Solo Through Sleet and Snow

[Gomer Caitiff]

3 - W I N T E R - 5 1 7

It had been two full days of nothing, cooped up in his house thanks to the heavy snow that, while it may or may not have been actual snow, had kept Gomer trapped, slowly incubating his restlessness with each passing bell. The second day, he hadn't even bothered getting dressed, choosing instead to traipse about his small, one room abode with his blanket about his shoulders and in nothing but his small clothes. By the third, he'd shed the blanket and chosen to lay dejectedly on the floor, the dramatic scene wasted in his isolation. Calling up towards his ceiling, he tried for the twenty-third time that morning to rouse some sort of conversation with his neighbor, hollering a, "Hallo up there!" slightly tinged with desperation.

Whether his neighbor chose to ignore him, or if sometime before the snow his whimsical little room had decided to stray away from the other buildings it had been constructed by, there was no response. Groaning, Gomer shut his eyes, flexing and curling his toes as he restlessly tapped his fingers against his bare belly. "Well," In only two days, he'd taken to talking to himself. It was one thing to choose isolation over socialization, but when it was forced upon him, it felt unbearably oppressive. "I suppose I'll..." He glanced around the sparsely furnished room, letting his words trail off as he searched for something to occupy his time.

Finding nothing of particular interest on the plain wooden walls, nor anything of intrigue nestled among the unkempt sheets of his bed, Gomer let out a heavy sigh. The ceiling above him groaned back, and he knowingly nodded. "The sooner the snow is gone, the better, I think." Holding his hands up, as if reaching for the wooden planks above him, his scars caught the lantern's light. Staring at them with a thoughtful click of his tongue, he clapped them together. "Practice, then."

Pushing himself up into a seated position, Gomer scratched at the back of his head and yawned, stretching his arms out to either side before finally hobbling to his feet. Swinging his hands back and fourth as his moved his head side to side, he started to casually walk around the room, making sure to choose a path that intersected with his discarded boots. Circling around twice more, Gomer flexed his fingers and pictured the ethereal strings that wove through his body, not unlike the swirling mists of a ghost - though Gomer imagined the strings to be a bit more static, woven through specific parts of his body rather that roiling about.

Usually, when he detached his astral limbs, he looked at what he was doing. The process of "untying" his soul from his body took long enough that it was difficult to remained focused, even with his eyes fixed on where his mind imagined the strings and threads to be. In the stillness and slight chill of what had become his temporary prison, Gomer figured he might as well work on something new. After all, the alternative was just sitting and doing nothing but eating - which he'd already done for the past two days, in hope the snow would fade.

Keeping his eyes ahead, but focusing more inward than on the path he'd set out before him, Gomer placed his left hand onto to his right wrist, running his fingers just above his skin. Tapping at the top of his wrist, he began to draw on the familiar string, the resistance entirely in his mind as he imagined the smooth silken texture to press against his finger. As it began to unravel, he stumbled over his boots, catching himself with several thudding steps but loosing his focus as the image dissipated, replaced buy a quick surge of surprise as he came to stop, glancing back at his boots with a frown.

Flexing his toes, he cleared his throat, and his mind, and took a few chimes to calm himself. When he was ready, he started again, this time diverting a little more attention to where his feet were going. Once again, his fingers found the imaginary threads, and once again, he gently tugged on them. As they began to loosen, he continued to work his way out towards his fingers, finding it best to pause with the image in mind as he came to obstacles like his boots and continue once his path was clear.

When it was nothing but the very tips of his fingers left, he used his corporeal hand to steady the limp anchor, gently pulling with his now ethereal one to free the last threads from his finger nails. Taking a careful step over his books, Gomer let out a soft, slow sigh as he wiggled his invisible fingers. "Once down and..." He supported his dangling, physical hand with its ghostly twin, preparing himself to reattach it. "However many more to go."

