[Balder's Circus] Vienda Bound

Balder talks about traveling to Vienda to the crew.

Open for Play
A large island and a few smaller isles in the Arova River, this hub of nomadic wick life is home to the annual Wick Festival.

User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 139
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Raksha
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Mon Jul 09, 2018 3:27 am

Hamis 35th, 2718
SURWOOD | MID MORNING
Image
Sarinah leaned against one tall wooden tent pole, carefully wrapping her hands in strips of rags like bandages, a trick she’d picked up from Bridgette to protect herself from blisters and providing a brace for her wrists. Her mahogany gaze slowly swept over the expanse of hard packed earth that was essentially the floor of Balder’s Circus.

Balder.

The brunette witch smiled a little to herself, her eyes drifting to the high ceiling of the gold and blue tent that the troupe called home. She and Tristaan stumbled across the performers a little over two weeks ago, and honestly, the wick already felt like she belonged. She felt home. Balder had welcomed them with eager open arms, the short stout human delighted to have anyone come visit his circus. Of course, there wasn’t just the ring master in the troupe. There was Winslow the clown, an older human who seemed gruff but was really a big softie with wiry grey hair and ridiculously oversized pants and suspenders. Then Dorian and Taegan, again both human young men not much younger than the witch herself, each as visually different as night and day. Dorian was a dark haired and dark eyed contortionist, with a light hearted flirtatious attitude and a ready willingness to cause mischief. He also swallowed swords and breathed fire, two skills he had been overly enthusiastic to share with the newcomers, waggling eyebrows at Sarinah with clear over confidence. Taegan was blonde, blue eyed, bronzed and appeared to own not a single shirt. An animal tamer by trade, the man had formed an almost unnaturally close bond to a massive black scaled chrove called Clarabelle. He was broodier than Dorian, but it didn’t stop him laying on the charm as thickly as fresh butter on hot bread, no matter how much it annoyed any other male specimen around. Regardless of their differences, the two young men got along like brothers—sometimes they fought like brothers too—but in the end it was Winslow that kept the boys in-line like a gruff uncle, and Balder oversaw the lot of them like a proud father. There had been a woman, a human girl called Stars McGee, but she’d had a falling out with Taegan and promptly packed her bags for Vienda.

Leaving a timely opening for a wick with a few tricks up her sleeve and a passive with a solid pair of fists.

Sarinah had given the troupe just a taste of what she was able to do, but it was enough. It was enough to light the spotlight in Balders eyes. A star, he said. The Amazing Flying...

“Sarinah!” Dorian exclaimed loudly, dragging Sarinah from her musings. She blinked and turned her eyes back on the ground, smiling warmly at the man as he approached. Only two years her junior, the talented human was grinning as he approached the witch.

“Oh, but what can I assist you with my beautiful wick rose? Have you finally decided to leave Tristaan and steal away with me?” He quipped, pushing boundaries he knew would get him in trouble. The dancer chuckled as she finished wrapping her hands, moving towards the rope tied around one of the supporting posts. She had dressed in a simple red camisole and high waisted black shorts, leaving her long legs and muscular arms free to grip the cool metal of the hoop. Walking with bare feet, the brunette lowered the circular frame that had been suspended from the ceiling beams.

“Ah, not today Dorian. Afraid it’s much more selfish than that. Here.” She handed him the rope with a wink, much to the young man’s delight.

“I need someone to man the rope. Ye seem like you’ve got a bit of muscle there balach? Just pull me up till I say stop, then tie the rope around that rig there. Ye chen?” The woman moved towards the hoop, tying the top half of her hair back with a small strip of the rags, reaching up to take it with her hands and pulling herself up to sit in the cradle before nodding to Dorian. As the young human pulled on the rope, a pulley in the beam allowed it to feed through with ease, and Sarinah felt herself rise into the air. There was no spotlight, but the roof flaps were open to allow the sunlight in, dust motes floating through the rays like tiny bugs. The witch looked up as the metal hoop crawled closer to the roof, looking down at Dorian with a smile as she went.

