Closed Flowers and Freedom

[Shimoje]

Wooden Flowers Among Real

45th of Spring 516 A.V.
Shimoje wanted to take a break from all of the recent adventures which he had been a part of. Finding information on his father’s death was exhausting and almost always heartbreakingly unsuccessful. Today he intended to visit someone he would occasionally frequent and share some polite conversations with. It all started where one day Shimoje noticed an old lady sitting behind her exotic flowers just outside the Rearing Stallion. She seemed to be having a tough day, and was coughing unpleasantly. He approached her and shared his waterskin with her. She responded in kindness by giving him a single white rose explaining that it symbolized new beginnings and honor.

Today Shimoje sat beside the old woman and shared in whittling wood as she watered her plants and shared her kindhearted nature and wisdom with Shimoje. Her voice crackled slowly, but Shimoje didn’t mind it “They have no mouth, but seem to speak.” She said as she ran her wrinkly fingers over the petals of a daffodil. “a thousand words so mild and meek.” She continued on as watching Shimoje try to carve a flower made out of wood. “They hand eyes, but seem to see.” Shimoje listened carefully at her words, simply exchanging the occasional glance towards her as he worked on the petals of the wooden flower carving it smooth.

“and bury thoughts into me.” Shimoje now great curious at the older woman. How could flower’s bury thoughts into her? “They have no ears, but seem to hear.” She continued on while sharing her patient eyes towards Shimoje and moving her fingers across some seeds which she reeped into a pot full of dirt. “All my cries, my every tear.” Shimoje wanted to say something but knew deep down there was more to what she was saying. “they have no arms, but seem to pat when with worries my heart is fat.” She smiled at the words of her heart being fat.

“They have no feet, but seem to walk along with me in my dreams and talk.” Her words were utterly beautiful to Shimoje. The rhyming and metaphors intrigued him, and inspired him during his crafting. Now carefully dragging the blade across the base of the flower to the bulb, every stroke made it resemble the flower infront of it more and more.

“They, I know, are the flowers so nice that spread their fragrance a million miles.” With a hearty smile she smelled one of her most prized bouquets and picked it up for Shimoje to smell as well. The fresh spring scent of lavender, chamomile, and pink roses. The bald headed Zeltivian relished in the scent then continued to carve at his flower, now turning the stem, giving it a jagged wild curve that nature would show. Unlike the plain straight stem he made before.

"Grow a few and then you’ll know, how your life is fresh and new.” She said before finally making her point to Shimoje. “You need to forget about the past and live now. Grow flowers now, and nurture them to be beautiful. You can’t nurture a dead flower back to life.” She said wisely. Shimoje grew sad and stopped his carving for a bit then continued. Nothing would stop him from his motives, but this hit his heart more than ever. Shimoje, now growing weary from his silence spoke to the lady “Atta, what do you think of my flower?” He said while showing her the complete wooden flower. “Giving dead wood life is a dangerous thing, child.” She said, but Shimoje didn’t understand what she meant. “Though, it is beautiful in its own right. Sure to make someone happy.” She said as looking down the street as someone approached the Rearing Stallion.

"My Speech." "Other Speech."

[Saul Sticks]

