Completed Lightened Spirits

[Ricky Maze]

Lightened Spirits Part 5.1 of The Part of Moving On Winter 80th, 512 AV; 14th Bell After we see the storm pass we realize our actions, and in turn react to them for the better. Where we once sought redemption in a lost world, we seek out a resolve to our problems. The first thing we have to do is reconnect with those that stood with us, to remind ourselves that they have our backs in the darkest of times. Ricky searched endlessly for Valo, he was in fact the first person on the list who Ricky should apologize to. After all the artist had helped him out quite a bit this season, after all a friend there to help you cope was a friend that showed great care; and Ricky was a fool to think no one else cared. He had been like this for so long it no doubt drove everyone he knew mad, which made quite a long list of people to apologize to when he found them. The plague seemed to actually settle down in Zeltiva, and while Ricky has had the oncoming fever come and go he counted it a blessing that it was taking a break. Whatever gods had granted this favor obviously had the gift of good timing, for now was probably the only time Ricky had a clearer head. Those nights spent alone with tears and thoughts were long but now part of the past, and Ricky had to make ammends for the future that lies ahead. Valo was right from the beginning, it wasn't his fault that Ricky lost Odis. There was nothinf he could do to change it, he had to accept it and look to the present. This perspective was difficult to stay focused to but very important, no matter how hard be wanted to stray back into his antisociality he couldn't afford it. He had a life to rebuild and live, and he would do it with friends that really mattered. Such an idea was a really relief that made his ability to continue real, for the first time he was beginning to feel a sense of true purpose. Zeltiva would have its honest fisherman back, tge noble Wave Guard would be a better man come the end of this season. Amidst all the plague and sickness Ricky wouldn't revert to his previous state of minds, nor would he stop until he did what he could to help the city; more importantly his friends. Ricky didn't just feel as if he owed a great deal to the friends that were there, he felt wanted to mean something to them. To bring the same influence on them as they did him, to help them when they would need him and prove he was just as good of a friend. That kind of friendship was rare to have in this world, and he would do everything he could to help return the favor. OOC : I left the location open for you to pick.

[Valo]

Valo had been drinking perhaps too much as of late. In fact witnessing all this death during the season of winter had left his mind closed completely. Void of negativity , he kept himself, entwined in the perpetual practice of his art and meditation which he had become so fond of. A simple way of keeping himself occupied. And when that did not work, almost instinctively he turned to alcohol, for it seemed that perhaps Valo was a gentleman; he was by far not a man of principle. Or perhaps principle, like many other things, was subjective. Yes, that's how he explained it. And perhaps he had promised himself to relinquish this terrible habit of his; those promises now lay dead, buried in the sand.

There was yet another habit that the artist had developed, due to those evenings in the Kelp Bar when getting well and truly hammered seemed the only thing on his mind. A ship, sinking in joy with a song on his lips. For when he finally stumbled home with a spinning head, collapsing into slumber just a short while past sunset, he would wake up ridiculously early, before the sun even had the chance to sprout its rays past the horizon line. That morning was a morning of many that fallowed this pattern. With a gleaming smile on his face, Valo wasted a fair amount of time, vegetating in his bed, complaining about his head ache before getting on with his day. Hardly resolute, was the artist.

Besnik was on his mind again that very morning. The happy dhole whom he had grown so very fond of over the season. And despite him being gone for barely more than 5 days, Valo already wished that he may have not left at all. Bond mates, they were and closed ones at that. It made little sense to him why the Kelvic wanted to leave Zeltiva, why anyone may want to leave Zeltiva? Sure there was the plague and the killing and the bonesnapper, but to the artist it seemed like that whole of Mizahar had not another city as great as this one. His home. Now, he could only pray that one day, upon his arrival perhaps, that the Kelvic could see the city the same way he did.

