[Julius' Cottage]Gimme Shelter(Julius + Anyone)

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

TimestampThe First Day of Spring, 511AV "Pssst..." the feathery voice of a tired, shivering young maiden drifted over the window pane. His wooden shutters left ajar, the young Nestran peeked her bright eyes into his home. "Hat Man!" This time the whisper was more sharp and harsh, threatening to oust her stealth. "Are you there? I've a lovely top hat for you..." the lie was half-hearted, but it just might bait the poor little fool into granting her an easier entry. With a kind of fluid grace that she inherited from her Symanestran mother, white fingertips moved from earth and slough to alabaster, weather-worn stone. Clattering miserably was her fetter despite the eeriness of her form. And though she tarried in Julius' home, (for he kept no locks upon his windows or doors) her abode was underneath his work table. "...Hat Man? Where are you? It's me. From the bazaar."

[Julius Aldoid]

"Oh I got berries," he sang as he made his way up his walk. There was quite a bit of space between him and a few other shelters, mainly near the outskirts of things, but he liked it that way. Within his arms was a cloth sack, pink juice occasionally dripping from it. a silver for a pound of berries. It was a remarkable but simple endeavor. What had happened was that he bought the last quill from the wholesaler. Just as he did, a young scribe came up to them both, asking for a quill. Pointing out Julius, he asked to buy the quill off him, just to name his price. Julius, being a bartering man, asked for a pound of berries. It was a steep bargain, and he felt bad for shucking the scribe, but he was hungry and berries were plentiful. It was the first day of spring after all- fresh harvest had to come in from the field. The moral to the story: Don't place yourself over a barrel between a man and his berries. Actually, that is a horrible moral, but it was the only one Julius could think of. Walking into his home, he welcomed himself to his many and numerous imaginary pets, to whom no illusion was employed to give them life. Walking over to his table, he sat down, placing the berries on the floor beside his table, looking over his various writings. After all, he didn't want to get juice all over his writings. But now, without a quill, how was he to write? What was he to do for that matter, other then nibbling on the delicious berries? Reaching into his pocket, he took out the wooden box, and withdrew the deck of cards, wiping berry juice on his jacket so he didn't get any on the cards themselves. Shuffling them a bit, he withdrew a card: It had a picture of a woman standing beneath the moon, within a pool of water, wearing a gauzy outfit holding a bell in one hand and a cup in the other. "I really have to learn what these mean," he thought, reaching down for some more berries.

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

Listless, the swan-white arm fell outward from its hiding place beneath the trestle, sloshing into a satchel of berries. The sensation of them roused the girl from her weary fatigue as bright purple eyes held an acquisitive gaze upon them. How easy it would be to eat them! She'd not have to worry about liquifying them or digesting over the course of several hours! Plenty of sugar and fiber and... "Dawifuf beweeth!" Hording them all into her mouth by the handful, her face became stained pink and merry. She only had to drag a bit on her chain and it would force the bag closer...

[Julius Aldoid]

Julius sat, pouring over his documents, muttering a "bless you," to the voice he imagined, not realizing they were commenting of berries let alone that it was someone living under his desk. He had once though someone was living under his bed as a child. There name was Gary and they turned out to have been a rare breed of sentient marmoset, and actually had been living in the crawl-space. At least that is what his grandmother had said. Then again, she had far more imaginary pets then him. He realized in this time he had spent drifting off, he had sketched a little doodle of him flying though the clouds. It was childish and horrible. He hadn't even used a quill, just more or less sketching it out by dabbing his finger nails into his ink well. Reaching for some new berries, his hand brushed against Damiana's. Looking down at the girl beneath his table, he stared for a good minute, deciding whether or not he was viewing a hallucination. Squinting suspiciously at her, not having remembered who she was, Julius took a handful of berries and shoved them into his mouth. He gently nudged the bag over to her. Scooting his chair back. He squinted over at her. Some manner of faint light entered his head, it appearing though his head were a lantern, and the candle within was lit. "Oh," he said, returning to a somewhat normal appearance, smoke blowing out of the nose as the candle snuffed out, "And you are the lady the hat chose!" Stepping from the chair, he took a seat on the chest at the foot of his bed, offering her his former seat. "So," drawing his knees up to his chest as he sat, "Seen any good hats lately?"

