[Closed] Swimming in a Flood

[Lars]

hot house glass
yaris 15, 2718 ꧁꧂ early afternoon

text

He was done with the family of three and their constant bickering. It wasn't often that he could find a good night's rest in even the best of situations, and it was even rarer for him to be blessed with such a thing when the humans he'd been residing with spent every waking moment fighting. What did they fight about? Well, everything - when the rent was due, how to scrape together enough coin, where had the cheapest yats, whatever the fuck that meant, oh and isn't our little son old enough to work? Is that tumble a bad influence? We've been too easy on him, he needs to learn - Lars felt as though he'd never get their voices out of his head again, with how often they took up space in there. He'd rather find a run-down shack to hide away in than spend another night in that dreadful shared apartment.

So when he finally took a moment to actually look around during his visits to the local taverns, and saw the mention of rooms available above some shop (or rather, overheard someone's mention of them), well. If he'd ever believed in the gods, he'd have been thanking them then.

Admittedly it took a few more days before the passive gathered enough courage to inquire. It had been difficult enough to find somewhere to stay in the first place; lacking even the smallest amount of currency or any other material items that might've made things easier, he had only been able to work for his place in the little apartment, taking over the cooking and cleaning until he found employment. What if this room was too expensive? What if the person offering it just didn't like him?

None of that mattered, not yet. He still had to ask about the damn thing first and make sure it was even available.

This was what led the Hessean to the door of Hot House Glass on the fifteenth of Yaris, his fingers tapping nervously against his thighs. Why was he so nervous? There was no real reason to be - to anyone else, he seemed human; a strange human, with sharp features more akin to a galdor and snow-white hair like a wick might choose, but human. Surely. He was doubting it now, but Brunnhold's mark had been seared from his skin, and he wouldn't let anyone send him back there.

Lars reached out, grasping the doorknob and twisting to finally let himself in. He was expressionless as he stepped inside, a blank slate that shifted slightly as pale gray eyes swept across the interior and its contents. What he had been expecting, he now wasn't sure, but the work displayed inside was...

Beautiful.

I was going to say familiar.

If it hadn't been for his mother's small collection of glass sculptures in his childhood, the passive likely wouldn't have known what anything was at all. It wasn't something he'd ever thought of since then, those sculptures; she'd always kept them locked away behind glass panels and wood, perhaps not trusting a child around them, but he couldn't grasp the concept of buying something nice just to stow it away.

Tearing his eyes away, Lars reminded himself of why he'd come in the first place, and straightened in posture once again.

"Hello, I -" stop tapping your fingers like that, and the passive's hands stilled at his sides, "I saw an ad for rooms above the shop - are any still available?"

[Albigence Fitz]

Old Rose Harbor - Hot House Glass
Yaris 15, 2718, early afternoon

T

here was a satisfying peace in being alone, physically alone for the first time. In his newfound solitude, Albigence Fitz had found the motivation to simply do. He had thoroughly cleaned the four apartments for the first time perhaps ever. He had thrown out the moldy furniture and pried up the rotted floorboards. He had sewn new curtains for the naked windows. He had fixed the leak in the second floor apartment that dripped every night into his own, and had replaced the lock his master had taken off of his apartment. He was far from lonely without Bjorn and the old tenant who had left when she realized she would be 'indefinitely' giving her rent to him as he had told her after Bjorn had died. He was finally able to hear his own thoughts and sort through them. He could run on his own schedule, focus on little successes in his own mind. Silly, perhaps, but there was a freedom in setting his own small goals and not being punished or rewarded for whether or not they were completed or abandoned. For once, he was back in charge of his own life.