The bond between them was perhaps the only reassurance. A belief, beep in his heart, that if anything terrible was ever to happen to his beloved comrade, he would feel it. Not sure, was the artist, where this belief sprouted from, for suffice to say there was nothing more mystical in the whole of Mizahar than the bond between a man and his Kelvic. None the less, it lingered in the pits of his stomach, along with the dear hope that nothing terrible indeed may befall Besnik. No terrible illness to harm him, no monster to scare him. An apprehension which took its fair share of suffocation to finally subside somewhat.

Alas, heavy headed, Valo dragged himself from the bed, residual stench of kelp beer still clinging to him like ghosts he wished soon to forget. And forget is what he did. For with a gentle slap to his face, a prickling sensation where the fingers struck that would no doubt leave the cheek red as his hair for a few moments, a jubilant smile was carved into his feature. A wide grin and a sparkle to his eyes and the self-reassurance. Today will be a wonderful day, he thought to himself.

The anxiety for his precious Besnik's safety became the very pleasant of though. A blissful recollection of memories they shared. The awkward and the humorous times. And soon more though of his dear friends rolled on, merely pleasant musings as groggily he went about his day, buried under clutter of thought in that mind of his. A thorough bath, the ritualistic picking out of clean clothing before finally setting out with paper and paint to work on a new masterpiece.

Reaver was the first to casually stroll into the artist's thought. A smile on his face, for it seemed that the foolish man never ceased to entertain him. It's been a while since they ran into one another and that could only mean one thing. Perhaps the mage had finally learned his way about Zeltiva. Or perhaps he had become so very lost that there was no hope for him. Whatever the case, Valo decided to soon meet with the man again purely out of the longing for his company. Nai'a was next. The vibrant hue of her luscious locks twinkled in the artist's imagination, the precious smile on her face, the twinkle in her eyes.

It was only then that the artist's feature fell a little and his slender fingers combed his damp hair in a manner of pondering. For it seemed like an age that he had seen Ricky's friendly face. And even if the man was going through a substantially hard time, it mattered not for Valo had held him in great esteem indeed and he worried for him in much a way that a friend should. Wrapped up in his own business, he was surely, but it was no excuse for leaving a wonderful friendship like this unattended for so long. Inexcusable indeed. Perhaps after he was done painting, he'd seek his friend out at the Grotto, merely to check up. A friendly conversation perhaps. Yes, a friendly conversation was no doubt in order. Perhaps a beer or two, for it seemed Valo was constantly in the mood for such as of late.

Stating that Ricky's and Valo's friendship had started off on shaky grounds would be both a completely false statement, yet in that falseness there were element of truth. For despite the two never being parted by the flames of aggression or distrust, the foundation upon which it was built was indeed a heart breaking one. Earlier on in the year, Ricky had lost his dearest companion, his greatest of comrades, a being so precious that he himself had described the dog as nothing less than a brother. Since then, the Wave Guard became the bear man's occupation and Valo could not help but wonder how he was coping with it all. What filled the man's days?

All this time that the artist had spent simply thinking, which was a substantial amount by any means, he was painting with his water soluble paints, for the sheer simplicity of the medium. It was something he truly did relish for it hadn't the habit of making merely as much mess, or wasn't quite as time consuming as his oils. The artist's very favourite of mediums. He wasn't precisely sure if there was anyone in particular he was painting, for truth it was a face conceived by his imagination only. A female face, heavily relying on structure lines and distance relationships between features which consequently resulted in the nose being too long and the entirety of it looking too synthetic and mathematical to ever having lived. An illustration that could perhaps be found in children's books, inorganic and flawed, but being enough for him to work into the faint sketch with the paint.

He began by laying down the lightest tones. The pale, warm nudes, light yellows for the hair and delicate green hues for the eyes. Since the sketch was little else than just a face and neck, crowned by cropped hair, he bothered not with clothing and simply laid down the very basic tints. All in harmony. It was only after he let the whole thing dry thoroughly that Valo began to work in layers upon layers of block colour, each darker, tinted and toned with different underlying shades. And as the layers built up, the three dimensional structure of the face began appearing a little clearer, looking less like a cartoon and more like a face, a form he was striving for.