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

Julius eagerly sent the entire bag of berries her way, she snuggling it for precious nourishment After all, the girl hadn't eaten in three days! It was at this moment, that a startled scream was given due to Mr. Aldoid exercising his powers of illusion. In reaction, the berries went everywhere. However, once the magecrafter had returned to normal, she was dizzy with the excitement of scooping up stray berries and popping them into her mouth. "Yaw benevowenth ith apwethiated. I wiw repay oo kindwy..." replied she in a calm, calculated manner (which only made it look hilarious when she tried to speak with her mouth full). "Hatth aw dweadfuw thingth. I mawk it a point to nevah waw tham." Translation"Your benevolence is appreciated. I will repay you kindly. Hats are dreadful things. I make it a point to never wear them." As she clamored around the stone floor, Julius would easily catch sight of how the chain was fastened to her waist and ankle, creating a breathtaking obstacle. Why would anyone bear a burden like that willingly? "Do oo hahv any weather to bite? Mah venom ith getting too thtwong." Translation"Do you have any leather to bite? My venom is getting too strong."

[Julius Aldoid]

After the screaming stopped, Julius had to admit things were going much better then he though they were. After all, breaking into someone's house to talk to someone tended to ere on the side of unreasonable, but this Hat-hunting Symenestra lady seemed quite pleasant. Except for the screaming, which caused his eyes to draw closed in a wince, and his illusion to 'flicker' a moment. He never liked loud, high-pitched noise, and it always tended to be able to quickly interrupt his thinking. "Dweadfuw? I am quite fond of them actually. Just haven't caught the right one myself," the strange tinkerer finding it easy to follow her berry-laden gibberish. "Leather," he asked, thinking a moment. Sitting up a moment, mindful enough not to squish any berries into the floor, the cleaning of which always a great endeavor. Opening his food trunk, where he had hoped to store his berries, he removed one of the torn-up waterskins and his actual waterskin, it heavy and bloated with delicious aqua vitae. Handing the leather to his guest, eying her chain, he was quite mindful of the craftsmanship of it. "Pardon me, but is that chain of iron? must be awfully heavy. Oh! how silly of me," he realized amid stream, rising from his seat yet again, leaving his waterskin as he rose. Stepping back, he bowed deeply to her, informing her he was "Julius Aldoid," and that it was a, "pleasure to make your acquaintance. And who might I have the pleasure to be speaking to? And would you like some water with those berries?"

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

Elongated incisors pierced the waterskin strap accompanied by vicious gnashing and grinding sounds. Within seconds, the strap hissed and steam curled at the rafters. "Pardon me, but is that chain of iron? must be awfully heavy. Oh! how silly of me," he realized amid stream, rising from his seat yet again, leaving his waterskin as he rose. Awkwardness settled thickly between them when she did not answer immediately. But the girl did eventually sit upright and placed her buckled shoes in front of her so that she might address him more properly. As time drew on, the waterskin decayed and corroded away. Thank heavens it was already ruined! Stepping back, he bowed deeply to her, informing her he was "Julius Aldoid," and that it was a, "pleasure to make your acquaintance. And who might I have the pleasure to be speaking to? And would you like some water with those berries?" The melodramatic bow caught her off guard and sliced through the silence – not by a gasp or a smile, but by a glimmer and gentleness that fell over her eyes. He was the sort of unpredictably pleasant dandy she had never met before, but would very much like to. “Yes, please to the water. Rosenthal,” she whispered softly, the strap having completely dissolved when her mouth opened to speak. Though her introduction was kind, Julius would easily be able to tell that she was lying. “Damiana Rosenthal. I am very glad to meet you.” “No wealth, do I have on my person, but I do intend to pay you with something very extravagant in exchange for a place to stay for the warm season, Julius Aldoid.” After she had said this, she leaned forward, her face pale and drained, weary from travel and loitering. “Something of special significance and value. I promise.”

[Julius Aldoid]

Julius had to admit, he was a touch taken aback by the steam and whatnot, now somewhat more aware of why others were perhaps a little hesitant around Symenstra, but given his penchant for oddity, he was able to roll with it rather quickly. He got the sense when she told him her name, it was a lie. Masks were a common enough thing, and masking one’s name was quite simple. 'Still-- Dramiana? Odd name to select,' he thought. He leaned over, handing her the waterskin before returning to his seat upon his trunk, throwing back the coat-tails his jacket did not have, ever mindful not to sit on them. He listened with rapt attention when she spoke of promises of extravagant things. His mind was quickly filled with visions of elegant top hats, their soft brims and stovetops made of wondrous materials; gentle velvets and soft sued leather; white wool wrapped with gilded ribbons; ornate hatpins made with tiny clockworks of tiny men standing atop them fishing, perhaps even little arms to help him while in the workshop. He could imagine one holding a cold glass of juice as he worked within the forge. It made him salivate, though his mouth was closed, so he at least didn’t drool like an idiot. As the visions of hats danced around his mind, they did in the outside world as well. Many numerous hats began to twirl and dance around him, hovering just above his crown, rounding him like a maypole. “What kind of extravagances,” he asked, “Wait, no, wait. Yes. Yes, you can stay. It would be rude of me, besides, if the top hat liked you, you must be a good sort.” The hats danced around his head still. “What kind of extravagances,” he asked again.

