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Aug 22, 2011 21:54:59 GMT -5
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Post by Mia Fallabella on Feb 28, 2011 22:03:32 GMT -5
Another night, another dance, another group of grabby perverts that always had a way of ruining her good mood. It was late at night, probably closer to early morning that anything. Mia sat at a table alone in a corner, a nearly empty glass of brown liquid before her on the aging wood table. She ran a single slender finger around and around the rim of the glass replaying the nights events in her mind. The small town had not been as welcoming as her family had hoped. Even while setting up their caravans for the evening and building fires they were receiving uncomfortable looks and even a few glares…It was obvious this town did not welcome them though Mia wasn’t sure why. So things had proceeded as planned….her father played his fiddle, a young boy who she was not acquainted with tapped a makeshift drum, and Mia danced gloriously before a roaring fire. The tiny bits of shiny rock glittered as she slung them into the fire, a series of loud cracks bringing the crowd to their feet. It was the grand finale…but here instead of laughter and clapping the gypsies were treated with cautious looks. No coins fell for their hard earned work, Mia’s father plodded off in a huff. And meek Mia went to the only place she could think of to calm her nerves…the pub.
She had to use two hands to lift the heavy glass to her lips, sipping gingerly at the pungent liquid inside. It smelled foul, she had ask for ale…but this was a variety she was not accustomed to…or even liked. But it served the purpose and after her second glass she was starting to feel a pleasant buzz. She was still dressed in her costume that looked very much like that of a belly dancer and her eyes were rimmed by painted butterfly wings. Various bracelets and trinkets jingled with each slight shift of her frame. So obviously she stood out among the common patrons of the bar, and it wasn’t long before one of the men from her earlier performance sidled over to her small table. He was a large fellow with a beard that could use a good trim. He practically fell into the wooden chair across from her. His drink splashing out onto the table as he leaned forward on his elbows to glare at her.
Mia wasn’t the confrontational type, and was rather nervous around men in general because of her fathers tales. But even she could tell that this was going to be no friendly chat. With a hairy arm he wiped foam from his lip, menacing dark eyes peering down at the young nomad.
‘At the fire…..you did magic didn’t you?’
It wasn’t an accusation to be taken lightly…not this day and age. Just being suspected of sorcery could get you into some seriously hot water….and here this fellow was throwing his words around like darts. Ma’s icy eyes flickered down at the table, curling her fingers around her glass until her knuckles turned white. She had always heard you could never reason with a drunk….and she wasn’t in her cleared frame of mind herself anyway.
“…no….they were polished rocks…”
She said quietly, feeling that her fathers wrath at his act being ruined was far less severe than what this man could dish out.
“….when rocks are heated they will crack, that was the sound you heard. “
She was surpsied that she was able to string her thoughts together as well as she could…her tongue felt heavy with drink. Her reaction time was slow and she didn’t even see the large hand reaching across the table until it was too late. Quickly he wrapped a long lock of her curly hair around his wrist…to the other patrons it would look like he was just admiring her hair….possibly even flirting. But Mia could see the glint in his eye, smell the alcohol on his breath, and feel the pain as he jerked her hair like a rope.
‘You think I’m stupid or something? Nah….I am going to turn you in and get my reward, thinking you can fool me with some stupid story about rocks!’
He gave her hair a hard tug that brought Mia’s chin nearly to the table. She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes but knew she was no match for the burly bastard….Now if she really was magic she could have taken him….But her magic was nothing but a party trick. She pursed her painted lips together, icy eyes narrowing as she tried to hide the fear bubbling in her chest.
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Sept 13, 2011 2:26:40 GMT -5
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Post by Éamonn Goronwy on Mar 2, 2011 19:59:38 GMT -5
Had it been a good idea to come here? Éamonn thought about that many times over as he watched the tavern from over the brim of his tankard. He was drinking moderately, as always, there was never anything good in getting drunk. You might say things you will regret later, reveal secrets, brag with things you did and no one should know, especially not with the respective person being an assassin. That didn’t make him the favourite of the barmaids of course, but Éamonn was sure he quite made up for it with his good looks. Sooner or later one of them might cherish the company of a man who actually could still formulate a whole sentence without slurring and didn’t run the risk of losing his evening meal all over her.
Then again, coming here bore some high risks, even more so as he just had completed another of his jobs in a nearby manor. Now the mask that made him the shadow was tugged away safely in his bag, as was the black shirt, now replaced by a white one. Wearing black trousers and boots was not too uncommon for a man with a little more money than a peasant and at least the slightest hint of a fashion sense. If he striked lucky, the corpse wouldn’t be found before the night was through, and even if it was found, would they really think the murderer would show his face in the next tavern? His cheek could be as dangerous as it could be his safety.
He didn’t look for anything more than a quaint evening, some entertainment maybe, but that should not be of the troublemaking sort. After you got your hands bloody you appreciate a moment of peace. Sadly enough, there were always enough drunkards around in a tavern, and drunk men liked to pick on someone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a new quarrel arising. There was an obvious drunk men, a big fleshy fellow, and a young girl. Éamonn was not a hero and he didn’t meddle with other people’s affairs lightly. He might think that a guy messing with a girl – not a local by her looks and also somehow exotic, outstanding – was not right, but he was in no mood to point that out. Wasn’t his concern. Not tonight. Some other man feeling heroic would be delighted to take his place, that’s how it always was. And then he could have fun, leaning back and just watching the entertainment.
