Morose Meetings (Kit)

[Zandelia]

Spring 2nd – Pig’s Foot Tavern


Zandelia’s day had started with the thing that all mentally abused, long suffering and emotionally wrecked people chose to begin the day with – alcohol. It was always a terrible affair when one went through harrowing experiences in one’s life, however Zandelia’s life up until the present moment had seemed to be strewn with the very lowest feces that the human race could provide, with the odd portion of alternative species thrown into the melting pot too. Over the last year alone she could count on two hands the number of true misfortunes and shattered hopes she held claim to. It was in this manner that she sat, propped up by her left hand lest she slam her already bruised face into the table in front of her, and ruminated upon her life. It was barely noon and she had eaten little and drank a forgotten number of silt-laden beverages. She could not even bring herself to complain about the quality further, mumbling to herself as other patrons steered well clear of her corner of the establishment.

Never thought it would come to this, sat down and drunk as a skunk like the refuse I always despised. How the world turns…. she thought to herself morosely, her depression all but palpable.

“Before...it crushes you underneath its wheel” she grumbled to herself as she imbibed yet another sip, her vision beginning to swim slightly as her mug clattered onto the table top.

She could not fathom how it had all become unraveled. She had had plans, formations of indelible character and hopes – so many hopes. She suspected it were those which had led to her fall from grace. She had met a woman, a warrior of some repute, a beautiful battle maiden. For one day she had felt a rush not experienced in years, and it had been taken away just as quickly. Her chance had left, allowed to go on some quest of import to her heart. She had accepted it as first but the more she thought on it the more foolish her decision seemed to be. The woman had needed space to be sure, Revy Hiroe the emotional recluse, and she had left to gain it. It was not Revy’s fault she knew, however in her current state Zandelia could not rationalize that thought. Her self-pity would not allow her to, sad as it was.

“No one ever says how much space they need do they?” she asked herself drunkenly, “but it always seems to be the same width, depth and breadth as you” she finished as the rest of the brownish contents entered her mouth and slipped down her throat.

She called for more as she sat, her stained Shadowsilk Robes rippling with her over-exaggerated movements, and the head of the tavern sauntered over to her – flagon noticeably not in his hand. He was licking his lips too, his moods clearly not improved by the fact that Zandelia was absently twirling one of her tonfa in her free hand when it was not upon her clay cup. It was a dull blur, moving more from learned instinct and muscle memory than conscious thought. She could not really hear his words but she knew he was telling her she had more than enough and that it was perhaps time to sleep, eat or leave. Preferably the latter she knew he meant. She did not look at him but merely pulled him closer to her level by his jerkin so he could hear the stone in her voice. It was not like her and surprised him, she was a local after all.

“Get me another petching flagon to drown out the memory of the other day or I will be forced to put my weapons to use. I would probably lose, but not before I redecorate some of this room. So what’s it going to be? One more flagon? Or a fight?” she hissed at him, her gaze not leaving the middle distance.

He shook his head and walked away, signalling the barmaid to bring her another flagon and taking some coins from the pile Zandelia had strewn across the table in front of her. Her mug was filled and her anger once more turned to sadness in a flash. It did not help she had been through tortuous circumstance thrice in as many seasons. Father’s book and her quest to follow his footsteps – she had failed. The night in the mist – she had been broken. Her destroyed eye – it was still useless and her beauty mockingly put to shame by the sensual Konti.

Her only spark of possible joy included the vain hope her woman would return and the fact that Mok, an old friend, had offered her a position within the Crimson Edge proper should she be deemed capable enough. She was sure she would be turned away by whatever leader they possessed and she had not met, however, and so she held little hope for success.

Who would find a washout like me to be interesting and useful? she asked herself as the drink continued to flow mightily.

[Kit]

Kit had come back to this place looking for his human. He wanted to make sure nothing bad had happened to him in the storm yesterday. Having had more than enough experience being chased by brooms, Kit had learned that his two-legged form was best for entering the places that were ruled by stompers. And so it was that a young man with black hair and thread-bare sackcloth that was far too small for him, walked into the very tavern where Zandelia was getting herself sloshed.