Of course, wrapped up in his though, Valo refrained not from making mistakes and the ones he did seemed foolish at that. But perhaps ones he would soon learn to look out for when painting in this particular medium, for it was not an easy medium to paint with at all. He learned how to better control the saturation of the water with pigment, for that was a crucial part when it came to obtaining the right colour. Even a smudge too much pigment would cause the tone to become much darker than intended and no amount of white paint would change that. A simple mistake that now manifested in much an ugly fashion on the left hand side of the woman's face. A splodge of a hue way too warm for it to be a shadow, a colour way too intense to disguise.

The beauty of this very medium, or rather the curse of it, was that no mistake could ever be removed or truly masked. Any such mishap stood out boldly and mocked the painter with its magnitude. Then again, Valo had yet to learn to properly control the medium. He had yet to learn much about it and thus become more proficient at painting. For the other most horrible of mistakes was the cabbage leaf edge pattern that appeared in the paint when one area of it was still wet whilst another become dry. Thus pigment would spread unevenly, leaving this dark harsh line that now sprouted like a scar on the portrait's cheek and in the hair where he accidentally watered the paint down too much. Of course then there were all the areas where one colour would accidentally bleed into another, or be applied in too great a space or too little. Suffice to say, Valo had yet much practice before him.

He had painted relentlessly until that portrait was finished in all its imperfection. Another one started to much the same result. And once that one was abandoned, Valo had sketched himself yet another portrait of yet another woman, making a substantial amount of progress with it, before finally pulling free of this trance like hold that this art had over him. Time for some fresh air perhaps. Perhaps it was high time to pay Rick the visit he'd been awaiting.

Alas, clad in his usual grey, a midnight blue silk scarf around his neck. There had been talk on the streets of the plague subsiding, many recovering. Many however remained ill, bared up in their homes, barking out their lungs. Suffice to say he wasn't prepared to catch something just because he wasn't adequately clothed. And with a forced serenity over his mouth, the artist strolled down to the Grotto only to find his friend was nowhere to be seen. Ritually, the next location to visit would have been the Kelp Bar, but there was one more thing Valo wanted to do before leaving the area. Or perhaps it wasn't so much the question of want as of a restless calling, an invisible pull down to the dock where looked out into the open waters. Laviku's dominion before him. Calm it was, as calm as the ocean could be and bluer than usual, though it could have been simply due to the escapist rays of sunlight through the milky clouds. Only 22 more days till the season's shift. Only 22 more days till spring. Wrapped in his thought was the artist.

Idly - not quite aware of what it actually was that he was doing, as if in a daze caused by something unknown to the artist. That something was the memory, banished with many others. memory of mere 4 nights ago when he strolled here in not quite the state of drunkenness, yet not quite a sober state and he looked to the obelisks and he saw what no man ever wanted to see and he herd what no man ever wanted to hear. A memory so meticulously repressed with such devout determination - Idly so he strolled upon the deck of one of the smaller fishing vessels that now lay rocking in abandonment. It was foolish of him, that's for sure, for he asked no permission and no such permission had been granted as a prerequisite. He merely strolled until the ground beneath his feet was the wooden deck and he leaned over the side as far as a man could lean, eyes fixed on the pretending objects in the distance. A dreamy haze over his mind. The bone snapper wind and the people going about their daily needs became drowned into the background.

The next thing he saw was the ethereal blue of the ocean below him. The kind of blue that results in the features of the ocean floor so far in the depths, all melting together into one divine hues. Then the freezing pinch of the water grasped at his skin, though the clothing, awakening him abruptly from the daze. A cold hostility. His body in suspension. It took a few moments for the recognition to sink in and the profound realisation that if he was to simply hover there in the water and do nothing about it than no doubt he would drown. No breath in his lungs. Salty wickedness already gnawing at the flesh of his throat until alas, awake, he propelled himself upwards, breaking the surface of the water, a great gasp at any air available.