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

ApologiesI am immensely sorry at how rough this is. I will most likely polish it in the morning. I've been so busy as of late, and I owed you a nice long post, Julius. Thank you for your patience. The petite girl gently popped the top hat illusions circumnavigating the dazed globe of Julius’ whimsical head. With a shy gesture, her arm reached out for the cutlery on his table – a simplistic knife, dulled by whittling and the tweaking of various gadgets. “This,” she cooed, wincing as the blade pierced the flesh of her dainty finger. Staining the stone of his humble cottage floor, the melancholy, cadaver-like lips showed life inching back into them with the slightest curve of expression: a smile. Watching her ascetic nature transform into something of fluid, care, and grace was ethereal, for it was as though summoning for her wasn’t a skill or a technique, but an art. Damiana moved as though there was a voice from beyond the world of Mizahar guiding her. Tracing a simple circle with her own blood, Julius would witness the astute care of each arch and vertex – an ornate trail of symmetrical lines and archaic numerals neatly trapped in a cage of shapes. “Hold your breath…” If you could witness a rift between worlds, the only breathing you’d be capable of would be gasps. The warning need not apply. An enigmatic thickness swamped the room quickly creating an ambience that amplified the tiniest of sounds. Her droll demeanor became suddenly mystical. The wind outside gathered into doldrums when it crossed the threshold of his garden. Surely, her precarious care-giver didn’t want to say it, but he was thinking it. Djed: unusually malleable, yet thick; despondently resilient. Incantations were senseless here in a realm of glyphs and coordinates, Julius well able to see the sigil reflected in the young charmer’s flashing, eager irises. Where once the stone flooring lie, there was now only the waves of murky remnants – as though time and space were rippling in a medium as fluid as water. “I beckon and call Beyond the world, Stones that still remember. Lying dormant as your heart. Floating while you slumber.” “A dream’s a dream, But dearer still, Are secrets they contain. Of wars and love and cognizance, Brought here upon this plain.” With a little prayer to Aquiras, the breach surfaced through like an ocean wave. Only, instead of crashing waves of sea foam, there was a deluge of glittering rock and swirling stardust from far beyond the sky. The crimson blood of the summoner now glistened with Djed as a vibrant circle with detailed coordinates to Swalden swathed the room in a faint glow. Momentarily, Julius would espy fragmented crystals suspended in thin air, the entire atmosphere slowly being sucked out into the fracture. Pressure and air began to drop dramatically, hinting that space itself had bade Julius an awkward hello. However, in an instant, the rift was gone and normalcy once again returned to the meager domicile of the eccentric tinkerer. With it, gravity pulled upon the various glittering stones violently. A cacophony of musical notes similar to striking glass resonated clearly as each alien rock crashed to the stone and grout of a more simple surrounding. “Memosites,” replied Damiana without missing a beat, placing one into the hand of Mr. Aldoid. “Said to divulge the memories of those that have lived before us. But with great care, do I loan them to you, Julius Aldoid, for when I leave, so, too, must they.” It became a bit clearer at what the young woman was offering him: not precious stones for trade or the promise of tumbling precious gems – no. She was offering him happy memories to pass onto others. “I can not swear on any memories, only say that I will do all that I can to make them as pleasant as possible until the winds change if you let me stay in your care.”

[Julius Aldoid]

Julius had firmly believed, since he was but a little boy, that when least expected, wonder would find itself upon one’s doorstep. What was particularly unexpected however, when it breaks into your house and opens up a portal though time (and space and reality and existence and all those sensible things he never thought he took for granted) in the middle of your living room.

“My god,” his eyes so absolutely wide, in such a state of awe, the petty trickery seemed to fade in him, replaced with a gentle contemplation as he sat his head upon his knee. It was a singular experience for which he had no words, no means to even respond.

