PM to join Welcome home friends [Wyatti and Lance]

[Valo]

31st Winter 512AV
The time when an afternoon shifts into an evening
Valo's home

The key cracked loudly in the lock and somewhat lazily the door swung open, revealing the dim interior of Valo's humble home. He gestured with a smile for his new comrades to come inside and the words "Well it's not much but it's home." escaped his lips.

The cottage was very small indeed, divided into two rooms, a larger one and a smaller one. The larger was a kind of makeshift guest room which would echo emptiness if not for an elaborate conglomeration of easels, canvases and paintings scattered around it, in various states of completion. It was easy to guess that he didn't spend much time in his home, for tidiness and order were not his strong point. Directly beside the door, beneath a reasonably sized window, stood a lonesome table with no chairs, for the only chair in the house was perked up to one of the easels upon which a large canvas, portraying the docs of Zeltiva was suspended. There was also a hearth where Valo quickly started a fire, warming up the remains of this morning's stew.

The other room was a bedroom, far smaller than the other. A bunk was at it's centre with only the bottom bed covered with sheets and blankets. Opposite it a desk with several candles, all but one burnt out and a disarray of letters and other such things. In the corner was a washing basin and directly next to it, as if shoved there without thought, a dark wooden chest with no lock on it.

"Please forgive the disorder, but I rarely have company." spoke Valo politely, hovering round the rooms, trying to tidy up just a little.

[Wyatti]

"Well it's not much but it's home."

Wyatti peered in, hesitating briefly as she watched Valo enter and then scuttled in after him. For a moment, it was dim, but as her eyes quickly adjusted she began to see the shapes. Easels and paints were scattered about, casting strange shadows across the room, the shapes perhaps of monsters and creatures to a child. Time and again Wyatti had to look up, checking that it was indeed her imagination playing tricks. She stopped for a while and hovered before one of his paintings, her head cocked to one side as her mind tried to figure out what she was exactly looking at. Behind her she could hear Valo moving about, picking up and tidying, apologising for the apparent disorder.

Not that Wyatti could understand, if it was not for the paintings the place would of looked bare and empty. Which brought up another thought, the place was rather empty; lacking in life and smell, as if Valo himself was a ghost that only occasionally haunted the cottage. She looked at an unfinished painting, and reached out for a moment to touch it, before recoiling her hand. She knew a lot about not touching what was not hers. After a time of wandering around she perched herself in front of the hearth, her eyes chasing after Valo, watching with curiosity as the artist moved about, before finally speaking.

"Mister Valo, do you need help?"

[Lance Tycan]

Ancentrial, despite several reluctant and apprehensive tugs, had finally been dropped off at the stables. Lance had begun to think that even his trust issues had begun to wear off on the horse. That was a good thing for him he had decided though he hated to see the horse be so nervous. It was kind of sad to see him go but there was definitely no way they could all fit into a small house. With this Lance chuckled, and they arrived. Once Valo walked in, they all piled into the house. The warmth coming from the hearth felt amazing against his now thawing body as the cold was shut out behind him. It sent a slight chill down his spine as he shivered slightly then dropped his newly bought blankets on the floor near the hearth. Lance observed the house before smiling "Don't apologize. At least you even have a house! It's more than I could ask for! Here." Seeing him begin to tidy the small things up Lance went to help but noticed his paintings in which he cautiously walked over to one and observed it from a good distance away. Lance could tell it mirrored the very docks on Zeltiva in which he had walked by just the other day. "Valo, these are amazing." Lance looked at it closer inspecting every detail the artist had put into his work. It truly was beautiful and a small pinch of friendly envy spread on his face. Lance could never make something like it for he had none of the patience required to even draw a decent drawing or sketch! "You should definitely be proud." Dystair stirred on his shoulder, for the lighting in her surroundings had dimmed with the exception of the hearth and she was now more comfortable. The owl's shin black head adorned with brown highlights popped up once more, this time completely extended and out of her shell. Her puffed up chest was now reduced to it's normal size as she flew off of Lance's shoulder and onto his blankets near the hearth. After observing this, Lance looked back at Valo, addressing him once more "Seriously, you're talented. How did you learn to do this?" Lance motioned towards the paintings then sat down beside Dystair, looking up at Valo. He would help, but he was afraid to mess something up. But all in all, it really wasn't that untidy. Rather a few stray things but to Lance, well, Lance didn't mind a bit. He gazed off into the fire inside the hearth then looked up at both of them "Actually, why don't we all share some stories? Seeming as how we barely know one another, what better way to get to know your roommates?" A short and friendly smiled flashed upon his face. It had been a while since Lance had heard a good story and it had been a while since he had told one of his own. Lance barely whistled and Dystair returned to his shoulder only so Lance could make a decent bed made of blankets before returning to a sitting position on top of the blankets with Dystair cuddled against him.