"And stay off my ship!" yelled the voice of an elderly sailor, clearly splitting sides as his act of great rudeness. An ill practical joke no doubt. Then again perhaps Valo deserved it.

Fallowing a moment of little more than panic, Valo finally swam - if such could be called swimming, for in reality the motion was an awkward thrashing about in desperate hope not to go back under. With more perhaps than a fair share of the gulps of salty water. No grace, no fluidity to the movement. A simple desperation in, reaching for the shore with all the strength he could possibly summon before succumbing to the cold. Alas the short distance between him and the bank surrendered and Valo's bone white fingers grasped it, before hurling the rest of his body from the water in haste. Water spewing by the gallon from his lungs. Hair clinging to his shoulder's like streams of crimson blood. Ferocious shivering.

[Ricky Maze]

The time Ricky spent searching was time Valo was likely to move elsewhere, there was no real way to do a thorough search for the artist. Ricky started around the University grounds but that did no good, he looked around the center of Zeltiva hoping that he may be near there, no sign of him at the Fountain of Cascading Youth however. It was then Ricky remembered the last place they had.talked at before his brush off he did. The time period where he became fed up with caring and being cared about, and simply cut off all ties he had for the next following weeks. It was at the Kelp Bar this had happened, and it was Valo that was the first to be shut out. Now Ricky went there in haste should the artist be there, and he hoped the man would accept his apology with ease. When Ricky opened the door and entered the Kelp Bar the dim tavern didn't look as busy as usual, probably because most of the patrons were still recovering from the plague. Ricky knew how it felt to try and recover, he was after all still in the process since the day after the round up. That day proved a test to Ricky's heart more than he knew, but altogether it had been the entire season that has proven a true testament. Instead of sitting around though Ricky was going to do better, be someone better than who he had been. This was his chance to atone for his mistakes, and he was going to do it right. It wasn't hard to look for Valo in the sort of places people would go, just generally looking for the long red hair was key enough to find him. Once Ricky had filed all through the bar to find no one with such hair he knew he had to depart, for Valo could be elsewhere and Ricky made it a top priority to find him. When he opened the creaky door to the outside he thought maybe the pier or fish market, but it was when he heard something as ge stepped out his attention was pulled. "And stay off my ship!" A old codger yelled out to someone who was now swimming, but that wasn't just someone by the looks of it. When the person had pulled himself out of the water the very key thing he looked for was drenched with the rest of him. "Damn." He muttered to himself as he picked up the speed, after a few chimes Ricky made his way over to the dock where Valo had pulled himself up on, and managed to arrive with short pants. "Valo lad, yer soaked!" He pointed out of course but it wasn't to just start a conversation, it was a way of letting Valo know that he now had a friend present. Ricky would help Valo lean up and remove his cotton jacket, encouraging Valo to take it to try and bring warmth. Of course it would do little good with wet clothes on, but it would be the start of his apology nonetheless.

[Valo]

"Valo lad, yer soaked!" came a voice and the recognition of it came with quite some work to the drenched and trembling artist. A male voice with quite a distinct mannerism to it. Not a child's voice, that's for sure.

Valo froze there for a moment, eyes planted into the ground, a blush of embarrassment growing on his face until, despite the shivering, he turned as scarlet red as his hair. A brief moment as he finally came to the realisation of the owner of the voice. No one other than Ricky, that was for sure. In his mind Valo cursed in the most foul language known to him, yet no such thing left his mouth. Curses of embarrassment that he allowed himself to find himself in such a ridiculous situation. Curses at finding himself vulnerable and curses that, of all people, it was one of few whom he cherished the most, that was the witness.

What possibly would Ricky think of him now? That he's some kind of stupid child, no doubt. That he should watch there he's going. No doubt he'd see though the gentlemanly disguise of the foolish artist, to see the simple fool beneath. He'd peel back the layers to see a man of questionable substance, who had yet a lot of growing up to do. He'd surely think him ridiculous. The thoughts wound though the inner most mechanisms of Valo's mind at an alarming speed and each though just as unpleasant as the other.