[Gomer Caitiff]

Putting the hand back in its place was more difficult, and Gomer's walk had slowed to a simple shuffle by the time he'd managed to thread the strings back into their proper weave. Flexing his fingers, and wiggling each one to make sure he'd done everything correctly, he noted a slight stick in his pinkie's range of movement. Working it out by repeatedly waggling the finger, he kicked at his boots, rearranging them on the floor. Gathering up his blankets, he dropped them unceremoniously onto the ground as well, still waggling his finger. With a slightly more difficult course set up, he walked around it several times before he began again.

Coming around to the blankets at about the time he was getting ready to start unraveling his wrist, the smooth fabric slid along the wood of the floor, sending Gomer straight to his back, knocking the wind out of him with a weak wheeze. Taking a moment to find his breath, Gomer coughed a couple times, propping himself up on his elbow and using his free hand to massage the back of his head. There was a dull throb from where he had collided with the floor, but other than the fading stars at the edges of his vision, it didn't feel serious to him.

Sighing, he got back up on feet and adjusted the blanket with his heels, moving it back to the general area it had been before. "Split your focus, split your head..." He muttered the phrase under his breath, out of habit, as there was no one to hear him even if he shouted - like he'd done twenty-four times earlier that morning. Stretching out his hands in front of him, he drew another, steadying breath. Keeping his eyes focused on where he was going, but holding an image of his astral body's intricately woven strands of silvery mist, he started again.

Avoiding his boots without too much trouble, he made sure to drastically slow his pace the first time round when it came to the far more treacherous terrain of his blanket. Taking careful steps, he continued with his detachment, eyes still fixed ahead but fingers carefully picking and plucking at invisible threads. Halfway through, he stumbled over one of his boots but was able to catch himself both without needing to tear his hand off nor ramming his head into the wall opposite him. Regaining his balance and speed, he continued, until at last his hand fell limp at the end of his arm.

Already reaching with his astral hand to begin the process of reattachment, there came a quick rapping of gloved knuckles on his front door. Blinking in confusion, Gomer glanced around the room for his clothes, uncertain who it might be nor what the weather might be like if his door had been freed of the snow somehow. He kept his window covered with old burlap, as he did not have shutters thanks to a mishap with a hammer and an excitable young woman, but he had never taken the time to do much about it.

Now, as the knocking came again, this time more urgent, Gomer made a mental note to remove the cloth from his window when he next had a chance. Having no time to cloth himself, he scooped up the sheets with his right hand, using his ethereal left to grab one end and wrap it over his shoulder, like some sort of poor man's cloak. As decent as he was able to make himself by the third round of what had become pounding at his door, he stumbled over his boots on his way to open it, shouting out a clipped, "Stable your mares!"

Sticking out his hand from within the makeshift blanket robe, Gomer pulled the door back with a bit too much force, having to step back and out of the way as it clashed against the wall. With his prison cell finally opened, Gomer blinked furiously in the blinding white light that reflected off of the snow, shivering involuntarily at the biting breeze that rushed in uninvited. Squinting at a figure dressed in something red and golden, he tilted his head to side, his hand having since receeded back into his blanket, pressed under his armpit for warmth. "What?"

[Gomer Caitiff]

As he regained some of his vision, Gomer grinned apologetically as he noticed that his unanticipated house guest wore a soft blush of embarrassment at his state of undress. Clearing his throat, the other man offered a polite, "I'm... not disturbing anything... intimate, I hope?"

Grin widening, Gomer poked his hand out of his blanket again, waving it side to side as he replied with a merry, "Just my hands and I."

Unamused the man cleared his throat, raising a bushy black brow. "I thought you might have been snowed in, but your house turned up across from mine as I was headed out."

Finally able to see clearly, though he still needed to squint, Gomer realized with whom he was speaking. The roguish crop of coal black hair, thick bushy brows, and clear grey eyes wrapped neatly up in a garish cloak of reds and rich yellows all belonged to one of the men in charge of who received which parcels for delivery. "Oh." The man's name escaped him, and Gomer pressed on, leaning against his door frame, ethereal hand still holding the edge of his blanket to keep it wrapped around him, hidden behind his back. "You... ah... you know where I live?"