He had crafted more glass in the month since Bjorn's death than he had perhaps blown in the last three years combined. He was reinvigorated to create without someone telling him to do it, and create he did. Where Bjorn had never wanted to display more than a few pieces for fear of wasting pieces and losing money, Albi had covered the once dull wooden front room of the shop in beautiful glass. It was a simple room- a small rectangular with a counter on one side and a door shouldered by two large windows on the other. Stairs crawled up into the apartments behind the desk. In the windows, Albi had strung up glass birds and fish to hang before shelves that alternated between day to day items like vases and pitchers to his art- dancers and animals and shoes. On the walls, he hung simple glass flowers of a multitude of colors, the first simple thing Bjorn had taught him. He was proud of himself. Perhaps he didn't have the eye for interior design, but, on days like this when the sun smiled down on Old Rose Harbor, the room glowed with a warm, prismacolor life of color that made his heart swell with a happy pride in his own creations. This pride and the warmth of being happily alone, too, let him feel at ease in the rolled up white sleeves that exposed the dark passive tattoo on his forearm. He could be himself, unashamed, when he created.

Albi was sitting behind the counter carefully painting a delicate garden of white daisies onto a clear pitcher when the door opened and, instinctively, he pulled his sleeve down to cover his tattoo before gingerly setting his work to the side and looking over the visitor. The visitor- possibly a customer, he reminded himself- spoke before he could greet him. He looked at the man who had entered before he spoke- he had told almost everyone else who had inquired about rooms that the rooms were filled when they brought bottles of alcohol into his building, crushed cigarettes into his floor, and even nearly knocked over one of his shelves in a drunken stumble. This one seemed okay, so far.

"All still available," he answered shortly, then, internally, he grimaced. He was still under the training that he wasn't to talk to customers excessively but let Bjorn take care of business.

You'll scare off the customers, passive!

He stepped out from behind the counter, brushing himself off unnecessarily. He wore a simple white canvas shirt and black pants and shoes under an apron much too big for him and tied around his torso twice. His dark hair was braided over his shoulder. He was not good at the customer side of business, but he approached the man, bowed slightly, and he leaned against his counter as casually as he could muster.

"I'd like to think they're a good quality for the price," he started, crossing his arms as he attempted to ease himself into a conversation.

"S'pose I'll start by telling you now that my price is four shills a month," he paused, watching for the man's reaction. Seeing no immediate qualms, he pushed himself off the counter. "If you're still interested knowing the price, then you may as well follow me up to a room." He motioned towards the stairs behind the counter, watching his guest carefully to ensure that no filthy, thieving hands of Old Rose stole from him. As they ascended the stairs to the second floor, Albi reached into his pocket for the key. The stairs landed in a short hallway with a door on either side and a window at the end. Albigence stepped into the hallway and moved to unlock the door on the left.

"The rooms are all about the same, don't matter much which one we go to," he explained, if only to justify why this specific room. He swung the wooden door into a small apartment. A cheerful, pale green wallpaper brightened the room as two windows on the right wall with faded lace curtains let in shafts of fall sunlight that trickled across the wooden floor of the sitting room. A wooden fireplace squatted with an open mouth squatted empty against the left wall, two well-used but nonetheless clean, pink, plush chairs contentedly chatting before the hearth, Stretched between the windows was a simple wooden table and two chairs, and, beyond the patterned rug on the floor and on the far wall, a wall clock perched on the left side of an open doorway, and a shelf containing only a few sets of dinnerware and plates stood guard on the right. Through the open doorway, the corner of a freshly made bed could be spotted.

"It's not a lot, but it's clean and warm," he summarized, standing off to the side and allowing his visitor time to look around.

[Lars]

hot house glass
yaris 15, 2719 ꧁꧂ early afternoon

text

It was more difficult to keep his eyes from darting about the room than it was to keep his fingers still, the various colors all around him begging to be seen and truly observed. Lars hadn't seen so many colors since he'd lived with his parents, surely, and Brunnhold's pale blues had always done little to illuminate anything but dirt and blood. It was refreshing to find a place that displayed life's colors in a different fashion. If he did end up lucky enough to grab a room above, that meant he'd get to look upon these glass creations all the time, right? It was a nice thought, to wake up and start the day off by walking through the displays on the way out. Distracting, yes, but nice.

