Nowhere to Run (Adam)

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Shae
Posts: 69
Joined: Thu Jan 31, 2019 5:30 pm
Topics: 12
Race: Raen
: Too pretty for you
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Writer: Maximus
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Tue May 07, 2019 5:09 pm

Intas 25, 2719 | Late Afternoon
Black Dove Tavern
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Being alone was a rare state for the raen these days. In truth, they weren’t alone in the typical sense – they were in a bustling bar after all – but they were without Kit. It wasn’t that the pair were inseparable exactly, they just… tended to be near each other, that was all. Sometimes Kit wandered off on some business or other, things he didn’t need to tell Shae about. They were roommates after all, lovers yes, but it wasn’t more than that, he wasn’t beholden to them; the galdor didn’t have tell them anything. Similarly, on the rarer occasions when they went off on their own, they didn’t have to tell Kit. Of course, more often than not if they intended to go off on their own, the man tagged along, moving in the same direction – purely coincidental obviously, definitely not keeping an eye on them – but sometimes they had to insist that he fuck off. Like today. Typically, they weren’t rude about it, not if they could help it but they had definitely been sharper with him this time, too sharp perhaps.

It was this body, so much could be blamed on this fucking body. They could appreciate what women went through, how certain things were more difficult, how men treated you differently, the need to take that bloody tea so that you wouldn’t get pregnant and of course, the fucking fact that their body was still trying to get pregnant, preventatives be damned. Somehow, they had forgotten that that would be a thing. When they had taken over Cordelia’s body, she’d still been going through the after-effects of miscarriage so joy of joys, Shae had gotten all of that to add to the general mess of being alive again, having a body and trying to remember how to work it. Oh and the fact that they were a murderer now too, that had also been a wonderful additional burden.

Not that they were ungrateful to be alive again but the cost…

But they hadn’t had a woman’s body before and it came with its pains and its inconveniences. As it turned out, it came with a lot of pains. When menstruation had first hit, the initial spotting had been off-putting and disgusting to them, but they hadn’t expected it to only be the beginning. They hadn’t expected that they would awake to such agony, some wild part of their newly awakened mind fully convinced that Kit had tried to murder them. They’d definitely thought that they were dying that first time, all over again, a less logical cause of death than being run over on the road in the midst of riots.

This time, they’d been better prepared, but it didn’t stop them from being… snappy. Honestly, they could appreciate why some women they’d known had been ready to commit murders over petty things. The former man understood it from a very logical perspective that things hurt and were gross, that it would pass and that Kit making a particular joke about something innocent really, really shouldn’t bother them. However, it didn’t stop the erstwhile wick from vacillating between wanting to cry and wanting to break something as they dealt with their disgust and frustration and the unfairness of it all. Why should they have to go through this every few weeks? Why should any woman have to go through this?

So they'd bitten Kit's head off rather viciously. Things had been rocky over the last few days anyway, ever since he'd caught them burning their fingertips on the hot stove. And he had reacted in a rather hyper manner, strangely terrified for them, even as they tried to brush it off, to explain it away logically. His worry, so strangely out of proportion, so needless had made them scream all sorts of abuse at him for no good reason at all. They'd sobbed in his arms later that night, curled against his chest as they murmured damp apologies but things had been understandably tense. An additional snap today might have been the final straw, or perhaps it was just that the man finally got the message because he'd decided to leave them alone.

Wanting to be left alone at a time like this wasn’t all that strange really, even if it was the tail end of things and they should be more stable. Damn stability! Could they not go off to a bar and mope over a guitar if they wanted to? They weren’t some delicate little fucking flower and they wanted to have some independence, wanted to be capable of doing something for themself. Didn't want to be this soft creature that they'd entered into.

The youth wanted to feel as if they were doing something and working on their own guitar as they tried to whip this body into something they could control.

The guitar was one that they’d gotten very cheap indeed through a mix of begging and bartering, as well as the fact that one or more of the strings seemed liable to snap in a discordant twang at any moment. It wasn’t as if the raen intended to put it to very hard use, having to teach themself anew how to pick out the chords and the right notes as well as how to muster the necessary coordination. Any strumming they did would be light and had been such before, especially as their fingers were without callouses then. They had the beginnings of them now, scar tissue hardening on their fingertips from where they'd purposely scorched the skin but things were still tender, a sensitive ache within the thickened flesh. Pressing down into the strings would have an advantage there, ensuring that the skin really did toughen rather than growing soft again. They were sick of being soft.

So they sat in a corner of the Black Dove, a glass of cheap ale on the table, untouched as they worked away diligently, placing left fingers on the appropriate strings for each chord and pressing down firmly, brow furrowed in concentration. They looked out of place here, even if they had become a common sight. For those who entered, they wouldn't see a wick and they certainly wouldn't see what Shae remembered, a fading, dream-like image that grew more difficult to hold onto with each passing day, especially in this body.