“So, um,” looking down at the ground only to hop his gaze up before sliding back down again. At first, he thought to say, “I can’t give you my house, though I am having a very hard time thinking up a better compensation.” However, he caught himself, breaking the space of his silence with another “um.”

“To stay here. Here. No. No--yes. Yes,” nodding quite rapidly, smiling so brightly, “I think so. Would you like my bed as you stay here? I’ll sleep on the floor for something like that. Well, maybe right not there. I was unaware my floor could do that. Hmm,”

For the first time in a long age, Julius was a touch befuddled.

And then a thought struck him.

“Circles,” he yelled, and ran over to his table, writing “Circles are the key” on a spare scrap of parchment. It referred to a small thought of his, noticing that gears liked circular shapes. One could meter out time with the tick of a spring and a catch, and he thought there was perhaps some other relation. He had then noticed that Dramiana had used a circle to bend her way though time. There had to be some relation between time and circles—he could feel it in his bones.

“Where were we,” walking past, making sure not to step on any stones. He looked down at them for a long second. “Ah yes,” he caught himself, picking one up.

“Memo-cites, you say? And they are mine? On loan of course. And I can—put memories into them? Freely? Is there a game to them,” asking more to do with the rules of these strange, exciting, and utterly alien rocks. He sniffed it suspect, trying just to see if there was anything distinct to them that eyes alone might not yield.

“So you are a magician. I am a magician too! I can’t do all that of course. But illusions. Watch.”

He carefully sat her down, and stepped back, picking up a berry from the ground.

“I am only a first-mark. Most other firstmarks I know, they think they the deck is stacked against them. ‘Julius’ they say ‘how do stand only being a first mark. We can only do so little compared to those with greater power’. I say ‘power is a crock. Besides, if you can’t have fun with one mark, what makes you ever think you will get the second?’”

He held the berry plainly in his hand.

“Are you watching closely,” he asked, in a tone that sounded so serious, it hardly sounded like Julius at all.

He waved his hand in front of the berry, and when sight was returned, a baby chicken sat in his hand. Not flimsy either- for if one were blessed with a sight that saw only truth, they would know that where stood one illusion, stood ten interposed over it.

It twaddle and waddled, walking over his fingers, walking over his hands. “Wait, he has something to say.”

Julius very delicately wrapped his hands, covering over the chick, and a very clear and distinct tweeting could be heard.

“He’s telling secrets about you,” Juli laughs.

“But it is a real chicken, really,” it sounding so obviously a lie, his skill at lying so weak. But still he walked forward and opened his hands just a little. Not enough for her to see inside, but enough that she could fit her finger in. And should she dare be so bold, she would feel the soft, downy fluff of a baby chicken, it gently stumbling about, her fingers drawing over its head.

But ever so quickly, he snatched it away.

“You look hungry. Are you hungry. Here, how about some fresh cooked chicken.”

And just like that there was a crackling of a fire within Juli’s hands, and just as it did so, a puff of smoke escaped just as the sound of fire died down. And then, just as the smoke faded to nothing, there was a scent upon the air, the deliciousness of freshly cooked chicken filling the air.

“Now I know what you are thinking, I must be a very vicious man for hiding a chicken up my sleeve all the time, all to just cook it alive before you. I know, callous vicious bastard that I am. But I ask you to bid heed dear audience, because there was no chicken.”

“It was simply,” drawing open his hands again, “just a berry all along.”

And just as he said it was, there was just a berry there. But still, that mischievous grin played out upon his face. There was still a game afoot.

“Do you wish to taste it? I did slave over a hot palm all day just to cook it. I turned my hands into an oven after all,” again, a coy lie, easily seen though. And yet… the gambit did not end. Always that smile of his, ever played at just the right moment to give doubt to his own words. The smile was always the lie. And he was deft in his interplay.

And so, he handed her the simple berry. Still smelled like a berry- still looked like a berry. Should she place it in her mouth, the skin of it would taste of berry, and yet when she chomped on it- the texture would be berry, but the taste? A delicious bite of chicken, the juice of it a savory gravy, well seasoned and freshly cooked. It would be a physical impossibility. Yet the power of illusion, and a strong imagination.

“Wonder is the goal of all magic. Imagination is the key. It has taken me my entire life to figure that out. And you Dra-miana I think are the first person I have met to realize that.”

There was a still repose in him. He was being very serious again, but his smile was soft, kind.

“Wanna’ study magic together?”