“There kov, that’s enough.” The human nodded, before tying the rope and giving her a thumbs up. Sarinah reached above her, muscles in her arms straining as she moved to familiarise herself with the equipment and perform a series of deep stretches using the frame to brace legs or arms as she went.

“Forget it Dorian, she’s not interested in boys. She’s a woman, she needs a man.” Taegan announced his arrival with all the overconfidence he could possibly muster, flexing his well defined bronze muscles as he approached the contortionist, slapping his friend in the back of the head as he stared dreamily at the dancer. Dorian scowled and shoved the other man with a snort.

“You’re the same age as me you moony lug. ‘sides, even if that were true, she ain’t even got eyes for anyone but Tristaan.” Taegan chuckled, his blue eyes on the wick with a waggle of his brow.

“That’s only coz she hasn’t had a chance to experience this yet.” He said with a tone that implied that was obvious, gesturing to himself with a dimpled grin. From behind the two ogling boys, Winslow appeared, whacking them both on the head.

“Have some respect you kensers. Sarinah shouldn’t have to put up with your shit, not here. Besides, that wick fellow of hers would flatten you Taeg. He’s short but he’s fucking tough, or hadn’t you figure that out yet?” The golden boy grumbled, rubbing his head and muttering about trying on Clarabelle for size. Winslow slapped him again, glancing up at the woman with an almost sad frown. He knew her face, he’d known it the minute he’d seen her, keeping it to himself for a multitude of reasons. No one needed to know the Dove was in Surwood, not unless she wanted them to know.

Sarinah let the momentum of her legs spin the hoop as she moved around the familiar frame, stretching out to give the hoop a wide circular rotation above the ring itself. Almost lazily, she swung her legs down from behind her, pushing the circle to be even wider. The air rushed past her face, catching dark tresses in its gentle caress. Dropping to hang by her hands, the witch curled her legs up to hook them on the frame and let go, hanging by her knees as looked down at the three men with reaching arms. Her eyes flicked to the entrance, where Balder had begun to approach, smiling up at her. Smiling back, Sarinah pulled herself up to sit in the cradle again.

“Got some news. We need to talk boys. About travel. About Vienda. Dorian, get her down here please?” He said, rubbing his hands together with clear excitement, looking around for Tristaan as Dorian waved to Sarinah and began to undo the rope.

Tags:
User avatar
Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 176
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 15
Race: Passive
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Ever th' balach.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Jul 13, 2018 12:31 pm

35th of Hamis, 2718
SURWOOD ISLE | MID-MORNING
Image
One season had faded into the next and Surwood had been a respite, a blessing, and an adventure crammed into a few short months. Suddenly, Hamis was drawing to a close and while Surwood Isle was never completely empty of wicks coming and going, Baldur's Circus was growing restless, ready to see Anaxas and, more importantly, ready to be seen. Tristaan was unsure of his place in it all, though he'd leant his time-honed strength and his strange, inventive way of thinking to the various projects needing completed before any real traveling of a troupe of people could be considered practical.

If nothing else, the dark-haired passive had proven himself a more than capable odd job man. He could fix things and lift things, he hardly ever complained that a job was too hard or a job took too long or a job was too heavy—it was just his nature to do. He only really had eyes for Sarinah, anyway, so his focus was simple and cheerful most days. When not spending time lingering with the Red Crow fami who'd stayed on the isle to be near the couple until the Circus was ready to leave, Tristaan kept his hands busy fixing up kints and preparing tents to make them more portable.

This morning, he'd been with Guaril, returning from sparring with the old wick a sweaty, bruised mess of a thing. The fieldless son of a galdor had his advantages, being small-framed and quiet, and so he went unnoticed for a few moments, hovering in the shadows of the main tent while he watched Teagan and Dorian make ersehats of themselves falling over his lovely witch for her attention. The younger men couldn't help themselves, really, but to be taken with the dark-haired witch and he understood. A lesser kov would have been jealous, but Tristaan was far too aware of who shared his bed and where their shared attentions were.