But the seconds passed by and no one so much as lifted a finger, and somehow the rogues accusations had turned serious. Had the girl used magic?! Éamonn hadn’t been there to watch her dance or whatever it was she did by the looks of her, the show had just been a good cover for his own ventures, everybody being occupied. There was not much that could bring the young assassin to really bother, but somebody being accused of magic was one of them. Being raised in a druid community did not leave him unaffected. He might have forwent his clan’s teachings often enough, but he still felt a hint of sympathy towards the girl. In this realm magic was a very sensitive topic, it could easily get you killed.
So he stood up and sauntered over, leaving his tankard neglectfully on the table. “Come on, man, you’re drunk, you don’t speak with your right mind. Look at her… skin and bones, already flinching from your hands. Is that how a witch looks like? Come on!”
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Aug 22, 2011 21:54:59 GMT -5
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Post by Mia Fallabella on Mar 2, 2011 20:41:04 GMT -5
He pulled her so close she could feel the heat of his breath on his face, his pungent breath nearly making her gag. She closed her eyes against his burning breath, her mind churning with possibilities…The likliehood of her father arriving her was practically nil, and most everyone from the caravan was careful to keep themselves isolated from the normal population. As apparently she should have been. Squeezing her eyes together she was able to keep the tears from running but that didn’t stop the pain of having a brute pull your hair.
‘Come on, man, you’re drunk, you don’t speak with your right mind. Look at her… skin and bones, already flinching from your hands. Is that how a witch looks like? Come on!’
A deep voice interrupted her frantic thoughts, followed by a slight reprieve from the pulling on her hair. The burly man turned to face the younger man, scowling as his dark eyes fell on the slender and fit fellow. Dark eyes swiveled back to look at his captive, her hair still wrapped around his fist like a lead rope. Normally he was not a man to let things go so easily, to be talked down. But in his drunken state he was strangely easy to mold. He hesitated for a moment, sluggish thoughts turning in his head as he stared into her fearful blue eyes…
‘Ah….’
He grumbled, dislodging his hand from her hair rather roughly. Mia yelped, a few strands of curly hair fell to the table before her. The large man gave up his plight, whether it was because he actually believed the young fellows reasoning’s or was just to drunk to argue he stumbled from his chair and made his way back over to his table. Laughing as if he had just heard a hilarious joke.
Mia was not in as swell of a mood, gingerly she pushed the frazzled strands of hair behind her ear. She chanced a look at her savior, surprised to see a very handsome man had been the voice of reason. He seemed to resonate confidence, the exact opposite of the meek creature nursing her wounds.
“I…..thank you.”
She said softly, pushing her chair back from the table and escaping through the tavern door all with one catlike movement. Once outside she collapsed against one of the aging walls. Sinking until she was sitting on the cool night earth, her arms wrapped around her knees as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. Between gasping breaths she would cough, finally forcing the tears to come forth. She was not a strong person, she never pretended to be. She had heard of women that could wield a sword as good as any man, face down danger like it was nothing…but she was not one of them. Thin fingers rubbed her face, smudging tears with paint. Terrified at what might have happened to her had she been turned in….There wasn’t exactly a test or anything….if you were accused it was practically a death sentence. But she had been saved by the voice of reason. And she didn’t even know his name. Finally the fearful tears stopped and she wiped her face with the back of her hands, leaving smudges of paint behind.
“Damn it….”
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Sept 13, 2011 2:26:40 GMT -5
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Post by Éamonn Goronwy on Mar 4, 2011 20:46:36 GMT -5
Gladly the drunkard forgot his accusation and backed off quickly. Éamonn liked to think it was because of his impeccable show of calm superiority, but maybe the man was just easily impressed. He left the girl alone though he did do it rather roughly. Éamonn shrugged it off inwardly, he was none to start a riot about violated rules of chivalry. Most of the time it was just not worth the effort. This girl was neither his love interest nor his sister, he just had no claim to pursue on her and now the imminent danger of her being turned in for the use of magic – whether she was guilty of it or not – had been averted, this matter was no longer his concern. In theory.
A nice thank you or show of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, and what Éamonn got presented with was rather meager. Why was she fleeing the scene so quickly? Did she fear the rogue would change his mind? Or maybe she didn’t want to change one mess for the other… then again, no one could possibly compare him to that drunken, filthy, reeking peasant. He hadn’t forced himself on the girl in any way, he never ventured where he wasn’t invited. The amount of invitations usually didn’t leave anything to be desired anyway… After a few moments of brooding the assassin realized the peculiar girl wasn’t to be wiped off his mind that easily. Maybe he should make sure she was alright? It was none of his business but, so he told himself, where one might forge ahead others would follow. The accusation of sorcery was easily made but hard to get rid of. Irrevocable damage was often enough done before the denouncers realized their mistake.
