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Post by Blubber-Bun on Aug 20, 2018 8:56:11 GMT -6
Offers Nichola & Doev
--- Before events of Chapter VI
Doev's House Late Evening |
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Post by Blubber-Bun on Aug 20, 2018 9:09:20 GMT -6
Nichola
So far gone, on your own
You can get along if you try to be strong
Oh, how Nichola despised walking the streets alone.
It had been cold in Nariah, certainly - a constant chill the common Breimian seemed adapted to ignore - but Sterling, even with its gaping skylight, was no less cold; here, the ice could be found within the people.
It could be found within the roving eyes of the corners and alleys, staring keenly behind shadow or smoke; it could be found in how the uneven cobblestone clipped her heels, how the lamps flickered and the way laughter died if you looked too long at someone.
The Kawaru were a rougher bunch than their counterparts in the capital - and while they gave her less trouble than the Narians (‘mind your own business’ seemed to be the motto here) and were better about not bumping into you than the hurrying, unapologetic denizens of Valore, she still found herself pulling her shawl closer to her round withers, quickening her delicate step. She couldn't pin all her nerves on the disgusting grime (seriously, was that a puddle or something else?) of the streets, however. She had business to attend to - business with a King’s Guide - and that alone gave her a sufficient amount of butterflies.
Word traveled far and she’d always had an ear for gossip; gossip concerning a heretic politician, one sympathetic to plights such as her own. She had penned him a letter, not long after her disclosure at Nariah’s University (most would call it a dropout, but she was not a dropout, not a lowlife, not a quitter) and had eagerly awaited a reply for weeks, perhaps months.
Finally, he had agreed to meet.
Approaching the correct address now, Nichola tapped up the pavement to the entryway. The air was heavy with the scent of spice. She fixed her scarf, pulled back the styled, bushy coils of her mane and adjusted the tinted edges of her glasses.
Then, she rapped the wood paneling with as confident a fist of teke as could be managed.
Nichola - Breim - Outsider
P 1 | WC 333 |
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Post by Doot.a.doi.toi.toi on Aug 22, 2018 21:31:54 GMT -6
Doev
The Moon, Death, and The Magician reversed.
A rattling knock at the screen panels coaxed a glance from a tired eye that had grown heavy hours prior, and Doev returned the stout glass of grain liquor to his hardwood desk with flat thud. After a cursory once-over of his schedule confirmed that he shouldn’t have been expecting company for the remainder of the evening, Doev thumbed the sleep away from the corner of an eye and rose from his settee. There came a short echo from the rhythm of his steady hooves a minute before the front door slid open, an overwhelming draft of spices announcing him.
Doev took the cigarette away from between his teeth and bent down to lower his height to eye level with his visitor, studying her. His single eye jumped to the zenith of her jade horn and followed its length down to trace the flow of her shapely curls before, ultimately, settling on her polished hooves. He found her stare solid when his attention returned to her humorless eyes, and he knew without thinking about it that she was ‘the Aodhian’ that had tried so fervently to wheedle him by letter. “Nichola,” he said, confirming the name aloud as he sifted it out from his memory.
She seemed to enjoy a rather ‘high maintenance’ appearance for someone so—allegedly—ravenous for work, he thought. Receiving a siphon from her family, perhaps—and looking to 'wean herself off mother’s teat,’ so to speak. Doev pursed his lips. “Forgive me,” he rasped at length. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive so soon after my reply. Please, come in.”
He showed her into his office and closed the heavy door before he moved across to his desk, casually leaning a hip against its sturdy side as he began flipping through a neat stack of envelopes. The rustling of parchment did little to leaven what felt like a long, quiet minute while the ear on his blind side followed her of its own volition—pinned to the slightest sound within the cramped quarters of the dimly lit room.
“Before we begin—“ he tossed her letter down at her feet with a nonchalant flick of his teke “—read over that again, and tell me: what’s wrong with it?"
Word Count: 373 | Post #1 |
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Post by Blubber-Bun on Aug 23, 2018 12:40:33 GMT -6
Nichola
So far gone, on your own
You can get along if you try to be strong
He was very tall and she had to remind herself that she wasn't looking at a Valorian statue, come to life with all the bleak sleekness of stone, with an eye (a single eye) that observed much and missed nothing.
Nichola, he greeted her.
“... And you must be Doev,” she greeted him in kind, dipping her head in what was nearly a curtsy.
He hadn't been expecting her. She thought that was odd - she was perfectly punctual, perhaps too much so, quick with a response or a rebuttal. Perhaps the same couldn't be said of this Guide. He took his time when he spoke, considering and calculating.
“My apologies for the short notice,” she replied evenly, not sounding especially sorry at all. “I wanted to be here and back before it gets too late - the tea shop closes by dusk, you see.”
He welcomed her inside and Nichola shuffled into a dim, tidy hall, modestly decorated and hazy with the scent of spice and fumes. She’d expected something lavish; instead, it was quaint when compared to a noble’s estate. She fell into stride behind him, almost trotting to keep up with his longer step - and it was only when he had his back turned that she allowed her nose to wrinkle, waving away the lingering smoke of his cigarette.