Looking to the man he presumed to be the owner of this building (or as much of an owner as anyone could really be), Lars couldn't help but bow slightly in return - he was on his own now, free from the constraints of servitude, but some habits died hard. The man before him should've been human, common sense should've seen to that if he was the one in charge here, but Lars saw anything but. No, a human wasn't born with the fine features of a galdor, at least not any human he'd seen. He was but a few inches shorter than Lars, but nothing short of regal. The man's arms might've been covered, just like his own were beneath loose linen sleeves, but he was certain about what could be found upon them. He'd spent far too long confined to spaces with other passives not to know it when he saw one.

There was no mention of such thoughts and speculations, however, the white-haired passive nodding in agreement with the suggestion of seeing the rooms. He ascended the staircase behind the counter, his mind mulling over the price and making sure he'd even be able to afford it -

We can do it. We just need to start selling those things we've been collecting, and it'll be fine. Wouldn't you prefer this to what we have now?

Lars nodded subtly, watching as the smaller man fished out a key and went to unlock the door to the left. How had such a man come to acquire this place, he wondered? He was somewhat aware of the freedoms the harbor could present, but it was still such a strange notion to him.

Once the door had been pushed open, he didn't hesitate to walk inside, pale gaze sweeping the room with the slightest sense of surprise. This was... so much more than he had now. So much more than he'd had for the last two decades, almost, and he had to question if this was really an option for him - there were two rooms, furnished and comfortable, how was that possible? He didn't know what he'd even been expecting; perhaps another tiny, mold-coated excuse for a bedroom with a broken window and an old mattress on the floor?

"Oh - no, this is... this is really nice," assured Lars as he approached the two pink chairs before the hearth, reaching out with bony hands to touch them - how curious. Even the room was decorated with color, like the shop's designs below. Pale green on the walls, pink chairs, a patterned rug and faded lace... it was lovely.

Moving then to the window, he peered outside the curtains, glad to find something other than shattered glass and the host of insects he'd grown used to in the apartment. "It's perfect," he gave, softly, before glancing to the other man again and continuing, "I'd love to take it, if you'll have me. I can assure you I'll keep it clean," that was one thing he knew for sure. He might not be used to having as much space as it provided, but he was well-acquainted with keeping things clean and in top-shape.

"My name's Cailan," the passive offered then, stepping away from the window.

[Albigence Fitz]

Old Rose Harbor - Hot House Glass
Yaris 15, 2718, early afternoon

P

erfect. He had called it perfect. This would be the first new renter in almost eight months, and the first renter he would ever secure himself. He had felt the power of successful freedom and responsibility in the glass-blowing business, of course, but that had been his business with Bjorn's face on it and hands pickpocketing it for years now, and he had relished in the feelings of success it brought, if not the stolen monetary value. Now, however, he was doing what Bjorn had always done, securing renters to fill the noiseless stillness that persuaded even the floating dust to stay dormant in the quiet upper levels of the shop. There was no more Bjorn, no more Bjorn to take his credit and his money and threaten him with a trip back to Brunnhold if he protested. It was almost a haven for him, and, well, perhaps it could be a haven for others like him, too, among the warmth and life the shop and his work could bring to the dull building. A quiet and much-deserved pride wrapped an arm around Albigence's shoulders and smiled down at him as he watched his prospective renter take in the room he had worked so hard to make inviting. The moment certainly felt perfect in a hundred small ways that the renter was completely unaware of.

"I'm- I'm so happy you like it. I'd be delighted to have you here," he laughed, almost nervously, a relief he didn't realize he had been missing washing over him as the man expressed his satisfaction with the room. "Forgive me, it's just that it's been a month of renovating and cleaning, and it's wonderful to see someone enjoy my work." But he does not care about your feelings, Albigence, he cursed himself, realizing he had no idea how to be professional or charismatic, only how to be a worker under someone else's voice. He shook his head slightly, the smile fading from his face lightly like fog on a window.

