[Pierre]
The song ended, and slowly Pierre's fingers
lifted up off of his lute. He stared at his lute, deep in thought.
"I am sorry," he whispered. "I do not feel well enough to continue with
this entertainment. I deeply apologize, and shall make it up to you as
soon as I can."
Pierre stepped down off the stage. "Olga?"
he asked. "Though I am not entertaining, might I stay here for a bit longer?"
Pierre did not think he could go home now; home to where his parents were;
to where he would have to act as though he did not know about Abigail's
illness so he would not upset them.
"Of course, Pierre. Are you certain you're
all right? Nothing's happened?"
"It's nothing," Pierre lied. "Please, don't
worry about it. I'm perfectly all right. I am just a bit...tired."
"All right," Olga said doubtfully. "Is
there anything you'd like to eat?"
"No, thank you. I am quite all right."
Pierre glanced around the inn, hoping to
find something that would take his mind off Abigail. The vast majority
of patrons were going on with their lives as usual, and nothing was out
of the ordinary.
Nothing except...Pierre noticed a woman...at
least, he thought it was a woman, he only had a view of the back of her
head. There were charcoals lying by her...she was an artist, as was evidenced
by the picture beside her.
The picture. Pierre blinked. Surely, his
view of his must be off... perhaps the light was wrong. Perhaps he needed
a closer view. Ah, that was it. Pierre stepped off his stool and started
towards the woman, wondering how he should introduce himself.
That could *not* be a picture of Abigail.
[Daron]
Daron looked up. The young musician
was leaving the stage. His young face held too much sorrow than someone
his age should have, she noticed with her artist's eye, though he was manfully
trying to conceal it from the casual observer.
The other shoe dropped; he was walking
towards her. A chill travelled up and down her spine as she looked
at the incriminating drawing. -Faith, but how do I explain this?-
She felt like she did when she was four years old and upset the full milk
pail. Her cheeks reddened with the memory. -I'll tell him it
came out of my mind. Which it did...-
A deep sigh escaped her lips. -But
I don't have to tell him it was in his mind first...-
Daron steeled herself to accept her punishment...
[Pierre]
Pierre cleared his throat. "Greetings,
miss. Do you mind if I sit down?" He got a closer view of the drawing,
and paled, clearing his throat. Dear! It was Abigail. But how could
that be? How could this stranger have drawn his sister? Certainly, there
must be some explanation for it! "My name is Pierre," he continued.
"You seem to be a lovely artist. Might I ask you some questions about
your work?"
[Daron]
The first thing Daron noticed were incredibly
violet eyes. -Lord, but with that halo of hair, he looks like an
angel!- She wanted to speak, she really did. But she was afraid
she might say something that might get her into further trouble.
A tendency which she shared with Dillon...
Considering her mental state, Daron's voice
was surprisingly steady. "Thank you for the compliment on my work,
young sir."
[Pierre]
"You're welcome," Pierre smiled.
[Daron]
-In for a penny, in for a pound..-
Gaining further confidence, she rattled on, "Of course, I do much better
when I have the person before me to work from..." -Now you've done
it!-
[Pierre]
"Oh?" Pierre blinked. "Have you met A--her--the
woman in the drawing-- somewhere?" he inquired. "It is such an incredible
likeness...of one I know well." His voice became tinged with sadness. He
then smiled... no use making people unhappy; that wasn't his job, and continued,
in a falsely lilting voice. "Or else love truly makes all you see look
like the ones you love."
[Daron]
Daron felt her stomach and throat constrict
with the fear of discovery. She debated whether or not to tell him
the truth for what seemed like hours to her, but in reality was only a
minute or two. -Time to face the music, so to speak...- "No,"
Daron said finally. "I've never met..." Her voice caught in
her throat. The next word came out in the barest of whispers.
"...Abigail..."
[Pierre]
Pierre gasped, and placed his hands upon
the table to steady himself. "How--" he managed to get out. "Please,
I must sit down. I hope I am not invading your privacy, Madame, but
I am no longer able to remain standing." Gasping out the words, he managed
to fall into a chair.
"How did you know?" He finally manged to
put together the entire sentence.
[Keir]
The ending of the song hadn't broken Keir's reverie and he found himself
following the young musician as he left the stage. When he realized the
musician had stopped and was speaking to someone he quickly turned aside
and sat at an open table nearby as if that was where he had been headed
all along. The chair was too high for his feet to reach the floor and though
that had been the case everywhere he had been here it still made him feel
foolish. He gave a snort of indignation as he impatiently waited for some
service and stole a surreptitious glance at the woman seated alone next
to him. Pretty, for a Big Folk, he thought.
