DIR Return Create A Forum - Home
---------------------------------------------------------
HTML https://anywherecafe.createaforum.com
---------------------------------------------------------
*****************************************************
DIR Return to: RP Threads
*****************************************************
#Post#: 708--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: Chance Date: January 9, 2025, 9:48 am
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/trey005.jpg[/img][/float]
Trey Whitman
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/ooc-info/staff/chance/trey-whitman-2/
The door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
App 3 | Dex 5 [Swift] | Echoes [Cold Aura] | Ambidextrous
[hr]
I'd decided to make myself useful once it became clear she was
going to relax a bit.
First, I drew out a deck of cards from inside the leather
jacket, a battered Bicycle deck with black-and-gold backs and
gilted ink that was beginning to fade and rub off. It was a
Steampunk deck once upon a time; its aesthetic spoke to me
magically. With them, I laid out a circle of cards on the floor,
twelve of them laid out like a clock, and then flipped each over
face-up in turn, making a hole in the floor through which I
stuck my hand.
[quote]Gimme That! rote, vulgar without witness since it reaches
across
Chance Request: [3d10t6] Roll: [9, 8, 4] Result: 2[/quote]
After a little fishing around, I came out with a pair of low,
crepe-soled black leather biker-styled booties with attractive
embellishments, stylish and suited for cold weather and walking.
Shoes acquired. With a little more fishing, I got a pair of soft
black socks.
I debated leaving the money for the boots, but that would be a
greater mystery than just a pair of boots disappearing from a
shelf overnight, so I left it be. Wouldn't be my worst sin.
The cards are reboxed, slipped back into the jacket pocket.
Next, I used one of her wet footprints on the rug and traced it
with the tip of my handy hunting knife, a pearl-handled beauty
made by a master smith, to take on its shape and size, first. I
then took the blade and traced along the edge of each boot from
toe to back to toe again, working as precisely as possible.
[quote]Tailor-Made rote:
Chance Request: [3d10t5] Roll: [10, 2, 2] Result: 1
Chance Request: [3d10t5] Roll: [10, 8, 7] Result: 3[/quote]
The boots reshaped themselves to Kaelin's perfect size as I
worked, and I smiles, satisfied with my work. I'm always proud
when my magic works out well -- I was a god of magic, once. I
mean, technically, I still am. I take pride in the precision and
power of my work, even for small things like this. She'll find
these boots comfortable on her poor battered feet, and will have
a way to go shopping with me after we've both had a little
sleep.
Assuming either of us can sleep.
Her voice sounds tentative, and I call back, "Right here, come
on out, Kaelin."
When she comes out, her apology is waved aside. "Don't worry, I
kept busy. Besides, a long hot shower is good for the soul as
well as the body, right? I'm glad it helped you feel better."
Plus who knows when the last time she had the gift of privacy
was? For all I know, they didn't let her shower alone.
I do my best to dismiss the dark thoughts as I look at her. She
smells divine... literally, she smells like an offering to the
gods, and it suits her, both spiritually-uplifting and earthy.
It suits her deliciously. And cleaned up... well, she's even
lovelier, the study in contrasts of her pallor and icy eyes with
her raven hair pleasing to the eye in so many ways. I smile at
the too-long pants. My hand reaches for the knife laying beside
me still. "Stay still, let me fix them hem for you."
[quote]Tailor-Made rote again:
Chance Request: [3d10t5] Roll: [8, 7, 5] Result: 3[/quote]
She must think I'm going to cut them, but I don't; I just trace
the hem lightly with the knife on each cuff, and the yoga pants
shrink up to her perfect length. I stand, grinning at her
proudly. "I use this rote to alter my costumes and mend clothes
and such, so I figured it would make sense to make the pants fit
you better. Speaking of which..."
I pause, turning, and pick up the brand-new boots in her perfect
size and the socks I'd secured along with them, and present them
to her. "I picked these up for you after thinking that I didn't
want you running around barefoot in Chicago winter." I don't
specify how, but hey, Mage. For all she knows, I made them from
whole cloth. Well, I could have, but I didn't have any materials
to work with, so it would have been a lot harder than just
taking them from the pretentious department store I yanked them
from.
"Oh, you lived here before? Wonderful, then it won't be strange
to you at all. I've lived other places as well, but I've been
here..." I stop myself before saying twenty years, remembering
that she doesn't know my true age or my unaging nature. Yet.
"...A while. I like it here. The winters feel right to me,
unlike a lot of other places. I'd move further north if there
was more civilization, but... well, for some reason, most people
don't want to live in winter 6 months of the year. I love it,
though. It's my best season."
And it is, in truth -- it's the time of year when I feel most
like myself.
It occurs to me, as I pick up the jacket to offer it to her
again, that I didn't think to get her one of her own. I mean, I
have others, but still, this one is my favorite, but I'm willing
to give it to her.
I admit, it occurs to me that maybe her sense of familiarity
with me is having seen me here in Chicago at some point, but I
don't think that's it. A passing stranger would likely not leave
that much of an impression -- and if I had, I think the reverse
would be true, too, though if she was a child, it would explain
why not.
"After you've had some rest and a meal, we should look into
getting you at least a basic wardrobe and the other things
you'll need. I also texted the chantrymaster, Graham, and let
him know I have a guest, and that he should meet you. I thought
you'd be more comfortable among other mages when I'm working, at
least until we work things out..."
That is said in a vague manner. The idea of 'working things out'
is a distant one, to me. The immediate moment is too full of
this presence in my life, this young woman in need who now seems
to me to be the perfect consort to a death god... and where the
hell did that come from? My brain is doing bizarre things to me.
I need to make it stop before I start making presumptions about
her choices. I don't want her bound to me from obligation.