He was well and truly embarrassed, that was sure and at that his own manner became awkward and subtly at loss of his usual elegance and dignity with which he so proudly carried him self. A jagged scurrying to his feet, eyes looking everywhere but those brilliantly blue one of Ricky for fear of the disappointment that he thought surely awaited him. He trembled like a leaf on the breeze, fragile like a woman who had never seen sunlight and equally as pale. And within that paleness, the scarlet blush within his cheeks was nothing but more apparent. there was such profound haste in the way he jumped to his feet, such haste in the way he impulsively scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Haste in his words.

"Oh... hello Ricky. I fear you found me in the possible worst of moments." he laughed with such a wide grin on his face, such a precipitance in his chuckle, that it was more than apparent all this jolliness was fake. And one who had never seen Valo drunk before may have judged this as his drunken state for he was perhaps overly merry and the redness in his feature looked much like that of an alcoholic. Furthermore he seemed to have very little balance and his hands fiddled with his wet hair and the cuffs of his jacket and anything else they could find. The artist swallowed hard, keeping up this jolly composure to the best of his ability until it became so obviously out of character. His mind racing though possible escape roots. Any means of riding him self of this awkward situation and simply curling up in bed, closing his eyes and pretending it was all a dream.

Valo saw him self as a fool often. An imperfect being. Other times he thought he was the most logical and splendid man of all. There was no equilibrium with him, just a manic sway from blindness to one's own faults, to being perhaps a little too harsh on himself, especially during moments such as these. For i wasn't the first time this season that he had found himself in the waters at the Dock. A desperate wish to bury him self in the ground, away from the prying eyes of human beings that now had the perfect chance to form an opinion about him. An opinion which would differ from they way he wished to be seen.

As stated, Valo often, especially at times like these, saw him self as a fool. A simple man. A child, perhaps. Thoughts like these came every time he'd go back on his word and pickled his liver, or slept with a prostitute - or as it had somehow happened earlier on this season, his very wonderful friend - or, much like today, took a swim so unconductive to priority. Was it his fault that fate tormented his ego? Most certainly, in his eyes. Thus, from the very early years of his childhood, the artist had meticulously crafted his manner and his eloquence and his very mind in hope of being a gentleman. In hope of being something greater than he was. A perfectionist, striving for perfection. That was precisely the reason the whole petching ordeal was so exquisitely humiliating, leaving him to hope that perhaps, by some profound miracle, the ground may part and swallow him whole.

Before he even had the chance to push past Ricky, waving awkward goodbyes and disappearing, never to reappear again, the artist found himself barraged with kindness. The bear man's jacket forced onto him, before he even had the chance to resist. Thus Valo found him self feeling smaller than he was. Much smaller indeed and if did not feel good. But it was perhaps that act of kindness that subdued him and his frantic happiness and planted his eyes into his feet. "Umm.. thank you Ricky." he mumbled and any farther word merely lodged in his throat painfully and awkwardly.

[Ricky Maze]