The approach of the musician startled him and at first he thought he was
headed for his table but it became obvious his eyes were on the woman.
Keir tried not to listen to their conversation but it was impossible to
ignore, especially without some food to occupy his attention. He was thankful
when the elderly woman finally came and took his order, both at the prospect
of eating and not hearing the private conversation between Pierre, he'd
heard that, and the unnamed artist. The break was temporary however
as the kindly old woman briskly set off to get him his meal. He tried to
find an insect to talk to as a distraction but there weren't any in the
room at the moment, apparently The Sea Wench was cleaner than most of the
inns he'd visited.
[Daron]
Daron's heart felt like it wanted to burst
out of her chest. Subconsciously, her charcoal-stained right hand
rested on the rough green wool covering her heart. "I didn't mean
to hurt you! I'm sorry!"
[Pierre]
Pierre blinked. "You didn't hurt me," he whispered, quite honestly. -I was hurting long before I met you.-
[Daron]
-Faith, but do I tell him the truth?-
In the midst of her mental dilemma, she
noticed the third party at her table.Why, he was a character from the bedtime
stories her father told of the "wee folk", who helped people and were good
and kind, come to life! No harm could come to her with someone like _him_
around!
She wasn't superstitious, she wasn't.
Granted, if she spilled salt, she threw a pinch over her left shoulder.
And--Faith Above!--_everyone_ knew that you never let a black cat cross
your path! It was just common sense, that's all.
//"Tell the truth and be _done_ with
it, lass!"//
Daron drew strength from her father's words.
She took a deep breath and looked the young musician square in his expressive
violet eyes. "I couldn't help--that is, I 'saw' the picture of her
in your mind," she whispered, hoping no one overheard. "I've been
able to do it as long as I can remember. I don't know how."
She saw the sadness in the young man's eyes as he looked at the portrait.
"Faith, but I wish I _couldn't_, sometimes. Like _now_." She
looked down at the table. "I _am_ sorry, Pierre..." Her
green eyes filled with tears.
[Keir]
Keir
drummed his fingers on the table but that didn't prevent his sensitive
ears from picking up the emotional tone of the pair. His embarassment grew
and he tried to find something, anything, in the room to focus on. A customer
had walked in with a head full of lice but they had little to say, at least
little that anyone would want to hear. He stared for a moment at the moist
patch on the sleeve of his green linen shirt were he had wiped his tears
after Pierre's song and thought about Ole Frazzle. The song had touched
upon all the lonliness and despair he had felt when he found the village
deserted. He hoped his adoptive father wasn't among the many that
lay under the fresh burial mound, surely ole Frazzle had survived whatever
it was that drove them away - he must have. Keir swallowed the tears that
threatened to flow anew and coughed into his hand. His mood brightened
as he spied Olga with his food and ale.
Olga laid the heaping plate of roast beef, potatoes, carrots and other
assorted vegetable down along with a large mug of ale. "Will that be all
fer ya laddie?" she asked smiling.
Keir
fought the urge to thump her on the head. {Laddie hah! I'm older than she
is!} Returning her smile and hiding his thought he replied coolly "Yes,
I think that will hold me a bit, but don't wander away to far."
He set to the meal with a flourish, content that he could now mind his
own affairs and let the conversations around him drift into an incomprehensible
hum.
[Daron]
Daron removed the portrait of "Abigail" from her drawing tablet and held it out to Pierre. "You can have the drawing...if you want it..."
[Pierre]
Pierre took the drawing gently, not wanting to smudge any part of it. "Thank you," he whispered. "You have remarkable talent."
[Daron]
Her voice trailed off as if she had seen
a ghost. Daron shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she felt the
irresistible "urge" to pick up what was left of her charcoal and begin
another portrait. Her attempts to ignore the sensation only served
to focus her attention on it.
Her sigh seemed to come from her toes. She picked up the largest charcoal shard, retrieved her pad of paper and began to sketch once again. Daron looked up only after she finished the portrait. This time, it was of an older man, of the same ilk as the "wee folk" who sat with her. Only, this one had black hair with silver streaks. She didn't have any colored chalks to indicate his eye color-- a luxury she wished she could afford!--but she _knew_ they were green.
She took the sheet off and handed it to the younger, curly brown haired and dark brown eyed "wee folk" gentleman.
"I think this belongs to _you_..." Daron said in a shaky voice.
[Keir]
Keir, looking at Daron with his bushy eyebrows raised and a mouthful of
potatoes, reached for the proffered drawing. "Mmph?" he gulped, "Excuse
me, for me?" At a casual glance he thought the artist had tried doing his
portrait and was amused as it didn't look *anything* like him. Then he
looked deeper and his brow furrowed, the streaky hair, the wrinkles, and
that nose... !
