Open Fever heat

[Valo]

It annoyed him greatly that the woman beside him misunderstood his metaphor and instead thought he was speaking of a card game. For what he did mean by that, was the fact he saw right though the old woman's lies. Truth be told, the stupidity of common people did often annoy him greatly, for there is no shortage of such roaming the streets. And he found him self wondering why a city with such a fabulous wealth of knowledge, even a university, would display such foul stupidity. But he displayed none of this annoyance. T'was not his fault that both women were below him intellectually and seemed to understand none of what he said so clearly. Instead he took to pity. However there was something within the younger woman that caused him to hold her in higher regard - if only just. Perhaps it was the very last part of that statement. "But I care to see a young girl die in the street.” she said and her words were those of common sense, unlike the babbling of the old witch. She spoke as if hallucinations overtook her. Spoke something about him threatening her and killing her... preposterous! The artist was about as much a threat as a lonesome lamb in the streets of Zeltiva. And perhaps his manner was intimidating, but that manifestation was purely the cause of his concern for him dear friend. The stupidity of some people knew no boundaries. Swallowing his pride, he laid his eyes on the younger woman just before she stepped towards the little girl and he nodded as if to tell her she was right, no matter how misguided she might have been in comprehending his words. "I know a friend nearby, with a warm house." spoke the stupefied old woman and her words hacked at his nerves mercilessly, but still he showed no sign. Had she not listened to a word he spoke? Or was she simply incapable of comprehension? It seemed the more she spoke, the more she reminded him of a deaf dumb and blinded animal. Retreating a little, the artist relaxed his facial features as much as he could, appearing calm if not a little impassive. "Is there a reason the girl should not be taken to her home? " he spoke much simpler this time, realising the capability of the crowd he was addressing. "And then perhaps a doctor should be summoned. For at the moment, we're causing her more harm than the fever."

[Ayatah]

The Myrian listened to the people talk around her, but she was also going through her memories of when illness struck Taloba - albeit a rare occasion. In Zeltiva, their own medical knowledge would sneered and laughed at, possibly made jokes out of. In truth, ignorance was bliss. Very, very few people had visited Taloba and returned, so they would not appreciate the lack of ‘modern’ (as it was deemed in the city) medicines that existed in the Jungle.

Oh, how Zeltivan locals sat in their ivory towers.

The old woman finally calmed down after talking about the red-headed man killing herself and the child. I would like to see him try, Ayatah though, stealing a look to the gentleman who was now behind her.

"If you mean her harm, a pox on you.” The old woman was saying, and Ayatah realised it was to herself.

”I would like to see a pox try.” She muttered quietly. Myrians with the extreme conditions of their home grew up with - - well, extreme bodies, that were not effected by the poisonous plants they lived in, and illnesses that caused death among other caused nothing more than an annoying sneeze or cough. “I ate a child for breakfast this morning, I’m not hungry enough for one yet.” She said, and her dark eyes flashed with… humour. She just hoped that the older woman would not take her words literally.

Ayatah glanced behind her, and saw that the man had backed away, looking almost serene amongst their little chaotic scene. She stared at him, wondering whether he was a coward or just a little… stupid."Is there a reason the girl should not be taken to her home? "His simple language made Ayatah’s decision for her. She stood up, leaving the child with the old woman and turned to the man. She spoke plainly and simply, in the best Common that she could muster in her conditions: ”We do not know where she lives. Do you? I also do not know where a doctor can be found.”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Wyatti]

Burning, that's what it felt like. Wyatti felt as if she was on fire, that all elements of cool had left her. She was unaware of those who surrounded her, who bickered over her unconscious form instead of constructing the priority of throwing aside their differences and aiding the one who needed it. Of course, Wyatti had no time to think this, nor was she even aware of what she though. She was caught in the dream, her mind throwing images before her very eyes, of fire, of heat, of pain and memories. It made her want to scream, but she could not find her voice to do so. Instead the fire burned at her very core.

