Completed A Flower for Your Thoughts? (Philomena)

[Leila]

Timestamp: Spring 5, 513 AV Leila was a ball of frustration, hair frizzy, forehead sweating, breath panting. "That damnable mutt... one skittish rabbit and you take off like a Zith out of hell." Exasperated, she kept chasing after Shaco, whose leash trailed behind him comically. She ran after the large dog, quickly losing breath, she really wasn't made for a lot of exertion. The small hare dove beneath a bush and disappeared down a hole, while Shaco crashed through the poor shrubbery with slightly pained yelp. Leila found her dog on the other side of a bush in an area she didn't recognize. She was outside of the residential and business areas, somewhere near the foothills. Taking a precautionary look around, she bent down to check out her pup, noticing a briar stuck in the tip of his nose. She rubbed his head to calm him down a bit, getting him to relax. Then she quickly snatched the briar and yanked it out, Shaco whining loudly in retaliation. "If you hadn't run off, you wouldn't be hurting you big dummy." She sat down next to him, pulling his face into her chest, rubbing his head and playing with his ears. She began taking in her surroundings, finding herself in a very green area. Vines crawling about, bushes recovering from winter, and much to her surprise, several lavender colored flowers growing in the shade of small tree. She got up to go take a peek at them while Shaco wandered off, probably to claim this as his territory. She bent down and plucked a single flower, and held it up to her eyes. She'd seen it before, a long time ago, when her mother had taken her for a walk. But she just couldn't recall the name... What was that blasted thing called? She looked off into greenery, hoping the name might fly out at her, when her eyes landed on a stone lamp, sitting in front of a cottage. Curious, thinking she may have stumbled onto someone's home, she approached the door, hoping to introduce herself. Then she discovered the marker, reading 'Bree's Bivouac.' This was a shrine? To the Goddess of Healing to boot. She found it ironic that poor Shaco got injured in a shrine. She continued studying the structure, tutting at the wild state of the gardens, something mother wouldn't have tolerated. She wondered if anyone maintained the place, and voiced her thought with a simple, "Hello?"

[Philomena]

Zeltiva was a city of contrast - its season did not transition gently. The day was calm enough for a walk, but ahead, piles of warm thunderstorms crushed irritably against the mountains of the pass, waiting for the night collapse across the city in a torrent of spring rain. The ground was still wet - almost marshy, from the last of the boneshakers of winter, and children's feet after a day of play were not only red with cold, but also black with mud, even if they WERE well off enough for proper shoes. For the scattered brats of the poor, their feet bound in rags or nothing at all, they would scamper home with whole gardens on their feet.

Here, close to the foothills, and away from the rush of feet, one could look up out of the city, and see, in the hollows still, banks of spring-rotted ice-snow, still clinging angrily to the earth to await firmer marching orders from the sun. And atop the mountains, there were still heavy white blankets, what of them one could see through the clouds. Spring did not dance, then into Zeltiva, it came in swinging her fists, and Winter was pugnacious enoguh to meet the challenege, at least for a little while.

On the hill, in the warmer patch just above one such rooten drift, lay a heap of clothes. At first, this is all that lays there - the battered oilskin of a waterproof, a hat, a dingy white rag, black boots. And they do not move. A sharper eye would find hair, dull brown hair, atop the neck of the mackintosh, and a sharper one yet would see that the patch of white is not snow, but the corners of a face, a pale, still face, half buried in the oilskin's collar, the eyes closed. The whole apparatus is small. A child perhaps.

[Leila]

No one answered the curious woman, so she assumed the place to be empty, possibly abandoned, though she doubted that. She stepped inside, hoping a bear or something hadn't taken up residence within, as she began to wonder where Shaco ran off. The entire place smelled of old candles, though the smell of spring flowers was beginning to invade, most welcoming to her. She meandered around the small cottage, over to the hearth, where she found a carving of a couple of winged snakes. Rak'keli. She'd never really been religious, which wasn't really a conscious choice of hers. Her parents never practiced religion, calling it impractical and a waste of time. But she knew the gods existed, she just didn't know how she fit into it all. Why would the gods be interested in someone like her? Her fingers lingered on the carving as she turned, and stepped out of the cottage into the sun once more, now looking around for Shaco. She saw him bounding up a hill toward... something. She squinted her eyes, and saw what appeared to be a pile of clothes. She began walking in his direction, to make sure he didn't get himself into any trouble. A few moments later, she realized that it was a person that appeared to be sleeping. Leila took off, "No Shaco, bad Shaco!" Shaco had already begun his watery assault on the person, which consisted of him straddling their torso, staring down at them, while drool rolled out of his mouth, dripping down toward them. Leila finally caught up to him and his new companion, grabbed his leash, and began pulling him off the poor soul. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't know anyone else was here."