{Frazzle!}
His gaze flickered from the drawing to
Daron, the drawing, Pierre, the drawing and finally settled on Daron. "Excuse
me, you've *seen* him ?!? When, where?" he asked, his eyes glowing
with excitement. {He was *here*, Frazzle *was* here!} His heart pounded
with undreamed of hope.
[Daron]
Daron signalled for Olga to bring her another
mug of meade. Once it arrived, she nodded her thanks and took a large
gulp to steady her nerves. Then she breathed deeply and looked Keir
square in his very expressive dark eyes.
"You were thinking about...Frazzle...I
'saw' what he looked like from your thoughts." She tentatively reached
over and took one of his hands. "Faith, but I wish I _could_ reassure
you about him!" She gently stroked the silky brown hair in a gesture
of comfort. "If it's any help to you, I feel we'll run into him--_alive_
in the near future."
-Faith, but _now_ I've put my neck in the
noose _this_ time!-
Daron downed the rest of her mug in one
throat-burning gulp.
[Keir]
Keir stared at Daron in disappointment and disbelief, momentarily oblivious
to her touch. {A mind crawler!} he thought, feeling violated and snatching
his hand away. Only the truly repentant look on her face kept his embarassment
from changing to anger. {Was _that_ what their conversation had been about?}
He gave Pierre a look as if to ask *You too?*.
A thousand thoughts milled in his head, {Does she know _everything_ I'm
thinking?, Is she listening _now_? How can she be so certain he's alive?,
What did she mean by _we_?". He wanted to ask her those questions, needed
to ask in fact, but wondered if she'd already heard them. Taking a deep
breath, he calmed his raging emotions. "I... I thank you for this." he
stammered quietly. Turning to Pierre he added, "And I wished to thank you
for your song... it... it touched me."
[Daron]
Daron felt what was left of her self-confidence sink down to the toes of her dark brown suede boots. -I'm keeping my mouth shut from now on! It's caused me nothing but _trouble_!- She turned her attention back to the paper and charcoals which had _also_ gotten her into so much trouble. Tightly gripping the largest remaining shard, she began to sketch once more.
When she finished, tears were spilling unchecked down her cheeks. The image of a young man on horseback, his hair blowing in the wind, was there on the paper for all to see. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the artist. -Now I know how _they_ felt!-
Conscious of their eyes upon her, she wiped her face on her sleeve.
"My brother, Dillon," she whispered finally.
[Pierre]
"Oh," he whispered. He hated this.
Hated the awkward silence that had descended on group. Damnation,
but there must be something that could be done. "I--he seems like
a nice young man." Somehow, it didn't seem like enough.
[Rudolpho]
Rudolpho had had enough of skulking about the city and was thoroughly bored,
not to mention hungry. He had had enough of the "usual" fare and
decided to try his luck at one of the taverns. As he walked down
one alley then another, he came across one of them called the Sea Wench.
-Good as any- he thought. He walked up to one of the windows and
looked in. No one usually noticed him due to his diminutive height.
Being short did have its advantages although he knew he would soon grow
out of it. He saw a few people sitting around tables and figured
that he could at least "make some conversation" if nothing else.
He ran a hand through his thick, black, unkempt hair using the reflection
in the window to help him. He then rearranged his shirt (which had
a few to many worn spots for his liking and planned to do something about
soon), made sure all his packs and pockets were in place, shined up the
stud in his ear, and brushed off his pants (to no avail). -There.
That should to it.-
Rudolpho walked straight up to the door, opened it, and walked into the
Sea Wench confidently. He walked towards the bar as if he owned the
place, stopped, ran back to the door, closed it, then resumed his proud
walk. He surreptitiously checked out of the corner of his eye to
see if anyone was looking. Ignoring anyone who was he walked over
to the bar and jumped up onto one of the stools. "Hi there!"
[Daron]
Daron bravely smiled at Pierre. She prayed neither of the men could pick up on her thoughts. Even so, she felt they were painted on her face for all to see. "Yes, he is." She forced herself to smile wider. "Dillon's blessedly stubborn and wonderful. Were he to walk in here right now--"
-_Stop_ thinking those thoughts! I'll see him again! I _will_!-
She continued speaking with a barely perceptible pause, "--faith, but I'm not sure if I'd shake or kiss him first! Brothers can be such a bother, you know." She reached out to touch Pierre's hand. "Though if I had a brother like you, Pierre--" Daron looked over at Keir. "--or you, sir--I'd be honored. Truly." Her jaw and cheeks soon hurt from the effort of so much smiling.
[Khanndie]
The waitress had noticed the boy from the corner of her eye as he sauntered
into the tavern, and noticed again as he scurried back to close the door
before resuming his leisurely, "I am so grown-up" approach to the bar.
