35 Fall 522 AV take 2
On the sixth bell, something shrieked loudly in his face and Mitt instantly shoved it away with both hands. He cracked open one sleepy gray eye and attempted to see through the haze. The tired young man rubbed at his stubble and slowly sat up on one elbow to peer around.
A big red bird sat on the altar looking smug and preening itself. So that was the source of all the commotion.
"Mmhm." Was all he could manage verbally and he rolled over to grab last night's coffee. Eyes closed again, he drank it down swiftly.
The bird squawked,
"STUPID BOY!"
Mitt stretched out a long leg toward the thing and nudged it with his foot. Shut up-he thought, but it came out verbally as "Shurp."
He set the cup down and was sorely tempted to go right back to sleep. Eyes still closed, he rolled up the mattress neatly to put it by the altar. Something sharp bit him in the shoulder and both eyes widened in surprise. The giant red Macaw bit him and flew off muttering 'Fool!'
'Stupid bird.' he thought, looking at the bite on his arm. Just in front of him, two long red feathers lay over the Izurdin figure, nearly obscuring it from sight. He put aside the two feathers right at the back of the altar, behind the stone figure. With tired gestures, he neatened up the nook into order again to begin his prayers.
He knelt naked in front of the altar and clacked the adjoining stones together to begin his silent prayer.
'I thank you for your blessings mighty Izurdin, the known and unknown. I'm grateful for this new home and its people, although I travel this journey alone.'
His body felt so heavy that every breath was a monumental effort. He slouched noticeably, his chin nearly resting on his chest. The air felt unusually hot and close, worse than the smithy back hom--back in Sunberth. He continued on.
'I'm tired, so tired that sometimes I can't tell what's a dream and what's real. I'm so very tired of crying, of trying, of grief, of any feelings really. I know that your plans for me are always fair and just. But right now I just can't move past so many emotions. It clings like a burr and I ask you humbly to be patient with me as I endure this.'
He placed the stones back to flank the figurine and stood up slowly, as if it was such a great effort. He bent and grabbed a gold Miza to carry with him.
'I need coffee.' Mitt thought fervently. Naked as the day he was born, Mitt shuffled over to the Commons with his mattress and pillow. That done, he went on to the Protea Inn. Without a stitch of clothing or modesty and clutching the money in one tired hand, he staggered over to the counter. Heedless of anything or anyone else around him, his nose zeroed in some fresh brewed coffee.
The tall naked man slouched over, leaning heavily on the counter and pushed the Miza out in front of him with a single word,
"Coffee?" His lower lip pouted unconsciously as he looked into Tazrae's eyes, beseeching her to bring him something but the one word was all he could manage. Heavy lidded gray eyes watched her walk over to get a carafe and a cup and he couldn't help but notice that she walked with lithesome grace. Damn she was beautiful.
The Innkeeper set down the cup and pitcher and made change for the Miza. He would've steeply overpaid for just coffee and a meal but morning time gave him zero brain power at all. Mitt grunted his thanks and barely made it to the closest table without dropping the precious life giving beverage.
As he poured out the coffee with his right hand, he laid down his head on his left arm. Moving the newly filled cup to his mouth, he sipped and it flowed hot and soothing, reaching all the way to his fingertips. By the time he drained his second cup of coffee, he gained the ability to lift his head and shift to a very lazy sitting up position. Mitt was more leaning into the chair than actually sitting upright though.
For some odd reason, sweat trickled down his body and it was notably hot this morning. He rubbed a long arm across his forehead and raised his eyes to see Tazrae bringing over a giant plate of breakfast that made his stomach demand food with a very loud grumble.
"Gods, you're beautiful." One might have taken it as directed at Taz, but his sleepy gray eyes were entirely fastened on the generous plate of food.
After a solid coffee fix and a giant breakfast, it was time for a shower. The water was tepid with almost no pressure sat all. The slight trickle of water seemed to be as drained of energy as Mitt himself was and he left feeling as tired as when he started.
Water sluiced off his body as he walked back to his tent to get his clothes and he shook his head to get the water out of his eyes. He reached up a work roughened hand over his head and rubbed his thick hair back and forth with a quick motion. It was growing fast and soon he'd need a cut. He couldn't imagine purposely having long hair on a place like Syka.
'Why is it so hot today?' he wondered idly as he reached his tent. Mitt's steel gray gaze caught on his pile of clothes.
'Where are my gloves?" he asked himself. Working without them wasn't a good idea.
Despite the heat, he pulled on his pants and leaned against the tent flap to put on his boots. He'd wait til he needed to put on his heavy apron and long sleeved shirt and just carried them under his arm.
A bright crimson Macaw flew off from the back, dropping two more red feathers. One glove fell to the ground but the other was carried off into gods knew where!
"Hey featherbrain! Give me that back!" he called out, moving to chase the parrot. A random breeze smacked the tent flap open and he got whacked in the face by the heavy metal fastening. Clutching his right cheek, he watched the bird take off into the jungle and then closed the flap.
Maybe he could borrow Artik's gloves, considering the man hardly ever used them. Mitt was so lethargic and depressed, he wasn't noticing much of anything. He shrugged at the bird's fleeing back and headed to the smithy with a heavy tread. With a groan, he gave a long stretch until his spine cracked, and finally put on the shirt and heavy leather apron.