[Philomena]

Minnie Lefting hadn't been... sleeping. Not precisely. Sleep is a very specific physiological condition, the description of which does not necessarily match what it is Minnie Lefting was doing. She was conscious, after all, her rabbity eyes just barely cracked open in the glare of spring sun. She was, in fact, even doing something - praying, perhaps, or reciting poetry, by the regularity of her murmurs, their soft, rhythmic rise and fall. She was conscious yes. But... not necessarily aware. And the sudden scrabbling of claws across her arms and legs, and the appearance of a great, slobbering dog face was enough to startle her outside the normal bounds of socially acceptable behavior.

And, to be perfectly frank, Minnie Lefting was skittish of dogs at the best of times.

IT was thus that Minnie Lefting screamed. It was a hoarse sound, a coarse broken throat creating a howl almost more animal than the dog's barking. It gurgled quickly out in a thick, wet sound that sounded repellently of poor health, of clogged lungs. She curled up in a ball underneath the animal, her previous murmur squeezing into a high pitched whimpering sound, incomprehensible to anyone - even Minnie herself, to be frank.

The woman pulled the dog off and Minnie turned her head. She was not wearing her spectacles, and her eyes struggled hard to focus - her eyesight was worse even than normal, with the onset of her fever. She looked terrible in general. One of her hands was bound in a linen bandage, and she held it gingerly, as if afraid to have it touched - a tiny flush of pink showed where the dog had stepped on it in pursuit of his friendly interests. Her face, though, was worse to look at to the untrained eye. Her skin was papery and coarse, drawn almost to translucence, her eys were pink and rimmed with heavy purple bags, and her lips were pale to almost grey. The spare flesh of her had been devoured by the fever in her cheeks.

Her eyes darted about wildly, trying to find a person to focus on, and failing in the thick haze of her near-blindness.

"Who is it? Who is it? Lanie? Lanie?"

[Leila]

If it wasn't bad enough that Shaco had drooled on the poor woman, he scared the hell out of her too. When she finally got Shaco off the scared creature, Leila saw the state she was truly in. She looked like death incarnate. Her father had told her stories of creatures that were dead, yet not, and this woman looked exactly how she'd imagined them to be. Was she ill? A survivor of the plague? Is that why she was here near Rak'keli's shrine? "Sit Shaco, sit." The dog ignored her of course, they hadn't been together long enough for his training to be complete. But he did wander off to go investigate some flowers, which was good enough for her. Then the woman appeared to be searching for someone named Lanie. Was she hallucinating? Possibly insane? This woman needed serious help it seemed. "No, I'm not Lanie, my name is Leila, and that was my dog. Again, I'm really sorry. Are you okay? You don't look well at all. Maybe we can find someone from the shrine to help you? No one's here now, but if we wait together..." Leila didn't really no how to handle this situation, so she just continued rambling, almost senselessly. But she was really worried not just about this woman, but about her own safety and health now. She remembered all the days where her mom kept her locked in the house while plague ravaged the city. If the plague was back, with this woman, then she might have it now. Leila raised an arm to cover her mouth and nose while she looked down pityingly at the poor soul.

[Philomena]

Minnie felt about her bodice, blindly leaning uncomfortably on the sick hand's elbow. This close, and with the hand moving, a terrible smell trickled into the air - rotting flesh. It was a strong, intrinsically repulsive smell, the smell of the dead. She finally found what she was seeking, a pair of blown-glass spectacles tucked into a fold of cloth. Awkwardly, she fought it open, and put them before her eyes. It magnified her pupils, increasingly the rabbity quality of her large-pupiled eyes.

"You are not... oh... oh Qalaya's dirty fingers, I... I'm sorry, I... your dog, it startled... startled me... I..."

Her voice sounded wet and phleghmly, and unhealthy-deep. She cleared her throat, sumptuously, and shook her head slightly, "I... you would... you should stand back, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be catching, but the plague... one never knows."

[Leila]

Well at least the woman knew how awful her appearance looked, and just to be safe Leila took another step back. "I'm really sorry about my dog interrupting you. He's overly friendly, wouldn't hurt you. Do you need to see a doctor or a Healer or something? I was just checking this area out, didn't realize that there was a shrine here." She thought about offering to help the woman up, but if she were laying there, it might be for a good reason. "I can probably round up some things to make some tea if you'd like to come inside. I'm sure I saw some tea plants around here somewhere. Care to join me... Oh, I didn't get your name, how rude of me." Leila knew that some low quality tea plants grew down in the low foothills around here, preferring slightly higher altitudes and a healthy amount of shade. She left the offer open, if the woman wanted to join her, she would, if not, Leila would still have tea. She pushed her way through the brush looking for the pointed leaves, that would be good for steeping. Maybe if she could find some mint and chamomile, it would make for a really good drink. Calling out to the ill woman, trying to include her, "Do you know what tea plants, mint, and chamomile look like? A second pair of eyes would really be appreciated."