Saul was having a long day, but having Brat there made it a little better. His niece was there with him which was an improvement on what the past week had been. Still, her mood didn’t help to improve his much. She had been bitter of late. Maybe bitter wasn’t the best word. Angry? That didn’t quite do it either, though both would have described her at the beginning of the season. Taciturn. Reserved. That was more like it or what it had slowly morphed into. She had slowly closed him out more and more. It was as if something was coming and she was preparing for the worst. Except that, rather than something bad approaching, it was more like there was something that she was afraid would be missed. Saul couldn’t tell how he knew that, but it showed in her actions. They were walking the streets now as Saul had finished unloading a ship on the docks early and was waiting for someone to come find him once more work was dug up. Brat liked walking the streets. It was better than the stale, motionless air of the Castle. Having grown up in Zeltiva, Brat had grown accustomed to having the vicious gusts of the Bonesnapper wash away the fouler scents that tended to accumulate with civilization. That didn’t exist in the walls of Stormhold Castle, and though the breezes that swept through the streets here couldn’t compare to the Bonesnapper, they were at least something. At the moment, one of those breezes was whipping her blond hair across her face. Absentmindedly, she chewed on the strands that had blown into her mouth. “What’s on your mind, Brat?” She shrugged. “Nothing.” He believed it. Her face was about as blank as he had ever seen it. Saul tried desperately to think of something to say to try to draw her out of this funk she was in, but he’d never been much of a conversationalist. Nothing came to mind, nothing good anyhow, so Saul kept his mouth shut. They continued this way for a while, silent and chewing on hair, all the while making aimless progress toward nowhere. Finally, something did enter Brat’s mind, and she spat her hair out. “Saul?” Saul sighed. He was getting uncomfortable with how often Brat was dropping the Uncle that usually headed his name, but he didn’t want to read into it too much. He couldn’t remember the last time she called him uncle, but he let it go, as he had done all season long. “Yes, Brat?” “Do you think I’d look pretty in a dress?” This had been a fascination of hers recently. She was always commenting on how beautiful other girls looked in their dresses, especially her Aunt Sasha. Saul didn’t mention that Sasha had to look good as part of her profession; that was how she got customers. Still, Saul supposed Brat was getting to the age where she would start to notice boys more. They had already begun to notice her. Saul wasn’t looking forward to the day when young men started coming to court her. Then again, it would be nice to have a reason to beat someone senseless. “Of course you would, but why would you want one? At the rate you’re growing, you’d outgrow a dress in a month.” She considered this for a moment, then nodded. “You’re probably right. Thanks, Saul.” “For what?” “For saying I’d look pretty.” Saul smiled. He was glad he could do something right by her. Lately, with the mood she had been in, it seemed every decision was the wrong one. Brat suddenly brightened. “Look, Saul. Flowers!” “What’s so great about flowers?” “They’re pretty.” “Yeah, and then they die.” “Gah,” Brat groaned in frustration at his lack of appreciation of all things beautiful. “You’re so negative. Flowers are just like people,” she explained as they walked up to the flower stand manned by an older woman and a bald man with wood shavings gathered in his lap. “How so?” “’Cause people are pretty and then they die.” “Gods! You’ve gotten morbid, child.” “But it’s true, and it don’t make me love people any less. Just ‘cause they die, shouldn’t make me like flowers any less. They’re pretty while they last, and that’s what matters. Like this one.” Brat held up a particularly lovely example of a rose. “And in a few days, it’ll be wilted.” She rolled her eyes at his lack of understanding. “That don’t make it any less beautiful now.” Her eyes danced back over the flowers before she noticed the wooden flower in the bald man’s hands. “Hey, check that out. I bet you that one wouldn’t wilt.” An idea danced in her mind for a moment brightening her eyes. “I bet you there are people that don’t wilt.” Saul conceded that point to her. She was probably right. He had heard stories of children of Rak’keli and Dira, how time seemed not to touch them. Maybe flowers weren't so bad after all.

[Shimoje]

The Smoldering Flower

Shimoje and Atta both smiled as the two came to the stall chatting of things which they in term were sort of talking about themselves. Shimoje was still engrossed in his craft, and now came the final touches to the flower. Before burly man and little child Shimoje took out his tinderbox and started to flick a few flames onto the petals of the flower. The flames didn’t ignite the flower, but it did manage to smolder parts of the wood causing it to carbon. The heat managed to leave marks upon the petals of the flowers and caused it to smoke. The black smolder managed to work itself into the crevices of the crafted grooves of the petals.

As the flower was smoking Shimoje stood up and carefully dusted off his pants and held out the flower. Atta sat there observing the interaction between them and started to once again start smelling her prized bouquet of flower. A woodsy scent, however, soon wafted through the air as the still smoking flower was present to the little girl. “It may not wilt, but it will never replace the real thing.” Shimoje said with a smile on his face.

Atta seemed a bit surprised at Shimoje’s comment, and kept quiet for the most part, letting out a slight wheezing cough. Shimoje continued on “Within flowers is kindness, and a life to itself. When you carve flowers like this you always run the risk of slipping, making a mistake, and cutting yourself. This flower, though wooden, has its own place in the world. It was made from a tree which had been cut down and withered as well.” Shimoje told this story to someone once before, and he remembered back. “Now this new flower has a new set of memories. It can never be like the original, but it has experience death and life the same as everything else, and that is what is beautiful about it.”