If someday, she chose me, that would be... indescribable.
Wondrous.
But that's an 'if,' and why the hell am I letting myself think
about that right now?
I offer her my arm again. "Ready. Make sure you hold onto that
coin so you can come back whenever you want." I smile, then, an
easy smile that is sincere and warm.
I have the distinct feeling that my life is now divided between
'before meeting Kaelin' and 'after meeting Kaelin.'
#Post#: 710--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: thesadiecat Date: January 9, 2025, 11:39 am
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/19375c31-0259-4371-a458-273544dbf932.jpg[/img][/float][center]Kaelin<br
/>Saint
Now winter has come and I stand in the snow
I don't feel the cold
And it's all that I will ever need to believe
One day I know we will meet again
In shade of a life to die for
[hr]
Persephone Incarnate[/center]
[hr]
Maybe someday, I’ll be able to break my habit of apologizing for
every little thing. That he doesn’t make a big deal of my
apology, by either accepting or denying it outright, makes me
think that maybe, just maybe, he really didn’t mind waiting for
me. I’m happier for it. I couldn’t abide if he felt I were
some kind of burden, unwillingly taken on. I shift slightly,
when he wants to fix the length of the pants, but manage to hold
still when he kneels at my feet.
I watch, curious and enchanted to see how he’s going to fix the
pants with no sewing kit or …. Oh.. I can feel the coil of
magic traced by his knife. He never touches me, just the
fabric. The closing of the traced hem is accompanied by a wash
of sensation that ripples up my skin and prompts me to take a
deep breath. The sharpness of a wintery chill, flavored with a
sense of finality. The extra fabric shrinks upward with that
ripple, leaving me with the perfect length.
Even as he stands, proud of his work, I am putting a hand on his
arm to steady myself, as I lift one foot to examine his
handiwork. “That’s amazing and handy! And it’s perfect…” All
too quickly, I realize that I'm perhaps too familiar with him,
and drop my hand from his arm, making myself stand on my own
again. His pride is infectious; his grin even more so.
He hands me these adorable boots as well, solving what he
rightfully saw as a problem. Barefoot in the winter is never a
good thing, and I don’t know how far it might be from his portal
to his home. I cannot remember the last time I smiled this
much. I feel like I’m making up for seasons upon seasons of
sadness right now. I carry the boots and socks over the chair,
to start wriggling into them.
“I was born there. My mother and I lived in a little apartment
outside of Old Town. Things happened, and we had to move when I
was ten.” He speaks of his enjoyment of the seasons, and I look
up after getting both socks on, studying him with a soft smile.
“Winter does seem to suit you. I missed the seasons the most
when we moved away. Aside from how hot it was, and how much
rain we had, there’s not a lot of change in Arizona.” I shrug
and turn my attention back to the boots, gingerly tugging them
on. They fit perfectly and there’s a lingering chill to them
that makes me wonder if he wove the same rote over these. “I
couldn’t pick a favorite season if I tried. There’s beauty in
all of them.”
`
Standing, I take a few experimental steps in my new boots,
sighing in relief. Barefoot might be my preferred way, but
there’s something to be said for an immensely comfortable pair
of boots, especially when your feet hurt in the first place.
When I accept the jacket, I make sure to brush my fingers
against his hand, checking to see if the chill I had felt from
him earlier was a projection of my own cold or.. no, it’s real.
His skin is cold. “Thank you… I suspect you don’t feel the cold
as keenly, do you?” I’m still concerned for his well-being,
even after what I’ve been through. He even helps me into his
jacket.
I don’t admit it aloud, but the idea of sleep sounds divine.
Especially somewhere that I feel I’ll be safe. I reserve
comment about the idea of meeting other mages, or of being
introduced to a chantrymaster. I remind myself that not all
chantrys will be like the Estate, and not all masters will be
like Hierophant. “I like the sounds of that plan.. and I really
don’t need much, Trey. I don’t want to be a burden on you.”
Patting the pocket of the yoga pants, I assure myself I have the
coin, and make a note that a purse or wallet of some kind will
be needed for it. Slipping my hand into his offered arm, I feel
like I’m ready to take on anything. Including building a life
for myself.
They’ll come after me eventually. But I hope it takes them a
while to find me.
#Post#: 711--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: Chance Date: January 9, 2025, 12:50 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/trey019.jpg[/img][/float]
Trey Whitman
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/ooc-info/staff/chance/trey-whitman-2/
The door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
App 3 | Dex 5 [Swift] | Echoes [Cold Aura] | Ambidextrous
[hr]
Her hand lights onto my arm, and I don't mind -- she's steadying
herself, and she's a bit warmer than I am, especially fresh from
a hot shower. My skin feels cool to the touch, as before, almost
like living marble, too soft to be stone, too cold to be flesh.
Her hand drops away and I try not to wish it would return.
She's pleased with the boots, too, which keeps the grin on my
lips. "I use magic for a lot of practical things, as well as the
more serious stuff. Because what's the point in mastering all of
these abilities without using them? It's just..." I shrug and
offer a chuckle. "I was once a god of magic, among other things.
Or part of me was, at least."
I'll let her assemble the truth of that on her own; there's
plenty of time to discuss matters arcane in the time to come,
and I don't want to keep her waiting too long when she looks to
be dead on her feet.
Her mention of youth in Chicago brings forth some recollections
on my part: "Old Town is an interesting place. Lots of ghosts
still linger there. Some of them keep their eyes on the place,
some of them are chained to parts of the living world, or people
they knew who've since grown old."
Ah, guess I just let the cat out of the bag.