He bowed again, respect for others programmed into his very muscles. "Mr. Cailan, it's a pleasure to meet you." he offered, his tone back to a quietly measured monotone. "My name is Albigence, though if you prefer Albi, I do not mind."

"Though, come, let's look at the bedroom before we finalize any decisions," he stepped farther into the room, waving a hand over his shoulder as he passed Cailan and stepped into the small bedroom. The room was much smaller than the sitting room. About the length of a small man and a half , one of the few units measurements Albigence was very familiar with, sat between the door and the window directly opposite it. The room, however, kept the same length as the sitting room, and the bed rested on the right side of the room. The bed was a twin, raised above the wooden floor high enough to store a chest beneath. A low dresser sat beside the bed, an unlit candle above it. At the other end of the room, a small vanity perched, its mirror and drawered base unmatching.

"It's rather small," Albigence shrugged, "But for one person, its cozy and hold the heat well in the winter. I'm sure w- you can make it more of a home." He stepped across the room to the window, the same faded curtains covering it as were in the first room, and brushed some invisible dust seen only in his mind away.

"I'm happy to answer any questions you have about the apartment, the building. the neighborhood, though I must first ask- when were you thinking of moving in? I can help you, if you'd like. Business is rather slow right now," he offered, turning away from the window and allowing the curtain to fall again. He wasn't entirely sure how their interactions were supposed to be after the business was secured. "If you have the time, of course, I'd love to sit and talk out some of the details." And, if Cailan accepted the offer, Albigence would lead him back into the sitting room and sink into one of the pink chairs before the hearth, pulling one knee over the other with an expectant but patient smile curling over his face.

[Lars]

hot house glass
yaris 15, 2719 ꧁꧂ early afternoon

text

It was just as surprising for Lars when he heard a nervous laugh from the other, catching his attention and bringing a light, easy smile to his face as he listened to him speak. He was working on that, on smiling; he was trying to be more personable with others, trying to offer friendliness whenever possible if only to get used to doing it. It was taking him a bit to learn and remember such things, but it was getting easier, and he had come a long way from incorrect pronoun usage and blank expressions all the time.

He offered a nod of acknowledgement - he knew that it was nice for one's hard work to be recognized, and though he hadn't seen the state of the room before all the cleaning and tidying and whatever else, it was the nicest room he'd seen in quite a long time.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Albigence," the shortened version of his name was fine, of course, but Lars didn't think a nickname all that fitting of such a regal being. It reminded him, for a moment, that he had went by a nickname for the majority of his life himself - and reminded himself, after, that it was quite purposeful, and he could hardly compare to the man before him on that matter. A nickname was a fitting enough thing for himself.

Following the shorter to the bedroom, the passive slipped into the room, and certainly didn't appear bothered by the fact that the room wasn't as big as the first. He moved across the floor and to the bed as Albigence went to the window, pressing down on the mattress and finding it perfectly suitable. It had occurred to him that, in all honesty, he would have agreed to the room even if it had been run-down and dusty, the size of the bedroom at most - and it was a very pleasant surprise to find so much above the shop.

"Of course," he began, looking to Albigence again, "it's a nice size, I think, nothing to worry about." Lars could appreciate the work that had gone into it all - could appreciate someone working hard for something that would benefit themselves as well as others, rather than doing it simply because it was ordered. He was curious as to how a man such as Albigence acquired the rooms, the shop, but didn't ask, and wasn't interested in ruining whatever friendly repertoire he could form with him if he moved in.

Lars moved away from the bed, not wishing to impeded Albigence on his path away from the window. After, he followed the other out of the bedroom and back into the sitting room, crossing to the pink chairs and sitting in the one still unoccupied.

It was... comfortable. Strangely so, for a man only used to rickety bar stools and floors and hard ground beneath him. He settled into his seat, crossing one leg over the other in some subconscious mirroring of the other man.