Shimoje enjoyed speaking in metaphors, and as he spoke he clung onto the flower and then handed it over to the little girl to grab. “You can have it.” He simply stated. Atta walked over to Shimoje and put her hand on his shoulder and shook her head, but remained smiling. “There is more to that flower, Shimoje.” She went on “When you make something, you leave your mark in it. It tells of yourself, and who you are as a person. When you simply give away things like your wooden flower it imparts all of that with it.”

Shimoje was confused of what the wise old woman was talking about, but regardless still acted out in kindness hoping that the little girl would take his gift.

[Saul Sticks]

Brat inhaled sharply as the man held a flame to the flower. Her hands flashed open, then gripped tightly to the air in hope that the man didn’t burn the creation to ashes. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, her hand darted forward to save the flower from its creator, but Saul caught her hand. “A trial by fire,” he explained to her, though he seriously doubted mixing wood and fire wood improve art. “Nothing ever comes through it unchanged. Most things, people included, usually come through worse for the wear. Few things can pass a true challenge and end up better for it.” Saul wasn’t usually a philosophical man, and he didn’t consider himself to be one now. Still, he was in the company of others who seemed to be focused on just that at the time, and he could bullshit an inclination toward the same well enough. Besides, his teaching had kept Brat from interrupting the man while he worked. The two watched as the flower gained more character with added detail brought by the shadow of smoke. Inspecting the flower as the man held it out to Brat, Saul got lost in what the man was saying. Saul’s focus was on the flower and its intricate details. He had been wrong. The flower had definitely been improved by the fire. He missed most of what the man said. He caught the end of what the man said. “Now this new flower has a new set of memories. It can never be like the original, but it has experienced death and life the same as everything else, and that is what is beautiful about it. You can have it.” Brat took the flower with as good of a curtsey as she could manage without a dress and held out her free hand, her left one, to shake the man’s hand. It was a mixture of being taught proper etiquette by two different people. Her Aunt Sasha was convinced she could teach Brat to be a lady. Saul was happy with teaching her a distant, formal politeness. It had always been good enough for him. Regardless of what was thought about her gestures, there could be no mistaking the genuine gratitude in her voice as she breathed a quick, “Thank you.” The woman who seemed in charge of the stand beamed a smile at the man. “There is more to that flower, Shimoje. When you make something, you leave your mark on it. It tells of yourself and who you are as a person. When you simply give away things like your wooden flower, it imparts all of that with it.” “And all that will eventually fade.” Saul couldn’t suppress the cynic in himself. “When Brat passes, any significance that flower holds will go with her. Even memory wilts.” Brat groaned again in exasperation. “You still ain’t getting the point, Saul. Just ‘cause it’ll eventually fade don’t make the flower or the gesture any less pretty now.” She turned toward the woman and the man and held out her hand again for a formal introduction. “Thanks again, Shimoje.” She was good at picking up names during conversation. Pointing her thumb toward Saul, she gave him an introduction of sorts. “Don’t mind, Saul. He’s just bitter that he ain’t as smart as his niece. I’m Brat, by the way.”

[Shimoje]

Title and Date

Shimoje smiled as Brat took the flower and turned around for a split second to look at old lady Atta, then back to the two before him. The man before him was wise in some senses, and his surprising take on how fire seemed more used for destruction was a perplexity to Shimoje. Fire brought many things to Shimoje that was cherished. Often he stare into the heart of a fire and it would help him think, help him relax. He also enjoyed the warmth, and when used with art on wood it made him feel, well unexplainable. The transformation that is made changing both it’s color and shape was remarkable to him. With the heat of fire one could bend and mend wood in ways it would normally crack or snap. Though, this time was purely for visual effects.

Suddenly Atta shrieked out a response with her coarse voice. “No, it will not fade. It will live on, that flower there has a memory attached to it, a part of Shimoje, his Chavi. Chavi is an ever forming force that imparted from those that make things. It holds one’s emotions, their thoughts, and even how it was crafts and where.” Atta said looking at the flower grasped within Brats hands. Her sullen eyes parted and looked to Shimoje. “Remember, Shimoje, that everything you make has a part of you in it.” She had said once more before sitting back in her chair and relaxing, mildly closing her tired eyes.