"I'm also what they call a psychopomp by vocation. I try to help
the dead find their way back to the cycle to begin anew. Doesn't
always work, but..."
So much for letting her figure it out. I'm pretty sure it won't
put her off, given all she's said. She accepts the jacket back,
and I nods at her question, returning to her earlier statement
first:
"All seasons are beautiful but not all of them are home for me.
I'm sort of... a creature of the dying months. By nature. I'm
always a little colder than the usual person and I don't really
feel the cold much in the winter. I can still get frostbite like
anyone else, but it takes a lot more for it to happen to me."
Her comment about being a burden? I just laugh and shake my
head. "No. Not that, not at all. I spend a lot of time with the
dead, and when I'm not doing that, I'm performing, so... I don't
get much time to just be around people. Or at least, I don't
take much time for it for myself. So this is more helpful for me
than you realize."
Did I say too much? Did I just sound like some kind of creepy,
death-stalking weirdo? Well, I mean, the description fits, so I
should just own it, but I don't want to be offputting. As she
tucks the coin into the pants pocket, and then takes my arm, I
smile, and escort her to the door. The place has quieted down to
emptiness at this point, being somewhere between late-night and
early-morning in the internal circadian of the Cafe, and we're
uninterrupted as we head to the foyer.
Upon reaching there, we're faced with a series of outsized
English-style phone booths, each with a phone with no receiver,
just a number pad. Each both is just big enough for two, and I
lead her to the nearest one. "Tapestry, our chantry, is at 321,"
I tell her, and once we're both inside, I close the door and
punch the numbers in.
A weird feeling of disjunction comes, then passes, in a flash;
once the door opens again, we're inside the backstage area of a
dinner-theatre restaurant, in a large common area where people
would normally gather socially and talk, read, or just hang out.
Bookshelves are available on the walls around us, and the vibe
is very much relaxing, enjoyable, with more than a hint of
hedonism to it in the colors and choice of lounging couches.
There's a sense that there's been more than one wild party here.
There's a young couple curled up together asleep on one large
sofa, but it's otherwise empty for the moment. "Morning hours
are usually pretty quiet here. This is Tapestry's main back
room; there's a lot more but I'll show you when you're not
exhausted."
I do pause, however, and stop at a row of lockers in the
performers' lounge on the way out, grabbing a second jacket from
one of the lockers and donning it. It's a much lighter leather
jacket, not as well-loved, but it'll do in a pinch. I also draw
out a black-and-white patterned scarf and offer it to her,
knowing the cold will be bracing once we step outside.
After taking the back door out, we discover a grey, cold sky,
morning's light spreading across the horizon. I lead the way to
a compact SUV parked there, a black Subaru, which is probably a
few years old but well-tended. I check all my pockets, then
finally find the keys in my jeans pocket. Whew, good thing I
didn't leave them inside somewhere. A little trill from the
remote and the doors unlock for us. I open the passenger door
for her with a smile, and close it softly behind her. Once I
start it up, I turn down the volume on the music to a reasonable
level, and turn up the heat to the max against the 20-degree
temperatures with insane wind-chill.
The music was a 90s Goth band called Switchblade Symphony; the
car had awakened my phone and started the playlist for me. One
of my little magical shortcuts.
"Are you comfortable? It's not far, about 15 minutes or so."
#Post#: 712--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: thesadiecat Date: January 9, 2025, 6:16 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/19375c31-0259-4371-a458-273544dbf932.jpg[/img][/float][center]Kaelin<br
/>Saint
Now winter has come and I stand in the snow
I don't feel the cold
And it's all that I will ever need to believe
One day I know we will meet again
In shade of a life to die for
[hr]
Persephone Incarnate[/center]
[hr]
What’s more unexpected? The casual mention that he was, like
me, once a god? Or the revelation that a piece of his domain
was magic itself? Not the former, I decide. Maybe that’s the
core of our familiarity with each other: we are both gods
wrapped in mortal skin. It’s certainly the domain I find
intriguing. I would have placed him a herald of winter, or
perhaps even one who watched over the darker aspects of Nature.
But magic, no. Though, I know next to nothing of the Rus, so
who’s to say those domains don’t go hand-in-hand among their
culture?
“Ah, now that I can see…” He’s a psychopomp. The piece clicks
into place in my mind. So, in a way, he is as Hermes was to me.
Escorting those Below, to ride the Wheel as it rises them to
new life, and, simultaneously, escorting me from the depths of
captivity, back to freedom. The parallels are stark and
heartening.
“Sometimes the dead just need to rest for a bit, before they are
ready to try again. That’s why we Greeks have the Elysian and
Asphodel Fields after all.” He sounds discouraged that his task
isn’t always fruitful, but sometimes we don’t live to see the
fruits of our labors. Maybe I could tell him, reveal to him who
I am. If he too is a god, no matter who, he’ll understand. But
my tongue remains still, even as he speaks of being a creature
of the dying months. I want to correct him. These months are
not dying, but dormant. A resting phase, originally caused by
my absence in the world. But I even dismiss that thought,
instead choosing to focus on other things.
“Maybe someday, you can teach me the hemming trick? I’m short,
and it would be useful to know! The time I would save sewing…”
It’s meant to be a joke. He’s likely far more advanced than I
could ever hope to aspire to. He’ll probably be disgusted by
just how woefully undereducated I am.
His laugh is mesmerizing. I think this is the first time I’ve
heard it. He assures me that I’m not a burden, but in fact, a
novelty in a way. “I’ve spent the last two years with the same
ten people, so I’m afraid socializing isn’t my strong suit
either. I guess that means we get to practice with each other?”
There is a silent please in my question. I want to become his
friend; I want to learn more about him. I want to hear that
laugh again.