WC 1,141 Cumulative 3,578, Gross 4,719
On the sixth bell, something shrieked loudly in his face and Mitt instantly shoved it away with both hands. He cracked open one sleepy gray eye and attempted to see through the haze. The tired young man rubbed at his stubble and slowly sat up on one elbow to peer around.
A big red bird sat on the altar looking smug and preening itself. So that was the source of all the commotion.
"Mmhm." Was all he could manage verbally and he rolled over to grab last night's coffee. Eyes closed again, he drank it down swiftly.
The bird squawked,
"STUPID BOY!"
Mitt stretched out a long leg toward the thing and nudged it with his foot. Shut up-he thought, but it came out verbally as "Shurp."
He set the cup down and was sorely tempted to go right back to sleep. Eyes still closed, he rolled up the mattress neatly to put it by the altar. Something sharp bit him in the shoulder and both eyes widened in surprise. The giant red Macaw bit him and flew off muttering 'Fool!'
'Stupid bird.' he thought, looking at the bite on his arm. Just in front of him, two long red feathers lay over the Izurdin figure, nearly obscuring it from sight. He put aside the two feathers right at the back of the altar, behind the stone figure. With tired gestures, he neatened up the nook into order again to begin his prayers.
He knelt naked in front of the altar and clacked the adjoining stones together to begin his silent prayer.
'I thank you for your blessings mighty Izurdin, the known and unknown. I'm grateful for this new home and its people, although I travel this journey alone.'
His body felt so heavy that every breath was a monumental effort. He slouched noticeably, his chin nearly resting on his chest. The air felt unusually hot and close, worse than the smithy back hom--back in Sunberth. He continued on.
'I'm tired, so tired that sometimes I can't tell what's a dream and what's real. I'm so very tired of crying, of trying, of grief, of any feelings really. I know that your plans for me are always fair and just. But right now I just can't move past so many emotions. It clings like a burr and I ask you humbly to be patient with me as I endure this.'
He placed the stones back to flank the figurine and stood up slowly, as if it was such a great effort. He bent and grabbed a gold Miza to carry with him.
'I need coffee.' Mitt thought fervently. Naked as the day he was born, Mitt shuffled over to the Commons with his mattress and pillow. That done, he went on to the Protea Inn. Without a stitch of clothing or modesty and clutching the money in one tired hand, he staggered over to the counter. Heedless of anything or anyone else around him, his nose zeroed in some fresh brewed coffee.
The tall naked man slouched over, leaning heavily on the counter and pushed the Miza out in front of him with a single word,
"Coffee?" His lower lip pouted unconsciously as he looked into Tazrae's eyes, beseeching her to bring him something but the one word was all he could manage. Heavy lidded gray eyes watched her walk over to get a carafe and a cup and he couldn't help but notice that she walked with lithesome grace. Damn she was beautiful.
The Innkeeper set down the cup and pitcher and made change for the Miza. He would've steeply overpaid for just coffee and a meal but morning time gave him zero brain power at all. Mitt grunted his thanks and barely made it to the closest table without dropping the precious life giving beverage.
As he poured out the coffee with his right hand, he laid down his head on his left arm. Moving the newly filled cup to his mouth, he sipped and it flowed hot and soothing, reaching all the way to his fingertips. By the time he drained his second cup of coffee, he gained the ability to lift his head and shift to a very lazy sitting up position. Mitt was more leaning into the chair than actually sitting upright though.
For some odd reason, sweat trickled down his body and it was notably hot this morning. He rubbed a long arm across his forehead and raised his eyes to see Tazrae bringing over a giant plate of breakfast that made his stomach demand food with a very loud grumble.
"Gods, you're beautiful." One might have taken it as directed at Taz, but his sleepy gray eyes were entirely fastened on the generous plate of food.
After a solid coffee fix and a giant breakfast, it was time for a shower. The water was tepid with almost no pressure sat all. The slight trickle of water seemed to be as drained of energy as Mitt himself was and he left feeling as tired as when he started.
Water sluiced off his body as he walked back to his tent to get his clothes and he shook his head to get the water out of his eyes. He reached up a work roughened hand over his head and rubbed his thick hair back and forth with a quick motion. It was growing fast and soon he'd need a cut. He couldn't imagine purposely having long hair on a place like Syka.
'Why is it so hot today?' he wondered idly as he reached his tent. Mitt's steel gray gaze caught on his pile of clothes.
'Where are my gloves?" he asked himself. Working without them wasn't a good idea.
Despite the heat, he pulled on his pants and leaned against the tent flap to put on his boots. He'd wait til he needed to put on his heavy apron and long sleeved shirt and just carried them under his arm.
A bright crimson Macaw flew off from the back, dropping two more red feathers. One glove fell to the ground but the other was carried off into gods knew where!
"Hey featherbrain! Give me that back!" he called out, moving to chase the parrot. A random breeze smacked the tent flap open and he got whacked in the face by the heavy metal fastening. Clutching his right cheek, he watched the bird take off into the jungle and then closed the flap.
Maybe he could borrow Artik's gloves, considering the man hardly ever used them. Mitt was so lethargic and depressed, he wasn't noticing much of anything. He shrugged at the bird's fleeing back and headed to the smithy with a heavy tread. With a groan, he gave a long stretch until his spine cracked, and finally put on the shirt and heavy leather apron.
WC 1,141 Cumulative 3,578, Gross 4,719