More than that, he knew as he watched Sarinah raise into the air and stretch with a cautious grey gaze—he knew how they felt about each other, even if he was far too cowardly or cautious of a creature to breathe the truth out loud, to give life to the words they both deserved to hear shared out loud, even in moments that had passed when he'd had the opportunity to do so. Some wounded part of himself always held his true self back. Perhaps that had worn on them both, perhaps the waiting had begun to feel like too much.

Something struggled inside the scarred hull of his chest—did Sarinah feel the same impatient discomfort?

Did she doubt him as the rainy season grew to a close and restlessness seemed to seep into the humid almost-summer air?

Arms crossed over his bare chest as he leaned against one of the support poles he'd sanded himself, Winslow brushed past him just as the boys began to bicker about the passive by name, the older clown flashing the shorter man a sly sort of grin and inviting him to tag along. Tristaan chuckled, raising his calloused hands in mock innocence, allowing the other man to step in on his behalf before he wandered into the tent properly, hooking a thumb in the belt that held the new pistol at his hip instead of bothering to button his shirt.

His expression was full of mischievousness instead of threat, but he gave the two young, eager boys a stern look before he spoke anyway, "Short, eh? Ent heard anyone complain 'bout that yet, ye chen, but oes, I'll set y' both back a day 'r two if y' think too hard 'bout m' rosh there in an improper sorta way, bochi."

Tristan laughed and rolled his eyes, interrupted from another word by Baldur's arrival—travel, he said, but the word Vienda followed. The dark-haired passive grit his teeth and wondered if the announcement was about another riot or worse, some revoking of writs. It wouldn't be new, of course, for now that the wick Festival was over, peace treaties would soon be forgotten and professions of brotherhood smeared in feuding blood.

He moved to the rope before the bickering boys could blink, however, letting his suddenly uncomfortable expression be private for Sarinah instead of for anyone else in the Circus. He had no love for the capitol, for the scars that marred his skin were earned in the Soot District from his childhood of labor and unofficial enslavement. Easing the witch down with a much more practiced and disciplined ease than Teagan or Dorian could hope to accomplish in their distraction, he managed a smile in her direction before reaching for her, ready to listen once he could touch olive skin.
A wounded chrove will fight harder.
Passive Proverb
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 139
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Raksha
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Jul 13, 2018 11:03 pm

Hamis 35th, 2718
SURWOOD | MID MORNING
Image
Dorian’s hazel eyes widened as Tristaan spoke, stammering some form of an excuse and half an apology at the scarred passive with a blush, whilst Taegan rubbed the back of his neck with a wry grin.

“All I’m sayin’ is that…well you know…she might…nevermind.” He faded off, cheeks darkening slightly at being busted mouthing off. As the dark haired passive beat them both to the rope, Dorian punched Taegan in the arm and scowled at him, ducking a side swipe from his friend. Winslow shook his head, rubbing his hand through wirey grey hair and searching his deep pocketed trousers for his cigarettes as Balder approached them.

Sarinah glanced down at the passive, her smile turning much warmer and affectionate as she watched him stir the young humans and move to take the guide rope to let her down. Sitting in the curve of the hoop, her mahogany gaze watched him as she gently came down, the spinning slowing down until she was only just turning around. The sight of the man caused her heart to soar, leaving butterflies in her belly and a little touch of insecurity. They’d spent seasons together now, summer only a handful of weeks away, and the witch felt things. Strong things for the passive, things that threatened to spill forth every time she spoke to the man. Alioe, she knew the words and yet, it was frightening to say out loud. The closer she got to the man, the more she knew his past, the more worried it made her that such lovely words would scare the emotionally bruised man away.

And the Gods knew she didn’t want him to go away.

The look on Tristaan’s face spoke volumes as Balder mentioned Vienda, and her smile faltered a little. She knew the man had ties to city, and not good ones. They were painful memories, physically and emotionally, so it made sense he would be uncomfortable. As her bare feet brushed the ground, the wick moved to his side and took his hand with a soft squeeze.

“Ye benny kov?” She asked quietly, meeting his grey eyes with her own concerned ones, before turning her attention to the ringmaster that waited almost patiently for his troupe to settle in. Balder smiled at her, shaking his head at Winslow’s offer of a rolled cigarette before bouncing on his toes.