I’m grateful that the Cafe itself has quieted down. I don’t
feel any uncomfortable eyes watching us as we move through the
tables. The waitress even gets a smile as we walk by, and a
silent, mouthed thank you. I will find something to repay her
with later, a small gesture or token. Maybe, if Trey lets me
borrow his kitchen sometime, I can make her a scrub or balm of
some kind. I haven’t wanted to do that in a long, long time.
The foyer is not what I expect, lined with phone booths that
aren’t quite right. I watch avidly as as he explains and
punches the numbers in. I want to commit them to memory, so I
begin to repeat the sequence.
“Three, two, woooo--” That was unexpected! My equilibrium
thinks the small booth is moving even after the door opens.
He’s going to feel the way my fingers tighten on his arm for a
second before I am ready to step out. There’s too much to see,
and my eyes aren’t big enough to take it in fast enough. I even
try to protest about my tiredness, but instead of words, I catch
myself stifling a yawn. I just proved his point.
I will never remember how to get around here. Of course Trey
knows where he’s going, this is his home chantry, and he did say
he was a performer. It’s a lot. Everything I see is luxurious
and opulent, and begs to be touched or petted. But I keep my
hands to myself, one tucked with Trey’s arm, the other curled up
inside the sleeve of his jacket. There are always consequences
for touching things that aren’t yours. Except when they are
handed to you, like this scarf, that I immediately wrap around
my neck, and head, covering my ears, like a pro bundling up
against the cold.
I bounce on my toes a little when we walk outside, because I
haven’t felt the deep cold like this, with the biting winds, in
a long time. My smile is hidden beneath the scarf until we’re
both inside the car, with the heat blasting. I don’t react to
the volume or style of the music in either a positive or
negative way. I simply don’t recognize it, and I pay it little
mind. “This is perfect, thank you.” I instinctively lean
towards the center of the car when I settle fully.
“The city hasn’t changed much,” I observe, raptly watching
what’s outside the windows, revealed by the dawning grey skies.
If I don’t talk, I’m going to fall asleep in the warmth and
motion of the car. And I don’t want to be rude.
#Post#: 713--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: Chance Date: January 10, 2025, 9:40 am
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/trey019.jpg[/img][/float]
Trey Whitman
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/ooc-info/staff/chance/trey-whitman-2/
The door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
App 3 | Dex 5 [Swift] | Echoes [Cold Aura] | Ambidextrous
[hr]
Among the Rus, things were different. We had fewer gods, and we
all took up triple-and-quadruple duty in many ways. Seems
eminently practical to me, but then, it's my milieu, so of
course it will seem 'right.'
She understands what it is to be a psychopomp, and that is
comforting to me. The fact that my deathly nature doesn't
frighten her is some sort of wonder of its own; the same
'creepy' mien that will draw people to me at first pulls them
apart from me over the fullness of time. At least, that's been
my experience. "I know my way around the Shadowlands," I note
with a smile, "And where not to step. I tend to not encroach on
others' territory where possible. Gods are greedy." A laugh
follows that, but it's inherently true.
A light mm greets her words, and I note, "There are so many
worlds beyond, so many afterlives, and which one that a person
ends up in sometimes seems random. Though I've done my best to
get people to the right ones, even when they weren't the ones
I'd've chosen for them." There's so much more beneath the
surface with Kaelin, of that I am certain, but I am not going to
press her for more. She's chosen to trust me, and as a guide for
the dead, I know the weight of true trust. It is a strong but
brittle thing, broken all too easily with a stray word.
Her request makes me nod, with a little chuckle. "Of course.
Practical magic is one of the best ways to learn how to work
without garnering too much backlash, though I admit I'm a little
less careful about Paradox when I'm in the Horizon. Plus... it's
just handy. You never know when you need to fix a broken heel or
something." A pause. "Do you sew for enjoyment? Or just for
practical purposes?"
If she's fond of fibercraft or stitchery, we have a load of
materials backstage, of course, for mending and such, and a lot
of mages tend to have some sort of crafting skill as well. Even
I do -- Weaponsmithing, specifically for knives and some gun
modification and repair. "A lot of us," and I mean *mages* with
those words, rather than gods, "Take up a craft as a means to
weave in the magic. There's a lot of crafters among us."
She is playful but innocent as she comments about practicing our
social skills with one another. I nod, chuckling. "That sounds
good to me. It'll likely take some time to settle back into
something resembling normalcy." It occurs to me that I should
find someone who's a counselor among our kind to help with the
trauma of her ordeal, as well, but that will take some time.
Mages are often terrible about treating our own woes.
Monica grins and waves back, but doesn't interrupt us as we head
out. She likely understands just how overwhelming this all is
for Kaelin.
The booth, the transit, and the overwhelming nature of it all is
probably overloading my new guest, and her stifled yawn proves
she's pretty close to her limit on how much she can handle.
Getting her bundled up and into the car is simple enough; I know
there's just too damn much sensory input, but it's better that
she has it to allow her to have a direct line of memory of when
and how she got to where we're going.
I don't want her to wake in a strange bed, afraid, and at this
rate, I may have to pour her limp form into the spare bed,
because her sense of danger has run out, and now she's just
damned tired.
"Cities change slowly, mostly, on the macro level. On the micro
level, they change daily, but... the overall picture stays much
the same. Unless an unruly cow knocks over a lantern, or a stray
earthquake comes into the picture." I grin at that, turning down
the volume again to make conversation more comfortable. "My
place isn't huge, but there are two bathrooms, so you can pretty
much have that one to yourself. And there's a balcony, so if you
have the urge to freeze while you look at the city, you can do
that. I put a small space heater out there for guests."
Not for me, of course. The cold barely affects me.
