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"No, I'd love to! It will be like in Northanger Abbey, won't it--exploring mysterious places." Rebecca said, quite excited. Sybille grinned as well. "Who is who then? Which characters are we?" She asked teasingly.
She hoped to herself that Rebecca hadn't noticed her staring, knowing it was pointless to. She also hoped she could look over the little flaw in her new found friend, as she had looked over her sickness with a kind eye. Perhaps all of Helvaband would over look it.
"My uncle will be expecting me soon... when would I be able to see you again?" She was happy. Actually happy. Helvaband was turning out better than expected, and even if all of the other residents ignored her, at least she had one friend. She tucked her hair behind her ear, waiting for an answer from Rebecca, and hoping it would be 'soon'.
Sybille grinned--a genuine smile this time. "Who is who then? Which characters are we?" Rebecca laughed and thought for a moment. "Well, Catherine Morland and Eleanor Tilney, of course--I wouldn't make one of us be Isabella. But...who is who? Hmmm..." she tilted her head to the right, pondering which character would fit Sybille's personality more. She had to admit that she herself was more outgoing, (not by much...)like Catherine...and Sybille's quiet yet warm personality suited that of Eleanor's quite well. "I can really see you as Eleanor. Kind, quiet, caring...yes, definitely Eleanor." She blushed. "Unless you would prefer to be Catherine."
Rebecca tried to ignore the fact that Sybille was still gazing at her birthmark. I suppose I should consider it good that she didn't notice before...but still, I don't like it. It's too much like my cousins and neighbors used to act like back home, even if she isn't being mean or spiteful about it.
Sybille looked shy again. "My uncle will be expecting me soon... when would I be able to see you again?" Rebecca smiled. "It must be nice having relatives here to take you in...the Hotel is nice, and the friends I have made here are wonderful, but...it would be nice if I had someone who knew me." She sighed heavily. "My past, and the reason for me coming here, is more troubled than you know, Sybille. One of these days I will tell you...but not today." She looked down at her feet for a moment. When she raised her head, however, her smile was bright. "And you can come see me any time you like. I'm staying at the hotel. We could meet in the Square tomorrow, if you would like!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thomas Pontmercy
Royce shook Thomas's outstretched hand. A strange expression came over the other man's face. Thomas frowned in confusion before he realized that Royce was attempting to smile. It looked rather like a grimace, but if you looked, it was there--just barely.
Royce mentioned that he was only any good if one could find a use for him, and Thomas contradicted his statement, saying that he believed that everyone can be useful and important. This, apparently, did the trick. A true smile came over Royce's face. Ah. There we go. Much better. He really ought to smile more often--it makes people uncomfortable when you don't. At least, to me it does. “Ah, and I may have just yet to find anything I am good at…” He looked down at his arm, and Thomas followed his gaze. He raised his eyebrows. Royce's sleeve was torn, and through the hole he could see...ink. Drawings. What's all this, then? Strange...why does he draw on himself?
Royce smirked a bit. “Besides meaningless scribbles,” he added. Thomas chuckled lightly. "Maybe they're not meaningless at all. Do you like to draw? Is that why you did so on your arm?"
Lottie by Mascii"And you can come see me any time you like. I'm staying at the hotel. We could meet in the Square tomorrow, if you would like!"
Her smile was warm, and had a kind air to it. There was no use of Sybille hiding her excitement since Rebecca was not."Yes! Of course I would. But, of course I would have to speak to my uncle about it before hand... If I am not there between Noon and ten minutes after, do not expect me. I hope that would not be to long of a waiting time?" She could not think of another way to solve it. In fact, she was quite proud of her plan, as it seemed to her something right out of a book.
"I am never late, for I never have any where else to be." Despite the rain outside, Sybille could tell it was much later than when she had came. "Well, I really must be going now. It was nice meeting you."
Sybille looked as excited as Rebecca felt. "Yes! Of course I would. But, of course I would have to speak to my uncle about it before hand..." Rebecca nodded, but her heart sank a little. Her father had not responded to her letter, and that left only one solution--that he truly did not care where Rebecca was. It's not as if I was expecting anything else. After all, I'm out of there and he doesn't have to pay the school anymore, does he? I knew he wouldn't request me home if I fulfilled his wish for me...but I at least expected him to reply!Mister Vorassi was wrong--Father doesn't care about me anymore She envied Sybille a bit for having a family member that cared about her and was there to watch out for her.
"If I am not there between Noon and ten minutes after, do not expect me. I hope that would not be to long of a waiting time? I am never late, for I never have any where else to be." Rebecca shook her head. "No, I don't think that sounds like too long to wait. I look forward to seeing you!" She smiled.
Sybille turned her attention to the pouring rain for a moment. "Well, I really must be going now. It was nice meeting you." Rebecca's smile widened. "It was nice meeting you, too! I'll see you tomorrow, I hope! Goodbye, Sybille." With a wave, Rebecca returned to her browsing of the library's shelves. She checked out her books and tucked them under her shawl for protection before venturing out into the downpour.
Rebecca has left the library.
Lottie by MasciiThe girls said their enthusiastic goodbyes, both hoping to see their new friends tomorrow. Sybille watched Rebecca leave the library, then turned to the counter.
"You have a good taste in friends." Alan Crane said as he checked out her books. " Shes a good girl, very nice, and she has a great taste in books." He nodded, as if agreeing with himself. After finishing, he handed back the many books to her. "Take care of them."
"Of course I will. Thank you very much. Goodbye." She nodded her head respectivly, then left the building.
