Solo Thank You and You

[Gomer Caitiff]

The 54th day of fall, 517 AV

Even the chill of the the city's pervading illusions seemed not able to stop its endless testing of Gomer's character. Already, he had had to change three times and take four baths - the extra stemming from the fact that whatever he'd been covered in the second time only seemed to be able to be removed first by snow, which made it melt into a black tar, after which it was then soluble in water. Dressed in his third uniform, and most likely not his last for the day, Gomer wandered the chilled streets of the city of illusion, a bag on his back filled to its brim with smaller packages, all to different recipients.

He'd been trying to thwart the illusionary paths all day, since his rough morning start when he had happened into an excruciatingly slow to traverse stretch of unavoidable, stinking filth the color of sickly snot. After the fourth, ten chime long original ballad as sung by a carefree herd of parrots that had refused to perch elsewhere, Gomer had decided it would be a day of as many packages as far apart as he could manage. To Gomer's chagrin, he had managed all his deliveries within about a bell's time.

From there, it had just gotten worse, either the deliveries ended up literally being one after the other in a neat row of homes and business, or they just popped up, no matter where he turned. Each time, the way back was sticky, slimy, or otherwise filth inducing, which wouldn't have bothered him quite so much if he hadn't woken up unnaturally tired that morning. It all compounded, and while no one thing was particularly awful, together, the day had baked itself into a steaming cake of shyke.

Having taken care to keep his letters on his person and not in his bag - Ionu forbid the cursed things set the packages aflame or some such witchcraft -, he now wandered purposefully aimless through the streets. On a normal day, the blatant act of trying to work against the city would have been unthinkable, but Gomer wasn't quite his usual self, weary from his lack of sleep, which in turn made him more prone towards introspection, which never turned out very well for him. He couldn't even enjoy the city's games, not whole heartedly, as it invariably led him back through some new pit of ooze and another gods be damned bath.

Letting a frustrated huff of fog drift from his nose, he stopped in front of what looked like a large bubble made of fogged glass. There were a distinct set of numbers that seemed to be reflected in its smooth surface, and Gomer checked it against a neatly scrawled list of which packages were meant to be delivered where. Finding a match, he un-shouldered his bag, rummaging through the contents until he found the corresponding parcel.

Checking his faint reflection and ineffectively trying to pat down his flyaway hair, Gomer lightly rapped his knuckles against the glass. With each gentle tap, the glass changed color, first to a fiery crimson, then a pale yellow, and finally a mild baby blue. With a wet pop the bubble exploded as a door was opened in its side, revealing an impressive looking gate guarding a surprisingly large estate. Not in the mood for wonder, Gomer merely politely bowed his head for the young woman who greeted him. "Hallo, package here for you, madame."

"A package? Who from?" She looked expectantly at him, not the parcel in his hand, and made no motion as if she were going to take it without an answer.

Shooting the woman a tired and confused frown, he looked down at the package's label, the embellished handwriting giving him an extra couple ticks of trouble. "One... Martin C. Brismeyer?"

"Oh." The woman sounded oddly putout by the name. "Well. I don't want anything from him, thank you."

Tiredly massaging his temples with his thumb and forefingers, Gomer tried to keep his smile professional. "What you do with the package is completely up to you, madame, I'm just delivering it." Dealing with those who didn't want to pay for packages they didn't want to receive in the first place wasn't very much fun to begin with. The headache he'd had for the past couple of days from his cow racing antics had finally started to clear up, but it lingered just enough that Gomer felt unprepared to convince the woman that she should still pay even if she didn't want to.

"Yes, well, deliver it elsewhere. I don't want it."

Losing a bit of his composure, Gomer's tone came off a fair bit perturbed. "Elsewhere? I can't just... give it away to some random passerby, madame. It's your package."

The woman smirked, her painted lips a crimson crescent that only further accentuated the uncaring green glint in her eyes. "Not anymore. Good day." With that, she promptly shut the door and the bubble of glass reappeared with another wet pop, leaving Gomer staring at a frustrated reflection, complete with slightly pink cheeks and an aggravated look of surprise on his features.

[Gomer Caitiff]

Small box still in hand, Gomer let out a frustrated puff of air, fogging the glassy bubble for a moment, before he turned, picking up his bag, and headed back into the street. It was never a good feeling to have a package refused, but Gomer dropped it unceremoniously into his pack without thinking much more on it. After all, he'd been feeling sour for most of the day - the woman's sneer was hardly enough a reason to let himself get worked up.