"But there's a lot of beauty in this city, too. I have to take
you to Myopic Books sometime. It's a huge used bookstore in the
Wicker Park part of town, and there's some great thrifting
nearby too, if you enjoy that. I sometimes find really great
stuff that needs some work, and then mend it magically. The
Farmer's Market is lovely, too, for all sorts of things. I get
the herbs and spices I use in workings there."
I'm trying to keep her engaged and awake with my tour-guide
patter, but it's all true, as well. I don't know if she has any
money, or... huh.
"Do you have a bank account? We could help you access your money
at a local branch or through an online app for things if so. If
not, don't worry about it, I'm not hurting for cash."
All those years of working, saving without taking a lot of time
or money to do fun things, does add up, after all. But if she
has her own money somewhere, it will make her feel less like
she's having to take charity, and I know from my own experience
that many people raised poor are also proud about handouts.
"My plan for tomorrow -- or, well, later -- is to get you a
phone, some more clothes for winter and spring, and the other
things you need for day-to-day living. Replacements for your
instruments so you can work magic, especially. I don't want you
to skimp on things out of some sense of sparing me the expense,
because I want you to have what you need without struggling."
I'm pretty firm about that, and I add, "I don't expect anything
in return, except that whole pay it forward thing. Someday,
you'll be the one with plenty and will find someone who has
less, and you can pay it to them. It works better for the world
that way, overall. Plus... I never lack for ways to make money
if I want."
I was... am... also a god of wealth.
#Post#: 714--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: thesadiecat Date: January 10, 2025, 11:53 am
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/19375c31-0259-4371-a458-273544dbf932.jpg[/img][/float][center]Kaelin<br
/>Saint
Now winter has come and I stand in the snow
I don't feel the cold
And it's all that I will ever need to believe
One day I know we will meet again
In shade of a life to die for
[hr]
Persephone Incarnate[/center]
[hr]
It’s so easy to talk to him. I feel like I’ve known him
forever, and not just a few hours. The promise of a teaching
opportunity gives me hope that we will actually remain friends,
no matter what comes. He’ll be a first of sorts, the first
friend of my new life, of my adult life, even. “A bit of both,
actually. I learned because of the practicality, but I do enjoy
it. I like.. making things. Seeing parts come together for a
greater whole, you know? There’s a sense of accomplishment to
it.”
He relates it to useful things, especially for those like us,
those who can touch magic and mold it. It’s my turn to laugh
gently. “I’ve been making things since I was old enough to
stand at the stove. My mother used to sell salves, and lotions
and soaps and such to make ends meet. I loved helping her.”
There’s nostalgia and wistfulness there, for a piece of my life
that I haven’t been able to experience in years. “I haven’t
quite figured out the knack of weaving what I know into my
crafts, but… I hope someday to be able to.” I’m watching the
city past the window, my fingers on the chilly glass as I look
at the shuttered shops in the greying dawn’s light. How many
childhood dreams and desires have I lost hold of in the last few
years?
Too many. Persephone and I agree on that much.
“That sounds like a palace in the city!” Two bathrooms? and a
spare room? “Our apartment was one bedroom. One. That I
shared with my mother.” I’d rather focus on the further past,
than my situation of the last few years. The Estate had been
sprawling, and opulent, but it was a prison. I tip my head back
against the seat, and turn my attention to him, instead of out
the window. I feel so grateful and I just don’t have the right
words to express it.
“I love thrift stores! The older generations just had the best
sense of style, elegant and refined without being pretentious.”
I gasp though when he mentions a Farmer’s Market, sitting
forward and leaning towards him, my eyes sparkling. “Please!
Definitely! The Market! They must have fresh fruits and veggies
in the summer and jams and apples in the fall!” I’m
embarrassing myself. At some point, I grabbed his forearm in my
excitement, and as soon as I realize that, I let go. He can
probably understand why I’m excited by the idea, after what I
just told him of my hobbies. For a moment, I cover my burning
cheeks with my hands, trying to will myself to calm down.
“I’m.. I’m sorry. I just… I was supposed to go into the city to
the market with my minders a few days ago, but they didn’t let
me. I was looking forward to it…”
The momentary enthusiasm pops like a balloon. Struck mute for a
moment, I just shake my head to answer his question. It’s
another moment or two before I can figure out how to explain.
“I couldn’t open one without my mother’s signature, and she has
strong feelings about that kind of stuff… and then… I ended up
in Attica…” A little shrug, lost in the size of his jacket, is
meant to dismiss my captivity as rather self-explanatory. “I’ve
never had a lot.. but I’ve never needed a lot. I’m grateful for
everything you’re offering, Trey. You’re going to spoil me…”
I won’t be able to talk him out of what he’s offering. I know I
won’t be able to, so the next best thing I can do is live up to
his hopes. “I promise. I promise I’ll pay it forward,
thricefold. I don’t want you to ever regret helping me.”
#Post#: 715--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: Chance Date: January 10, 2025, 3:40 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
"I do, too, but I don't have a lot in the way of skill with most
kinds of crafts, aside from weaponsmithing. I picked that up not
long after I joined the Euthanatos, because I tend to prefer
knives, and I wanted to work on my own weapons. I can mend
things passably, but I'm better at it with magic than
mundanely."
Meaning, I can't sew worth a shit, and my cooking is largely
limited to take-out and toast. You would think that at my age
I'd managed to pick up those skills, but somehow, I've just
never gotten around to it. Perhaps I should consider doing so.
"Oh, it'll depend on what you're skilled with, and what you're
trying to make, but having skill with inanimate matter helps a
lot. Also, skill with elemental forces. It sounds like you
really enjoyed that," I say, trying to keep her focus on the
happier parts of her memory for now. There will be plenty of
time to recall the pain, and someday, there will be a reckoning,
but for now... better to keep her balanced and content so that
she's able to make her own decisions.