[Valo]

Having Lance help with the tidying came as a surprise to Valo. Perhaps it was because he had lived alone for what seemed like an eternity, for it was truly too long since he saw the smiling faces of his family. But perhaps because of all the times he went out of his way to help someone else - a ritual he somewhat established every time he saw a soul in trouble - he had never experience the help of someone else. And it was only now that it occurred to him.

"Valo, these are amazing." spoke the man in black, which caused a pleasant smile upon Valo's face. Such company filled his heart with joy. "Seriously, you're talented. How did you learn to do this?"

Valo noticed his companion was looking at the painting of the docs. Truly it did take him forever to paint, purely because of the sheer size of the canvas and the intricate detailing that the hands of a perfectionist placed upon each of the boats. And the sheer knowledge of different oil mediums which went into the work was something a man his age should not know, unless he had spent all his life learning about it. Which of course was the case for Valo. But in all honesty he couldn't wait to sell it, for it wasn't work that captivated his very soul. Merely a chore which would pay for the bread on his table. "Talented or not, that painting is incredibly boring." he spoke politely and with a smile, but perhaps a note of annoyance in his voice. "Sadly it seems that the people of Zeltiva have a shortage of paintings of their own town loitering around their houses; and they had not yet realised that all they need to do it to look out the window." The very end of that sentence was in all nature humorous, but it described something which Valo was truly annoyed with.

He then pointed a slender finger to a very large sketchbook which loitered purposelessly in the very corner of the room. Not only large in perimeter, was the sketchbook but the abundance of paper bound by leather straps and hard black covers, added a third dimension. In fact it seemed that all this paper in a complete state of disorder, did all but try to escape the binding for there was so much of it. A smaller scale manifestation of the house which Valo lived in. A physical manifestation of the mind of an artist. "If you want to see something truly worth looking at, it's all in that sketchbook." said Valo with a much more honest smile playing upon his lips.

Should Lance open the little monster, which was Valo's sketchbook, he would find that it was mostly sketches. But elaborate sketches indeed, for Valo had an excellent understanding of form and anatomy. He used lead flawlessly and with a vast array of marks and techniques, he made each sketch look as if it was about to come out of the paper and take a life of its own. The tonal work almost fooled the eyes into seeing possible colours within the black and white. There were mostly portraits of children. Young boys and girls alike, smiling as he would frequently visit the The Farson Home for Orphans and drawing them was a fun pass time. Others were women of all ages and ethnicities. Perhaps few were familiar faces from East Street. Valo did not choose friends but embraced everyone for who they were. It wasn't in his nature to be judgemental. There were also men, mostly portrayed in some kind of action, doing their job; whether it was iron smithing of glass working or bird keeping or praying. But at the very back of the conglomeration of work, lingered two portraits of women who were perhaps both younger than Valo, for age had not yet brushed against their porcelain skin. Both in full colour, looking more like illustrations from a children's book than works of an artist the likes of Valo. Neither quite as good as the rest of his work, but both were no doubt Inarta, for the wild red hair was indistinguishable.

Valo's attention was momentarily grabbed by Wyatti who watched him with curiosity. "Mister Valo, do you need help?" she asked.