Sniffing the air was enough to tell Kit that his human wasn't here. He was disappointed, and a little worried, but another newly familiar scent caught his attention. He couldn't quite place it at first, but it was coming from the direction where his eye caught a moving glint. His curiosity overwhelming his concern for his human, he forgot all else and walked at a leisurely waddle toward the spinning glint and familiar smell.

Following his nose, he brushed against something extremely soft. Taking some of the material in his hands, he recognized it as something he had encountered once before. That time, he'd failed to bring any back to his den, which he'd always regretted. It was a stroke of fortune that he had encountered another chance to obtain some. He tugged gently on the fabric, wondering how difficult it would be to make it come free.

After a few big sniffs, he did also recognize the stomper under the clothing, but he wasn't too concerned about her. He remembered her from yesterday; she'd been with the bouncy stomper. He still didn't really like the bouncy stomper, but he had taken Kit to a feast of free food once, so he couldn't be all bad, and anyone connected to him was likewise probably not going to hurt Kit...at least not deliberately.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia was now well past the merry stage and fast approaching the colossally drunk stage of tavern visitation, her practiced skills serving her well as they let her imbibe still further amounts, emptying most of another flagon in a handful of minutes, whist her liver screamed at her she was sure. Or, at least, it would have screamed if it had not been drowning in all – a thought which caused Zandelia to giggle to herself a little momentarily as she toyed with the handle of her weapon. It was a strange thought, one forged within the dampness of a brewery, but was replaced soon after with the black cloud of melancholy – a brief respite of light within a sky of darkness. Where had it all gone wrong for her?

Oh yeah! With that damned golem! Shiny, metal lump of…what was it anyways?! Standing there, on the island. All messed up with the ghosts and things. Damned….craven? Craven! her thoughts were carried away with each other now, her melancholy now replaced with a form of rage tinged with paranoia – angry yet sure she had been conned into suffering somehow, by some unknown entity.

It was under this sense of entrapment that someone had the misfortune to approach her form as she tried to stave off the rapid descent into madness and self-destruction. It was a sordidly difficult affair for Zandelia, losing control. It was dragged from her mental clutched finger by tense finger. She never liked to lose herself within the darkness of her heart, the last time she had done so she had killed many after all. No, she preferred to remain sane and very much within the solid grip of her mind. Her barriers had been eroded, however, etched away by the arid liquid of the Pig’s Foot tavern. She could feel herself falling, into herself and out the other side. She was beyond saving, beyond turning herself around. She had hit the bedrock and smashed through it, never to be noticed again. Her hopes, dreams, wishes and desires – all swept up and crushed with her psychological form.

It was then that she felt something tug at her, insistent and constant, her mind being dragged shrieking back to the reality of the grimy walls of the tavern, her cup of ale in hand and a boy at her side, so close he could have bitten her. She almost shouted as she twisted her body to bring herself away from the entity, her cup of ale thrown at its head, followed by the cup – though luckily for the boy it missed quite considerably. Zandelia tried to stand but fell backwards into her chair and slammed her head into the table, adding to h3er already fine facial bruising. She saw white, and then color returned along with her full spectrum of sanity. Rational thought imposed its clamps upon the blackness of her being again and all was right with the world.

Except for the boy… her mind told her, her single eyed gaze now shifting to the sodden and yelping thing upon the floor next to her. She did not recognize him, nor knew why he would be as foolish as to waltz up to her and grab her clothing.

“Listen kid, if you go around pulling at clothing like that you’ll end p getting yourself killed. Now sit down and stop babbling whilst they fetch you a damn cloth! Akajia preserve me” she moaned as the backlash of a hangover melded with her new bruises to slam a wall of intense pain into her skull. “And someone get me some damned ice cold meat, for love of…” she muttered before a cold slap of said animal product was put in place by the barmaid.

Obviously was asleep then or something she thought to herself as she fought the pain and let out a number of deep breaths, watching as the boy was looked after and the barmaids gave Zandelia a deep look of scorn.

She sighed and decided to try and make amends before she was barred for life from her standard watering hole for cruelty to youth.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry alright. I didn’t know it was you and you haven’t exactly caught me anywhere near my best here” she stated by way of grudging apology, “what’s your name lad? Might as well know the eh?”

[Kit]

Kit cried out when the stomper threw the yucky water at him. It smelled like poison, and for a while, Kit thought she was trying to kill him. He tried to wipe the poison water off of himself, making distressed noises all the while. He wondered what horrible beast spat poison at its enemies, and how he could learn to avoid such beasts in the future. He hadn't meant to intrude on something else's territory, but he didn't know this place was so dangerous!

Eventually, he realized the stomper was saying something to him. What? Pulling at clothing is bad? His mother had never taught him that. Was this a new rule, or just something his mother had forgotten to teach him? Now what was the stomper saying? His name? What was it with the obsession with names among talking creatures? It was much easier to recognize each other by smell.

Rather than try to explain the folly of names to something that probably wouldn't understand it anyway, Kit decided that now would be a good time to remove himself from this situation...quickly. He started to run away at his top speed, but he was still disoriented, and on his first step he slipped in some of that poison that had been thrown on him. Before he hit the floor, he managed to grab onto a chair...which he promptly brought down with him. Becoming even more panicked, he grabbed for a chair on his other side, but the whole mess just ended with him trapped under a pile of chairs, trying and failing miserably to wriggle his way out. The worst part was that he could still smell the poison on him, and it made his brain feel fuzzy.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia watched with growing frustration and perplexity as the boy decided that it was a damned good idea to get himself away from her seated form. In truth she could not blame him, nor would she have attempted to stop him from running – the pain already enough to contend with without strange boys tugging at her and whimpering in fear. Even the cold slab of meat was beginning to warm up against her skin, her bruising far from eased into full bloom as nausea gripped her stomach and she tried to stop the dull throbbing from debilitating her further beyond a dazed mind. Still, she was irritable and still half-drunk in some ways and had no time for foolishness at that present moment.

Right, you little piece of… she thought as another wave of aching cut her thoughts off midstream and merely prompted her to act more than think.

Zandelia had watched as the boy had attempted to run, slipping on a puddle of her spilled ale and catapulting him into a nearby chair. It was with some amusement that she watched him slam to the floor, grabbing yet another chair and collapsing the whole mess on top of himself. She was not a cruel person by nature, not in any unnecessary sense, however it was hard to not appreciate the irony of a failed escape trapping one further in unwanted clutches. She could not help but chuckle a little, the sound echoing around her battered skull as she pushed herself upwards and gently to her feet. She shuffled towards the pile and bent down, meat still held to her face intermittently.

“Calm down lad! Calm!” she told him, waiting for the pointless struggles to de down before beginning to pull the chairs from his form, lest he damage himself further than he already had done so.

She picked the first one off of him and placed it to the side, taking a few moments to breathe deeply and groan her grumbles into her surroundings, resting her arm upon the back of the wooden construct before bending down to pick the other from him, an effort which she thought should put him indebted to her in the grand scheme of things – considering her current physical condition. She let him do as he wished after that, merely staggering back to her chair and slumping into its solid frame once more as she threw the mat to the table, uselessly warm as it now was. She noticed the bartender had already taken its monetary worth from her pile and a small portion besides for the incident caused.

Best not to argue lest he poison my bloody ale she sighed inwardly as she downed the last that remained of her purchased beverages. She doubted she would get any more this day after what had happened.

“Boy, if you’re still staying then sit down, by the gods, so I don’t have to crane my neck to see you,” she grumbled irritably, “I’ve suffered enough injury over the last two days to cause myself more today. Sit down” she told him without looking at him, her peripheral vision seeing he was still recovering from his ordeal with the chairs.

She rubbed her temples and then realized that it was a bad idea, all too late, as yet another wave of pain broke across the stones of her consciousness. She was beginning to wonder if there really was someone out to destroy her, piece by piece.

[Kit]

Kit stayed still as the woman helped him get free. He realized with his fabled cleverness and prior experience that trying to move at all would only make things worse. Since she had not taken advantage of his situation and tried to kill or eat him yet, he decided to trust her...just a little. At her command, he plopped heavily into a chair next to her. He managed a few moments of awkward silence before his nose picked up the delicious scent of food-thing.

Before external forces could stop him, he grabbed the raw meat on the table and bit into it. Having satisfied his primary concern of his next meal, it occurred to him to actually look at the woman he was interacting with. She seemed...tired? hurt? sad? Not happy, at any rate, and something in Kit was compelled to fix this. He wasn't sure how though... He started by asking, through a mouthful of meat, "Are you okay?"

[Zandelia]

As Zandelia spent some considerable amount of time trying to bring herself back to both consciousness and sobriety she had no idea just how perplexing the next few minutes of her life would be. Her head felt as if it had been smashed with sticks several times over, the pain thundering through her skull despite her best efforts to staunch its progress. She was wondering whether coming back to Sunberth had been the best idea after all, considering the experiences of her first two days back in her home city. She had been hit with huge slabs of ice, had her body all but crushed to pieces and been forced to admit her failures to those she was supposed to be able to help protect. No, her thoughts were following a very simple pattern – leaving, death or stagnation.

And none of them seem to do any favors for me she thought to herself as her gaze tried to focus itself upon her new companion, for want of a better word.

The boy had sat down now, groggy and silent as far as she could tell, his encounters with the chairs perhaps knocking some of the energy from the lad as only collisions with timber could. Still, as she watched him from her single, emerald green orb she found that, to her astonishment, the boy seemed to like the taste of meat. Her eyebrows rose as far as they could, flashing another sense of anguish through her skull as her surprise overcame her shaky defenses against the world. She watched, horrified, as his teeth sank into the used meat, the raw flesh being torn as he pulled at it in several sessions of consumption. Only when he had finished and he sat back, raw juices dripping from his chin, did she even begin to think again – cognitive processes going out of the window for the duration of the event.

“I….I’m fine by,” she managed to get through her lips, “but I’m not sure the same can be said for you lad. What in the name of Akajia did you just do?!” she asked him, her astonishment all too obvious to those who could hear her words.

Who is this kid? What is he? I’m sitting across from a damned lunatic! she thought as all memory of her failures evaporated like so much mist I the rays of the sunshine.

She took the opportunity to pull the slab of meat, slowly now and taking care to not touch the parts that had had teeth sunk into in case whatever the lad possessed was contagious. The last thing she needed was to be remembered as willfully psychotic. Her reputation was in tatters as it was, she knew. She finally managed to tease the meat away now, letting it fall to the floor and kicking it gently under the table in the hope that no one had noticed what she had done. Being connected, however slim, with a raw meat eating child of erratic behavior was not a healthy thing for her, that much was true. She tried for her best smile but it came out a mere n3ervous grimace.

“So, where’d you learn habits like that then lad? And wherever it was don’t do them in here at any rate. I’d rather not puke my guts out today thank you” she spoke, her words semi-slurred but intelligible.

“Name’s Zandelia,” she continued as calmly as she could, “you got a name along with your habits?” she asked, trying to figure out exactly what she had walked into.

[Kit]

Kit made a small whining noise as the food-thing was taken away from him. That had been good meat! However, he did not want to upset the obviously unhappy lady any more than she already was, so he did not cause a scene over it. He just sat looking with a longing expression toward the table, as if he could see the meat under it. He did not try to retrieve the meat; she had told him to sit, and he was worried that leaving the chair might violate those orders.

She had asked about his name again. Kit was starting to get used to people asking for his name, but the whole concept still bothered him. Once again, he tried to explain to a human what names were for. "You can call me whatever you like," he began slowly. "I know who I am, so I don't need a name to remember myself. Isn't it easier to recognize each other by smell anyway? If you need words to think about me, you can just use whatever will help you remember me best." At the somewhat confused (or was it just drunk?) expression on her face, he reluctantly admitted, "My mother used to call me Kit."

[Archelon]

Thread Award "..." And the Results!!!!: Zandelia : SkillName 1-5 How/why? Rhetoric 2 Philosophy 3 Lores: Drunk as(with) a skunk Would you like some extra turtle sauce ? : Interesting thread Any questions,comments,or concerns please feel free to send me a nice pm.