"I've been lucky," I tell her with a small smile, "So I bought
this place a while back. I wanted to have extra room for a
Sanctum, but I wound up with a separate spot within the chantry
for that, so... I don't know. I do some workings at home, but my
work tends to have to be mobile by definition, so it's more
about what I can toss into a backpack or a bag and bring with
me. So the second bedroom is my guest room, not that I often
have guests, so it hasn't seen a lot of use. Though I do freshen
it up periodically to make sure it doesn't get dusty and nasty."
When was the last time? Shit. Was it right before New Year's? I
hope so. Worse comes to worst, I'll put her in my room and crash
on the couch.
It seems the tour guide speech was actually a good idea, because
her enthusiasm is infections and not at all feigned. "Oh, we'll
definitely do that. They tend to have a wide assortment of
things. I've gotten some of my old-style blousy shirts from one
of them that specializes in Goth-style antiques, but that's less
a thrift store, more a consignment shop from estate sales, but
still, beautiful stuff."
And we will hide the price tags from her.
"The Market will be fun, too -- I'll check the hours and the
days when we get home, and I'll see what our order of operations
will end up being." Outings! Gods, when was the last time I had
an outing? I need to get out more, for certain.
And then? Aw, crap. I didn't mean to hit on that sore subject,
but I stepped on it and danced prisiadki-style all over it. "I'm
sorry," I say sincerely, and it hits me how young she must be.
"Um, Kaelin? How old are you? We're going to need to get you
some false ID in any case for your protection, but..."
Please tell me she's an adult or I'm about to feel like the most
disgusting filth imaginable.
"You don't have to need much. It's hardly spoiling to give you
the things you're going to need to function in life, right? And
I trust that you will. I think that seems to be your nature,
giving. I don't think you're as used to accepting things for
yourself, though..."
#Post#: 716--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: thesadiecat Date: January 10, 2025, 8:25 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/27dba44d-f7a4-4c1a-a557-b68cef8135b7.jpg[/img][/float][center]Kaelin<br
/>Saint
Now winter has come and I stand in the snow
I don't feel the cold
And it's all that I will ever need to believe
One day I know we will meet again
In shade of a life to die for
[hr]
Persephone Incarnate[/center]
[hr]
He prefers knives? And is a bladesmith? I won’t ask outright
yet, because I’m still becoming comfortable with the idea of
paying it forward, instead of paying him back, but I may ask him
for a small blade. Something custom. It’s hard to find things
that fit my small hands, and I haven’t had my own ritual athame
since…well, my first escape attempt really. It’s a thought to
be withheld for the time being. My spring self will be bolder
for those kinds of requests.
I have so much to learn. I have known that since I figured out
my reading choices were being restricted at the Estate. I hope
he’s still willing to teach me even after he finds out all the
truths. “I did. Most of my happiest memories were made in the
kitchen with my mother.” Or in the fields of antiquity,
surrounded by nymphs and dryads, under the watchful gaze of
Demeter. In all lives, my childhood was tied by the apron
strings. The freedom he describes, to just pack things and go
somewhere, is a thrilling concept to me.
But more secretly thrilling, something I will never say, never
speak aloud, is a simple turn of phrase that he may think
nothing of: when we get home. I know, rationally, that he
simply means bringing me into his home, as his guest. But there
is an uncoiling of pain inside my chest, like something letting
go. The concept of home, of having a place to call home, has
been lacking in my life for years now. I rub my eyes,
convincing myself that the prickle behind them is just my
tiredness, and my ordeal catching up to me.
He’s forgiven even as he starts to apologize. “It’s okay,
really. I just keep thinking of all these things I’ve missed
out on, that normal people get to do, like opening a bank
account, learning to drive a car… things that are silly, and so
mundane, but rites of passage of a sort nonetheless.” I sigh
softly, and pull my hair over one shoulder to finger-comb the
waves of it meditatively. “I turn nineteen next month.”
Somehow, tha sounds better than telling him I’m only eighteen.
There’s no real difference in the year, but one just sounds
better.
I steal a glance at him, trying to read his expression, trying
to see if this changes what he’s willing to offer. I wonder if
maybe he’ll look at me differently; if he’ll treat me like a
child. I don’t know if that would be better, or worse, than
being recognized for the goddess in my skin, and elevated to a
pedestal. He’s not wrong to suspect that I struggle with the
concept of gifts, especially in my wintertime. To say I have a
complex relationship with the concept of favors and debts owed,
is an understatement.
#Post#: 717--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: Chance Date: January 11, 2025, 9:53 am
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/trey019.jpg[/img][/float]
Trey Whitman
HTML https://anywhere.infinimata.com/ooc-info/staff/chance/trey-whitman-2/
The door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
App 3 | Dex 5 [Swift] | Echoes [Cold Aura] | Ambidextrous
[hr]
I see her eyes light up a bit in the corner of my eye when I
should be paying attention to the road. I force my attention
back into the task at hand, idly thinking that I could
spirit-awaken the car and let it drive its-damn-self if I
wanted. If she wants a weapon, she'll have one. Maybe I'll let
her try a hand on some of the ones I made for the purpose of
selling, before I realized that it's a losing game to try and
sell fine handiwork, even handiwork improved to perfection with
Matter magics.