Coughing into his mittened hands, the dark haired man cleared his throat once more, his cheeks flushed with more than the nip of the cool winter air. "I- we, that's... of course. We have everyone's house numbers in our records and-"

Raising an amused brow, Gomer playfully interrupted him, his voice warm with humor, "And you... went through them just to find mine?" His chuckle followed the man's helpless frown, "I'm quite flattered."

"...Don't be."

"Well, I can't just... stop being flattered, you know."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the other man crossed his arms, clearly finished with the jests at his expense. "Find your own way to work then." Without waiting for a reply, the man turned on his heel and started into the snowy streets. Wherever his house had ended up, Gomer noted the snowdrifts were far less severe, many of the homes weren't quite submerged with more than half who had, at least, windows high enough to escape from.

Calling out a merry, "I'll catch up!" to which the man responded with a dismissive wave of his hand over his shoulder, Gomer retreated back into the warmth of his home, using a foot to push his door closed. Dropping the blanket, he searched first for a pair of trousers, then for his shirt. Gathering them together, he quickly slipped into them, using his astral hand in lieu of his physical for lack of time. Lacing up his boots felt surprisingly natural, though it was a bit slow as he struggled with tying the knot between his invisible and visible appendages. Once ready, he picked his cloak up off of the ground and tossed it over his shoulders, the forest green a gentle compliment to the leather of his breeches and linen of his shirt.

Gripping his limp hand with his astral one beneath his cloak, Gomer pulled his door open with his free hand once more, this time he did so with a bit more care, bracing against the wind. Yanking the door shut against the wind's force, Gomer took off after the footsteps his coworker had left in his wake, finding the outing to be the perfect time to finish up his practice. Already, as his boots filled in the larger prints, he had begun to mentally restring the tips of his fingers.

[Gomer Caitiff]

Uncertain how far he had fallen behind, Gomer came to a stop at an intersection of streets, the footprints of others mingling with that of his coworker's, leaving a trampled mess for him to sort through. Still only about halfway through his reattachment, Gomer took a chance and headed off towards a path on his left, stepping carefully so as not to slip or fall, but primarily focused on a difficult to visualize string that was supposed to wrap around the middle-most bone of his palm. It kept slipping just out of clarity, making it all the more difficult to grasp onto as the wind had begun to pick up, slipping through his thin clothing that was far too ill-suited for a lengthy tromp through the wintery landscape.

Ducking behind a wall as a particularly numbing gust began to pick up, Gomer finally managed to loop the thread as he wanted, pulling it tight with a quick gesture from his other hand. When the howl of the gale died down, he peeked his head around the corner, pausing in his reattachment to make sure he wasn't going to be overtaken by the winter's chill unexpectedly. Finding it safe enough, he hurried on his way, neatly weaving the webs of his astral body back into the flesh where it belonged, watching the ground, but not much more than a few inches in front of his feet.

Lacing the final strand back into place, Gomer flexed his fingers, finding them stiff and chilled, though he wasn't sure whether it was due to his magic or the wind. With a sigh, he realized that if the city had wanted him to find his place of employment in time to catch up with the dark haired man, he would have arrived already. Slowing his already relaxed pace, he took a moment to look around. Busy as he'd been before, he hadn't had the chance to take much notice of what the city looked like under the heavy helping of snow. While he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers and toes, unused to the unnatural cold, he did find the stark white an interesting foil to the partially concealed, colorful buildings beneath it.

A woman, some paces to his left, had taken to coloring her little patch of snow with what looked to be beet juice; the dark purple sank down where she threw it, but the color bled into the snow around, creating a violet vortex of color in the otherwise stark landscape. To his right, he spotted a familiar sign. He grinned to himself, and started across the street toward the building. "Tricky."

Tapping his snowy boots against the wooden frame of the door's threshold, Gomer pushed his way into the cozy interior. Immediately, he was met with the scents of ink and cedar, and while he struggled to get the door closed as wind began to pick up again, there was a shout from the back of the room in a muffled, "Ionu damn it all, shut the door!"

"Sorry, sorry!" The door finally swung shut, and Gomer rubbed his hands together to try to get the heat to return to them a bit sooner. "Who's back there then?" He made his call to the backroom, but instead of a response, the dark haired man poked his head around the corner.

"Tory. Who do you think?"

Well, not Tory, that's for certain. The thought crossed his mind, but he brushed it away, taking off his cloak and hanging it on a wooden peg on the wall. "Tory, of course." He grinned wide, but his attempt at charm fell as flat as he had when he'd slipped on his blanket earlier that morning. "Right well, we're the only ones here today?"

"It's an improvement from yesterday." Tory, grumbled the words as he retreated.

Gomer followed, curiously inclining his head at the shelves of goods haphazardly stacked with an unusually large number of items. "Then... all of this is from the last day of fall?" He hadn't really remembered there being quite so many dropoffs, but he supposed that things were usually a bit busier, and such things were more difficult to take note of whilst hustling and bustling.

"Ye-up. And you, lucky man, get to take this one." Unceremoniously, Tory pushed a square cube wrapped neatly in leather into Gomer's chest. "It's one of those 'urgent' ones." He severely over emphasized the word "urgent", and both he and Gomer rolled their eyes in unison.

[Gomer Caitiff]

While rare, packages were occasionally marked "urgent", something that was done in-house. Gomer didn't actually know who was in charge of the stamp itself, but it was well known that "urgent" packages were always to be delivered on a basis of availability. The leather was smooth and the box itself wasn't incredibly heavy, though as Gomer gave it a gentle, cautionary shake, he felt the weight shift a bit. "Loose contents?"

"No clue. Just the damned box and a stamp. Glad you were able to make it in today, or I would have had to deliver it myself." Tory shrugged the last bit, a little glint of mischievous amusement in his eyes as Gomer clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Where am I to take it? There's no address." He held the package up and checked the bottom. Beginning to check the sides, in case he had missed it, Tory interrupted him with a chuckle.

"That's the thing. I haven't a clue."

Without any humor whatsoever, Gomer leveled a hard stare at the other man. "A jest, surely."

Tory only offered a vindicated grin. "Should have stayed in with your hands, Caitiff."

As dejected as he portrayed himself, Gomer was glad to have something more to do than stay cooped up in his house. A mysterious package to be delivered as soon as possible to an unknown address... It was, ironically, everything he'd been wanting. Only, now that he had it, he wasn't certain he still wanted to do it - at least, not in the frigid wasteland that Alvadas had so stubbornly settled into. "Then... I supposed I'll be off."

Tory grunted in acknowledgement, but looked up with a confused, "What?" when he didn't hear the sound of Gomer's retreating footsteps.

"Well, it's just... It's very cold today, and I don't own anything... weather appropriate." Gesturing at his thin shirt and fitted pants, of which the latter was stained a dark chestnut from the snow, Gomer entreated the other man was a wincing smile. "Could I borrow your cloak?"

With an overly dramatic sigh, Tory acquiesced to the request, "Fine. But only to borrow. If I don't get it back, I'll have them take it out of your pay."

"Fair enough." The words had barely left his lips before he was traipsing out of the room, box in tow. Pulling the heavy, wood scented, brightly colored cloak from where it hung next to his own, thin green, Gomer wrapped it around his shoulders, catching the clasp and pulling up the hood in preparation for the cold. As the wind rushed through the open door, he called back a merry, "Wish me luck!"

"Shut the damn door!"

Stepping out as the door closed behind him, he readjusted his grip on the quickly cooling leather. He looked down at it again, a thoughtful frown on his pursed lips. "Left or right, I wonder?" The box gave him no answer, not that he'd expected one, and Gomer decided on neither, choosing instead to plow straight ahead.

Since he had set out that morning, the snow had become deeper. The tracks he'd followed before were gone, if they'd even been there in the first place, and in every direction, the streets were unblemished. Having to lift his feet uncomfortably high to keep from stumbling, Gomer focused on putting one foot in front of the other; Tory's heavy cloak insulated the heat of his effort, and soon he had broken into a light sweat.

Dense clouds drifted from his mouth and nose, lingering for a tick or two before dissipating into nothingness. Eventually, it became too stuffy under the hood, and Gomer shook his head free, a little billow of steam drifting up off of his head into the air before it cooled enough not to visibly release its heat. Glancing around at his surroundings, Gomer turned back to note that the city had shifted - or that he had, either way - and he now stood in a circular intersection with five paths jutting off in different directions. In the center was a little fountain, ridiculously small in comparison to the rotunda, but large enough for several people to sit together on its edges.

There was no water in the fountain but neither was there any ice. Instead, there a black billed creature hung over the side, its beady charcoal eyes nestled on either side of his amethyst-hued, furred head. "Hello, what are you?" He took a few, labored steps, eyes bright with curiosity. "Or... who?"

With a peculiar nasally sort of mix of a growl and baby's coo, the creature dipped down below the end of the empty fountain. Gomer, still struggling to make his way over, picked up his pace, carefully raising his box up and over his head as he half jumped his way through the snow. When he arrived at the fountain and peered into it, there was nothing there - which, given the heavy snow that covered everything else - was a bit odd. Testing the bottom with a tentative prod of his boot, he found it quite solid, as much stone as it appeared.

Again, the odd noise caught his attention, and he cast about, caching the chubby face and dark bill just before it disappeared beneath the snow, headed down the path that had been just off the right of the one he'd entered upon. Without delay, Gomer pursued, knees pulled high with each step and box held firmly under one arm. He could feel whatever was in the package shifting about, but there had been no sounds of breaking - a good sign, surely. Regardless, the purple creature was most certainly worth following, after all, he had no idea where he was supposed to be headed anyway. For all he knew, the thing would take him right where he needed to be - or better, it was the intended recipient itself.

[Gomer Caitiff]

Farther and farther down the the street he trudged. The snowdrifts had grown deeper, and while the wind had died down, the snowflakes that had taken its place had begun to fall in incredibly variable size, some as large as his head, which he took care to avoid. Dodging left and right as he waded through the snow, he continued to spy glimpses of the purple streak ahead of him. A particularly large snow crystal drifted down from the sky, too large for him to get out of the way of with the snow as deep as it was. Leaning forward, he braced himself, raising his arm over his head, tucking the package close to his side, and curling his back.

The expected impact was surprisingly light. There was a gentle tap on his shoulders then nothing. Glancing around, he saw the two halves of the snowflake settle into the snow on either side of him, slowly sinking down. Glad that the dangerous looking flakes weren't going to trap him beneath an icy prison, he resumed his pursuit. Forcing his way through the now waist deep snow, the odd creature's coo-ing growl sounded just around a nearby corner. "I'm coming, I'm coming." He muttered, keeping his free arm out to the side of himself and twisting his body to help his now soaked and chilled legs cut through the snow with marginally more success.

Puffing out large clouds of mist and sharply drawing in the cold air through his teeth, Gomer gripped the edge of the building with his free hand and pulled himself around the corner. He stumbled forward into a cleared street, the ground icy but free of the restricting drifts. There, in the center of the street, placidly staring up at him, was the dark billed, purple furred creature. It had four flippered feet, each with little claws at the end of its webbed toes, and a flat, rounded tail who's tip tapped gently against the icy cobbles.

"Well... hello there." Finally free to catch his breath, Gomer let himself lean forward, elbows on his thighs, hands gripped tight about the edges of his leather wrapped box, and took a couple ticks to regain some of his composure.

"Hello." The voice seemed to come from the creature, but its bill never opened, the beady little eyes regarding him with all the intelligence of any other non-speaking animal he'd seen before. The quality of it was that of a woman's, old enough that she did not sound like a child but not quite so mature that it brought to mind a weathered face.

Taking the talking beast in true Alvad stride, he bowed his head, body already bent, and offered a proper greeting, less gently condescending and more on par with how one would politely greet a stranger. "I've a parcel here. Is it yours, by chance?" He was met with a blank stare. "Alright then. May I have your name?"

"Yours first, I think." When it spoke again, Gomer's eyes squinted a bit in concentration, eyeing the creature for any signs that it was, indeed, the one speaking to him.

Unable to find any indication that the voice came from the creature, but glancing around to find no indication it did not come from the purple thing, he shrugged his suspicion off. "Gomer."

"Penelope."

Finally having reclaimed some control over his lungs, he straightened his back, settling the package under his arm. "Madame Penelope." He repeated the name with a polite smile, though the creature continued to blankly stare, tail still rhythmically tapping the ground. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Is it?" There was a hint of sarcasm in the woman's voice, and Gomer raised a bemused brow.

"Perhaps... 'The pleasure is mine' is more appropriate?"

"Perhaps."

Taking the box in both hands, he extended it forward, for the animal's examination as he continued, intrigued by the creature's persiflage. "Are you certain you weren't expecting this?"

"Of course I'm not certain." The dark bill opened, releasing the familiar growling, coo.

Drawing the box back and letting it rest against his thighs, Gomer let out a soft sigh. "Terrible luck for me then, a package with no recipient marked and a recipient who isn't certain if there is a packaged to be received."

"There's no address on that box?" The voice rose with interest, though the animal's face remained the same. "Is it wrapped in leather?"

Blinking in slight confusion, Gomer nodded. "Erm... yes."

"Is it square?"

Looking down at the package in his hands, Gomer frowned. "Well, yes, it is." Peering perplexedly at the purple creature for a tick, he once more glanced around the smattering of buildings. "Did you... not see it?"

"How would I see it?" There was a mocking humor in Penelope's voice, as if the question alone was more than just ridiculous.

"Are you... not a little purple creature?" The hesitation in Gomer's voice was clear as he regarded the blank faced, black billed thing who returned his gaze with its own beady charcoal.

"Purple what?"

"The-"

"Oh, hold on a moment." With a brusque interruption, the ground beneath the animal shifted, rising up to reveal the dark leather of a woman's jacket. With a turn, she opened her eyes, the paint that had concealed her so completely creating an eerie effect as the whites of her eyes contrasted with the icy texture of the painted stone camouflage. "Ah. Yes. That is meant for me." The little animal, surprised by the sudden shift in its footing, slid off of the woman's chest as she sat up, settling in her lap and, for the first time, looked slightly perturbed.

Gomer blinked in his own surprise, but stepped forward with the box extended anyway. "Glad to have... stumbled upon you."

"You didn't open it, did you?" Still seated, the woman reached up to receive the box, examining the leather covering with an investigative frown.

"Should I have?"

Gathering up both creature and box into her arms, the woman rose to her feet, shaking her head. "No, no. You did well. Gomer, was it?" She balanced the box in one arm, depositing the fat little purple creature on top of it, and stuck her hand into a pocket, drawing fourth the proper payment. "Here you are, thank you for your services."

Wordlessly receiving the coins, Gomer nodded his thanks in return. The woman stooped to let what Gomer assumed to be her pet wriggle its way back onto the ground before waving a hand and starting off down the street, package in tow. The little animal paused for a moment, staring up at Gomer before it made a final, growling coo and waddled after the woman.

Watching the two figures turn a corner and disappear, Gomer rubbed his hands together, the cold having since begun to catch up with him as his heart rate slowed to a normal pace. With one package delivered and, from what he had seen, hundreds left to go, he started down the street, figuring it was best to try to head back and pick up another one - that being if the streets cooperated. As he passed the spot where the woman had lain camouflaged, he raised his brows at the woman shaped dry spot. "Wonder how long she was waiting there..."