He walked over to her and ruffled her hair lovingly. "Do not worry about me little one." he smiled. Then as Lance proposed that perhaps they should share storied his heart leaped a little as he reckoned the idea was far beyond genius. Maintaining an order within his home could be left another day or so, as always. "That is a splendid idea my friend." he announced. Then finding a comfortable spot which did not drown beneath clutter he added. "And since you were the one to propose the notion, perhaps you shall start."

[Wyatti]

Wyatti watched the men walk about the cottage, admiring Valo's work with up most pleasure. Even when there was a sting of annoyance in the back of Valo's comment, the men still managed polite conversation. Wyatti simply listened, recording mannerisms made, the little traits that each had. Lance for example seemed to be easily impressed by art and would most likely stare at pieces for hours on end. Valo on the other hand seemed to be less enthralled by his paintings, and perhaps preferred other forms than buildings. When Lance approached the hearth with his blankets however, Wyatti moved herself so she sat some distance away. It was not that she did not trust the man, it was just simple respect of space. But still she watched, observing and wrapped up in her overly large coat.

"Do not worry about me little one."

Her eyes widened slightly when Valo ruffled her ash coloured hair, and for a moment she looked as if she was about to chase after it, her hands momentarily raised as if to grab at his fingers, but stopped, unsure of how Valo would react. And so, the Kelvic quickly lowered them and placed them on her knees, and continued to watch. It was when Lance suggested - after finally setting up his blankets- that stories should be exchanged, with Valo quickly agreeing with the notion. Wyatti swallowed. She knew none herself, or the few she did know she could not repeat with confidence, even if they were stories of younger days, Wyatti still had few to tell. And so at that moment found herself feeling awkward and out of place.

"Stories sound nice..." she paused as a small frown formed "But I do not know any."

Her eyes briefly wandered, her hands slipping into her large pockets and pulling out the only thing that was contained in them, her one and only 'treasure', and the last thing her mother gave her before her untimely demise. A ring made for a man, and something that she twirled between her fingers as she observed them both from her position. She wanted to do something, to do a duty, to serve, but that was no doubt due to her upbringing, do as the master of the house says, or else. She turned the ring once more, before looking upon them, wrapping her fist around it and hiding it from sight. She blinked at both the men and watched the scene unfold.

[Lance Tycan]

Lance lifted an eyebrow then sighed "All right. Fair enough, I suppose. I'll tell you a story." Lance repositioned himself on the spread out blankets then scratched his head. How exactly could he go about telling this? He didn't know of any particular ways for he hadn't told his story to anyone. Instantly he grew somewhat defensive and his facial expressions grew stern. He didn't want to relive them! Those awful memories! He hadn't told anyone but his own brother, and not even he understood! How would Valo or Wyatti take it? Surely he could leave out some of the parts and just kind of make it blunt? "All right so a young boy was born in Syliras, born and raised in Syliras actually. He had one brother and one sister whom was a year older than he, a loving father, and a loving mother. Everything was peaceful and it was pretty much the ideal family." Lance swallowed then cleared his throat before explaining the scene a bit more "His father had a decent job but when the young boy, uh let's see, we'll call him John. When John was five, his father passed away from a heart attack. John all day had been outside playing hide and seek with his siblings which is when they were all called in which rarely ever happened." Lance then looked at the fire burning inside the hearth once more, his gaze never leaving it then continued on with the story then swallowed, hand motions going along with most of the words to help describe them as he leaned his head against the wall. "Then, uh, to escape the pain John and his brother and sister would play hide and seek all day until the sun began to sink far below the hills. They did this for, heck, a good five years. The pain had somewhat subsided for them all but it would always spark back up just a bit and they would have to find other ways to entertain themselves. Different tactics to play hide and seek and such, you know. Just things that little kids did to try and use their imagination even though hard and tough conditions almost always interfered whether it be hunger or... or just not happy children since their mother was doing all she could to help afford to feed them." Lance swallowed once more as the memories all came flood back much like removing twig by twig by twig from a beaver's dam until it all just gave way and the entire story came back to him. It wasn't something a weak person could handle, but the thing was, Lance was not a weak person. He had spent his years learning to handle it. If anything, it had made him stronger. He bit his lip then looked back into the hearth, continuing. "Then when little John was eight and his brother was nine and his sister was however, they were playing hide and seek again one day," Lance smiled, remembering their faces had actually been happy that day "Then, his siblings ran off to hide and John decided to peek just this one time. He could never really win and he was getting fed up with it," Lance's smile disappeared and turned stern as well as his voice once recalling this bit "That's when John, saw his siblings get kidnapped by these two burly guys in black cloaks that hid the children underneath their cloaks but John was ready to save his siblings and grabbed a loose and discarded long piece of wood. When the two men walked passed him, his siblings underneath their coaks, John took the board of wood and hit both of him on the heads letting his siblings run free." "But La-John wasn't free one bit and was instantly pinned and thrown up against a wall then was kidnapped. The poor kid was whipped and beaten to ideal slave then sold into slavery. He got sold to a man who transported things and one night built enough trust where he finally ran away at fifteen finally escaping the horrible beatings and whippings he had put up with since he was eight." Lance didn't realize it but his jaw was clenched and he had been talking through clenched teeth.