The street itself was a picture of a peaceful, chilly winter's day. People passed by, clothed in colorful furs and jackets and cloaks, speaking animatedly to one another. A gaggle of children had set about constructing a snowman, using some particularly buoyant snow that allowed them to put the small of the head first and work larger as they went up. To his left, there was a woman with a large metal pot hung over a fire, shouting about soup, which appeared to be selling well enough by the bowls of bread that seemed to be in so many peoples' hands as they passed by.

The quaintness of it was soothing, and Gomer felt his shoulders relax for the first time that day, a small smile creeping onto his face as he hoisted the bag over his shoulder once more. "And life moves steadily onward." He whispered the words to himself in a contended sigh, stepping out into the street and picking his way across it.

He supposed the day hadn't been quite as bad as he'd led himself to believe. That tended to be the way of things, especially when he let himself get bundled up in his head, like a suffocating scarf. He didn't know much about life, what it was supposed to be and how it went about doing all that it did. The important thing was that he live it, regardless of what it brought before him: good and bad, boring and interesting.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, he paid for one of the woman's bowls of soup. Finding the crust warm from the steaming, opaque liquid, he stared curiously down at it. It smelled of meats and vegetables and looked as plain a stew as any. Moving it to his lips, he took a careful sip, and grinned as the rich flavor of chocolate ran across his tongue, cool enough it didn't burn him but warm enough to leave a pleasant glow in his chest. Cupping the bowl in his hand, he set himself against a nearby building, leaning into the soft, marshmallow-like bricks as he casually sipped on his sweet tasting, savory smelling bowl of bread.

Little things usually were the most rewarding, he'd come to find. After spending so many years trying to achieve something so impossibly grand, he'd forgotten, for a time, what it was to enjoy being alive. The past few years, he'd slowly remembered, and while he did, from time to time, get caught up in his own thoughts, especially when he was too tried to push them away, life had a habit of offering him simple, easy outs, if he was willing to take them.

One of the nearby children stumbled over his way, eyes focused on the ground in search of a quality stone to craft the snowman's fourth eye. Finding such a piece right next to Gomer's boot, he bumped into Gomer's leg as he snatched it up. Stumbling back a pace, he straightened, his mousey brown hair jutting out at all different angles from beneath his cap, dark brown eyes wide with surprise. "I'm sorry! I didn't see you, mister."

Gomer inclined his head, his smile soft. "Not a problem. That's a fine creature you and your comrades have built there."

"Oh, er... yes." The child glanced back at the others, two of which had stopped and were staring over at him with concerned expressions. Turning back to Gomer with a gap toothed grin, he continued. "Her name is Frozella. She's the upside down goddess of Ionu's winter ice realm." Holding up the stone he'd plucked earlier, the boy closed one eye, examining it as he concluded. "And with her fourth eye, she can turn anyone she looks at right into ice!"

"Oh my." Grinning, he tutted at the child, playfully shaking his head. "Best not to gaze so intently at that eye then. Wouldn't want a brave craftsman such as yourself to be frozen for an eternity."

With a dismissive chuckle, the boy shook his head, looking quizzically at Gomer with a happy glint in his eyes. "It only works when it's in her head, mister. Otherwise, it's just a rock."

"Ah, of course." He offered a polite bow to the boy, taking another sip of his soup and nibbling on the bowl's edge. Peppermint. "Then I leave you to your work, little craftsman." The boy returned the gesture, laughing, and hurried over to rejoin his friends, their chatter excited but muffled by the noise of the street.

Purchasessoup and bread - 2SM, maybe? However much seems appropriate.

[Gomer Caitiff]

Finishing up the last of the chocolate flavored stew, he started nibbling away at the peppermint bowl. Pushing off from his place beside the building, he mingled into the foot traffic, letting the people around him carry him down the road. Content to let the city take him where it would, which that day seemed to be to every single one of the places he was meant to deliver something, he stared absently at the people around him.

The warmth of the chocolate had been good for his headache, and he felt much better as he finished off the refreshing bread bowl, the minty coolness mingling with the bitter sweet aftertaste of the chocolate still on his tongue. Those around around him who had had the soup seemed equally contented, and all around him various conversations about even more various things took place.

"-and she got herself a favor from the Serpent, or so I heard. Can you believe that?" A middle aged woman with an incredibly garish hat of multicolored furs spoke loudly to a smaller, woman with angled, almond eyes wearing a sleek, minimalistic dress of blues and greens.