Silence of the uncomfortable variety stretched between them; Nichola watched, breath bated with inquiries, as the man rummaged through his papers. Upon the parchment she was given, she immediately recognized the pen writing as her own. Her heart skipped a beat but she swallowed her anxiety.
What's wrong with it? It was a demand; not a question.
“And here I thought I’d left University,” she remarked, tongue planted firmly in cheek.
Green eyes with lowered brows, squinting behind tinted glass, swiftly scanned the letter, side to side. It began with a brief introduction, a thesis that boiled down to ‘help’ (it wasn't a plea - she did not beg). It then continued to detail the injustices of her time within Breim; the inability to worship Ignacio in a proper place of respect, the imprisonment of the Kirin, the taunts, the backlash, the blacklisting, the harsh employers and harsher reality of having no trust - no way to win the public’s favor.
“There's, ah… well, a stray comma here…” One glance at his solemn face told her that wasn't it.
What game are you playing at?
“No,” she finally admitted, pursing her lips into a thin line. “No, I see no fault in it.”
Nichola - Breim - Outsider
P 2 | WC 424 |
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Post by Doot.a.doi.toi.toi on Aug 28, 2018 17:04:18 GMT -6
Doev
The Moon, Death, and The Magician reversed.
A short puff of smoke from his nostrils vouched for an inaudible scoff. “To hell with your grammar—there’s an art to speaking the truth, girl,” Doev said, reaching across the short distance between them to take the letter back from Nichola and subject it to an unhurried appraisal:
“An Aodhian immigrant attempting to exploit a government official under the pretense that he entertains what would be considered 'treasonous'—” he paused to expel a small ‘oof’ with a quarter-shake of his head. “It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume a foreigner such as yourself could be aiming to spread dissension through these particularly ‘unpatriotic’ ideals—it would be as simple as turning in your letter to have you detained. It could even be reasoned that I helped propagate the very rumors that lured you here and that you, ultimately, have no clue to whom you’re speaking with.” He stopped and looked up from his reading with an almost predacious apathy to that single ory eye. “Don’t be so inclined to blindly trust rumor, girl—even moreso when you intend to speak. so. damn. loud.”
“A-a-and while I’m not inclined to believe you have ill-intent straight away,“ Doev drawled, folding the letter before depositing it into one of the numerous file drawers seated within his desk. “I’d hate to be put into a position where, regardless, I must act in order to protect myself. I…suggest improving your sense of tact if you want to find work here.” He hadn’t made it particularly clear whether ‘here’ had implied ‘with him’ or ‘in Breim’ through his usage of it, and regardless that his words seemed to indicate complete rejection, the King's Guide made no attempt to see the mare out. Instead, he appeared to be waiting.
Word Count: 294 | Post #2 eyy, back from a short hiatus. |
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Post by Blubber-Bun on Aug 30, 2018 14:51:01 GMT -6
Nichola
So far gone, on your own
You can get along if you try to be strong
It was not a flinch so much a tension that gripped her form when he reached forth to snatch the letter; an involuntary tightening of her jaw. A twitch in her brow. The briefest flash of defensiveness.
His voice was not a shout so much a seethe of venom, his single eye a beam of scrutiny from within the dim. Treasonous. To assume a foreigner such as herself would wish to usurp the natural order of things. Detained. To think he valued honesty, valued truth, but only of the sort that suited him. Her writing did not.
She shouldn’t have been surprised - she had heard it all before, in numerous places by various tongues - but a girl not yet twenty can only take so much criticism before she begins formulating her own. Unguarded, perhaps flustered, she scrambled to regain her nerves, taking the reins with force.
“Don’t be so inclined to blindly trust rumor, girl.”
His statement was punctuated by the decisive click of her hoof on the floorboard.
“If you’d prefer me to know you by truth and not rumor, I’ll have to ask that you do the same for me,” she replied curtly, chin cocked back to meet his singular gaze. “And with all due respect, Guide Doev, there’s nothing ‘patriotic’ to be found within ostracization or unwarranted blacklistment.”
Then, voice lowered to a mutter; “ - and if it was dissension I sought, I’d have started leeching off my mother’s bank instead of finding work."
She swallowed her bile; it burned in her throat, much like the words she’d just uttered. Perhaps he was right - perhaps she hadn’t a clue as to whom she was dealing with. He was now tucking her letter away, neat and tidy within a crowded drawler. All her words. All her thoughts, her concerns, her opinions. Filed away for anyone’s inspection, should he deem it necessary to share.
“I… suggest improving your sense of tact if you want to find work here.”
At long drawl, she finally looked askance, tracing the edge of his desk. For one raised off the taste of assured success, she’d become familiar with the flavor of rejection in these last months. She tasted it in the air - or was that simply the bitter smoke he was puffing? There was something else, beneath the haze of failure, but Doev’s face remained uniquely unreadable.
It took an extra second before his words clicked.
“Is… is this a job offer?”
Nichola - Breim - Outsider
P 3 | WC 414 |
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