Finally, Éamonn got up and walked out of the tavern as well, not needing to look long for the girl. The sight of her, cowering low and hugging her knees, was enough to make any feeling heart melt. Too bad he wasn’t the owner of such a heart. It was still touching though, in a way. The whole encounter must have shaken her to the bone. Éamonn wasn’t the man for comforting words or gestures, but even he could not stand by and watch this. And any moment she might look up and see him anyway, so he would be the awkward one, not announcing his presence first. She might get the wrong impression. “Quite the adventure, huh?” he commented nonchalantly, treading closer. "That was not what you had in mind when you came in there. Some folks are just too stupid for their own good. Everything they cannot grasp with their narrow minds just has to be magic, right?”
It was unusual for Éamonn to talk so much in a row, but he was in no mood for questioning himself. Next time he would not talk at all, and so the balance would be restored. He had other pressing matters on his mind than if he was seen as a blabbermouth. Maybe it was even better to act a little out of character. The less trails pointing to him the better, there was still a corpse turning stiff in this neighborhood.
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Aug 22, 2011 21:54:59 GMT -5
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Post by Mia Fallabella on Mar 4, 2011 21:25:24 GMT -5
She had not even heard the creak of the old door before a deep voice entered her thoughts. It wasn’t the crude man from before so she made herself stay put….despite the desire to bolt. Looking up at him now without someone practically pulling her hair out she could see that he was indeed quite a handsome fellow. At least now she had a chance to rectify herself without having to face that drunk fool.
“uh huh….”
She said softly, peering up at him from her perch on the cool earth. “But if it wasn’t for you I think it could have ended much worse….” She bit her lip as visions of fire blazed through her mind. She could almost feel the embers burning her feet, smell the singe of her own hair. Physically she shook her head to try and dispel the thoughts. Looking back at the mysterious handsome man she tried to offer him a smile though it looked forced on her tear streaked face.
“Thank you….really, I’m sorry I….how can I repay you?”
The nights performance had been a bust so no coins jangled in the small satchel tied around her slim waist….she really had nothing to offer. With shaking fingers she pressed a curly lock behind her ear, pressing her lips firmly together as she tried to figure out some way to thank him….repay him for possibly saving her life. The drunkard may have passed out before taking her anywhere….or even forgotten his folly, but there was still the possibility that he would not have…and she would have been killed. When she looked up he was closer…she had not even heard his steps.
“..yes…..”
Her words were guarded, to admit you favored magic to the wrong person could be a big mistake. And even though this man had sort of defended her she still did not know where his loyalties lie. Icy eyes watched the man wearily for a few moments, she made no move to stand and he seemed to make no move to sit…This was probably going to be a short chat…Still it was kind of him to offer her his calming words.
“…Mia. My names Mia.”
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Sept 13, 2011 2:26:40 GMT -5
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Post by Éamonn Goronwy on Mar 6, 2011 10:56:40 GMT -5
Saying words of comfort and being thanked for them, that was quite the novelty for Éamonn. Yes, he had demanded it in his thoughts just a moment earlier, but without really expecting to get it. That was not how things usually worked with him. He didn’t do good, so he didn’t expect good in return. Keeping out of other people’s affairs was his usual policy, and he lived well with it. But now he had meddled and found that it most likely was a one way road: once in a conversation such as this, you couldn’t find a way out of it without being overly rude. Normally Éamonn didn’t mind being rude, he wasn’t walking this earth to be liked – he had long since given up on that matter, probably ever since he had been a child – he merely tried to push his way through as well as he could. With the life he led he also could not afford any friends, because they would get dragged into things they could not handle.
Then she spoke of repaying him. Had he been a man like this rogue inside, he might have very specific ideas on how that payment should look like, but he was not like that. Of course Éamonn didn’t think himself any more virtuous or morally consolidated than him. The thought had entered his mind briefly after all, he was only a man. But blowing the same trumpet now would not only be lame, it would be foolish. And foolish was never Éamonn’s style. What else could he want from her? His latest commission had filled his pockets well enough, and the girl didn’t look like she had recently found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “Don’t mention it”, he heard himself say before his mind had even reached a proper conclusion. That was very unlike him! Since ever when did he let such an opportunity slip through his fingers? Given a little more time to think he would have surely settled on something. But the words were out and all he could do now was make sure she didn’t think him a do-gooder by nature, now that would be unsettling. “And I mean that, you know. Don’t mention it, some people got a reputation to lose.”
Éamonn realized the subject of magic seemed not be an easy one with her, so he chose not to pursue it further. See, he could be a gentleman – if you indeed had to use such a word – if he wanted to, it was just very rare he felt this desire. But why shouldn’t he be generous tonight? He had another job completed and it looked like he would walk away from it unsuspected again. His life was like he wanted it to be, free of commitments, morally as well as in everything else. He was his own man, and who could say that for himself? “I’m Éamonn”, he replied as she offered her name rather unexpectedly. “Éamonn Goronwy. And I take it you are not from here?” It felt odd to tower over her in such a way still, and so, without a second thought he lowered himself beside her on the ground, while still keeping a respectable distance. No need to scare her after all.
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