Ordinarily, she might have said something to Olga, or to the bartender,
but things were a bit busy that night; now that Pierre had finished his
first performance and sat at a back table with that girl and that small
little ... whatever he was ... the customers were getting
restless again.
So Khanndie moved from table to table taking orders and picking up empty
glasses for several minutes. When she returned to drop her tray onto
the top of the bar with a loud clatter, she leaned one arm on the bar and
planted the other hand on her hip. "What'll it be, honey," she said
in a soft drawl, "a glass of warm milk and some cookies?"
[Rudolpho]
Rudolpho had been watching the goings on in the bar, and had begun to wonder
how this place worked. Was he supposed to step back behind the bar
and serve himself. That might be fun and would be awfully nice of
the bartender to make him feel at home like that. Just when he was
about to hop off the stool and go behind the bar, the tall good looking
woman stepped up to the bar beside him. She had an interesting accent
and by looking at her he felt that she was a nice woman. "You have
cookies and milk here? That would be great!" He contemplated
a minute then asked with aslight almost suspicious tone to his voice, "How
much does it cost?" He would have to see how much he had managed
to scrounge lately.
[M'eyeke]
M'eyeke stood behind the bar with a rag in his hand shining up some glasses.
He had watched the kid walk in and knew that he could not possibly pay
for anything here just by looking at him. His clothes were worn through
in patches and he looked like he had not bathed in awhile. Subsequently
he continued to shine up the glasses nonchalantly. That is until
Khanndie walked up and began talking to him. -Looks like we just
gave out some free cookies and milk to another charity case- he thought
to himself.
[Khanndie]
Khanndie looked the boy up and down from head to toe, and shot once glance
in M'eyeke's direction with a "what?" expression on her face. "Depends
on what it's worth to you," she answered, slipping behind the bar to search
out the offered fare. As she put it together from the stash she kept
available, she added for M'eyeke's benefit, "I'm on break," then slid the
plate across the bar to the boy. After a moment, she added an apple
and a chunk of bread to go along with it. "Might want to save the
dessert for last."
[Rudolpho]
The boy ignored M'eyeke's grunt of "Thought so" and began to shove cookies
into his mouth at an almost alarming rate. He wasn't sure if they
were going to think better of the offer and decide to take them away from
him. If they were, he was determined to have as many of them inside
him as he could. He looked up at the waitress before him with renewed
suspicion. He began to ask the waitress a question but it sounded
more like "Mmmrph..frm..mmm" Realizing that he couldn't ask anything
with a mouth full of cookies, he nearly drained the glass of milk, looking
at it sorrowfully when he realized how much of it he had drunk.
"What do you mean how much is it worth to me? What do you want for
it?" He looked at the bread and apple then back at Khanndie.
"You must be a mother. My mother used to say things like that."
He looked at his plate for a moment then shook his head much like a dog
would shake off water and took a bite of the apple. He waited to
see what the nice waitress who was probably going to refill his glass of
milk would reply.
[Daron]
Daron glanced over at the bar. She
saw a young man--boy, really, her mind corrected--stand there talking to
the bartender and one of the barmaids. He was good looking, she thought
with a genuine smile this time.
[Khanndie]
Khanndie, still behind the bar, leaned both arms on it to watch the boy.
The neckline of her blouse dipped down even further, and she automatically
adjusted it. Before she could even start to answer his questions,
one of the rowdier regulars in the near corner guffawed drunkenly and made
some half-incomprehensible comment about how he wished the waitress were
his mother. "Hey," she snapped back, standing straight again to put
both hands on her hips this time, "there're children in here, Stan.
If you're goin' to act like that tonight, you can take it down the street
to the Bawd."
[Daron]
-Faith, but it looks like he hasn't had
a meal in a lifetime, though! Judging by the way he's going after
those cookies, anyway...-
She surreptitiously checked her money pouch.
The amount of gold coins within settled the matter for her. "Excuse
me, please," Daron told Keir and Pierre. "I'll be right back."
She walked over to the bar. "Young man, I have a favor to ask of
you. I'd like to do your portrait. In return, I'll stake you to another
meal--on _me_, lad. What do you say?"
[Khanndie]
Well, that settled it -- as M'eyeke had suspected, the food had been given
free of charge, but if someone was going to *pay* for it...
Khanndie glanced over at the bartender again with a slight smile, as if
to say she didn't want to hear any comments about her charity cases,
and picked up her tray to start her circle of the tables again. At
Stan's table, she could be seen to slap the inebriated man with a towel
when he decided to risk a grope, and to snarl something that left him with
a properly chastised expression on his face when she moved on.