"Oh... hello Ricky. I fear you found me in the possible worst of moments." Valo had said with a laugh much unlike his own, to Ricky's greatest regret he knew very much that Valo was not himself. There were signs about him that gave Ricky the impression he was under the influence of alcohol. Unless the cold sea gave this sort of effect to men, which was unlikely considering Ricky had attempted to drown himself and turned out fine, there wasn't any other solution to it. There was a blush Ricky knew more then anything was one that revealed embarrassment, Valo had in fact hurt his pride being seen this way. Ironic how the roles were reversed. Just near the begiinning of the season Ricky was the one who was in this place, and now some god must've thought it a cruel joke to switch their role. 'So this is how ye felt lad, it was never pity but care you had. I was a damn idiot for thinkin such a thing.' He thought to himself as he placed the coat around Valo. "Umm.. thank you Ricky." "No lad, thank ye." He didn't hesitate to say this, as he placed a hand on Valo's shoulder. There was a moment when Ricky felt a slight awkwardness, but that was easily brushed off as he fully intended to bring comfort to his friend. He may be out of practice with such methods of being a friend, but there was never any doubt in doing what he felt natural. What Ricky wanted to do, what he felt he should do, was not apologize to Valo. He wanted to make up for the times he didn't. Ricky wanted to be the same friend to the artist as he had been to the bear, such a friendship was beyond rare in the world. It was almost immaterial really, something that only existed in the spirits of man; nearly untouchable by all. Yet it was present now. Ricky had felt that friendship and felt the nicks within its strand, their bond had been tested severely but proved unseverable. It was time that Ricky acknowledged it, and showed Valo that's what a friend really means to him. "I have some things that need be said, but first we need to get ya dry. Can't have ye freezin to death on me now." He spoke humbly to Valo as he world normally do before his grief, but there was concern that rested within. Concern that showed Ricky did care for his friend.

[Valo]

"No lad, thank ye."

Valo halted abruptly, for it seemed that even his jagged trembling had ceased completely for a moment. A stop frame in time. The artist froze completely with his eyes wide open, planted into Ricky with an expression of profound insentience within them. For he must have looked more a woman than ever with such an expression slapped across his face. Lips ajar subtly, feature so open that for a moment one could look straight through him and catch a glimpse of the artist's convoluted heart. The very lack of his protective gentlemanly walls that so frequently kept others from seeing his real interior.

At first him mind was rendered blank by the magnitude of those words. And it wasn't entirely clear why they had taken such a toll upon the foolish artist, but no less had they confused him. Unable to see past this exact moment, this exact day in time, he wondered as to what exactly he was being thanked for? What on Mizahar was the meaning behind them? Had Ricky thanked from for falling overboard a ship? A deep worry for the fisherman'sown wit arose within Valo, hoping that if such was the case, then at least Ricky's mind was salvageable from the very oddity of the ordeal. For what other gratitude could exist, for him who had done next to nothing for the bear man? He who thought him self so very insignificant, a disposable friend. It seemed something needed to be spelled out clearly to Valo, for his own wit proved to be dull at times.

And as Ricky's hand was place on Valo's shoulder, the artist crumbled to pieces beneath it. Or at least did so within his very interior, for on the outside that black look within his face perpetuated. Within his gut however Valo was ashamed and confused and small, like a child, wishing to find his corner and hide within it. arms crossed,head buries within them until he'd finally stabilise himself and return to that meticulous happiness. Yet no such even occurred and he remained there, grasping at the frayed edges of his composure to yet somehow shroud himself within it. To regain some dignity that was so agonisingly slipping away from him. To understand what on Mizahar was going on.

"I have some things that need be said, but first we need to get ya dry. Can't have ye freezin' to death on me now." spoke Ricky and his words seemed saturated with concern. Concern for whom? Valo?

Disarmed was the artist by this concern. Completely disarmed. And touched somewhat, for it was him who prided him self upon his concern for others. Boldly he strode though life, oblivious often to the concern which people around him might harbour for him. A fool he was. A true fool.

There was no opposition on the behalf of the disarmed artist as he found him self swept away by the care of his friend. Unable to choke up a word, for it was perhaps his eyes that said it all. Words would be those of the composed and confident Valo, yet he was not that man right now. He was the fragile artist with the heart of molten marshmallow and the body of no more strength than that. Truth it was that with the plague still having somewhat a grasp, even if a subsiding grasp, over Zeltiva, his standing so foolishly in the wintry air in soaked clothing, was not a good idea at all.