[Valo]

From the corner of his eye Valo noticed the little girl Wyatti play with something round in her little hands. A ring perhaps, though much too big for her tiny fingers. In fact the shape and size suggested it might have been a ring cast for a man not a woman. He wondered where a little girl like her might have come in possession of that ring and what story hid behind it, for the way she plaid with it suggested it was of some great importance to the Kelvic.

Then Lance began to speak.

There was understanding in Valo's eyes. The kind of expression that, despite being void of a smile or a frown, was just pure work. He listened with intent as his dark haired companion spoke, the expression on Lance's face however, fluctuation from a smile to that of clenched teeth and something like agony in his eyes. His story truly heart breaking. Fate did not look kindly on the man, nor did the men in black cloaks; but the act of pure sibling love was truly admirable. And somehow Valo found new reverence and love for his man. The man who scarred by time, had the strength to persevere. Perhaps it was about time that some human being out there was to show him the opaque form that human kindness could take and that man would be Valo.

There was silence between them. Such a painful memory must have been hard to share. Then again it was Lance’s own decision to share his story and perhaps his new comrades could in turn provide some kind of consolation, however insignificant it might seem.

[Wyatti]

Wyatti listened carefully, picking up on every tremble in Lance's voice, of every moment of hesitation that escaped her. She still twirled the rings in her fingers for a while, contemplating his words, thinking them through and gaining her own form of understanding. For a while she was silent, regarding both men and their expressions. One of sympathy, the other of anger, a deep pent in rage that had been bottled up for too long. But behind it all there was a deep sadness and one that Wyatti could recognise herself. The Kelvic stood, returned the ring to her pocket and drifted over to Lance, standing for a moment silently next to him, a look of careful thought and consideration going through her mind.

Firstly she sat next to him, looking up with her eyes wide, observing his expressions before she moved round to his other side. She looked again, her lips pursed before finally moving round so she sat behind him. Gave a quick questioning glance to Valo, before the Kelvic rested her head against Lance's back. She was tiny against him, but it was still possible to tell her good natured intentions by the way her hands tried to briefly cling onto him. Wyatti did not like being upset, then again no one ever did, and so she did her best to comfort the only way a child could. By simply being there. For a while she stayed where she was, refusing to move, holding on tightly to Lance, her head gently rested against him before a loud purr erupted from her throat. For a moment the Kelvic flinched away, surprised by the noise that she had produced. She looked away, embarrassment filling her face as she squirmed where she sat. She looked at Lance, then to Valo then back to Lance, and then turned her eyes to the floor. She brought her knees to her chin and silenced her noise.