"Well, since I mostly use the kitchen for coffee, toast, and
reheating take-out, I'm fine with you taking over the area for
your work. Just leave me room for a coffeemaker somewhere." I
grin, but I'm not kidding. My kitchen is pristine, largely for
the reasons mentioned above. My collection of cookware is a sad,
sad tribute to minimalism. Typical bachelor, some might say. I
do clean my place regularly, both for Jhor and dirt, because I
like a clean home. The eternal flame hasn't been lit in a long
time, but maybe with her there, I can get a Domovik to come and
help out again.
She rubs her eyes and I just think that all the planning will
have to wait, because she will need sleep, and probably lots of
it, given the ordeal she's been through. She's young, though,
and the young recover quickly.
I'll DoorDash some groceries and make an attempt to make
breakfast. They have recipes for stuff online, right? Online,
nobody will laugh at me for not knowing how to make breakfast.
My apology's already accepted, and offer a wry smile in return.
"Well," I say with a cheerful tone, "You'll still have those
things. Just not when you might have otherwise expected them.
And I think we're going to give you another name, legally, which
will take a little time, but in the interim, I'll give you cash
to work with. Long term, it's actually better to pay for things
digitally, so you can always keep track of accounts. It makes
life easier to have it all in one place, in my opinion. But yes.
Your first bank account, learning to drive... things that will
definitely happen."
When she announces that she's nineteen, I relax a little.
Somehow it feels less creepy to know I'm putting up someone
college-aged than a 'teenager.' I mean, she's still a teenager,
but point taken, right? "Oh, good, we'll have a party for you of
some sort. By then, everyone will have met you and we can have
an excuse to do a celebration. When you meet Graham, you'll
understand why I say that. He's very much a party guy, but not
in a bad way. He's just... delightful, really. Handsome, too, if
you are partial to dark-haired and Goth looking."
Which could also describe me, but Graham is... well. Graham is a
gorgeous creature, and I still to this day do not know why I
haven't tripped him into my bed. I tend more toward women, but
Graham is the exception to everyone's rule. His nature explains
that, of course. But I'll not get into that, it's his to share.
She's not a child; I don't start to act like she is one. I
guessed her for about college-age, so I was right on target, but
the older I get, the harder it becomes to guess the ages of the
young.
I hit the blinker, and then turn into an underground parking lot
beneath an apartment building with balconies off each of the
flats. I pull into a spot close to the elevator (I pay extra for
that convenience, believe me), and turn off the engine.
"Well, we're here. We're on the 9th floor." I chose the floor,
even, because nine is a number of completion, and as a result,
speaks of Death and the Wheel in its symbology. I slide out of
my side, then walk around to open her door for her.
I'll need a spare keycard for the elevator, and eventually, a
second parking spot, but those are things I can worry about when
the need arises. Worst comes to worst, she can come in through
the front door until I get the spare keycard, but I want her to
feel like she's free to go and come as she pleases, that she is
free to walk around, see the sights, get the feel of the city in
her feet.
I extend my arm to her again, shutting the car door behind her,
and then unlock the elevator with the keycard, holding that door
for her as well when it opens. If she has seen such things, this
is a relatively tony sort of place, far more posh than it would
seem from my attire. Not quite 'multi-millionaires' territory,
but definitely well into the 'upscale' description.
"The building is called the Shelby," I explain to her. "We're
currently in the neighborhood known as South Loop, which is
right near the theatre district. That's where Tapestry is. I'll
show you my Sanctum sometime soon as well, that's in an
apartment on the same block as the chantry."
I wanted my own working space, because I tend to accumulate Jhor
more than most mages, and I have to purify the area quite
regularly. But I won't get into that just yet... she's already
heard some of my god-nature and not panicked, but being faced
with 'Yeah, I'm actually a piece of a genuine Rus death god' is
not exactly an easy pill to swallow. I know this from
experience.
Your loss, Catherine.
The elevator chimes softly when we reach nine, and I escort her
to 901, which is a corner front apartment, its balcony facing
out onto the street. It's high up enough to give a measure of
privacy and a decent city view from the windows, and all of the
rooms except the baths have windows.
[img
width=600]
HTML https://resource.rentcafe.com/image/upload/q_auto,f_auto,c_limit,w_1140/s3/2/58324/shb-c1-n.jpg[/img]
The floor is a dark hardwood as we enter the tiny foyer; there's
a full-length mirror mounted on the facing wall with a small
utility table beside it for keys and such. I dump my keys
dutifully into a catchall dish made from deep blue porcelain
with the designs of stars and the moon on it, and then divest
myself of my coat, placing it into the closet. True to my words,
I do have several coats of varying fanciness and wear, and
there's room for her-my coat in there as well.
A small bench near the closet gives me a place to sit and pull
off my boots, which I place on the closet shoe rack.
I then lead the way into the apartment on socked feet; the dark
wood is the color of loam beneath my black socks, and the walls
are a creamy white, soft enough not to be stark.
The large single-room main area has a kitchen, a small dining
table, and the living room, as well as floor-to-ceiling windows.
To one side is the glass door opening onto the balcony on the
right. The furnishings are done not in pure black as one might
expect, but dark woods with deep blue, charcoal, and an
occasional accent of pale gold and red. Not quite funereal, but
close.
On the walls are photographs of natural sights, including one
colorful close-up of a slice of a geode. Some are views of
Chicago, some appear to be other places. Most of them are places
I've lived over the years, and the cars and signs are dated by
their nature.
I motion to the doors on the left; there is a bathroom done in
white with deep midnight and sky blue accents, modern and
exquisite with quartz counters with pretty gold and silver
inclusions in the stone. Next to it is the guest room, which is
painted in a muted, dreamy blue, with a queen bed spread with a
velvet quilt in deep blue, rich royal purple, and the color of
good wine. It's clearly a handmade piece. Beneath it are dark
blue linens and at least two other blankets of the same hue,
along with several plush pillows.