To onlookers, they were galdor: small, lean, soft, delicate. Some might have pegged their looks as Bastian specifically, some might not; more than likely, they saw someone who had been born to privilege, not as healthy now but still clearly well looked after at some point. The hair was chopped haphazardly short, having grown out a bit since they'd arrived in the Harbor and been sliced back into submission. It didn't detract from the femininity in their features though, the softer curves of their jaw and the roundness of their cheeks complemented by the more typically masculine cut. And they were an interesting mix of traits, a hard set to their jaw as they focused, eyes lined with black, braces taut over slim shoulders and highlighting the curve of their chest. An attractive woman to all who saw them and yet internally, they struggled with whether they were man or woman anymore, ultimately wondering if it really mattered.

Shae was largely oblivious to the looks of interest they got, the sniggered comments, the suggestive remarks that were loud enough for them to hear if they'd paid attention. Honestly, they'd heard such talk for much of their life, they just hadn't gotten used to the fact that it was actually about them; it didn't really register with them, something to tune out while they let their right hand strum softly, releasing a mix of correct and choked chords as they hummed softly to themself, unconsciously following a tune of a wick song from their youth.

"Sweet Lady, why can't you just- Press there would you, finger? Come on, I know you're little but you have strength! Circle fucking help me, how did Cordelia ever do anything?" they muttered to themself, trying to make their little finger sit cleanly on the string without inadvertently leaning into any others and then it was a matter of applying enough pressure, the finger feeling weak, wobbly, almost boneless.

"Is it even that finger, Shae? You really should ask Kit." If you can manage not to get distracted, they added, sighing softly, the sound full of melancholy. They weren't paying much attention to their surroundings, clearly plagued by their own thoughts and worries, their own preoccupations. Anyone who approached them wouldn't be noticed until they were upon them.


Last edited by Shae on Sat May 18, 2019 8:50 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Adam Spencer
Posts: 42
Joined: Mon Apr 22, 2019 2:28 pm
Topics: 9
Race: Human
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Writer: Costello
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Fri May 10, 2019 4:14 pm


The Black Dove • Anaxas/Old Rose Harbor

On the 25th of Intas, 2719 • Afternoon
So there was a guitarist and a guitar, and Adam at least thought the former was worth a check. He hadn't entirely lost track of thi thread of inquiry amidst the news about Dorhaven and all the rest. The journey to Old Rose Harbor had seemed fairly short compared to the trek he took heading to Mugroba, and the visit to Brunnhold he'd make in a short while. It was convenient enough anyway.

It was at times like this that having a fair amount of money squirreled away came in handy. He was able to arrange the trip with reasonable facility, telling the publisher at the Weekly that he was off following a lead for an article. He had a wealth of articles he'd already researched, and, although he suspected he'd never write about Cordelia Gillespie, he'd just push an article about Old Rose Harbor ahead, update it when he got back, and make sure the whole thing checked out and had some sense. Publication would follow, with his bosses none the wiser about the real reason he'd traveled to the port.

The rumors had gotten to him. Rumors always did. There was a woman who'd pawned all her stuff at a broker's, cut her hair off, fled to Old Rose. She came into the Black Dove every now and again, strumming rather tunelessly at a guitar. And here she was, he saw, as he strolled up towards the erstwhile woman, planting a pale hand on the table before her.

"I didn't take you for a wick-song enthusiast, Ms. Gillespie, but I suppose we all change through our lives," he drawled easily, a hand waving to forestall any complaint or immediate flight. He studied the woman with detached, academic interest. "Don't worry. I'm not here to drag you back out of your bar and back to your husband. Quite the opposite, in fact."

He pulled up a chair to where the galdori woman sat. In truth, it was a guess he was making -- he didn't know for sure that he was talking to Cordelia Gillespie -- but the woman wasn't the first galdor with a strange field he'd encountered this month. Some crisis had driven Anatole Vauquelin to drink, and had driven Cordelia Gillespie to find her way to Old Rose Harbor to hide. If the woman knew about Dorhaven, that might be worth him knowing, and he was willing to bet she did. She'd heard something that had made her flee. She must have.

Folding himself into a seat across from her, having taken only a second or two to announce his presence, he settled his hands in his lap, getting comfortable at the same time he made sure to prove he was no physical threat to the woman. "Let's talk. I'll buy you a drink. It's still a bit chilly, so maybe something warming -- First Blush?"

