground floor windows to the left of the doors and unlatched it. Hopping out over the sill, he pulled the window shut again, though not so tight that the latch caught, as if he were to return before the servants unlocked the main doors, he wanted a way to get back inside.

Outside the night was fairly light thanks to the moon, the stars, and little glowing balls of what looked to be fuzz that drifted through the air. Spotting Piers, who had already left the Manor grounds, heading down a nearby street, Gomer ran down the crooked path and hopped over the fence. His feet hit the ground with a solid thud but his momentum was enough to propel him forward and onward. Catching up to the ghost after a chime of running catch up, he settled into a brisk walk. Finding that the usually chatter Piers didn't seem to be in the mood for further questions, he contented himself to gaze at the passing glowing balls of fuzz.

[Gomer Caitiff]

The 54th of summer, 511 AV

He walked in silence for some time, but the farther they went, the more apprehensive he grew. So far, they had yet to pass anyone on the quiet streets, and the little drifting bits of illuminescant fuzz and increased in number, casting odd shadows on the walls of the silent buildings they passed. It wasn't so much an ominous ambiance as it was still, they being the only things with a determined motion. "Piers?" His voice was little more than whisper, but in the night's peaceful calm it sounded deafeningly loud.

Without turning to look behind him, he muttered a preoccupied, "What?"

"Are you certain you know where you're going?" Though he could sense the ghost wasn't in the best of moods, he wasn't prepared to risk getting lost in the city for a couple days out of pure goodwill.

Seemingly unaffected by Gomer's hesitancy, Piers nodded his head. "Everything is the same as when I found it." There was a conviction in his voice that suggested, at the very least, he didn't believe they were lost. Though, in a city of illusion, even if a thing seemed a certain way, it usually wasn't.

Deciding to trust him for the time being, still able to make out the tall, gothic roof of the Manor in the distance behind them, Gomer plodded on. Though he did his best to move silently, stepping with the ball of his foot first rather than the heel in a sort of rocking tip-toe, his footsteps still sounded absurdly loud in the otherwise quiet street.

After a time, Piers held up a hand, signaling Gomer to both halt and stay quiet. Without asking why, he pressed his back against a nearby building's wall, eyeing the ghost curiously. Pier's poked his head through the building's corner, peering into the alley that lay on the other side. When he withdrew, there was a nervous excitement in his eyes. "It's there."

"What's there?" He matched Piers' volume, brows knit in curious skepticism. "And why do you require my services again?"

Clearly finding Gomer's questions a nuisance, Piers seemed to take a moment to calm himself before he answered. His words were slow and steady, but nothing he said was much of an answer. "I just need to go in there and grab the pocket mirror."

Though marginally more descriptive than before, Gomer had reached his limit regarding Piers' specific brand of mystery. "Where is there? And what do you mean by "grab"? Pilfering?"

Piers soulmist swirled. "Why can't you just do this for me?" He hissed, his frustration getting the better of him.

"Because I'd rather not risk losing my hands purloining a bauble that I know nothing about." Adamantly, he stared back, unintimidated by the ghost's foul mood. "Simply tell me what's going on. I want to help you, but if you can't trust me, how am I supposed to trust you?" He and Piers had spent many evenings chatting after they had met under more intimate circumstances a season before. He considered the man, though dead, a friend. That he wouldn't tell him right away what was going on made it seem all the more suspicious.

Thrusting his head through the wall once more, supposedly to check to see if whatever was beyond was still there, when the turned to face Gomer once more, there was a hard light in his eyes. "If I tell you, you can't tell Everard. Or any of the Cravens."

Without missing a beat, Gomer shook his head. "I don't mind keeping secrets from my cousin, but if my brother asks about it, I'll not deceive him."

Contemplating his options for a brief tick, Piers grudgingly nodded. "Fine. But only Godric."