"What did she ask for?" Her voice was a smooth and cool, like the winter's air, a clear contrast to the garish woman's brassy, chesty chortle.

"I heard she asked him for his ghost, when he dies, mind you."

A third chimed in; a young man with heavy looking spectacles and a mop of messy red hair. "Last spring, wunnit? Nah nah, she asked for his weight in gold."

The three began to argue over one another, making the conversation unintelligible, and Gomer turned his attention elsewhere. To his right, a short distance ahead, an elderly woman with an impressively long head of flowing silver hair spoke with a shorter, sculpted looking man, whose burly frame was lightly clothed in a coat that seemed a bit too small for him.

"-for him. But the nurses were only-" Her voice was relatively soft and, even from where he followed unobtrusively, it was difficult to make out every word she said. "-a couple details about the young man-" He drew a little closer, politely nudging past a slim woman who shot him an annoyed frown. "-she's been gallivanting around the city, checking everyone's hands." To illustrate, the woman held her own out in front of her, turning them over and back.

"Did the kid have something weird about his hands?" The man's voice was low and rumbling, clearly carrying through the crowd.

With a thoughtful sigh, the woman shook her head. "Not... 'weird' just run of the mill unusual. The nurses said he had-"

The thin woman, grabbed Gomer's arm, drawing his curious attention away, as she glared down him, about a whole head taller. "Excuse me, but can you please get out of my way?" Her tone was as intense as the dark smoulder of irritation in her hazel eyes.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry." Bowing out of her grip, Gomer took a step back, allowing her to pass by with a haughty flip of her auburn hair. Watching her go, Gomer realized he'd lost the silver haired woman and her shorter companion, a small wisp of disappointment passing through him at the lost answer to what now would forever be a mystery.

Having stepped onto the threshold of another Alvad home, Gomer decided it best to turn and check the house number. Sure enough, it was one on his list. Going through his bag until the proper package was in hand, the gripped the small, iron door knocker and found it to be unbelievably heavy. Trying several more times to lift it, first with just one hand, then two, he gave up and tried to knock on the door as he might have done had there been no knocker at all.

Instead of the familiar sound of rapping wood, his knuckles met with empty air, as if the house had scooted back just far enough that he couldn't knock. Frowning, he tried again to much the same result. Placing his gaze squarely upon the now grinning iron knocker, he examined it a bit closer.

It was sculpted into the head of what looked like a square faced cat wearing a feather boa. The deceptively heavy handle was held neatly between its grinning jaws, and the dead iron eyes seemed to stare back at him challengingly. "You wouldn't happen to be the... speaking sort of knocker, would you?"

As he suspected, there was no reply, and Gomer rolled up the neatly pressed sleeves of his uniform, lightly bending and straightening his knees as he readied himself. "Right then."

[Gomer Caitiff]

Placing the heels of his hands on either side of the bottom of the knocker's iron ring, Gomer bent his knees and tried to press up into the door, hoping the strength of his legs would be enough to successfully move the damned thing. He felt a slight shift as he strained, his legs beginning to shake and elbows digging into his side, but with a puff, he was forced to stop, shaking the dull pain in his hands loose from where the ring had dug into them.

"All right." Setting his bag down, Gomer wrapped his fingers around the door's knocker once more. Tentatively at first, he tried to place a foot on the door's thick wooden surface, uncertain if it would connect or not as his hands had been unable to do before. Finding purchase, he gave a good tug against the iron ring, torquing his body with the added strength of his leg upon the door. Again, nothing. Adding his other foot, Gomer hung off of the knocker, working his feet up the door until the were placed on either side of the cat's square face.

The smile had widened, and Gomer, with a grunt of effort, tried to straighten his legs, pulling with his back straight and arms straining. As his body began to shake from the effort, he felt the iron handle begin to budge. Inspired, a rush of adrenaline forced a sharp shout from him as the ring moved enough for it come off of the iron backing. With a triumphant grin, he let his legs relax enough that the iron ring slammed back upon the knocker with a resounding boom. He felt the vibrations in bones, and was knocked loose from the handle.

Feet shooting down first, he was able to initially land properly, but unstable as he was, he teetered to the ground, the reverberations of the knocker still ringing through his bones. There was the sound of a lock being removed before the door was pulled open and a curious young blonde greeted him with a surprised stare. "Yes, who is it?"

Pushing himself to his feet, it took him a half chime to gather his bearings. When he felt stable enough, he offered the woman an apologetic smile. "Erm... the knocker was..."

From the woman's confused stare, he could tell that the house's joke was not one it had played on her as of yet. Clearing his throat and waving the reasons for his disheveled state aside, he quickly knelt down and gathered up the package. It was an odd shaped thing wrapped in sturdy burlap and held together with twine. "I have a package to be delivered to this house number."

"Oh!" Her pale face immediately lit up and she opened the door wider, beckoning him in with a friendly beam. "Do come in! Come in now, that's right," Ushered in with a surprisingly powerful tug on his arm, Gomer had just enough time to snag a strap of his rucksack and drag it into the house after him before the door shut behind him.

The interior was quite cozy. The two of them stood in a modest foyer, several paintings of fantastical landscapes on the panelled walls, and a healthy looking potted plant as the room's centerpiece. As she began to take the package from him, her hands instead were placed directly over his. With the startling advent of her touch, Gomer released his hold on the package, the thing falling to the worn but well kept rug with a benign thump.

"Erm-" Trapped by the same intense grip as before, Gomer stood awkwardly staring at the blonde who had brought her face close and was currently examining his hands. "Madame, I feel I should inform you that as a courier I provide... non-euphamistic packages. Unless you were expecting someone-"

"Hush, I'm not trying to bed you." Her voice was not necessarily condescending or rude, but there was an impatience in it, as if he was not the first that day to make such an incorrect assumption. Holding Gomer's left hand up to the light, her eyes widened. Still with his hands in hers, her gaze was light with excitement. "Oh, it's you, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Wholly confused, Gomer met her intense stare with one of uncertainty.

"The ring and- and the scars- oh!" Seeming just now to realize exactly how forward she was being, the woman released him, her cheeks blushing a deep red, as she flustered out an explanation, "I apologize! I've been searching for the past few- well, you see, I was walking - I mean to say, I was going for a stroll, and- well, not a stroll so much as a- well, no, it was a stroll, but that's not- what I mean is-"

Trying his best to follow, Gomer nodded along, regarding her with blatant concern. "Are you alright?"

"All thanks to you, I am!" Her embarrassment seemed to find some confidence as she realized Gomer had not yet tried to flee. "I'm so terribly sorry. I'm a... a hysterical mess right now." She gestured towards a comfortable looking sofa upholstered in a floral design with tasteful mahogany accents. Picking up the package as Gomer obliged her invitation and took a seat, she joined him, conscientiously making sure to leave a slightly larger than average space between the two of them.

"I believe I heard you correctly when you said that it's all thanks to me that you're alright?" Rightly confused, Gomer posed the question clearly, not wanting to further confuse the woman.

Nodding, she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat. When next she spoke, she was far calmer, and her clear grey eyes were no longer brimming with excitement - instead they were a much more managed pleased or perhaps relieved. "I'll start from the beginning, i-if you don't mind?"

"By all means." Gomer settled himself a bit more comfortable, leaning on the sofa's armrest, a slight, intrigued smile on his face.

"Well, first of all, my name is Silke Silskind." She inclined her head in greeting, and Gomer offered his own in polite return.

"Gomer Caitiff."

"Caitiff..." Silke let the name trail off of her tongue, looking as if she were going to say something about it, but she shook her head, a firm determination in her eyes. "Right. Well, charmed, I'm sure. Now," Pressing right along, she began her story, her voice carrying in it the slight lilt that tended to sneak into one's tone when having rehearsed what one might say several times over in one's head or mirror.

"Several days ago I had left my house for a stroll. The city has been so lovely lately, with all the snow and, quite frankly, the raised spirits have been a welcome sight to see in and of themselves." Taking a quick breath, she continued, her voice light and clear. "As I'm sure you're aware, the city does like to play its tricks." Gomer nodded knowingly, his lips turned in an empathetic grin. "Well, I smelled roses, which," She shrugged, a helpless smile on her lips. "I simply can't resist. So I, of course, turned down the ally from where the scent was wafting, and-"

Her hands came together in a startling clap, surprisingly loud for how petite a thing she was. "The next thing I remember is stirring to the gentle music of the Mercy's string quartet." As an aside, seemingly unable to help herself, she added a thoughtful, "Though I'm certain there was a piano there among them." Shaking her head, dismissing the thought, she continued, staring at him with a mounting expectancy. "Anyway, I asked the nurses about what had happened, and they told me than a young man had dropped off my unconscious body at the Mercy's doorstep, saying something about ghosts and screaming."