Sybille has left the library.
ooc: planned interaction between Adrian and Nicolas. bic:
Adrian Kyles
Adrian drew the smell of old book pages deep into his lungs and let it out with a light sigh, such a beautiful scent. He remembered spending hours in his library as a child, removing himself from the world and all it’s complications. He nodded to the man he assumed was the keeper of all the tomes, and received a polite nod in return.He skimmed his eyes briefly over the titles on the shelves, looking for a specific subject. Most towns and settlements did not have libraries or book-stores, the big cities being some of the few places with even the subject he searched for. Seeing as there was one here, he hoped he would at least find something.
He was looking for books on religious figures, legends, and other things on the paranormal. He remembered the man who had saved him, he remembered the man who had appeared to him on the Hunter’s Moon, the time of gods and spirits, and had cured him from the terrible fate that had been looming over his head. Most would call him obsessive, others, psychotic. But a man of that way, would have to be mentioned somewhere, at least in the whispers of history or travel. No sign had blessed him though, and he had never seen the one being he trusted completely ever since that night. In the back of his mind he was sure he had been forgotten, lately though, he was starting to think it had all been a dream. He did not wish to believe that though, the one he considered a true friend, after only having met that time, to not be real? He could not even bare to think of what he would do then.
Nicolas Dubon
Nicolas found himself going to the library much more frequently now. He remembered frowning at his father when he was younger when the older man would escape to chambers around the house with a book. As a boy, he had found exploring the outside much more exciting than having it done by flipping through inked sheets. But now, he had become accustomed to the dusty smell of books and the quiet environment, finally understanding why his father liked the silent space so much.
Entering the library, he suddenly noted a low rasping coming at his ear and a gently pressure at his head. Mr. Kyles was nearby no doubt. The strange man seemed to be controlling his odd power lately and it was much easier for Nicolas to approach him, much to his liking. He caught sight of Adrian, the older man appearing to be wandering the shelves rather determinedly for something. Out of common interest, he walked to his side, curious of what he was looking for. The pain at his head did not seem to grow as he grew near and he sighed in relief.
“Evening, Mr. Kyles.” He gave a curt nod before eyeing the titles at his side. A variety of religious and spiritual books got his attention. He turned to the man, confusion evident in his eyes, not particularly able to imagine him the religious type. Adrian always seemed more the kind to turn to science in Nicolas’ mind. “I did not know you were interested in the gods. What is your fancy?”
CompetitionAdrian Kyles
“Evening, Mr. Kyles.” Adrian jumped and whirled around in surprise, he hadn’t even heard the other man approach. He placed a hand over his heart. “ Mr. DuBon, you gave me a death of a fright!”
Nicolas gave a curt nod before looking over the books Adrian had collected, confusion filled his amber eyes. “I did not know you were interested in the gods. What is your fancy?” Adrian’s eyes widened, “ Fancy? Ah, well truthfully I am looking here for a reference on someone I met once…or maybe imagined….” The last part he added to himself, but he instantly brightened, “ Myself, I am a scientific man. Religion, in my opinion, is just an excuse for people to satisfy what they cannot explain, and believe that someone, or something, is always watching over them. A form of security, but if that’s what they believe, then who am I to preach?” He turned back to the shelves in front of him, for such a small town, it had a large selection, due to it’s isolation he supposed.Not turning back to the other, he reached up and removed a large, leather bound tome titled; ‘The Old Stories of Bajyl’. Hmm, I haven’t seen one of these in a long time, it might do. “Would you like to help Mr. DuBon?”
Nicolas Dubon
“ Mr. DuBon, you gave me a death of a fright!”
He apparently seemed to have startled him when he spoke. His breath heightening, Adrian turned to the nobleman, a hand at his chest. The look of sudden surprise was one Nicolas was unfamiliar to see on the man’s face. He was quick to apologize and smoothly drifted onto the subject of gods with Mr. Kyles. His first impression with the man before him seemed to be confirmed as he replied to his question.
“Fancy? Ah, well truthfully I am looking here for a reference on someone I met once…or maybe imagined….” His spirit seemed to quickly lift and a smile found it’s way on his face. Nicolas felt the corner of his lip twitch at the man’s comment. Comparing spiritual figures to someone he had once met? What a strange man. It was true there were many unique creatures wandering Helvaband and most likely other places but gods seemed a bit far fetched. “Myself, I am a scientific man. Religion, in my opinion, is just an excuse for people to satisfy what they cannot explain, and believe that someone, or something, is always watching over them. A form of security, but if that’s what they believe, then who am I to preach?”
“Are you confessing yourself to be just as ‘foolish’ as those people? You seem to be turning to something you apparently don’t believe Mr. Kyles.” Nicolas inquired, glancing at an array of titles on the shelf. At the corner of his eye, he noticed Adrian’s attention turning to a particular book. Firmly in his hand, the man seemed as if he were reflecting momentarily with the object.
“Would you like to help Mr. DuBon?” Adrian asked. Nicolas remained silent, idly staring at the questioning man. The whispers were still a gentle murmur in his head he could still simply ignore; he supposed there was no harm in helping for a while. Kyles’ small exploration was also one that sparked Nicolas curiosity and he felt desire to delve through it.
“Alright,” He knelt down to the lower shelves, looking up at Adrian’s face. “What type of reference should I be looking for? Certain powers, physical features?”
CompetitionOOC: Post for Poppy, sorry it took so long!
BIC:
Royce Haggins
“Maybe they’re not meaningless at all. Do you like to draw? Is that why you did so on your arm?” Thomas replied, laughing lightly.
Royce blushed, stepping backwards a bit. “I… I drew on my arm because I had nothing else to draw on, sir.” he muttered. It felt so odd to have someone speak to him about this… He was poor and homeless, that was the fact. What else was he suppose to do or say?
‘What can regain the memories I have lost? So I might know who I am? I do not wish to be lost any more… I do not wish to be no one.‘
Royce was far too uncomfortable. “Forgive me.” he said, bowing and turning to leave. He froze a moment, gazing at the man, almost wishing to ask something he did not know how to say. But he soon turned walked out, not sure whether he had accomplished something or lost something else.
Royce has left
Dr. Hal RamseyAdrian Kyles
Mr.DuBon knelt down, looking up at Adrian. “Alright. What type of reference should I be looking at? Certain powers, physical features?”
Adrian tilted his head to the side, “Healing of poisons at the very least, transportation to previously unknown places, perhaps magic over people and animals?” A light chuckle, “Forgive me if it is not all clear, it was a long time ago. Now, physical features? Longish orange hair, pale skin,” his lips twitched, “ taller than myself, and his eyes…” He paused. Racking his brain carefully he found that he could no longer see the eyes of his savior. And as he looked back on his memories, Adrian found that he could never recall a time when he remembered those eyes. He knew the fever had stolen some of his sight; perhaps it had stolen some of his memories as well, which saddened him greatly. Distantly he thought he heard himself make a small sound of distress, primal in its instinctual way. It was the sound of losing something dear. Worrying his lip he looked at the man crouching by the bookcase. “ I am sorry my dear Mr. Red-head, but it would seem that I can no longer remember his eyes…”He placed another small pile of books on the table and sat down. He motioned to a chair. “Never get sick or grow old Nicolas.” He smiled grimly, his voice dropped to a whisper. “ Never get sick or grow old.”
Nicolas Dubon
He watched in meek curiosity as Adrian tiled his head to the side, deep in thought. Did this man truly believe he had encountered a god? Perhaps it was merely his whispers causing strange dreams for the troubled traveler. Connections with the dead could cause such things couldn’t they? From the way, Mr. Kyles seemed to be pondering; Nicolas felt he could well assume the man had taken a hard hit at the head.
“Healing of poisons at the very least, transportation to previously unknown places, perhaps magic over people and animals?” He laughed softly. “Forgive me if it is not all clear, it was a long time ago.”
Nicolas listened with interest at Adrian’s descriptions, idly glancing back towards the titles on the lower shelves beside him for any hints from the man’s oddly long depiction. ‘If he is simply playing me as a fool and this is all some jest, I’d say it’s a rather well planned one.’
“Now, physical features? Longish orange hair, pale skin, taller than myself, and his eyes…” His voice softened as he failed to continue. The man made a rather distressed sound and looked down towards the noble, his discomfort evident. “ I am sorry my dear Mr. Red-head, but it would seem that I can no longer remember his eyes…”
Nicolas made short groan at the use of the nickname. He rose as Kyles mentioned at a chair, quickly after he set a pile of books at an old table. “Never get sick or grow old Nicolas.” Adrian broke a wry smile. “ Never get sick or grow old.”
Nicolas gave a chuckle at the man as he seated himself on the worn chair. “That seems like a rather impossible goal, Mr. Kyles. The only possible way would have to be an early death.” His eyes flickered towards the opposite man with a look of keenness. “And I do not plan of dying in the near future.” He gave Adrian one last glance before turning towards the books set out in front of them. “May I ask, does your god have a name? Surely your old age has not caused you to forget something so important.”
CompetitionAdrian Kyles
“That seems like a rather impossible goal, Mr. Kyles. The only possible way would have to be an early death.” Red eyes met Gray sharply. “ And I do not plan of dying in the near future.” He spared the man across from him another slight glance before turning his attention to the tomes in front of him. “ May I ask, does your god have a name? Surely your old age has not caused you to forget something so important.” Adrian chuckled at the light barb, running a hand through his long hair “ My memory may be bad Mr.Red-head, but not completely senile yet. His name is Adder Napier.” He teased, “ I will need a cane soon though.” His glasses glinted in the light as he titled his head to the side in question. “ Which reminds me, how old are you Mr.DuBon?” And as he actually looked at his companion, he couldn’t help but see the similarities in looks between them. It would seem he actually was an unconcsious masochist to torture himself so.Nicolas Dubon
“My memory may be bad Mr.Red-head, but not completely senile yet.” Adrian ran an unconscious hand through his hair and Nicolas offered a smug grin towards the opposite man. “His name is Adder Napier.”
“Adder Napier?” Nicolas murmured, reaching for a small book in the middle of their pile. ‘Strange name.’ It did not seem like name a ‘god’ would carry. “Kyles, has the thought ever occurred, perhaps your man is not truly a god, but an average magyckal?” The nobleman asked quietly, flipping through the tattered pages, giving each a slight glance.
“I will need a cane soon though.” Adrian mused. Nicolas turned his head at the comment, mildly interested why the man would need such a thing. He seemed occupied with something else and the noble shifted his maroon eyes across Kyles, observing his slight movements. The blond was lean just like the noble yet he could tell the other man much more frail from the way he went about things.
“Which reminds me, how old are you Mr.DuBon?” Adrian asked. Nicolas momentarily pushed the book aside, giving the inquiring man a curious look.
“That is a rather strange question, Mr. Kyles. Attempting to reminisce of your days of youth, are you?” He jested, followed shortly with a light chuckle. “I am twenty four.” Nicolas said, vaguely noticing the other man’s observing eyes. Why would Adrian wish to know of his age? He resumed reading the book in front of him, trying to find any hints of the ‘god’ Mr. Kyles seemed so enraptured by. What had he said? This Napier man had orange hair and was a tad taller than him. Nicolas pondered slightly, finding humour in how close Adrian’s description was to the noble himself. Then it hit him.
“Mr. Kyles, you cannot possibly be thinking I may be that Adder Napier you speak off.” Nicolas outburst, though quickly froze as he acknowledged once again where he was. He finally registered the rather saddened look in the man’s eyes and he lowly growled. “Kyles, you must be mad. That is impossible!”
CompetitionFlorence Raine
A library was probably the place where no one would think to look for her, which was why she had come here. Also, contrary to popular belief, she did know how to read. She liked it, even. It provided a nice, comforting escape from real life. It was just that she didn’t often need it. Living, in her opinion, was better than reading. That was why she did her best to make her life as romantic and storybook-like as possible. However, now, things had not gone according to the manuscript. She had no idea what to do, and no one to turn to.
A few weeks ago, Florence would have gladly confided in Rebecca, but she knew now that Rebecca would never understand. She would simply put on that, I am a good and innocent person who would never hurt a fly act and act all scandalized and say it was all Florence’s fault, which was not what she wanted to hear, or even needed to hear. Yes, she knew it was her fault. But not all the blame rested with her. Cody, Thomas, Rebecca, Cody’s Aunt and Uncle and cousin – they all had their own part to play. Cody, for not even considering for a moment how she might feel when he included Rebecca in everything – they never had any time alone as a result of that, and what did that mean? Did that mean that he liked Rebecca just as much as he liked Florence? That she wasn’t special enough to warrant alone time with him? And Rebecca, for going along with it! Some friend she was. And maybe Florence wasn’t the best friend either, but at least she owned up to it, at least she apologized. Thomas, because he hadn’t stopped her from flirting with him, had encouraged her to do so, had blackmailed her. Cody’s Aunt and Uncle and cousin for their transparent attempts to set Cody up with Rebecca. Why, they were just as manipulative as she and Thomas were, if not more!
And, at the same time, they all painted her out to be the bad one, the immoral, shallow, selfish one, when they were just as bad, if not worse! She could practically hear their thoughts. Florence is self-centered. Such a terrible friend. Such a terrible beau. So shallow. So selfish and ungrateful. Well, And the way Mr and Mrs Bingley made it out like she was completely insignificant, just a minor annoyance that could be swatted out of their way if she dared spoil their grand plan, how they had never even given her a chance to prove that she was a good match for Cody – it was as if she wasn’t even a person. And, well, as for Rebecca, talk of ungrateful! Her development from a shy little thing to a much less shy little thing was largely due to Florence. She practically made her. Yes, Rebecca would have gotten there on her own eventually, but she did owe a lot of it to Florence, and this was how she repaid her? By making eyes at her beau, by thinking mean, jealous thoughts about her? Maybe the thoughts were true. Maybe she was slightly manipulative, maybe she wasn’t the nicest person in the world, maybe she was sort of selfish, but at least she owned up to it. And maybe if they hadn’t treated her so, she wouldn’t have kissed Thomas, or even flirted with him. Florence took full responsibility for her actions, but she refused to have all the blame dumped on her.
To soothe her frazzled nerves, she took out a familiar, well-loved book, Mansfield Park. But, for some reason, the story rubbed her the wrong way, chafed against her nerves, further heightening her disquietude. Fanny annoyed her, what with her, I am so generous and kind and wouldn’t hurt a fly; oh, poor me demeanor. And she knew that Henry and Mary were supposed to be the villains of the story, but she just did not comprehend why they were. True, their morals weren’t the greatest in the world, but at least they got up and did something about it, unlike everyone else, who just whined all the time. Anyway, who made up the rule that only the so-called ‘good guys’ deserved to get a happy ending, even if the ‘villains’ clearly wanted it more and clearly would go to the ends of the earth for what they wanted or who they loved.
Florence suddenly realized, as she was wondering why this story now infuriated her, that it was because of the parallels to real life the story contained. She was Mary, Cody was Edmund, Thomas was Henry and Rebecca was Fanny. It wasn’t a perfect resemblance by any means, but it was there.
So she put down the book and selected a different one – Don Quixote. A man under serious delusions of grandeur may not be as romantic or glamorous as Jane Austen’s stories, but the lack of resemblance to her own life provided a much better escape than all the romances she had read.
Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.It was odd for Drake to frequent the library so often; however, he'd given his word to Patrick to help him with this curse as much as he very well could, as well as trace down Kathleen and her well-being. And surely with some of the very old books here, the folklore and the myths, there had to be some grain of truth Drake could pursue-- every legend, every story had a see of truth. It was just a matter of shifting everything right so that that little seed fell out, and you could pluck it and plant it and finally see what secrets were held inside...
He started browsing the shelves in no particular logical order (sometimes patrons of the library neglected to place their tomes back in their proper homes and if one was lucky he cold find quite an interesting read where it really did not belong), pulling out titles that might hold something relevant to him or that their binding was so worn the titles were indecipherable. However, a new presence was already browsing through one particular corner of books, holding the overlarge volumes of Don Quixote in her refined hands-- refined, because they were clearly not the hands of a working woman. Nothing about her showed anything but the utmost class.
He turned to catch a glimpse of her face. Ah, right! This is the Miss Florence Raine that Miss Bella had mentioned... Yes, he'd seen her about before but had never spoken with her. He had nothing in mind such as Miss Bella had offered, what with hearing Mr Bingley's proposition, but he did want to speak with Miss Florence. After all, she could very well lead him, knowingly or not, to that seed he wanted to find.
"Excuse me, miss," he voiced, offering his usual cockeyed smile. "I'm afraid I've never been introduced to you properly, though I've seen you about and heard friends speak of you. Miss Florence Raine, am I correct?" He dipped his head in greeting, brushing the brim of his hat. "Drake Dekker," he said, scanning the shelf before which she stood. A copy of Mansfield Park was slightly out of place. She just have just been looking at it. "Hm," he mused aloud. "Is that a particular favorite of yours?"
*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!Florence Raine
“Excuse me, miss,” a voice said from behind her. Florence turned around, her chocolate curls bouncing on her shoulders. She cast an appraising glance at the man (relatively good-looking, relatively well-dressed, altogether worthy of her time and attention but nothing that special) as he said, “I’m afraid I’ve never been introduced to you properly, though I’ve seen you about and heard friends speak of you. Miss Florence Raine, am I correct?”
“Yes, you are correct,” she said, wondering who had spoken of her and what they had said (nothing good, probably. She couldn’t think of anyone who had nice things to say about her other than maybe George Grosvernor and Cody. Thomas would have said that she was a deceitful little minx, Rebecca probably would say that she is the worst friend in the world (_hypocrite_), Mr and Mrs Bingley and Caliopa would probably say that she was entirely wrong for Cody (_and they didn’t even give me a chance_), and Patrick would probably say that she was overbearing. As if they’re so much better than me, she thought.
“Drake Dekker.”
After looking at the copy of Mansfield Park that she had left on the shelf (slightly out of place, but in the correct order) and said, “Hm. Is that a particular favorite of yours?”
“I hate it,” she responded too quickly, too fervently, and then pressed her lips together for a moment and then smiled to cover up her sudden outburst. “That is to say, Jane Austen is a great author, but her treatment of the characers of Henry and Mary puzzle me, as they’re painted to be the antagonists of the story and don’t get what they wanted in the end when, really, they were the only ones who took any initiative in order to get what they wanted. Anyway, maybe Mary is a little bit manipulative and cares a little too much about the social ladder and things like that, but at least she doesn’t whine all the time, and, anyway, there’s probably a perfectly good explanation for why she acts that way. Who invented the rule that the so-called ‘good’ characters are the ones who have to get what they want in the end, anyway?” She finished a little more fervently than she intended yet again and then let out a breath and plastered a smile on her face again. “Forgive me.”
Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.“Mr. Kyles, you cannot possibly be thinking I may be that Adder Napier you speak off.” Nicolas shouted, even though he realized to late where he was. “Kyles, you must be mad. That is impossible!”
When the red-headed man had shouted, Adrian had leaned over the table quickly making some books tumble from their piles and onto the floor, one of his hands covering Nicolas’s mouth while the other cupped the back of the darker haired man’s head for balance. Theyir faces were so close that Adrian’s breath ruffled the other’s hair.
“I know you are not the one I am searching for Monsieur DuBon.” He felt his mask crumble slightly to reveal how weary and old he felt. “I seem to be just a masochist. Drawn to similar people, who do not wish me around, as you have pointed out on occasion.”
Remembering the other man’s revious statements, he tilted his head.
“Through all my years of travel, I have never heard of beings called ‘magyckals’.”
He knocked his fore-head lightly and playfully with Nicolas’. “I often find myself reminiscing of my days in Bajyl.” He chuckled softly. “But twenty-four years of age my friend? I don’t think I can remember that far back my young friend. As it’s been almost ten years from then for me.”
He noticed that he was still very close to his companion and blushed furiously as his heart ached.
Too much like him…
Nicolas Dubon
Nicolas blinked, rather dumbfounded as he felt Mr. Kyles’ palm cover his mouth merely a second after his outburst. Calming himself, he breathed deeply before slapping at Adrian’s hand away. He touched at the back of his head where Kyles hand had laid, giving the other man a short face before he settled himself back into his chair. But what could there be so important for Adrian to keep Nicolas so silent after he finished. Perhaps he was hiding something?
“I know you are not the one I am searching for Monsieur DuBon.” Adrian murmured sadly. Nicolas merely listened quietly, still bothered by the other man’s gesture to keeping him silent. Had he been to rash at his comment to Kyles? “I seem to be just a masochist. Drawn to similar people, who do not wish me around, as you have pointed out on occasion.” He wished to say something comforting or hopeful to the troubled man but could not seem to find the words, instead he plainly observed Adrian. “Through all my years of travel, I have never heard of beings called ‘magyckals’.”
“You haven’t?” Nicolas raised a brow. “You are one yourself are you not? You communicate with the dead or you listen to them, if I am not mistaken. ” He was struck with confusion once again as Adrian’s head bumped against his for a short moment. He pushed the man off, uncomfortable with having his space invaded. He made no effort in getting his question answered, now incredibly suspicious with Kyles’ rather random actions.
“I often find myself reminiscing of my days in Bajyl.” Adrian laughed softly, completely unfazed. Nicolas breathed loudly, grasping at the sides of his coat as he watched the strange man. “But twenty-four years of age my friend? I don’t think I can remember that far back my young friend. As it’s been almost ten years from then for me.”
“I am sure.” The noble mumbled. There was a silence and Nicolas gave himself a moment. Kyles was certainly a man not to be overlooked. He bared an attachment to people but the nobleman supposed that was much better than having him as an enemy. Adrian held power, he could sense it. His ability did not seem to be mainly on listening to the dead, it could be well controlled, as Nicolas now knew from the lack of headache in the man’s presence for the whole day. What other powers he possessed, the younger man did now know and it would be best not to, perhaps at the moment.
Nicolas rose from the worn chair, dusting off the ends of his jacket from the gathered dust there before bending over to pick up the few books that seemed to have found their way onto the floor in Adrian’s sudden advance. “I am afraid I must go, something has come to my attention. I bid you good luck with finding your ‘god’, Kyles.” He tapped the novel in his hand over Kyles’ head before dropping it onto the older man’s hands. “Farewell.”
Nicolas has left the library.
CompetitionDrake asked the fair young woman if she was indeed Florence Raine, remembering what little he knew about her, and curious-- what had been written about her? " Florence Raine ~ Long, brown and curly hair, brown eyes. Rather pretty. Noble-blooded magykal." What can you tell me, Miss Raine? Can you help me so that I can help him?
"Yes, you are correct," she replied simply, and with a nod and courteous smile, Drake introduced himself to her. He noted the freshly-handled novel nearby and seemed to muse aloud, "Hm. Is that a particular favorite of yours?" He gestured toward the book casually. Talk to me.
His eyebrows raised momentarily at her hasty response of, "I hate it." "Oh," he said, tone interestedly bemused. "Do you often thumb through stories that you hate so passionately?" he joked, watching Miss Raine smile prettily to recover from her frankness. "That is to say, Jane Austen is a great author, but her treatment of the characters of Henry and Mary puzzle me, as they’re painted to be the antagonists of the story and don’t get what they wanted in the end when, really, they were the only ones who took any initiative in order to get what they wanted. Anyway, maybe Mary is a little bit manipulative and cares a little too much about the social ladder and things like that, but at least she doesn’t whine all the time, and, anyway, there’s probably a perfectly good explanation for why she acts that way. Who invented the rule that the so-called ‘good’ characters are the ones who have to get what they want in the end, anyway?” Drake raised one brow at her sudden rush of an explanation, but his small smile softened the expression as Miss Raine seemed to regret her little speech. She exhaled slowly and gave him that it's-all-under-control expression. "Forgive me."
Drake shook his head, gesturing for her not to worry about it. "Nothing to forgive, Miss Raine. You're entitled to your view of the story just as much as the next person-- and probably more so, if I might say, as it is clear to me that you are one of blessed learning." He offered her a slightly more relaxed smile. "It is my turn to ask your forgiveness, then, Miss Raine-- listening to your speech gave it away." Sending the novel a pensive glance (he'd never read it-- most of his reading would not be found in fictitious story lands), Drake tacked onto his explanation, "And besides that, I find your view of it very interesting… very good. It's a bit Machiavellian, and I think such a worldview has received little of its deserved reputation in recent years. I think you make some excellent arguments, Miss Raine." He could not waste the little time he might have with her being so open-- Drake was determined to use this to his full advantage. He shifted his posture casually, and mused, "I do think you must have had quite the education. I'm sure you must have studied subjects that few have the opportunity to study… then perhaps you have some experience with the old myths and legends and the like? Things as obscure as, oh, magic and whatnot…" Drake chuckled easily, giving Miss Raine a knowing smile.
*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!Florence Raine
Florence was appalled at herself for such an outburst. “Forgive me,” she murmured demurely, partly to herself and partly to Drake. He dismissed the apology with the shake of his head.
“Nothing to forgive, Miss Raine,” he said stupidly – of course there was. She had lost her control. Did he not understand what a blunder that was? Apparently not, so Florence plastered a small smile on her face. He continued, You’re entitled to your view of the story just as much as the next person— and probably more so, if I might say, as it is clear to me that you are one of blessed learning.” He offered her a slightly more relaxed smile. “It is my turn to ask your forgiveness, then, Miss Raine— listening to your speech gave it away. And besides that, I find your view of it very interesting… very good. It’s a bit Machiavellian, and I think such a worldview has received little of its deserved reputation in recent years. I think you make some excellent arguments, Miss Raine. I do think you must have had quite the education. I’m sure you must have studied subjects that few have the opportunity to study… then perhaps you have some experience with the old myths and legends and the like? Things as obscure as, oh, magic and whatnot…”
Alarm bells went off in Florence’s head; at exactly the same instant, red flags went up and a huge sign that said, ‘CAUTION’ flashed in her head. She blinked and her smile grew. “Oh, I’ve had a little bit of education,” she said, “but I don’t really believe in magic or anything like that, so therefore I don’t really know much about it aside from the odd little tale or two.”
Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.Really, one could only bring up such seemingly childish and obscure topics as magic without sounding a bit odd oneself, but Drake slipped it in as best as he knew how to do so. Miss Raine's presentation of her own thoughts was impressive; such heated theorizing was hardly something he ran into everyday, and Drake appreciated that. So he used it as his tool to weasel into what he was really curious about-- Miss Florence's knowledge and background in magic. Not because of any malicious ends, but because if anything could even ease Patrick's cursed condition, it would be a magyckal.
Unfortunately, Miss Raine either didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about, or she knew exactly what he meant and feared letting that knowledge slip, because her small smile grew wider as she formulated her response. It almost felt like the smile a teacher would give a student who had just asked her to give a lesson on the Loch Ness Monster or something equally ludicrous. Unfazed, Drake only gave a small, knowing half-smile as she told him, "“Oh, I’ve had a little bit of education, but I don’t really believe in magic or anything like that, so therefore I don’t really know much about it aside from the odd little tale or two.”
I expected a response as much as that, Drake thought, feigning a look of slight surprise. "Oh," he said, casting what appeared to be a thoughtful glance at the books' titles lined up neatly in rows beside him, tracing a couple of the bindings with a pointed finger. "It's rather surprising what they neglect to teach in even the best academies, I think. Such as truth. Unless you study philosophy --which I will admit was not my favorite lesson--" he added with a smirk-- "You don't really develop and hone what truth is. I mean to say, for example, about magic. I ask because I had been dead set against such things for so long, because it was nothing tangible. It was the stuff of fairy tales, in people's heads and author's plumes, because you could not hold it in your hands and see it and analyze it and understand it. And my instructors were always certain to reiterate that if it could not be logically analyzed, it was not real, and therefore not truth. They never said so in so many words, but it was the hidden curriculum. I'm sure you understand what I mean; it sounds like your instructors were similar. But I have been thinking lately, is that really what defines what is real and what is not? What is true and what is not? Certainly there are exceptions to that idea, such as emotions! One cannot hold them or understand them completely, now, correct? But does that make them any less real, or the emotion you are experiencing right now any less valid? Of course not. And I think the same very well might apply to magic and the like-- would it not be fascinating for something like that to exist, to be true? I certainly think it is possible. No, more than that, I do believe I've decided it must be true." He sent her a confident smile before he added, "And as I have bore witness to your learned thoughts, I wonder, what do you think of that, Miss Raine? What if such things as magic were true, and that truth's mere existence could save a life? Would you let yourself become open to that possibility?"
*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!BIC:
Lottie Fitzgerald
"Come along, Lottie," said Mama with a smile, pulling open the doors of the Helvaband Library and ushering Lottie inside. A pleasant spring breeze entered with them, ruffling Lottie's hair as she looked around. Bookshelves towered above her, filled with the colorful spines of dozens of books. Lottie clapped her hands excitedly. "This looks great!"
"Why thank you, Miss," said a polite voice. Lottie looked to see an older man sitting behind a desk, an open book in his hands. "I do what I can."
Mama returned his smile and stepped forward, Lottie following. "Hello. My name is Amelia Fitzgerald, and this is my daughter Charlotte. We've just recently moved here, and this is our first trip to your library..."
"Alan Crane is the name, Mrs. Fitzgerald. It is a pleasure to meet you. I'd be happy to put you and your daughter into our records, so you can borrow books..." Mister Crane opened a small drawer in the desk and rummaged around, finally bringing out a worn leather-bound book. "And welcome to Helvaband, as well," he added.
Lottie shifted from foot to foot, impatient. "Mamaaaaaa," she said, shooting her a pleading look. "May I go look for books now? Please?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mister Crane look up from the book, a puzzled look on his face. Mama nodded, and Lottie grinned. "It was nice meeting you, Mister Crane," she said.
Mister Crane returned her smile but did not meet Lottie's gaze. [b]"The pleasure was mine, Miss Fitzgerald." Feeling a bit confused, Lottie turned and began walking up and down the rows of bookshelves, her eyes scanning the titles. Why wouldn't he look at me? That happens sometimes, and I can never figure out why...maybe he was just busy, thinking about something else? Yes, that had to be it...
Lottie's pace slowed as a title caught her eye. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" she read aloud. She slid the book off of the shelf and glanced at the cover, on which was a small picture of a young girl, edged in gold. That looks interesting...
Lottie by MasciiGeorge Grosvernor
During his time at Helvaband, George had gotten rather restless. He hadn’t a lot of friends in Helvaband as he usually preferred to stay there for very short periods of time (since he couldn’t bear to be away from the opera house for long. However the season was over and so he had nothing better to do than to stay), so he was beginning to grow rather bored. One could only spend so much time practicing and even that grew monotonous after a while. So he found little excuses to be out of the house – whether it be picking up groceries or sending a letter or anything of the sort. Still, he found that it was dull without people to talk to, and so he had made up his mind that he would talk to the first person he saw in the library.
He hummed as he entered the quaint library, a Gilbert and Sullivan tune. The librarian looked up from his desk. “If you please, sir, could you lower your voice? The others in the library might be distracted.”
“No problem, Mr…?” George’s eyebrows raised, asking the librarian to offer his name.
“Crane,” he said. “Alan Crane. Is there anything in particular you need?”
“No, just browsing for now,” George replied and then went off to browse through the dusty shelves, hoping to find more than a book there. At this point he’d talk to nearly anyone (except for perhaps one who seemed busy because that would be rude).
Oddly enough, he came across an interesting book and an interesting-looking person at the same time. The book was bound in red and its name was The Scarlet Pimpernel, and the girl was fair and blonde and he didn’t know her name. “Hello,” he said to her. “What’s your name?” A rather ordinary introduction but it would suffice. “Mine’s George Grosvernor.”
Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.A little smile playing at the corners of her lips, Lottie skimmed through the book in her hands about the girl named Alice. Words and illustrations jumped out at her...something about a rabbit-hole, the town of Oxford, a Queen...she giggled at an picture of a caterpillar and was a little scared by the one of the cat and it's never-ending smile. This looks like a really good book...Alice goes on an adventure, doesn't she? I wish I could have my own fantastic adventure like in a storybook...
But then Lottie found herself remembering what Sterling had said about the witch who had stolen his family away from him. Adventures always seem fun to read about...but if witches like that are in them, then isn't it better to just leave them on the page? I don't want someone to take Mama away from me, after all... She eyed the book again, her eyes falling upon the grinning kittykat again. Maybe there will be something in this book that will help me help Sterling with defeating the witch?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice next to her. “Hello. What’s your name?” the voice asked, and Lottie turned to see a man standing next to her. He was much taller than she was, so Lottie almost had to crane her neck to meet his blue gaze, and he smiled happily at her. He looks really young...what is it with everyone I meet being younger than me now? she thought, amused. “Mine’s George Grosvernor.”
Lottie returned his smile. "Hello George. I'm Lottie, Lottie Fitzgerald." Her eyes fell on the red book he held in his hands. "What book do you have?"
Lottie by MasciiOOC: Turns out I’ve owed 2 posts here for a super long time! Boo, I’m lame! Sorry they’re so short, guys, I don’t have much time before the free internet time expires and I get charged.
Florence Raine
As Florence prayed that Drake would just drop the subject of magic, he opened his mouth to reply. *“Oh,” he said. “It’s rather surprising what they neglect to teach in even the best academies, I think. Such as truth.” What is he talking about? she thought apprehensively, refusing to meet his eyes. She was certain that this conversation was not going in a direction that she wanted to explore. “Unless you study philosophy —which I will admit was not my favorite lesson, you don’t really develop and hone what truth is. I mean to say, for example, about magic. I ask because I had been dead set against such things for so long, because it was nothing tangible. It was the stuff of fairy tales, in people’s heads and author’s plumes, because you could not hold it in your hands and see it and analyze it and understand it. And my instructors were always certain to reiterate that if it could not be logically analyzed, it was not real, and therefore not truth. They never said so in so many words, but it was the hidden curriculum. I’m sure you understand what I mean; it sounds like your instructors were similar. But I have been thinking lately, is that really what defines what is real and what is not? What is true and what is not? Certainly there are exceptions to that idea, such as emotions! One cannot hold them or understand them completely, now, correct? But does that make them any less real, or the emotion you are experiencing right now any less valid? Of course not. And I think the same very well might apply to magic and the like— would it not be fascinating for something like that to exist, to be true? I certainly think it is possible. No, more than that, I do believe I’ve decided it must be true.”
That was all very well and good, but Florence wondered where she fit in with all this. Why was he telling her this? What did he want from her?
It turned out that she didn’t have to wait long to find out, for he continued, saying, “And as I have bore witness to your learned thoughts, I wonder, what do you think of that, Miss Raine? What if such things as magic were true, and that truth’s mere existence could save a life? Would you let yourself become open to that possibility?”
Florence hesitated before answering – she was almost certain that he somehow knew that she was a witch, and she was almost certain that he wanted to use her powers to help him. To help him save a life, as he said. With that, how could she refuse him? How could someone with any sort of conscience refuse saving a life? “Well, if it would save a life,” she said, biting her lip. “But, and I apologise if I’m being rude, I wish you’d get to the point.” Florence looked straight into Drake’s eyes with a piercing stare. “Why are you telling me this?”
————
George Grosvernor
“Hello George. I’m Lottie, Lottie Fitzgerald,” said the blonde girl he had just introduced himself to. Upon seeing her up close, it appeared that she was rather pretty, in an innocent, almost childlike way – her eyes were wide and innocent in a way that was unique to children – peculiar considering that she also looked to be a bit older than him. It made her intriguing more than anything, George thought. “What book do you have?”
Her voice, too, matched her looks – innocent and bright and clear. “The Scarlet Pimpernel. Seemed interesting, so I thought I’d pick it up,” George replied, “and yourself?”
“So,” he asked, “have you been in Helvaband for long?”
Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.Lottie couldn't help the smile that spread over her face as he idly turned the pages of her book, her eyes lighting up at each peculiar illustration of a little girl named Alice and the strange things she seemed to meet in...Lottie supposed it had to be a place called Wonderland, or else the books title wouldn't make any sense. But is this book supposed to make sense? she wondered to herself as her eyes scanned the pages. Her brow furrowed as her lips moved silently, reading the unfamiliar words on the page in front of her. "Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, `So you think you're changed, do you?' `I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice; `I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!' "
Well, that certainly doesn't make any sense to me, Lottie thought, becoming curious and cross at the same time. Maybe if Mama were to read it to me, it would. Her mind wandered a bit as she was reminded of her encounter in the woods, and the frightening news about a witch. I wonder if there are any witches in Wonderland, if Alice meets them along with caterpillars and cats that smile and White Rabbits?
Lottie's wonderings were interrupted by a man introducing himself to her, and she promptly forgot her book in an attempt to make a new friend. "I’m Lottie, Lottie Fitzgerald. What book do you have?” she asked excitedly, noting the red book that the newcomer held in his hands.
“The Scarlet Pimpernel," George told her. "Seemed interesting, so I thought I’d pick it up. And yourself?”"
Lottie held up her book to show him, a smile broad upon her face. "This one. It's called Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and it looks good even though I've read a sentence or two and I didn't understand one word of it. What's a pimpernel, anyway?" she added in confusion, referring to the title of his book.
“So,” George asked her, “have you been in Helvaband for long?”
"Not so long, I guess," said Lottie absently, rifling through her book once again. "A few months or so. I moved here. With Mama."
Lottie by MasciiDrake Dekker
The corners of his lips twitched in the faintest shadow of a smile. Miss Raine seemed a bit put off. It meant he was on the right track. His face once again easily slid into nonchalance as Drake continued, “And as I have bore witness to your learned thoughts, I wonder, what do you think of that, Miss Raine? What if such things as magic were true, and that truth’s mere existence could save a life? Would you let yourself become open to that possibility?”[/b]
There was hesitation in her stance, and in her voice. Silently, Drake commended himself. She would at least play along now, he was sure. And this was the most crucial step, certainly. When lives were in the balance, every wise player aided to the victory. And then finally, she spoke. “Well, if it would save a life,” she said, biting her lip. He hadn't been mistaken-- she was the one. “But, and I apologize if I’m being rude, I wish you’d get to the point.” Drake met Miss Raine's eyes coolly, evenly. “Why are you telling me this?”
"Because, Miss Raine," he responded easily, absently pulling out a book from the shelve and running his hand across its spine, then its pages. "If there were a life at stake, and you knew that you had the ability to save that life, or at least lead that life to where you know it can be saved...." His pompous pretense he let melt, knowing too truly the reality of his words. Once more he looked directly at her eyes. "Miss Raine, am I right in giving you my confidence?" And now, even quieter, "Miss Raine, am I right in my assumption that you do, in fact, understand magic?"
*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!