"Unless this mirror of yours - of his - is some sort of ancient, powerful artifact, I can't imagine why he'd even ask in the first place." The slight breath of his whispers sent the glowing balls of fluff spinning about the air in front of his lips. Frowning, Gomer eyed Peirs with a leery squint. "It's... not an ancient, powerful artifact... is it?" He didn't sound too sure - after all, they were in Alvadas. Anything was possible.

[Gomer Caitiff]

The 54th of summer, 511 AV

"No. It's not a-" Deciding to gloss over humoring Gomer, Piers instead quickly - and finally - explained himself. "Kemen always used to carry a mirror around with him. It had a silver back, etched with a design of a lion with wings. It was... important to him. I think." Glad to have actual information for the first time, Gomer nodded encouragingly. "Around this corner is a statue. Someone used the mirror for one of its eyes. I can't get it out like-" He held up his translucent hands, some of his frustrating returning. "Like this. I just need you to pry it out."

Though defacing a public work of art wasn't a whole lot better than stealing something, Gomer supposed it was, at least, better. "Alright." He felt the impulse to add something along the lines of "was that so difficult" but he kept his mouth shut. Piers seemed on edge enough, and it was curious he'd asked Gomer to keep the favor between the two of them. After all, he had been serving Everard for the better part of a season, and as far as Gomer was aware, there hadn't been a reason for Piers to suddenly stop trusting his admittedly volatile cousin, outside of the usual.

Taking a steadying breath, Gomer rolled his shoulders and nodded towards Piers, though he paused before stepping around the corner. "Are you... not accompanying me?"

"I'll... keep a lookout. Here."

Frowning but not saying anything else on the matter, Gomer hurried down the side street. Immediately, the spotted the statue Piers had been referring to, and he felt far less as though he were committing a crime against the city and more so that he was doing it a kindness. The monstrosity before him - for "statue" was not only too kind but wholly inaccurate - seemed to be an amalgam of... trash. There were broken bits of brushes and brooms, metal filings from perhaps a smithy, a huge assortment of old garments, and, while the mirror was among them, a plethora of baubles.

If the structure were supposed to resemble something, he had little idea as to what it might be. Had Piers not set the scene before hand, Gomer would have thought the display a peculiarly place heap of garbage. And heap it was, as it stood about twice his own height. To his dismay, the thing had three "eyes", all of which were mirrors and seemingly small enough to fit into one's pocket. Turning back towards where Piers waited out of sight, he hissed into the gently lit darkness. "Piers! Which one is it?"

Either he was too quiet or Piers didn't care to respond, but Gomer didn't want to risk trying his voice any louder. Instead, he pensively chewed on his bottom, further examining the piece of work. Though constructed from rubbish, it did have about it an air of steadiness. If where the three "eyes" were embedded into the rhomboid structure at its top was the "head", it rested upon a curved torso supported by four limbs. The majority of its makeup seemed to be primarily wooden and metal knick-knacks bound together with some kind of solidified adhesive.

Tentatively gripping an errant piece of wood, he tested its hold. Finding it able to support his more vigorous investigations, Gomer then stared up at the mirrors. If they were attached in the same way, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get them loose. However, unlike his spectral companion, he could use tools without too much trouble. Perusing the conglomerate of scraps that comprised the thing's feet, he found what looked to be a broken cleaver, the blade snapped roughly in half.

As the knife's handle was exposed, he grabbed onto it. Right away he could tell it wasn't loose, but it was the best improvised countermeasure he could find to the adhesive. Bending his knees and leaning backward, he tried to use his weight to help him free the cleaver, shifting side to side in an attempt to agitate it free. Feeling it start to budge, he renewed his efforts with some vigor. Eventually, the blade came loose, sending him directly to his bottom as he bounced backward a short distance along the hard, cobbled street.

Wincing at the impact, but confident in his success, he pushed himself up onto to his feet, brushing off his trousers before tucking the cleaver between the hem of his trouser's waist and his belt. Once again approaching the statue, he began his ascent, doing his best to avoid any potential handholds that seemed too sharp or unstable.