[Philomena]

When one combines a certain rambling quality of speech with a certain rambling quality of mind in the listener - for Minnie's mind was rambling rather wildly in those days - one is left with something of a dearth of comprehension. Minnie, still a little shaken by the dog, darted her eyes from the woman to the devil hound beside her, and worked herself up to a seated position. She drew a black walking stick from the folds of her coat, as the dog wandered off.

"Dr. Lefting... of... of the West Wing of the University. I profess in literature and poetry, with specialties in-- I'm sorry. Yes, I'm a professor... I... I don't... I have trouble with dogs..."

Her voice was rough and weak.

"Tea... tea... chamomile and mint...

Chamomile, the sacred flower,
The breath of god in bloom,
Then cradled in a winding sheet,
And laid within a tomb.."

She muttered the poem, absently, not... entirely lucidly. She fought to her feet with a stifled groan, and began, with a painful, slow stiffness, to totter down the hill, leaning hard on her one good hand against the gnarled stick.

[Leila]

Leila heard no reply from the ailing woman, and hoped Dira wouldn't claim her while she was here. Leila continued to search for her tea ingredients. Her father had taught her several small ditties on how to remember them. "Follow the scent, to shadow moist, to find the mint." "To find tea, climb high to the sun, quickly, before it turns to a tree." "Flowers white, buds yellow, chamomile, drinks the most sunlight." Her foot stepped down in a patch of thick, slimy mud, eliciting a sigh from her. She had entered a small flush of trees, and sniffed at the air. And her nose found the pungent odor of mint. She bent down, looking for the opposing leaves, square stems, and small, pointed flowers. It took her a few chimes, and she nearly ran face first into a briar bush, with her eyes trained on the ground, but she found a small bushel of mint, it's leaves a dark purple, with light lavender flowers. She plucked a handful of the leaves, sniffed them, and then gently placed them in her pocket. She turned and made her way back toward the shrine, for she knew that was the largest clearing of sunlight. Making it back, she began searching the edge of the bush line for tea, knowing that while it needed sunlight, it tended to favor less open areas. She hadn't seen Shaco for a while, and didn't want him to harass the poor, ghastly woman, so she blew a whistle through her fingers, a talent she learned down at the docks. She was quickly disappointed in her search, having gone through the entire bushline and found nothing. Shaco came bounding through the clearing, barking excitedly, and pressed his front paws against her shoulders as he licked her face. She was thumped into a small tree that shook, a clump of leaves letting loose, and floating down to land on Shaco's head. She quickly grabbed it, her eyes scanning it, then sniffed it and smiled. Despite the poem, she'd forgotten they could become trees. She reached up and grabbed several bunches and placed them in the same pocket as the mint. She moved toward the shrine, satisfied that she'd found two of the three plants. She went to head inside, when a flush of white caught the corner of her eye. She looked down to her right, and saw a small overgrown flower bed, and right in the middle of it were several invasive, white blooms with yellow centers. Silently cheering, she bent down and plucked several of the chamomile flowers, and made her way toward the interior of the shrine, wondering if the deathly woman had made her way here.

[Philomena]

//Look at her, Minnie Lefting. She's a fresh-faced girl, eh? And she cannot even look at your damned, sorry little face. What did you think would happen, out here? Who did you think would come, you gutter-slut of a fool?//

//She could have come. She could have come. Lanie could have come.//

//Why would she know? And what would you do if she did? Get out of her, you scrap of rotten garbage. Get home, to your own home, go lie in your damned bed, and wait for Dira, and hope she comes soon.//

Minnie, bewildered, and slightly dizzy, leaned hard on the stick. The bandaged hand she kept clutched close to her breast, and her feet took tiny, shamblingn steps, afraid to jolt her body too much. It is difficult, with the weaving, almost drunken course of her feet to ascribe any certain direction to her walk, short of downhill - she peers so hard through her glasses its difficult to say if she can even see where she is going. She makes a wide, meandering arc, that drops her in the gardens of the Shrine, and starts, cautiously, to thread through the walks of them, not toward the shrine, but toward the street, muttering softly.

"Gutterslut, gutterslut... go home. Go home."