“Right! Here we are then. So I know we’ve had some downtime, lost some of our act and gained something more. It’s time to buckle down, really nail a schedule because I have just planned our route. Winslow, can you pull out the map?”[/color] The older clown made a gruff sound in his throat and delved into his pockets again, drawing out a folded piece of parchment and handing it to Balder. The balding man unfolded it and laid the paper down on the ground, kneeling down to point to the landmarks.

“We’ll head up the river see, and hit Bad Aisling and Muffey on the way through. Here, there’s a small village we can stop to restock anything missing, and then up to Vienda. There see, just outside the city gates, there a large clearing. We can set up there, after I get a permit from the office in the town.” Looking up at the team, he waggled his brows. Taegan frowned, crossing his arms.

“Y’sure we’ll be allowed Balder? Last time we went to Vienda the kensers wouldn’t let us set up, remember? What makes you think this time’s gonna be different?” The ringmaster jumped up, folding the map and using it to point at the youth.

“Because this time Taeg, we’re gonna wow the pants off them. Investors boy, that’s the secret.” Winslow grunted, puffing on his cigarette and squinting at his employer and friend.

“Not to sound like the bad news here, but four performers and a stage hand ain’t really gonna excite anyone Balder.” The mustached stout man handed the map back with a raised finger.

“No, no you’re right Winslow. But, we’re not going to be just four performers and a stage hand. We’re going to advertise, right? Each of the towns we pass through, I’ll be looking for talent. We got a clown, a sword swallowing firebreathing contortionist, a chrove tamer and the chrove itself, a lovely aerial acrobat and a strongman.” He glanced at Tristaan with a wick, before raising his finger.

“I know a trio, still here in Surwood, a musically adept trio. And the fellow that leads them also said he’s got a friend up in Muffey that’s skilled on the trapeze. I reckon that with your skills Sarinah love, you two could pull together a whole act. There’s sure to be plenty of others that need a bit of coin, and with your amazing sewing skills Winslow we could pull together some really nice costumes and such. By the time we get closer to Vienda, we wont have to go looking for investors as they’ll come looking for us!” It was clear the stars were in Balders eyes, more so than perhaps ever before. Dorian and Taegan looked at each other with raised eyebrows, whilst Winslow simply puffed his cigarette, knowing Balder well enough to see when he was fixed on a plan.

Sarinah grinned, unable to help being caught up in Balder’s excitement. A show, a real act. Not a spectacle for the leering drunks paid in dust and air, but a ging earning act. A job. For her. For real. Her eyes shifted to the passive with a squeeze of his hand and quiet words.

“Investors Tristaan. Can you imagine? Surely Vienda would be safer than Surwood. It’s only luck that we ent been caught up yet, ye chen. Do you think we could see the city? I ent ever been there, but I heard its macha.” In her excitement, and her naive understanding of things beyond the Rose and the spokes life, the witch forgot herself and the passives haunted past. Immediately she recognized her mistake, smile faltering as she wished the words back in her mouth.

User avatar
Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 176
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 15
Race: Passive
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Ever th' balach.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Thu Jul 26, 2018 3:55 pm

35th of Hamis, 2718
SURWOOD ISLE | MID-MORNING
Image
He'd said nothing at first when Muffey was mentioned, though the very word made his scarred skin crawl. Chewing the inside of his cheek at the thought of returning to the town of his birth, the town where, chances were, his parents still lived, made him almost immediately nauseated. The dark-haired passive's free hand strayed to curl fingers into the fabric that covered his right bicep, that hid the mark his parents hadn't marred into his flesh, but strangers had, digging into tanned skin and muscle as if he could claw his way to the bone. Finally, he made a noise of frustration through his teeth,

"Summer's ent really th' best time t' head t' Muffey." Tristaan's voice was suddenly hard, gravelly, and the sweat that pooled against the curve of his lower back was so cold it stung, "Brunnhold tourist season be th' spring an' autumn, ye chen. Ent much there but retired professors an' farmers this time o' year, a' least that's what I remember, born there an' all. See for y'selves if y' like, since you've got a body t' meet there, but don't expect t' make much ging."