"I can move in as soon as you're ready for me to, really. I don't have many things, so it wont take me all that long once I do, but I'd certainly appreciate the help if you've got time," the passive offered a small smile in return, "you live in one of the rooms here as well, I assume? It's a beautiful shop you have, downstairs."

[Albigence Fitz]

15 Yaris 2719

Sitting nearly facing Cailen now, Albigence had a chance to truly look at the other man framed by the unpolished tourmaline of the room- pink and green dancing together in white light. He was nearly the same age as Albigence, he assumed, with thin, precise features that seemed too familiar to another time of life, a time so far and different it was covered in the grey smoke and singed at the edges by the fire of dreams. He had, for the past few moments of being in Cailen’s company, thought that maybe this man he welcomed into rentership was a common, Old Rose human, but-

No, no, Albigence beat the rug of his mind of its dusty doubts. This was a human. It had to be.

Passives like you are rare, lucky even- right? Right. Cailen was a human. Just a kinder, quieter human, just a human with rigid respect for everyone around him carved into his nervous system, just a human who had been skinned of all emotion and trust and will in his youth and was now merely a nervous and paranoid mess of a domestic animal released into a wild world and prompted to survive. Albigence barely caught his smile before it fell, pulling the corners of his mouth higher by the belt loops before they would fall and clatter on the floor obvious to his new companion.

Human.

His voice was more rigid and distant when he spoke, the warmth he had kindled since Cailen had entered faltering to the confusion of blackened embers as he remembered his own place in the world. "You can move in as soon as convenient for you, really. If you want to move in this month yet, I’ll only charge ya-,” he did a little math (the little math he knew), factoring in his good spirits and raising it all to an exponent of his impression of this man as he bobbed his head and bit his lip as if the pencil he was writing the equations with was in his mouth- "eh, a shill, okay? Don’t need to pay the whole month, it’s only fair. And moving- adjusting is hard.” He nodded, exhaled, as if he had just made a deal. He had talked himself down in price, and that was it! It was final. He was a master salesman to himself, knew all the secrets of his trade, knew all the vessels on his lot and the proper price for each!

He paused just a moment too long, whisked away in the internal dialogues, monologues, and narrations that had filled his head for years when no social convention would. He was instead remembering Cailen’s second question and, internally, acting as if he hadn’t completely forgotten. He motioned behind himself, towards the door. "I was living downstairs, behind the shop front in something more of a leaky closet than anything while w- I was busy with renters, but, soon as St. Grumbles finished up, they slinked away with him. With me expanding the shop to some more pottery- got a big stone kiln coming in soon- figured it was time to set the backroom into the storage and work space it's meant to be, so I'm a-living across the hall from you." He slapped his knees with finality. It was partially true- he had a kiln coming by the end of the month, and he'd been trudging up to his new room every night frustrated and covered with wet clods of red and grey clay- but, in reality, he had cleared the backroom for his new creation, the beautiful glass and incredibly space-consuming armonica he had so recently perfected.

He glanced back at Cailen, tilting his head curiously like some hungry scamp who'd spent far too much time with street dogs. He was curious, now more than ever, about who this could be. Too, it'd been a good few- weeks? months?- since he'd had an honestly decent conversation with anyone. "I'm not all too familiar with any part of the harbor I can't see from the door but whereabouts are you coming from, if you don't mind me being a bit nosy?" He leaned back in the chair, then, almost immediately, back forward again.

"Not gonna be too much of a hassle to get your stuff here? I haven't much more than a wheelbarrow for transporting things, I'm afraid, but I don't want you struggling or drawing the attention of the wrong people if you're hauling any valuables," he said rather conspiratorially. Truly, he had never been out in Old Rose Harbor at night, too disgusted by nightlife and too attached to his bed to be out any later than sunset, and, though he'd never admit it, he was downright afraid of the drunks and the prostitutes and the everything else that crawled out as the shadows of evening got longer, and, well, he quite simply wouldn't want Cailen to- he didn't know, die trying to move in. He had already disposed of one body in the last month. No need for another.