Something Bastian, too, he thought about the cinnamon brandy. Really, it was the provenance of the drink that had brought about the suggestion, although he wasn't about to share that with the guitarist.
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Shae
Posts: 69
Joined: Thu Jan 31, 2019 5:30 pm
Topics: 12
Race: Raen
: Too pretty for you
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Maximus
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
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Contact:

Sun May 12, 2019 5:27 pm

Intas 25, 2719 | Late Afternoon
Black Dove Tavern
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Image
Humming and talking to themself, occasionally singing a snatch of some song familiar to them from childhood, Shae picked out notes for songs that they knew, trying to replicate physically what seemed like a fuzzy, half-recalled memory from a lifetime ago. It had been a lifetime ago. Still, they were so lost in their own little world that when the man approached, they had to get over the shock of his presence before they could register his words. It was slow to sink in, largely because they'd managed to make the very, very brief stint as Cordelia Gillespie slip very far down in their mind. They'd buried it and they'd been enjoying life in Old Rose without it hanging over them, without the possibility that anyone would mistake them for her. Because this wasn't her part of Anaxas, it certainly wasn't the sort of place where she'd be and the raen honestly wasn't sure how many of those who had known Cordelia would recognise the woman they'd known in the way this former man moved and spoke and acted. Shae wasn't some well brought up galdor, they hadn't been born in Bastia and they hadn't been raised to be some timid, obedient woman. In truth, they hadn't been raised as man, woman, anything in between or outside of those identities. They'd been brought up to been themself, even if that meant that some of the customers in the shop eyed Shae with disapproval or disgust because a man wasn't meant to line their eyes or wear a skirt. It was more likely that their mother would recognise them in this strange body than that Cordelia's relatives and friends would recognise her in this changed yet familiar form.

"I am a wick," the raen retorted flatly, speaking perfect truth of course but colouring in recognition, body language shifting. The monic mess that clung to them in a mockery of a real field seemed to buzz more angrily, reacting to their emotional state and seeming to take the opportunity to try to press in on them. The way it shifted around them made them feel like it was searching for some chink to enter through, some means of entry so that they could fling out the invader. They were used to the anger but this was a step up, drawing a slight wince from the youth.

The man wasn't blind and even if he was non-magical - they couldn't feel a field - he'd be able to feel the monic response. He'd know that something was up, especially giving the rather critical appraisal that he was conducting. Circle preserve them, they were in some clocking shit now because he was going to misinterpret the signs. They knew the name Gillespie all right but not because they were one. They couldn't stop themself from tensing or from cringing away a bit, especially given the allusion to Peregrine. They weren't going to run away though, not this time, and they had to see what this man knew or thought that he knew. If he was here on Peregrine's behalf then it was bad. Even if he wasn't then it was really fucking bad. If this man could find them then Peregrine certainly could and it made them wonder if he was likely to find them sooner rather than later; he wasn't a man who was likely to want to let his pretty young brood mare go after all.

"Look... I live with a guy yeah but he's my- he's not even my boyfriend, never mind my husband. We aren't like that," they told him, grasping the guitar by the neck so that they could move it to rest against the wall. With the instrument gone, they didn't need to worry about keeping their legs so close together to give it a stable base, the youth letting their knees fall wide of each other, turning slightly so that they were sitting askew in the seat. They lifted one foot, resting it nonchalantly on the thigh of their other leg, hand coming to rest on the bent limb while the other was left dangling over the back of their chair, elbow positioned on the back. They were still tense but they relaxed a little, feeling a little more comfortable in their own skin. In truth, they were starting to feel more at ease in Cordelia's skin but a bit less so at the moment. They were more aware right now that the skin they were in was alien, a twitching itch seeming to take root under the surface, an illogical desire to strip everything away as if that would somehow quell the horror of the wrongness of it all. It was stranger to have the juxtaposition of both, the comfort and the uncanny. How could you feel more at home in a body and yet want to fling it from you at the same moment? As such, there was a definite tension in their limbs in spite of their attempt at nonchalance. He'd probably assume that it was him that was the cause but he'd be wrong.

This man seemed like the sort who could look through you and find out far, far too much. He was sharp.

"Oh yes, do join me, I don't mind," they remarked dryly once he'd sat down without even asking, the youth snorting with mirth a moment later. "First Blush? If you're trying to woo me, you're talking to the wrong wick, love. I'm happy with what I have, thanks. I don't want a drink from you when you're clearly looking for something."

On more than one occasion, the raen had made the mistake of letting men buy them drinks, innocently not realising the intent behind it. That was dangerous in a way, especially if you denied them in the end but they knew the signs now and this felt... different. They suspected that this was dangerous as well but in an unknown, unpredictable way. They were happy with their drink though. Kit might like to snigger that what they drank was cheap piss, even by piss standards but they did like it so they were content to have it. They weren't picky and they didn't need much alcohol to get drunk as it was but there was nothing new there; they'd gone from one lightweight body to another.

"I'm fine with what I have but if you want to get another of those... well, I can't actually stop you, can I? And you don't seem like you'll go away if I say 'no' so..."

The raen shrugged before lifting the hand from their leg to extend part of the way across the table; they made no effort to move closer to him, not even to meet him halfway so he'd have to do the leaning if he wanted to shake it. "Name's Shae, not Gillespie. I'm not much of a fighter but call me Miss again and I might just have to fling my glass at your face. I'd probably miss but I might not. Fancy gambling?" they asked with a chuckle before taking a swig from the aforementioned glass.


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