There. He said it, but a obvious restlessness seethed in his tone.

He knew didn't share in the excitement of the other Circus folk, and he was very aware that if he said the wrong thing, he'd be dragging Sarinah down. No one understood, and the dark-haired passive knew it. No one could ever understand. They'd all been born as they were, not told who they weren't or couldn't be. He couldn't dress too nice or his heritage would be obvious. He couldn't talk straight Estuan or he'd give himself away. The closer he was to Vienda, the less of a free man he knew he'd feel, and it hounded him like a rabid dog,

"I ent a strongman, an' y'ent gonna get me anywhere near th' stage, Baldur. Epaemo. I'll set up your tents. I'll run your lights. I'll keep th' crowd behavin', but ent anyone need t' see me out there on somethin' like a stage. 'Specially no' in Muffey an' moreso no' in Vienda. Tell me what t' do with m' hands, an' I'll do it. Ent anyone need t' see a scrap like m'self otherwise, ye chen, no' less y' want trouble in town."

The mustachioed ringmaster blinked at him for his bluntness, and both Taegan and Dorian seemed expectant for more conflict, both of their often short attention spans suddenly on the passive. Winslow seemed the only one nonplussed by the other man's outburst, far too experienced a creature to not be unaware.

Tristaan wanted to be excited, if not for himself, then for the olive-skinned dancer. He liked the Circus folk and had enjoyed the past two seasons with them, but he'd also enjoyed being back with his Crow fami, being home again. Spoke life called to him, and it had ever since they first took him in. Beholden to no one, the freest he'd ever been had been living as a Red Crow. He kept throwing it away, and it was pure stupidity. Here, with Guaril again, he could see what a fool he'd been. Regret stung him, and while he liked the idea of traveling with the circus, he loathed the idea of how complicated Vienda could make someone's life if they weren't some godsbedamned galdor.

He knew that eventually they'd all have to leave Surwood. He understood that the Circus would travel, would need to visit the main cities in order to actually turn a profit.

But, gods, he hadn't really pictured himself in it.

Now, he had to. Now, the weight of the truth crushed him and he knew there was only so much he could hide. Sarinah begged for his excitement, but he couldn't even fake it,

"Investors m' erse." Tristaan hissed, tensing at her overconfident words and resisting the urge to spit, "Th' only thing clockin' gollies want is t' own, no' t' invest. I, for one, ent gonna be their property again, ye chen? Ent anywhere safe from Hawke, macha. He's got bodies in th' capitol like he's got bodies in th' Harbor. See th' city—Good Lady. I can't talk 'bout this right now."

He slipped his hand away from the lovely witch as gently as possible, his grey eyes suddenly full of an indescribably form of helplessness. The dark-haired passive looked at her for a long moment, feeling a tightness twist tighter in his gut, feeling fear rise like dark water in the hull of his chest,

"Epaemo, but as far as I see 't from here, I ent goin' in Vienda proper 'less I have to. Outside's fine, but there ent a thing in that place I ever wanna see again." Tristaan's expression was almost a sneer, and he turned away from the other performers, from the lovely witch, beginning to walk back the way he came, waving a hand dismissively as if it was enough to excuse himself, "Ent a one o' you lot got a mark like mine. S'fine for th' rest o' you. I don' expect y' t' understand. Don't worry 'bout me."

He would see himself out unless someone stopped him, desperate to find something to do with his hands, if only to forget the anger and fear that crawled up his spine at the very vision Vienda put in his mind. Erich's diablerie. The Soot District. So much pain.
A wounded chrove will fight harder.
Passive Proverb
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 139
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Raksha
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Aug 10, 2018 9:52 am

Hamis 35th, 2718
SURWOOD | MID MORNING
Image
The tension in the air was so thick and heavy that it almost clung to the troupe as they stood in the dirt ring, the boys looking sheepishly at the floor or the walls whilst Balder blinked and Winslow puffed on his slow burning cigarette. Sarinah looked from the ring master, to the passive and back again, her brow drawn slightly. Of course, it had been a step too far, everyones excitement dragging her along in the undertow till it was too deep, but for the grey eyed man to snap at Balder was almost entirely out of place.