On the floor are jewel-toned Turkish rugs to match the hue of
the comforter, and the lamps are simple with dark shades and
clear-glass bodies. It hasn't been decorated to the degree of
the rest of the place, but that just leaves more room for
alterations.
The door to the master bedroom is open, and it looks out on the
balcony with floor-to-ceiling sliders with half-opened dark blue
velvet drapes. The room is painted a midnight hue, saved from
being too dark by strings of fairy lights overhead, twinkling
whimsically. I don't always turn them on, but I'm glad I left
them on this time on accident, because they soften up the room a
bit.
It's a little chilly in the apartment; I move to adjust the
thermostat. I don't usually keep it that warm, because the cold
doesn't much bother me, but I want Kaelin to be comfortable
here.
"I can loan you a shirt for sleeping in. I think my pants won't
fit, but... hrm. the pajama pants do have a drawstring. That
could work. That way you don't have to sleep in the one set of
clothes you have right now."
Which we will fix once she's awake again and ready.
I go into the bedroom, fishing around in the dresser before
coming forth with a plain soft-cotton pair of black pants and a
black t-shirt. Yes, my wardrobe is a little monochromatic, what
of it?
#Post#: 718--------------------------------------------------
Re: [From Tapestry] Throwing Knives
By: thesadiecat Date: January 11, 2025, 3:15 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[float=right max=45%][img
width=300]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/27dba44d-f7a4-4c1a-a557-b68cef8135b7.jpg[/img][/float][center]Kaelin<br
/>Saint
Now winter has come and I stand in the snow
I don't feel the cold
And it's all that I will ever need to believe
One day I know we will meet again
In shade of a life to die for
[hr]
Persephone Incarnate[/center]
[hr]
“Another name? Like, a fake identity?” I never thought of
that. If my name is different, it could make it harder for
anyone to find me through mundane methods. I try to think of
what I’ve left behind in my rooms that might let someone scry
for me. Nothing there was ever really mine though, but I wonder
just how much a sense of ownership plays into those kinds of
sympathetic magics. I worry my lower lip while I ponder these
things, even as Trey is promising to help secure my
independence. There are so many things I didn’t even think
about when I had been desperately plotting escape. Factors that
I had never considered. Like something as fundamental as money,
identity… I realize now, when I opened that door, my only focus
was on getting away, not any of the consequences that could have
happened after.
“You’d… do that? Throw a party for my birthday? I think I’d
like that…” Dark-haired and Goth-looking? The lettering on
Trey’s shirt uses that term, and I certainly think he’s
handsome, with those soulful eyes and dark hair. Hopefully,
he’s watching the road and not my cheeks turning pink as the
thought crossed my mind. My tongue sticks to the roof of my
mouth, keeping me from weighing in verbally on that. There’s no
harm in thinking it? Right?
My attention is pulled back outside the car as we turn into a
structure, the natural rising sunlight replaced by artificial
incandescents. I’m looking at all the other cars, evidence of
all the people that live in this same building. I’ve barely
managed to unfasten my seat belt when he’s opening my door for
me. It’s silly to be this entranced by old-fashioned gestures
like that. But, taking his arm again, not only feels natural,
it feels like something my mother would actually approve of.
Either mother.. both mothers.
I watch him on the ride up in the elevator, as he tells me the
name of the building, and the neighborhood we’re in, both things
will be handy when I’m feeling brave enough to explore the city.
It might take a little while to reach that point though. The
hallway is clean between the elevator and his apartment; the
carpet nice and the walls fresh. Compared to the hazy memories
of my early childhood, this is indeed a palace in the sky.
I can’t look everywhere at once… There’s too much to see when
we’re in his apartment, too many things that I want to be
curious about. I hesitate to shed his borrowed jacket. It
still feels like a layer of armor to protect myself with, a
shelter that I can fold into if I need to. But, I will follow
his lead when it comes to the little boots, not wanting to track
any lingering snow or dirt through his neat and tidy space.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but… this… is beautiful.
Each room that I peek into has personality and character, the
colors complementary, some warm and some cool. Jewel-tones and
beautiful deep blues. So different from my spartan, homespun
childhood, or the stark, clinical elegance of the Estate. I
might need a step stool to climb into that bed…
By the time he’s talking about something to sleep in, I’ve
peeked into every open door. (His room has twinkling stars
overhead!) I’ve circled back around to take a closer look at
some of the photographs. There’s no pictures of family, no one
that seems to be a loved one… just places, some recognizable,
others not so. There’s also no plants… lots of stone and metal
accents, but no living pots. Which is probably a blessing,
since most everything is forced to somulescence during my winter
time.
The photograph of the geode has my attention when he approaches
with clothes for me. The detail of the ever-tightening pattern
of crystals has managed to ensnare my overtired brain to the
point of fascination. It takes the soft prompting of my name to
get my attention, and even then, I startle, taking an
instinctive step back away from him. The shock passes quickly,
and once my heart is out of my throat, I’m able to accept the
clothes without any traces of fear.
“I’m sorry.. I just… your home is lovely, but I think..I think
I should probably try to sleep.” As if acknowledging how tired
I feel is a trigger, I struggle to stifle a yawn, and lose,
eventually hiding my face in the collar of his borrowed jacket.
I want to ask him to not let me sleep all day long, but
something tells me he wouldn’t wake me if I asked him to.
Instead of asking to hug him, I hug the clothes he handed me to
my chest, and smile sheepishly. It’s an awkward moment, where
I’m not sure if I should bid him good night, or thank you, so I
end up just being tongue-tied and retreating towards the guest
room he showed me.
*****************************************************
DIR Previous Page
DIR Next Page