“You’re welcome by the way.” He had shared his hand in the girls form of gratitude, but it seemed awkward for him. Most Zeltivans would simple leave it at a thank you and be on their way. Though, he didn’t want to offend the little girl. “Nice to you meet you Brat and Saul.” Shimoje said exchanging eye contact with the both of them. He turned to Atta “and thank you, Atta. I have learned a lot from you today as always.”

“So what were you two up to?” Shimoje asked kindly, and almost wanted to be on his way. He wondered mildly if the two of them had planned on going somewhere new within the city that he hadn’t seen before, but couldn’t have been sure. “I was just here talking and making that flower, but I hadn’t any plans for the rest of the day.” At that note Atta opened up her eyes and smiled. “Why don’t you three take some of these seeds and go plant some flowers somewhere they might grow?” Shimoje looked to her in confusion. He had no idea of how to plant seeds, much less allow them to grow.

“I am not sure how, plus I would rather those seeds be reaped by one who has the talent to let them flourish.” Shimoje said. He wasn’t too into gardening and had no idea of where to plant them either that they would grow.

[Saul Sticks]

“We were up to nothing and going nowhere, and yet, somehow, we managed to do something and end up somewhere.” Saul answered was amazed at how productive he could be even when he wasn’t trying. “In all honesty, I finished what work they had for me at the docks, and now, Brat and I are wasting time until they manage to scrounge up more work for me.” Brat beamed a smile at him, one that said she was full of pride for his accomplishments. “Saul’s the best at what he does. He works so hard that can’t keep up with him. He could unload an entire ship by himself.” “I wouldn’t want to,” Saul muttered. At Atta’s suggestion that they plant flowers, Brat immediately took charge of the situation despite Shimoje’s insistence that they didn’t know enough about flowers to make them thrive. Her hand flashed out and took the seeds from Atta’s open palm. Once she set her mind to something, it was difficult to dissuade her. Still, Brat was intelligent, perhaps a great deal more than she ever let on, and she knew when to ask for advice from someone who had been doing things longer than she had. She begged Atta’s knowledge on what the seeds would require for growth and, with that knowledge in hand, set off back in the direction of the docks, gesturing for Saul and Shimoje to follow her. Saul did as he was bid to do. He wouldn’t complain about this distraction from his normal day. It had lifted Brat’s spirits, and that was something he had not been able to do on his own for some time now. Satisfied with Brat’s leadership, Saul began to follow her, but he whispered to Shimoje as Brat struck out ahead. “It looks like she’s headed toward the harbor. If you want to end up somewhere else, you’d better voice it now and come up with a good reason as to why we should change. She’s stubborn.” As they walked, Saul felt it was necessary to make conversation. The only thing on his mind was what the woman, Atta, had said about Chavi. “Do you believe what she said? About Chavi and all that? I feel some people are a bit too prone to optimism. Even if someone could read the Chavi of or on something (however that works), they wouldn’t care. People forget. Give this world a couple generations, and they’ll forget about anything ours ever did.” Saul hoped Brat didn’t hear him. She’d have a thing or two to say about that, and none of it would be nice.

[Shimoje]

Shimoje nodded at their runaround of giving some information but absolutely no information at all. He perked up when he heard that Saul worked at the docks though, and found it amazing that the two hadn’t run into each other before. Shimoje knew of a few movers like Saul, well just one personally, and that was Yargul Munderitcher. He was a peculiar guy and a drunk at that. Shimoje almost wondered if all people in that sort of labor work were strange individuals or had something wrong with them, but as far as Shimoje could tell at this point Saul was an alright guy. As he was there pondering and taking with Saul idly, Atta exchanged the information needed to properly allow the plants to grow. Soil, water (but not salt water), and a kindred and careful finger to reap the seeds in dirt.

As Brat grabbed the seeds out of Atta’s hand taking full responsibility of the opportunity, Shimoje almost wondered why there would be flowers near the dock. Though, he wasn’t particularly accustomed to the idea he knew of only one place that would enjoy such a commodity, and that was the tavern there. As Shimoje reluctantly started to follow the excited and … stubborn little girl he exchanged words with Saul. “I feel like I am responsible for this, sorry.” He turned to the kid and almost couldn’t help but to think he got thrown into some sort of baby care, but the lass was old enough to do as she bid on her own.

“I would like to think that Chavi is indeed real. I have some experiences with what she had said, but never really thought of it till now. Now that she mentions it it does make sense. “Though I don’t believe in the aspect of people forgetting. Sure some things may be lost, but what could be lost is always found.” Shimoje spoke with the inner love of scavenging within him. Artifacts and old objects always told a story in some way or another, you just had to look close enough.

“Everything has Djed and a story, and I believe that as long as you look and study something well enough you can learn of all sorts of things.” As the two finally followed Brat to the docks she was as stubborn as ever, searching far and wide for a spot to plant. Shimoje stood there with his hand idling above his toolbelt, and took a long stare at the Tipsy Wench that was docked. He didn’t mean to come too close to the ship, and knew there was work to be done aboard the ship, but he would get to that in due time.

He also didn’t want to reveal so soon that he himself was a sailor and gadgeteer to them just yet. He didn’t share that part of his life often with others, and this seemed to be just a casual greeting and stroll, but regardless he enjoyed the company. He wondered of what possible things he might learn from the two unique individuals and spoke towards Saul. “You know you shouldn’t speak so pessimistically with Brat around. That bit about her dying and passing away and her memory fading… Children can be perceptive to such things.” Shimoje spoke from experience. He had interacted with a few younger people within Mizahar, and some looked to him as an idol.

Shimoje rubbed his bald head for a few ticks and wondered for a moment if his words were out of place. He didn’t know the extent to the two’s relationship, but if it was out of place for him to say such he would try and fix the situation with kinder words. “It all depends on how you look at things. Some long time ago someone invented those ships out there. Allowing for us to travel and trade. I may not know who made the first ship or how they were first invented, but I know someone at some time worked very hard on that.”

[Saul Sticks]

Saul hadn’t minded Shimoje, up until the point the man had tried to tell him how to raise Brat. He bristled at this. His hands curled into fists, and he was about to swing on the man when he remembered why they were there. Brat had wanted to be there, and for once in the last season, she seemed content, maybe even happy. Saul had already told Shimoje so when the man had apologized for igniting this adventure. His fists relaxed, as did his shoulders. Shimoje had only meant to express concern for Brat. It was misplaced concern but concern nonetheless. “I’m not a pessimist. Children just need to understand death before understanding it is forced on them. Sheltering them from truth is no kindness. It’s only our own fears that we’re avoiding by not telling them.” It was one of the first things he had taught Brat when she had come to live with him. Her father, Sam, had not tried to educate her about this in any way. Saul went on, “She has to understand that life is limited. What she does with it is her choice. All I can do is let her know that opportunities aren’t limitless. One day, she will pass, and I want her to have lived a life that made her happy. I don’t care about the impact she makes on others, because if you give this world enough time, it does forget. Some people more quickly than others.” He was heated and, realizing such, calmed himself as best as he could. Shimoje, seeming to realize he had struck a nerve, spoke to calm Saul. “It all depends on how you look at things. Some long time ago, someone invented those ships out there. Allowing for us to travel and trade. I may not know who made the first ship or how they were first invented, but I know someone at some time worked very hard on that.” “And that’s just the thing,” Saul muttered. “The person was forgotten which is all well and fine if that person didn’t want much credit for their work, but there are few people who are like that. Most want to be remembered as a person, not just for the legacy of their achievements. Eventually, the person doesn’t matter anymore, not to those looking back. All that matters is the usefulness of what they discovered or did.” He was certain he was being unfair to the man who was merely trying to make a philosophical point, and now Brat wasn’t too far ahead. She would get irritated again if she heard him being belligerent and argumentative. He added, as a way of recompense, “I’m not so cynical to believe that there aren’t people who deserve to be remembered, maybe for all of eternity. But deserving something doesn’t make it so. That’s the truth. That’s why I want Brat to live for herself, not for her memory.” Brat suddenly brightened up ahead of them. She had found what she was convinced would be the best spot and was waving them over to share in her discovery. As Saul neared, he gave the little site a scrutinizing once over. Along some of the pathways, there were stone posts with rope running between them to mark the edges of the walkway. Beneath the rope, at the edges of the cobbled roads, there was a strip of soil that looked as if it had been originally intended to grow plant life of some sort. It had been long ago forgotten, and during any heavy downpours, Saul always remembered some of the soil being washed away. Other than the erosion though, everything else seemed fitting. The flowers would get plenty of sunshine but be shaded during part of the day. There was nothing to divert rain, so the flowers would receive enough when it did come. Even its placement away from the Harbor would protect it from the worst winds when they did come. Saul shrugged. “It could work.”

[Shimoje]

“Sorry, it’s just that I mostly raised myself…” Shimoje remarked to Saul. He was almost jealous of the kid being able to have some sort of figure that cared about her. It was something else. As they walked closer and closer to the docks, sharing in conversation in a mature manner it seemed that Brat had found a spot to try and plant the seeds.

“You know, Saul, you are planting a beautiful flower yourself too.” Shimoje spoke as watching brat. Part of him wanted to partake in a drink at this moment, but he hid his craving by sipping on his waterskin. Diverting his attention he ‘zoned’ out and started to stare out at the sea. “I miss it.” He said calmly. “I am a sailor and gadgeteer. I work aboard the Tipsy Wench there, and we had a grand set of adventures coming up here to Syliras, but despite everything I hate it here.” His sudden turn of emotion was almost surprising, and he smiled back at Saul before saying “But people like you make my stay here all that better.”

He wasn’t trying to take a part in flattery, he was being genuine for once. He enjoyed the philosophical talks, and even more so enjoyed the vitality of his young one. “Though I am taking it you are not fond of returning to your place of work either during your off time?”

Shimoje took a chair on one of the building nearby and sat down as he watched Brat finish up planting the seed. He thought for a moment and remembered how Atta would often water soil that had no plants growing in it. Suddenly, he got the idea of letting Brat take some of his water to start of the plant in a moist soil to allow it to grow. “Hey Brat, here take some of this water, but be careful pouring it. You don’t want to drown the soil.” He threw his voice a bit before holding out his waterskin and laughed in a cheerful mood.

[Saul Sticks]

“That child is anything but a flower,” Saul said, shaking his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate the sentiment. But she is no flower.” He considered her for a moment, trying to come up with an analogy that would describe how he saw Brat in a way Shimoje would understand. Shaking his head again, he went on. “She is a storm. She’s powerful, more so than she knows, and she can be destructive, or she can be a force of change. I guess that makes me the wind that guides her or, at least, tried to guide her. She’s got a mind of her own-” he raised his eyebrows “and a conscience. Damn that conscience of hers. It’s nearly gotten me in trouble a few times. I tried to raise her right, but as with any wind, the storm she became swallowed me up. She became better than I raised her to be, and I can tell you that’s been a real pain in my ass.” He sighed. “And I couldn’t be prouder. It just means I have to keep my eyes open for all the bad shit she’s convinced could never happen.” When Shimoje looked at the sea, Saul could hear the longing in his voice. Saul felt that way, imagining the fierce gusts of the Bonesnapper. That was a sensation that reminded him of home, of Zeltiva. “I hate it here.” That was a sentiment Saul could agree with. This place was stifling. Shimoje went on. “But people like you make my stay here all that better.” Saul gazed out at the ship and the sea. Compliments made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t a humble man. He just didn’t know how to respond to them. Saul did what he normally did and shifted the focus away from himself. “Brat has that effect on me. I hate it here too. Zeltiva is the city I would call home. It was where I was born, where I grew up.” He didn’t say raised. He had raised himself. “Brat makes anywhere I end up feel like home. Even the Harbor feels like home.” Shimoje looked over at him. “Though I am taking it you are not fond of returning to your place of work either during your off time?” Saul shrugged. “It’s not so bad. It’s familiar here, maybe more so than the castle, and it’s open. There’s fresh air here, something we used to have a lot more of in Zeltiva. I guess the Harbor reminds me of home.” Saul took a seat with Shimoje, and as Shimoje gave Brat his water and the two watched her go to work, Saul looked over The Wench. “She looks like a good ship. I bet she’s taken you some interesting places. Are any of those a place you’d call home?”