A whimper of noise, no strength to make it louder. But in her mind it was a scream, an attempt to throw back the heat and the monsters that dare loom within. It failed however, the monsters took hold and simply dragged her deeper, to a state where she was barely breathing, clinging on the edge of holding onto herself. She could hear the voices, but could not respond, she could hear him again, but the words and face would not come to her. If only this girl could wake up from this fevered dream, this suffocation of her body that had wrapped itself tightly about her. There would be no cool hand to reach out to her now.

[Philomena]

Cogitate, cogitate. The woman, it seems, does not know the man, this is encouraging. And whats more, she does not seem to see him as a threat. In the desperation of circumstances, she makes an uneasy truce with this. God, the cold was biting. The girl was shaking and pale now. She closed her eyes a moment, and brought out a degree of calm, control - a degree only, her voice shook tremulously, and her hands were not much stiller.

"How do you know where she lives? How close it is? I've come from a ship-carver, two blocks hence, whose shop-floor will still be warm and well-stocked. AT this point, she must be indoors, above all. But..." she looks to to the savage, her gut twisting to find herself saying the words, "..If madame will agree to stay until we've worked out the girl's safety to our mutual satisfaction... I will not protest whichever is closer. As for a doctor, this is East Street, it will take some time for any to arrive. But there is a competent midwife who lives in the vicinity."

In the meantime, she releases one arm around the girl's face, and fumbles at the clasp of her cloak, which she removes. She shivers - beneath, her dress of fripperish black lace has too much of a neckline and too little bulk to block the cold much. But she clumsily wraps the cloak about the girl. She is no natural mother, the process is unpracticed, tentative. But it covers the girl from the cold. She draws from a pocket inside, a little wooden flask, and opens it, tippling it to wet her fingers, and rubs them on the girls temples - half blind she inadvertently jabs the girl in the cheek first, but she finds her temples, and rubs them, in slow circles.

[Valo]

”We do not know where she lives. Do you? I also do not know where a doctor can be found.” replied the younger woman and this seemed almost funny to him, for if she had been listening to a word he said, she'd know as well as he did. The in turn the older one repeated the question. "She lives a moment's walk up from the doc, in the opposite direction to t he Kelp Bar, not far from here at all. And there's a short cut that diminished the journey time by half. If we hurry we can reach the cottage in fife minutes." he replied, calm and composed. "The girl lives with a mercenary and an artist, both of whom care greatly for her and would worry if she was to go missing." Upon stating that, he decided to perhaps conceal his true identity and his connection to the girl. Perhaps that would be wiser for now. And so he added quickly. "They're good friends of mine. Also good doctors are in abundance in the better parts of Zeltiva." The woman held his precious friend as if he wasn't prepared to ever let her go. And it was obvious she lacked the strength to do so. Truly, Valo awaited the moment she'd retract her hold of the girl and hand her over to him, who'd have to problem in carrying her. But for that to happen he'd need her calm and the younger to trust him.

[Ayatah]

Ayatah listened as the redheaded man described the girl’s living quarters. The detail with which he was familiar with the place made Ayatah think that he was telling the truth. Or, he was just a good liar. If it were the latter, Ayatah would deal with it as and when. Now, though, he main concern was the child.

”Very well. I think we should go to where you say.” She said eventually, after watching the older woman rubbing some strange liquid on the girl’s temples. The smell was strong, a mixture of liquor and herbs, Ayatah guessed. She wasn’t sure what the mixture was for, or whether it would even help the child, but the woman meant well.

Ayatah remained where she was, watching the man and woman carefully. She had decided her plan of action - to help the man. She just hoped that the older woman would lend her assistance also. After all, it would make their role of transporting the child easier.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Wyatti]

Something cool touched Wyatti, a gentle touch after a sharp jab. Most people would of reacted, the scent itself was no doubt to the touch. But Wyatti was still caught up in her dreams, and this pungent smell did very little to wake her. She felt her pulse quicken for a moment, her breathing becoming sharp. She had to break out of this ensnarement. If she did not break out, then she would simply be dragged deeper. But who could she call out to? No one could hear her. Could they now?

