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Post by Piers Shevington on Nov 29, 2019 4:57:53 GMT
Pain. That’s what Piers felt as he stumbled through the streets, blood spilling from atop his head, which was now soaked and matted with the crimson liquid, down onto his arms and the paved roads below him. He wasn’t even in uniform, as he wasn’t on patrol duty tonight, but when he saw two guys pulling knives on each other in that alleyway, he knew he had to intervene. It was his job, after all- even if he wasn’t on the clock. Though he was able to call for backup and help arrest the two, one of them had managed to knock him hard atop the head with the butt of his knife. Thankfully it hadn’t been the blade itself- probably because he didn’t want prison for life- but it was still enough to be severe. Despite his coworkers insisting he go to the nearby hospital, Piers respectfully declined- saying he’d be fine. In actuality, he couldn’t afford the fancy hospital- not with his current pay. If only he hadn’t gambled away his savings last night then maybe he could’ve, but what’s done is done.
”Fuckin’ hell” he mumbled to himself as he felt his body start to sway, quickly propping himself against one of the many vanta powered street lamps along the path. The tall pole served as a good makeshift support, using it to prop his arm against and gather himself. All he had to do was bind the wound- but thanks to the specific location it was in and the mess of hair and blood, it was hard to do himself- nevermind the fact that he wasn’t medically trained in any capacity. He used his free arm to pat the pockets of his coat, before realizing that they were empty. ”Shit” he whispered, cursing himself for forgetting to pack gauze or any kind of binding tape. He never expected to need his tools of the trade during his casual night life- so the only real item of utility on his person was his vanta weapon, Sheila. That never left his side, no matter where he was.
He fumbled his hand around for a moment until he found the sheath, pulling out the blade. In over a year, he had yet to record over the last sound it’d taken in.
”I love you”
The old reminder wasn’t the most practical use of his weapon. Ideally, it would be loaded with a piece of audio that served some functional purpose, but back during his days as a Vagrant, he didn’t exactly need stealth or trickery. Since his previous job was so straightforward, he often found himself recording little tidbits like that from his wife or daughter- this one being the former. Although Lily had often teased him for this habit, he was grateful he’d partook in it, as this was now the last memory he had of his late wife. He knew that one day he’d be forced to record over it for the sake of his job or in an emergency, but until then he’d desperately cling to the last vestige of his family.
”I love you”
Piers, who many knew as Slick, let out a heavy sigh as he played through the message again, allowing himself to breathe and focus on the problem at hand. First things first- he needed to find a way to get patched up on a budget. Although Haven had a relatively low violent crime rate and was deemed by many to be a paradise, the flipside was that the town itself was very costly. Slick could barely make ends meet on his rent and daily necessities, and what little savings he ever did manage to scrounge together wounded up being thrown away on gambling to ease his troubled mind. Despite living here a year now, he didn’t know anyone or anywhere that he could go to get this damn wound treated free of charge- so he decided to wait it out. Better to stand still and wait for it to close up naturally a bit than walk back home and have blood continue to spill out of his head.
I WENT OUT FOR A DRINK, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS INJURED GUY
ALTHOUGH HAVEN HAD NEVER REALLY BEEN "HOME", that's what returning to Haven felt like-- coming home. Perhaps it was the two months respite from working as a medicine woman, or perhaps it was being in the company of Aleksandr-- Ythabel wasn't exactly the pensive type, except when inebriated, so she wouldn't know either.
Some may have mistaken her present disposition for pensiveness-- grey eyes pointed skyward, face neutral… but she was actually pondering where she'd be getting a drink that evening. It was a chilly night, so the hood of her cloak was drawn over her head. Though the streets were well-lit, Polaris was clasped tightly in her right hand. It provided her a certain degree of security.
Having settled on a pub, her gaze dropped.
That was when she saw the blood.
Dark spatters on the cobblestone, glimmering like recent rainfall. Fresh. Someone was bleeding, and bleeding well. The ravenette walked steadily, her staff beating a steady click on the pavement. Her gaze remained on the ground. The bloodstains jogged their way down the sidewalk, marking a slow and staggering escape.
Ythabel hoped the ominous tail would lead to a doctor's office, so that she could continue her hunt for a drink.
The trail of blood meandered past a pair of reputable doctors' offices, before jogging around a corner.
They were either drunk or desperate.
Ythabel lifted her gaze, to ensure she wasn't venturing into any unsavory alleys. Instead she saw the form of a man propped against a light pole. A sound of dripping in the gloom. Had his liquor gotten the better of him and turned his stomach? No, the puddle forming at his feet was the same, dark mess that Ythabel had followed. He was the wounded man.
Somewhere on the air there was a woman's voice, but no woman.
"'scuse me, sir?" Ythabel spoke, her voice strident like the trill of a cello. If he turned, that would make introductions easier. He would spy a hooded figure behind him, the lower half of Ythabel's face visible in the half light. If he didn't, the hooded woman would step around and dip lower to glance his face.
By no means a handsome man, beneath the curtain of blood that was dribbling down his face. Thankfully attractiveness was not a requirement for seeking treatment from Ythabel.
Unfortunately, all of her supplies were at home.
"I'm Ythabel," she advised the man, "How'd ya get that nasty gash on yer head?"
She was checking to see how coherent the man was, and if he was receptive to being helped. Some men had this macho vibe about them, and she wouldn't fight anyone to heal them.
Ythabel tucked her staff into the crook of her arm, using her left hand to loosen the sleeve covering her right arm. Once her arm was beneath the folds of her cloak, she'd slide the sleeve off, and slip it into a pocket.
As she went through the process, she'd listen attentively to whatever information the man might offer her.
"I can help ya out," she offered, "Clean ya right up, like ya never been cut. My one condition is ya can't run off squealin' to anyone. My methods are, eh, disagreeable to th' predominant biases, yeah?"
Post by Piers Shevington on Nov 30, 2019 3:49:06 GMT
An unfamiliar voice came from his backside, vying for his attention. Turning to face her by pushing his arm off the pole and swiveling on his foot, the woman would be greeted by the sight of a man in his late 20’s, wearing garb that gave off the impression of a poor person doing their best to look decent- though any respectable sense of fashion that the outfit may have given off was ruined by the blood splattered all over it. He wore a long, dark coat with bits of fur lined along the inside, and in his right hand was a black colored knife- something that the woman could likely identify as being made of vanta metal. ”Anything I can help ye wiff?” he asked, blood still dripping down the front of his face, some of it blending into the crimson scarf tied around the lower half of his head.
She soon introduced herself and inquired about his injury. ”This? Was juss breakin’ up a fight in the alley o’er there” he answered, pointing a finger towards the direction the woman had come from. In doing so, he noticed the not so subtle trail of blood leading to where he stood. ”Ah, take it that’s what gave me away then?” he asked in a somewhat joking tone, though he ended up sounding more tired than anything else. ”One o’ the culprits got a little rough wiff me and bashed me on the head with the butt o’ his knife. It stings like hell, but I’m sure I’ll be fine in a bit.”
Slick assumed that the mystery woman was just a concerned passerby- a sight that gave him a little bit of hope. He couldn’t quite make out her face due to the cloak covering her up, but what he did notice were the movements under her cloak as she offered to lend him a hand. ”That’s awfully kind of ya, but I don’ts got any cash to give ya. Then again, ‘spose us Emes ought to stick together, eh?” he said with a wry smile, feeling a little more at ease knowing that this woman was someone like him. ”Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Piers Shevington, but most just call me Slick. I’m a new Enforcer ‘round these parts, but don’t worry- I don’t really care about the rules involvin’ Vels or anything like that, ‘specially considering I’m an Eme myself” he explained, giving a curt nod of his head to show respect- though that only led to more blood pouring onto the street in front of him.
”Maybe this ain’t the best place to take care of this. If you’ve got somethin’ to stop the bleedin’ for now, we can head to my apartment nearby” he offered, not even contemplating how him inviting a lady his age to his home might be interpreted. In Piers’ one track mind, his late wife was the only woman he could ever dream of loving- so he didn’t even consider any kind of impure implications. ”Well, I said I’m broke, but if you can fix me up then I can at least buy ye a beer or somethin” he offered casually, hoping that a pint of mead could serve as an apt payment for the medical attention he required.
I WENT OUT FOR A DRINK, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS INJURED GUY
THE GUY WAS A LITTLE ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES. His haggard appearance made it difficult to discern his age. The blood wasn't helpful either. The good would bobble slightly as the man spoke, the shrouded person nodding as they listened. The man spoke coherently, detailing his misfortune in a chronological order. This was a good sign-- it meant that the blood loss wasn't too severe.
As soon as the man insisted that he had no money to pay her with, Ythabel pushed one flap of her cloak back, exposing a gem-encrusted arm. Parting her cloak let in the night chill, but there were more important matters at hand.
"I'm not one of the fancy Haven doctors," she assured the man, "I work in favors, too."
He broke into a lengthy introduction, which prompted a tight, polite smile. Maybe he wasn't as coherent as Ythabel had initially thought. The smile briefly faltered when the man mentioned he was an Enforcer, but returned full-force when he finished his explanation.
Ythabel pushed her hood back, revealing her proud face. Not beautiful, by any means. Just proud. There was a smirk upon her lips, and a patient look in her eyes.
"That sounds like a luxury we can't afford, Slick," she said, taking the man's hand, "You'll, eh, have to settle for an alley. Come on."
The two strode down the street, Ythabel taking the lead. Piers offered down the drink. The woman chuckled.
"What a coincidence," she remarked, "Was actually lookin' for a place t' get a drink. It's a deal."
The two halted at a seam between two buildings, Ythabel craning her head to glimpse down it. It was unfathomably dark, and somewhere in the depths of the alley water dripped. Ythabel took her staff into her hands, dipping it into the alley.
"Polaris," Ythabel murmured. A dull light flickered at the end of the staff before blooming into a lamp-like vibrance. An orb of light illuminated the alley, and revealed it to be unoccupied, spare a few skittering bugs.
Ythabel led the way, walking only a few meters in. She tapped Polaris against the ground twice and it dimmed considerably, leaving only a half-light between the two.
"Face me," the woman instructed, "This'll sting, 'cuz I gotta touch near the wound, but once I touch it you'll be golden. And don't fuss around too much. It's a process."
Ythabel brushed the man's hair out of the way, ascertaining the location of the gash. Once found, she'd lightly touch her hand to his head. If he showed any sign of discomfort, he'd receive a quick, "Sorry-"
Piers would notice, starting at Ythabel's hand, an unusual sensation beginning to was over his wound. A glowing blue aura would start at her first end illuminate up into the gemstones on her arms. Then coolness would bleed into heat. Heat would creep across Piers's head on geometric rivulets as gems began to form.
"Ya must notice, in th' corner of yer eye, that stuff is growin' outta yer head. Those're my gems. They'll fall off when the job's done."
Small spires were beginning to form, thrumming against the wound, pressing against it to a point of numbness.
Post by Piers Shevington on Dec 3, 2019 4:44:50 GMT
The mystery woman agreed to his method of payment, though rather than his apartment she ended up taking him towards one of the alleys nearby. ”Aye, I’ll be in your care then” he said, stumbling alongside her as he sheathed the black blade once more. Walking in a straight line was difficult, but their destination wasn’t too far away. With a considerable amount of effort and concentration, he kept his eyes to the ground below him, following the patterns of the paved road as he balanced himself.
Once they reached the alley proper, he’d lift his head to find Ythabel muttering a word, her staff soon after glowing incandescently. After they’d made their way a bit further in, the light would soon dim- though Piers couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He’d considered himself somewhat special with his vanta weapon, Sheila, but to meet another Eme who also possessed a similar tool seemed almost miraculous- nevermind how different her weapon was from his own. Slick supposed that was the power of modern science and engenuity- the result of things beyond his understanding.
The enforcer would do as he was instructed, turning to face Ythabel as he responded: ”Yes ma’am” he said with a relieved side, ready to have this obnoxious and painful wound dealt with. She’d put a hand on his head, strange sensations following soon after. He winced at first, but when she tossed out her quick apology he spoke up: ”No no it’s fine, just surprised me is all” he insisted, keeping himself still as she did her thing.
He could feel an odd sense of weight and pressure from atop her head, which Ythabel soon explained as her crystals- telling him how the healing process would work. ”Never heard of anything like that before. I wish all doctors had crazy powers and worked for the price of a drink” he joked, chuckling as his eyes scanned upwards to give his caretaker a better look.
Ythabel wasn’t particularly attractive. In fact, you could even argue that she was on the ugly side of the spectrum- though Piers wasn’t the best judge since in his eyes nobody could compare to his late wife. Nevertheless, something about the way she spoke and held herself was soothing. Maybe it was just the fact that he hadn’t had someone touch him in so long- romantically, platonically- period. He was so used to pushing people away and keeping to himself that he forgot what another person felt like. ”What brings you to Haven anyhow? I know it’s a big city and all, but if you lived here I figure I’d have seen you around by now” he asked, attempting to start up some conversation as he waited for the healing process to finish.
I WENT OUT FOR A DRINK, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS INJURED GUY
THE WOMAN STOOD PATIENTLY BY, her gaze trained on the hand around which the crystals sprouted. Once she was feeling brave, her gaze hazarded over the man's face-- by no means handsome, but certainly interesting to look at. A haggard, tired face with moderate scarring. His life hadn't been easy. His eyes seemed tired. It was then that his tired eyes chased hers away, and Ythabel busied herself with regarding the cobblestone wall.
"If all doctors were me, where'd I get my drinks then, eh?" she teased, barking a laugh, "I ain't got the face for seekin' favors from gentlemen who're already at the bar."
Favors as in free drinks. She did have the tits for free drinks-- though, if she was being honest with herself. Not that she'd bring that to a man's attention in a dark alleyway.
Her arm throbbed. A look of discomfort flitted around the corners of her eyes. The wound was almost healed. Ythabel closed her eyes, riding the familiar wave of discomfort.
"I am a traveler," she replied, "A medicine-woman by trade. My master, long retired, lives here year-round. I stay with him during the winter months, to escape the foul weather."
The growth of the crystals came to a stop, having closed the wound that they were affixed to, and Ythabel dislodged her hand. Flecks of crystal clung to the surface of her skin, catching the light of Polaris.
"Give them a moment, they'll fall off on their own," Ythabel advised the man, picking at the cops chips of gems now encrusted in her palms. Dull pangs danced up her arms, but she scowled through the discomfort.
"You can even fetch some good money if ya sell 'em," she offered.
Once her hands were freed off the pebble-sized gems that had formed, she brushed her hands together to finish the job. Polaris was retrieved from the crook of her arm. Ythabel regarded Piers jauntily, tapping Polaris twice to brighten the light at its head.
Post by Piers Shevington on Dec 26, 2019 2:11:27 GMT
Piers chuckled along with Ythabel after she made her joke, though her second mark seemed to stop any joy he showed right in its tracks. ”I wouldn’t know. Only woman in this world that looks beautiful to me is my wife, but she’s…” he trailed off. Though he had built somewhat of a rapport with the medicine woman, everything went out the window after any talk of something remotely romantic came up. His quiet streak ended however when he looked up and noticed the discomfort on her supposedly unattractive face. ”Oi, are you okay?” he asked, slipping out of his funk long enough to show a modicum of worry for his new companion.
Regardless of how she responded, Ythabel went on to answer his previous question as well, explaining what she did and why she was in Haven. ”Ah, so that’s why I ain’t seen ye around” he remarked, getting a better look at the person taking care of him. As he did so, she pulled back her hand- her work apparently done as the crystals had formed along the gash in his head. Piers nodded his head along as she explained that they’d fall out soon, even raising an eyebrow in surprise when she mentioned selling them. ”Might do just that, strange as what you’re sayin’ sounds. Could use any extra money” he answered with a chuckle, once again reminded of how little cash he had.
Soon enough she’d tap her staff and light it back up, prompting Slick to stand up to his full height. ”You’ve done right by me, Ythabel, and I can’t thank ye enough. The tavern should be just this way- follow me” he said, walking past her and towards the other end of the alley without giving her a second look. He was obviously damaged in more ways than one, and quite strange to boot, but it was clear that he didn’t have any intention on trying anything funny with her- that much she could be sure of if she had any ability to read peoples’ intentions.
”This place is run by a friend of one of my coworkers, so we shouldn’t have any trouble getting served” he explained as he led her to a somewhat quaint tavern towards the center of the area. It was certainly on the smaller side and less expensive than the finer establishments the city had to offer, but it probably had a few dozen patrons inside and a lively atmosphere to boot.