“Sorry Tristaan, I assumed—“ The stocky balding man cut his words short as Tristaan hissed at the brunette, surprised even moreso by his comments to the woman that had been ever by his side since they arrived then any others growled in anger. Winslow was a grumpy old man, he knew anger and unwillingness intimately through the leathery skinned clown, but it threw him off guard and for a moment his eyes flicked to Sarinah as though to ask her silently what was going on.

“Balach, I’m sure that if we—“ Her brown eyes searched his own, a hollow feeling sinking deep in her chest as he looked at her with eyes full of a helplessness that she knew intimately. A trapped creature with no where to go. His hand left hers, a strange coolness settling in her palm as he glared at the troupe. She clasped it gently in the other hand, holding them both close to her chest as her dark gaze followed the passives form as he stormed from the group. Taegan glanced at the witch, stepping a little closer and reaching out to rest a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Y’alright Sarinah?” He asked softly, but she barely heard him, brow drawing further as she shrugged him off to stride after the scarred and hurting man.

“Tristaan? Tristaan!” She called gently as she moved, jogging slightly to catch up with the man and try to stand in front of him.

“Tristaanian Greymoore, hold the clock up!” Sarinah hissed, stopping before the passive with a pounding heart. Searching his face, the olive skinned Yellow Eye looked for a crack in the anger and the fear she found there, a cold chill seeping through her bones as something changed. Her field drew protectively closer, as though instinctively preparing for the worst. Swallowing words that wanted to spill forth and tears that bit just behind her eyes, the dancer took a step towards the man.

“Epaemo? I know I was a moony rosh, I didn’t think ye chen, but Balder ent trying to attack you or force ye to do anything. Just maybe take a minute to chat, oes?” Taking another step closer, she brushed her fingertips against his arm, but made no move to hold his hand unless he initiated it.

“Ent anyone here can understand what ye have been through Tristaan, nor what ye feeling right now, but it ent fair to assume we don’t care. Like I don’t care. I do care, balach. I just…ye helped me escape not just Hawkes hands and Scarletts ship but the fear that bound me to that pit. Ye need to let me in Tristaan, talk to me. If ye ent ready for Vienda yet, then…then we can stay here. Just us, for a while. I’m sure we could catch up when ye were ready.” The witch stumbled across eggshells as she spoke, not quite sure how to handle the man in his anger, at him being angry at her. It made her feel uncomfortable, on edge, as though ready to duck lest something unexpected happened. They’d known each other for seasons now, and whilst he was a good man, a good open honest man, she had seen his fury in the Rose. Till now, there’d been no other outburst and frankly, it was a little bit intimidating. Not for the risk of a diablerie, but for risk of….

What? Of what exactly? Did she believe Tristaan would hurt her? Alioe never. Not ever.

“Surely moving on is safer than staying here kov? Ye said yeself the spoke life is in ye blood. Isn’t this what ye’re talking about? Travelling Anaxas by foot and kint with friends and fami?” The brunette bristled a little, as though gathering her nerves a little.

“Isn’t that what we’d been talking about?”

User avatar
Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 176
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Topics: 15
Race: Passive
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Ever th' balach.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Aug 17, 2018 3:08 pm

35th of Hamis, 2718
SURWOOD ISLE | MID-MORNING
Image
Tristaan wasn't cut out for the Circus, and he'd known it from the beginning. He wasn't a performer, not in the sense that he loved a crowd, that he wanted to be seen. Sure, he could move through social situations with enough grace, he had a sense of humor and a nice smile, but the thought of being watched made his stomach turn and his skin crawl. This had been for Sarinah, and he knew it.

Where else did he have to go? Back to the Red Crow and Guaril alone? What else should he be doing? Crawling back to the Harbor to do Hawke's business if Silas let him live?

Alioe, he didn't know.