[Ricky Maze]

Valo didn't really have to say anything, Ricky knew the man would no be confused as to why Ricky was thanking him. Whatever was crossing the artist's mind made Ricky wonder what Valo was thinking though, but there was a time to wonder then a time to act. Right now acting seemed more preferrable, considering Valo was in wet clothes and freezing weather. Were it Spring time it would be a different story, but spring was only twelve days away from what Ricky knew. Valo seemed to show no sign of resistance, in fact he looked very much like Ricky did back when he was angry all the time. The way he crumbled inside while the exterior meant to held a position of strength. It was a matter of pride among not men, but the individual itself, that tried not to look so pitiful. There was no pity from Ricky though, only concern from the fisherman as he urged Valo to come along. To come back to Hadrian's cottage, and find something to warm him with. There was a fire pit Valo could sit his clothes near for a heated dryingg, if he did not mind the smell what usually would be campfire smoke clinging to them. When they both arrived Ricky would bring Valo in with intentions of getting a few blankets, that was the only thing he could do considering none of his clothes would fit the artist. "Just go ahead and shed yer clothes and place them by the pit, I'll have a couple of blankets for ya." He instructed as he went into the other room, he wasn't exactly excited for Valo to get naked, but the idea of the artist being frostbitten didn't sound to pleasing either. So it was important he helped the man get warm fast. The cottage alone felt a little warm, but to Ricky he was usually near hot. Likely because of the plague he had been struggling to fight off. Still the fisherman yanked off the covers from his bed, wrapped them around his arms and went back to hand them to Valo. "I'll give ya the chime ye need." He said as he went into the other room. Ricky needed to lose a few layers of his own, the outside cold was able to bite into his flesh easy enough but when he was indoors the heat his body produced made these clothes feel like a cocoon. Trapping the warmth until he felt he was sweaty. Ricky took his cotton jacket off and removed his both shirts, and put back on the short sleeved right after. Finally he felt as though his body could breath a little easier now, the extra heat he had able to die down a little while they were in the warmth of the cottage. He would wait till Valo said he was in blankets before going back into the room, as to avoid invading the artists privacy.

[Valo]

The act of kindness, though at first dreaded, was indeed appreciated by the soaked fool. for perhaps there was nothing more humiliating than walking though the city, completely drenched with a dear friend beside, than walking through the city drenched and alone. The discomfort of the wet fabric clanged to him, caused him to shiver with every step until his lip began turning a subtle blue hue. But alas they had made it to the cottage and greeted at the door step by a warm gush of air, Valo had never been more glad to have a friend in Ricky Maze. Never had he appreciated their bond more than at this very moment.

"Just go ahead and shed yer clothes and place them by the pit, I'll have a couple of blankets for ya." instructed Ricky before retrieving some blankets from the other room. "I'll give ya the chime ye need."

The humiliation continued, for despite the numbness that began spreading though the peripheral limbs of his, Valo was very much prepared to argue otherwise. How he had wished they'd go to his own house instead. At least there he wouldn't have to undress him self. Yet, it seemed, he trusted Ricky and his word was now law. Perhaps that, or he simply had left Valo no room for arguments, no such liberty for the man to voice his own displeasure with the situation. Thus, alas, the foolish lad obeyed and as Ricky would return into the room, he would find the defeated Inarta, wrapped snugly in the blankets, perched on one of the chairs by the hearth, awaiting for the warm tongues of shadows to evaporate the moisture from his scarlet hair. Clothing meticulously hung over the hearth.

Suffice to say, Valo was utmost uncomfortable and his eyes were thrust deeply into the fire, staring at it blindly. A certain drowsiness about him, for his energy had first been lost tot he sea when in all his desperation, the artist swam for the shore. Of course if the jagged motion could have been called swimming. And that lack of energy was now perpetuated by the soothing warmth of the cottage interior that brushed against his skin like a lullaby. His eyes, observing with a certain lack of focus, the tongues of the flames ad they danced. The elusive movements, flickers as each individual flame came to existence before merging with another in a contained roar. So fragile and tame, the fire seemed that one might simply forget it's cruel nature.

[Ricky Maze]

There was nothing but silence for a while, and Ricky didn't wish to make this anymore awkward for Valo as it likely was. Yet the amount of time had passed should've been enough for Valo to change, and though Ricky didn't intend to curiously pry he peeked out of the room to find Valo wrapped in the comfort of the blankets; right next to the warmth of the fire. Ricky couldn't help but smile, as he came into the room a bit more relaxed. "Yer awefully quiet ya know. Not like ya to be so withdrawn." He stated as he came near Valo. He perched himself next to the artist on the floor, occasionally changed his look between the artists face and the fire. There was no intention to make him feel awkward or watched, but a reveal of concern in Ricky's expression. He wondered if Valo needed to be cheered up before Ricky spoke, or would the things Ricky had to say be enough to lift this dark cloud that loomed over Valo? The answer was unknown. "Look lad I know ye got a lot to think about, but ya gotta listen when I say; there's always a brighter dawn after a stormy night." He finally spoke to break the silence, and hoped there would be some sort of the old cheery Valo present. "Ye convinced o' that. S'why I'm here now, helpin ya now cause ye need me. Plus I... am sorry." He looked away a bit when he apologized, convinced that wasn't enough to make up for the amount of times he was an ass to the artist.

[Valo]

"Yer awfully quiet ya know. Not like ya to be so withdrawn."said Ricky, returning into the room once Valo was dressed - if such a word was appropriate for his state- and perching him self beside him. There was some strange profound comfort about the man's presence. A truly unexplainable feeling, though perhaps this was merely the physical manifestation of the friendship between them too. But it was that comfort, that presence and those words which could come from no other man than Ricky himself, that finally eased the scrawny artist, rendered him able to alas see the humour of his position. For it anything than this whole ordeal was truly laughable.Thus a smile appeared at his lips, first a flicker that soon roared into a bright flame. A subdued chuckle beneath his breath.

The next words of Ricky's caused a series of reactions within the artist. Each one more apparent than the previous. "Look lad I know ye got a lot to think about, but ya gotta listen when I say; there's always a brighter dawn after a stormy night."

At that moment any trace of a smile fled from Valo's expression as it fell abruptly and those green eyes impaled themselves into Ricky. Lips slightly ajar with inability of coherent word. It was not a saddened look, nor a remorseful nor solemn one. Alas the very portrait of utter astonishment had been painted within Valo's feature of alabaster, for he had never dreamt he would hear those words from the bear. The whole of winter seemed a storm for Ricky, with rains of tears and floods of alcohol and thunder of ill temper, yet now he spoke as it the weather it self had turned around. Valo's heart leaped at the very thought of it, at the very thought that perhaps it had all gotten better in the Life of Ricky.That indeed the thousand year storm had passed to reveal that bright interior which Valo so longed to meet.

After that brief moment of surprise. the artist's feature softened again, warmed, but his eyes were still planted into the sailor. No words from him but the very wish to listen to what it was that Ricky had to say. And suddenly it was as if all troubles of Mizahar had been wiped from the window of his conscience, cast into the dirt and forgotten and a light filled his heart. The light oh knowledge that someone he deeply cared about had finally rose from his knees and now stood tall before the world. A glorious feeling indeed.

"Ye convinced o' that. S'why I'm here now, helpin ya now cause ye need me. Plus I... am sorry."

It seemed that perhaps Valo was not so useless after all. Perhaps his words were not empty, even though unsubstantiated and in all honesty he didn't really know how he could have convinced the sailor of his truths, but took the compliment anyway, glad merely for Ricky. Glad for the turnaround. It was only the very last part of that speech that confused him a little. An confusion that briefly passed though his eyes. "Sorry? Sorry for what?" those last few words meant to have been a thought but somehow escaped though the artist's lips and realising that abruptly, he added with haste. "You have nothing to be sorry for Ricky. I believe it's me who should apologise for being a bother." he chuckled with the last statement, a warm smile upon his face. Calm but warm, much like the old Valo but perhaps with just a hint more of maturity.