Her head rolled, almost as if reacting to the touch, a flicker of acknowledgement of the outside world. Her mind reached out to it, an attempt to grab before it slipped away again. She had to grab it. Her breathing laboured for a moment as she summoned the strength forth, a final attempt to break out of her imprisonment. For a moment fevered eyes stared out, her pupils dilating and shrinking at a rapid rate. She could barely see, the scene before her was a sea of colour. Where was she could not tell, but a single bright colour broke out of it all. A colour and smell she was far to familiar with. Even in her state she could still smell it, oil, paint, it clung to him. She tried to lean herself forward, to move, but even that was too taxing upon her. Her lips moved, an acknowledgement to him. It was more than obvious, the way her eyes were drawn straight to him even in her fevered state. But then she said something again, or tried to, it was little mumble for him and him only.

"Sorry."

[Philomena]

This whole thing feels dangerous - going to a strange house off of East STreet. But it begins to feel inevitable as well. She peers at the other woman, and sighs, standing, lifting the girls shoulders and head in her own arms. This talk in the gutter is exhausting, in the way it reverts her to her childhood. She feels the familiar, but so young tendency to dart her eyes about, the need to be sure there is noone docking your movements, no mary-snatchers or pickthieves about. Even her dialect reverts, a little bit.

"Let me take the front, missus. Just in case you need access to your dagger hand, at least her head will be protected, then. I'm nary s'fine in a fight if summat goes ill, here."

She shivers, but not in a particularly unhealthy way, simply the cold of a the damp, frigid sea air on her skin, "Shyte-hurling glasses are always trouble..." she murmurs under her breath.

The child in her arms looks to the man - but then, she is feverish, and wild. Minnie leans over and kisses the pale forehead, awkwardly, with the position of holding her up with her arms, and murmurs, "Hush, girlie, we'll have you somewhere soon, then."

The movement catches at the ridiculous ascot knot on her neck, pulling it down to reveal the jagged corner of an angry scar underneath.

[Valo]

The soft whisper from the girl tore at him mercilessly so, that his composure became even harder to keep. Sorry? What did she have to be sorry for? perhaps that she would not have told him of her condition sooner? That they have only just parted and she seemed to be swell, before collapsing in illness in East Street of all places. Her only crime was not having taken better care of her self and for that she had no other soul to apologise to but her self. Then again Wyatti was just a child, young and inexperienced and that was precisely why she so needed him. The red haired artist took a couple steps towards the women, before facing the older one. Swallowing the remainders of any pride left in him, he willed his expression into nothing but softness. "Ma'am may I?" he asked in a voice that pleaded with her. "I believe if I carry her we may even save time. And if you don't trust me than feel free to hold a knife to my back the entire way, but believe me when I say Wyatti's best interest is at the core of my heart and for that I beg you to let me carry her." His eyes avoided the scar at the woman's neck and asked not of it's origin, for more important things lingered in his mind at present. His green eyes were fixed into her's instead, hoping that she would make the right choice. The choice which involved trusting him.

[Ayatah]

Ayatah seemed to have won the old woman over, even if a little begrudgingly. The suggesting that the two women carry the girl certainly hinted that she no longer though Ayatah had a child-eating savage. It bought a wry smile to the Myrian’s lips; how she enjoyed seeing the change in people when they saw that she could, actually, string together coherent sentences.

The child whispered something so faint that Ayatah only just caught hearing of it: sorry. The apology meant nothing to her - she assumed that the child was simply delirious. The redhead, however, seemed to change.

His voice and face was softer. One would think that he was genuinely concerned for the girl and cared for her greatly. But good actors can play the hero and villain in two beaths, a small voice told Ayatah. His concern was touching, should it be real. The fact he suggested the women travel with a knife to his back certainly made Ayatah think it was genuine concern and goodwill.

”A knife in your back is not needed,” she said quietly and distantly. If she wanted to kill the man, she could probably do so without having to have him face away from her. ”You will not get far if you betray your word.”

It was not so much of a threat, but a promise.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||