Vienda was a dark smudge of dirt and darkness in his mind, the scars of factory beatings a reminder of what kind of place the capital really was under all of the sparkle and shine. No one else needed to see what he'd already seen. No one else needed their dreams tarnished by the sweat and blood he'd already left somewhere in the Soot District. He should have kept his mouth shut and kept his thoughts to himself, but he couldn't help it, the fear crawling into the cavity of his chest.

He tried to walk away fast enough, but the lovely witch's voice called his full name and he frowned. She stood in his way and the desperation in her face should have softened his expression. It didn't. Her field felt like a barrier and the dark-haired passive's jaw clenched in helpless frustration, an anger simmering more heatedly than he'd expected.

"I know he ent. I ent got any say 'n all that, Sarinah." Her fingers reached for his, brushing his arm, but he didn't make a move to return the gesture, curling his calloused hands into fists instead, suddenly wanting to hear the snapping of bone or feel the sting of knuckles against muscle. Tristaan sighed,

"Y'all care, I chen. Y' do most 'f all. I ent stupid, but I also ent sure I can explain. Vienda looks nice, oes, but it ent any more safe than th' Old Rose. Everythin' jus' is gussied up like puttin' a chrove in a dress." He smirked then, desperate to explain that for all the well-manicured beauty of the capitol, it was full of galdori who'd decided he was garbage, galdori who'd rather shove him into that godsbedamned school and turn him into a slave so they could forget he ever existed.

"By Alioe, th' Harbor were different. Moving on—damn it."

The dark-haired passive rolled his eyes, steely gaze hardening as he studied Sarinah's lovely face in silence for a few moments too long. This had nothing to do with his past or his hurts. This had nothing to do with all the things she couldn't understand. Did it? Did any of that really matter? Her words were specific, and he could tell by the tone of her voice what she wanted to hear from his lips. Or at least, he thought he could. Wound so tightly by the aches of his past, it was hard to see clearly where he stood in the present, let alone where he wanted to go in the future.

What were they doing?

From the day that they'd met in the Harbor, there'd been something between them, something even Tristaan had to admit he couldn't get enough of. It wasn't familiarity, it wasn't comfort. It was something more, and he wanted it, chased it, risked his life for it.

Did he really want to let this all get in the way? Vienda? His unchangeable past that the lovely witch had already accepted for what it was? No. He didn't.

"Spoke life keeps me safe. Keeps us safe, Sarinah. We've been here long 'nough, oes. I jus'. I don't know. We ent travelin' with m' fami. We're travelin' with th' Circus. They're all nice an' all—" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis, "—but they ent m' fami. Not t' me, anyway, an' maybe that's m' fault." His shoulders sagged and Tristaan looked away from the olive-skinned dancer, unable to continue staring in to the warm depths of her mahogany gaze. He chewed the inside of his cheek,

"We. Oes. I ent ever gonna be ready for Vienda. I'll go. For you. But I'm afraid. I can't protect y' there, no' like th' Harbor. No' like anywhere else out in th' wilds. It's th' capital. Th' rules are for real an' I'm nobody. I'm less than any tekaa. Ye chen? Th' mark on m' arm says so. If somethin' happened, it ent jail time, it ent a fight in th' streets for me. It's slavery, an' y' know what that is."

The dark-haired passive sighed, reaching a hand up to brush her face despite how her taut, angry field made him want to flinch away, "I know how t' protect m'self. I've learned how t' protect you. But a whole Circus? I'm one man. I ent enough if somethin' happens, an' I can't—I—"

His eyes fluttered heavily for a moment, the faces of his youth flooding his mind with memories of their deaths. The blood on his hands, the debt he could never pay. He opened his eyes, half expecting to see that he'd left a red smear on Sarinah's lovely face,

"I ent enough. I can't explain. No' now. Maybe no' ever. Look, I—we—" He stopped, meeting her expectant gaze and feeling all of the important words set fire to the cavity of his chest and burn against the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back, tasting the ashes of his own fear and regret. He loved her. It hurt, physically, not to say it. It ached deep in his ribs that had been shattered and put back together for her to keep the words he knew she wanted to hear from her, from them both. All these seasons on Surwood and he knew he did, but those words were foolish. They would only make things worse, should the worst come to pass. If he revealed his whole heart, how much harder would it be to protect them both?