Immediately, recognition flashed in Gomer's eyes. Though much more lively than she had been when they'd first met, the woman before him was the same as he had found in the Lady's snow filled, empty garden. "Oh!" His realization, while acknowledged by his hostess with a happy, thankful smile and nod of her head, was brushed aside for the time being with a wave of Silke's hand, her story not yet finished.

"Yes, well. While we both now know the hero of my tale, at the time I had no idea. The only thing they could tell me at first was that he was a handsome young man." Gomer, in mock modestly, waggled his brows, and Silke laughed him off, dismissively waving her hand. "Now, there are... thousands of 'handsome young men' in this city. Maybe more. So I, being the... oh what is the phrasing...?" Her fingers grasped at the air in thought.

"An especially strong willed and deceptively dainty young lady?" Gomer offered politely, his grin impish.

"Oh! Yes, exactly that! Well, more or less." She continued right along, the package nestled in her modest skirts bouncing along with the motions of her hands as she spoke. "Eventually, I was able to finagle a few more details. He had worn a silver ring with a purple gem and had had a plethora of small scars all over his hands. So I, being... what was it: 'an especially strong willed and deceptively dainty young lady?"

With a nod and chuckle, Gomer indicated she had recited his words admirably.

"Well, I went to every place I could think of searching out attractive men and shaking theirs hands, buying their trinkets... Eventually I grew a bit frustrated and..." She trailed off, and Gomer grinned at the images that sprang to life of the charming woman storming about the streets, grabbing and further examining the hands of any handsome strangers she could get her hands upon. "Yes well, judging from your expression, you seem to get the gist of it."

"And here we are." Gomer finished the story with an amused shake of his head. "Ionu certainly does enjoy its fun."

"Doesn't it?" She let out a bubble of laughter before offering a more serious nod of her head. "I wanted to thank you, Gomer Caitiff, for saving my life." Extending her hand across the way, she bent a bit forward to close the gap between them.

Taking the offered hand in his, they shook firmly two times before releasing one another. "You're quite welcome, Madame Silke Silskind." His words had a fair amount of cheerful laughter about them, his headache and prior frustrations with his day forgotten for the time being. "All that trouble for a handshake. You certainly are a proper Alvad, aren't you?"

Brushing the compliment off with a flick of her hair, Silke cleared her throat, leveling her gaze and speaking in a far more sober tone. "I did want to ask you about what happened exactly. As I said, I don't remember anything after falling unconscious." The look of worry in her eyes was such that Gomer had no doubt about the sincerity of her words. His turn to relay the events of what had happened, he straightened his back some and scooted more toward the edge of the couch, leaning slightly toward Silke with an understanding nod.

[Gomer Caitiff]

Leaving no detail out of the strange encounter with the ghost, once Gomer had finished his recount, Silke nodded, her frown thoughtful. "I... see." Tapping her lips with a finger, she pursed them for a moment before asking another question. "And you... never were able to see what she looked like?"

"Your Lady?" Gomer shook his head, a wry grin on his lips. "She had no intention of revealing herself to a 'meat puppet' like myself, I imagine."

"But you say she insisted upon being called 'Your Lady'?" There was an odd sort of urgency in Silke's voice, and Gomer found himself frowning in a thoughtful reflection of her own expression.

"Erm... yes. I believe so."

"Do you think you could find that plaza again?"

"I... maybe? Ionu willing, of course."

"Right, right, of course." Silke seemed to come to a conclusion of sorts, her smile returning politely to assuage Gomer's hesitancy. "I'm so sorry, I'm sure you have other deliveries to make this evening." She rose, the package starting to slip before she quickly caught it, an embarrassed smile on her face, though her eyes seemed to be a bit distracted. "Again, really, thank you, Gomer. If you don't mind, might I call upon you in the future?"

Rising as she did, Gomer picked his bag up off of the floor and nodded. "Of course, Madame Silskind."

"Oh, please. Silke suits me just fine." She moved to the door, pulling it open and offering Gomer a friendly smile. "Do try to keep yourself out of trouble."

"And pass over another chance to save an enchanting damsel? Not on my life, Miss Silke." They shared a chuckle as he exited. She offered an amicable farewell and, as Gomer headed back out into the now golden light of the Alvad streets, her face fell into a thoughtful, calculating frown. As the door shut behind him, his focus ahead, she peeked through her window one last time, her mouth slowly whispering two distinct words: "Estelle Caitiff?"