[Lance Tycan]

The sweet and innocent child on his back was a reminder that he was no longer alone. He was no longer lost and abandoned and there were actual people he could trust. Not random people his mind made up not random objects he made up, and his horse and Dystair were not the only ones anymore. He smiled at the purring child for neither he nor (he supposed) they understood but she seemed embarrassed. Lance shrugged it off then looked at her with a chuckle "I see it nothing to be embarrassed about." Lance looked at Valo with questioning eyes then let his mind wander a bit "Alright, that's enough stories from me." Lance got up and used one of the extra blankets to make a nice place in the floor for Wyatti to sit if she pleased to do so. The dark haired man then nodded towards Valo "What about you? Have a good story?" Lance had wondering about the other two but hadn't really considered it until now. Valo had red hair but humans could have red hair as well but of course Inartans had red hair. Was he Inartan? Had he been to Wind Reach? And then of course there was the young and innocent Wyatti. Where had she come from? How had she ended up in Zeltiva? Where were her parents? What had happened to her? Surely there was a reason for her trust problems much like his own. Had they gone through the same situations? Was it the same or something completely different? Perhaps not, perhaps so. Lance didn't know but nevertheless, his curiosity wandered out of the places it should stay. Because curiosity killed the cat didn't mean that the cat was persistent enough to live and despite it all, Lance was still once persistent little petcher. Valo seemed to have a peaceful life for the most part so before he even spoke Lance was considering the possibilities. He didn't seem troubled and he didn't seem on edge unlike Lance. However, Lance was only thinking from his own experiences so maybe it wasn't that way. Then thinking about it, how many others out there were like Lance? How many had been kidnapped so young? How many of those had actually managed to escape? Or then again, even managed to escape alive? Lance had managed to make it but that was after being dragged about by several to try and get brought back to his last owner. Most of the people he knew didn't have that many guts.

[Valo]

It was quite adorable really, how she cuddled into him in reassurance. Valo him self had sent his friend a reassuring look, though nothing quite as physical. It was pleasant in a way, to see his two companions growing closed by the minute and a hope germinated within his heart, that perhaps they could stay with him for a prolonged period of time, perhaps even a season. In fact if the were going to remain there, in his tiny home, for the rest of their life he would not one object. It was a lonesome house and they relieved him of this perpetual lonesomeness. Lance in turn asked Valo for his story and perhaps it was a good thing. He hadn't had a habit of sharing... well... anything in fact. No one ever really seemed interested in the man beyond the paintings. Some went as far as forgetting his name and merely calling him the red haired painter, instead of the name Valo. "Well I I may try to share my story. Though I assure you, Lance, you may resent me when I'm done for my life had been rather average." said Valo hoping in his heart that it would not be the case. "You see my friends, this is a story of a different boy. For all intents and purposes we shall call him Valo which mean light. His mother had chosen that name, for after his father had abandoned her with the newborn, she would frequently call him her light. So you see, it is in fact a tale of his mother. A kind, wonderful woman who was so cruelly betrayed by the very man that the boy is ashamed to call father." he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. "And perhaps it is a good thing that the boy had never met his father, for the everlasting resentment that consumed him would surely manifest in a knife though the man's vital organs." For a moment he breathed, calming gown a little. His voice did not fluctuate with the wave of childhood resentment that washed over him, but from the look in his ever animated eyes, and the clenching of fists, the others would easily be able to see right though him. "Anyway, I've had two beautiful twin sisters, several years younger than me. Though I never dared to ask my mother who their father was either. However I am sure it was not the same man, see they are both fully Inarta and I am in fact half human. I was meant to become an Endal when I grew up, moving up in the castes to bring pride to my mother, but as an eighteen year old brat I have turned my back on all of that to travel Mizahar. I left Wind Reach and the lift my mother had given me. Of course I could tell you countless stories about it all, but I doubt it would be of any interest to you." Without realising it, Valo had began somewhat articulating every sentence with his hands, punctuating with a hint of self loathing in every sentence. He hadn't truly reflected upon his life until this moment and could not help but wonder how different his life would have been, had he stays in Wind Reach. Perhaps as the only son he should have sacrificed his life for the happiness of his mother. The final sentence was somewhat an anticlimax to the whole story which, in it self, wasn't terribly uninteresting in nature. This reflection would do him good in time, but the process was not a pleasant one. Then again Valo was truly thankful to finally have someone to share all this with. "And all in the name of art."