The indecision played itself out across his features—worry and terror, devotion and wanting—and then his hand slipped away and he moved to walk past her, tears welling at the sheer weight of his willpower to resist blurting the truth. Tristaan attempted to flee,

"Epaemo, macha. I need a moment. I jus' can't talk about this anymore right now."
A wounded chrove will fight harder.
Passive Proverb
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 139
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbor
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Raksha
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Sat Aug 25, 2018 9:31 pm

Hamis 35th, 2718
SURWOOD | MID MORNING
Image
The witch swallowed hard, facing down the angry passive with an almost defiant sort of look, as though his angry expression didn’t cut her deeply. She knew he was right, Vienda wasn’t all it appeared to be, but tocks what better was the Harbor? If Vienda was a chrove in a dress, then the Habour was a whore in a frock. Her field twitched as he snapped, rolling his grey eyes and simmering with barely contained fear and frustration.

“They are t’me kov. More fami than mine have been.” She said softly, dropping her hands from stopping him and crossing her arms to watch the man. He sighed, reaching to brush her face with his hand, and the brunette couldn’t help but frown at his fears.

“It ent always up to ye to protect everyone Tristaan. Ye’re only one man. Ye have to let others share the load, ye chen, or it’ll eat ye up.” The performer wanted to step closer, to wrap her arms around him and comfort the man, but she held herself in check. There was a distance suddenly between them, like a cold breeze blowing through the dirty streets of the Rose, and Sarinah couldn’t help but feel exasperated by it. There were things to say, more things to be said, but just as they started to get close to those things the scarred and battered passive would back away. Hamaye. She could feel it hanging on the tip of her tongue, wanting to burst forth and declare it for all the world to hear. Except that the witch knew that it would scare the man, and perhaps she would wake one morning and find him completely dusted.

“Ye can’t…I ent…” The brunette sighed heavily, her lips pursing and mahogany gaze darkening, before stepping to one side. The tears in his eyes hurt her, confused her. She wanted to talk to him, to share his hopes and fears, but once again the broken man withdrew from her. His need to be alone, to be away from her hurt. It had hurt on the Deep Water river kint, and it hurt now.

“Fine. Go Tristaan. Do what ye need to do, just…dze…” Sarinah bit off her words suddenly with a shake of her head, looking at the dirt between them and collecting her angry thoughts. Tears stung her own eyes, but she refused to let them break through, letting her frustration take over.

“Maybe we both need a moment kov.” She said softly, heart banging rapidly against her chest. Chewing the inside of her cheek, the lithe woman shrugged, running her hand through her hair before taking a step back.

“I’ll be here, or at the kint, when ye figure out what ye want Tristaan. If…if it ent this…then just say it, oes? Just say it.” Her voice was laced thickly with defeat, balancing on the edge of staying together or falling apart. Lifting her chin, the dancer leaned in quickly to press a kiss to his cheek, before turning away to return to the other performers who were all very awkwardly finding anywhere else to look apart from the passive and the witch. Joining the troupe, Sarinah looked at Balder with a nod.

“Vienda then was it? I’m in, ye chen? Just tell me what ye need me to do and I’ll do it. Been a while since I was a spoke, but I think I remember what it involves.” Taegan smiled at her with a warmth, his blue gaze sneaking to glance at Tristaan for a moment before settling on her again, a hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

“Is everything…okay?” He asked quietly, a question on each of the other mens lips. The acrobatic dancer looked at him with a practiced smile, a Dove’s smile.

“Sure, its benny. Let’s talk more about this plan oes? Balder, ye said something about a trapeze act in Muffey? I ent really worked with someone else before up there. Going t’need some practice together, I’m sure.” She firmly kept her attention on the balding ringleader, refusing to turn back to where the passive had last been, giving him the space he so needfully desired.

Even if it was clocking hard.

Post Reply Previous topicNext topic

Return to “Surwood Isle”

  • Information
  • Who is online

    Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest