718 Vhalar 9...
By midtrial, there was not a soul in the city that hadn’t heard the news in some form or another. While the specifics were as varied as the people who communicated them, there was a universal, ubiquitous, and uneasy singular truth: there were Creepborne within the city.
When he had returned the night before and relayed the events that had occurred so unexpectedly on the outskirts of Lair, the Madame Graciana Moreno had insisted he bathe and retire to bed immediately. He had heard the front door lock, signalling her midnight departure, long before he’d even finished drawing up his hot water. He had spent most of the night staring up into the darkness of his ceiling, the thought of sleep drowned out by questions and queries and, most of all, a quiet, calm statement of repeated inadequacy.
He had very nearly lost. More than that, he’d been taken completely by surprise. His entire life, from the moment it had begun, freed of the fetters of family, had been dedicated solely to the perfection of his self. Progress did not come without failure, and he was no stranger to it – only… he was. In the sense that no one had ever died as a direct result of his own inaction.
Murder was one thing. Death was entirely intentional. Hunting was the same. Graciana aside, people were objects, as much a thing as a book or a cloud or a stone. Some were interesting, some were not. That they lived and died was natural, and he had never felt guilt from helping anyone meet their end. Neither did he did feel guilt now.
He felt frustrated.
To say he felt anything at all would be to wander into the tentative realm of misnomers and half-truths; he was not directly upset at his blunder. It caused him no emotional discomfort. Instead, his mind refused to allow him the dull, whispering semi-silence it so often relapsed into when it was time to rest, to dream, to allow time its strange journey, removed yet not removed. No, instead his mind was loud – filled with scenario after scenario.
Scenarios that had churned and seethed since he’d left the dismembered pieces of the creatures in that dark alley halted now, for the first time, as the wide-shouldered, tired-eyed man before him knit his brows and nodded, slowly but promisingly reflective. “Now, mind you, I can’t be certain if it were her,” he mumbled, lips barely moving for no other reason than that he was a lazy speaker, “but if you’re askin’ for the same lady who I’m think’ of-“
Though Mathias understood it was common to react with impatience and annoyance when one was inconvenienced by slow speech or any other character hindrance to one’s goals, he opted instead to simply stare blankly at the man’s eyes – as the man refused to make direct eye contact. He was too tired to piece together the proper masks for any situations but where it would save him a good deal of trouble, but more than that, he’d never personally had much success in presenting as frustrated. Most times it either seemed to increase the likelihood of others’ mistakes or made them as aggravated as him or even more so.
“-and I think you are.” He tapped his nose, not really smiling, but lightening his expression a tad – though why that might be the case, Mathias had not the foggiest of ideas. “Well, I saw her – what was it?”
“Excuse me?”
“What was it again? Her name?” The concern in his voice was genuine but worn. It seemed he’d not gotten much sleep the night before either, though why, again, Mathias could only imagine – not that he tried.
“Graciana.” It was irrelevant, but it was clear the other man seemed to think the opposite, so he stoically offered the information in spite of himself.
“Graciana, yes… she looked like that. Like a Graciana, I mean.”
Mathias supposed, more as a passing thought than a true consideration, the man’s dark circles beneath his eyes and generally scattered mind were a result of an indulging visit to the same quarter of the city Mathias had visited last night. Though he imagined the man had had a far more sensual and altogether pleasing excursion in comparison.
“Have you heard, by the by?” His voice lowered and he leaned forward out of his doorway, one hand clinging to the smooth stone the frame and the other’s finger curling in a gesture that Mathias bridge the gap. He did not. “There’s talk, you know, about-“
“Yes. I am aware, thus my urgency in wishing to locate the Madame.” He spoke quickly, evenly, and tried to clip the words a bit more than usual. Perhaps a presentation of irritability would serve him well with the cotton-headed man before him after all.
“-about the Creepborne?” Perhaps not. “They said,” he continued, whispering loud enough that it matched the casual volume he’d been at before – only it was a whisper, so every syllable was harsh and hoarse. “They’re in the city!”
“Oh. How alarming.” One last time. “Have you seen the woman I asked after or not?”
“Who? Oh! Graciana, you mean?” The manner in which he spoke her name sounded for all the world as if he and she were old friends. Ludicrous as it seemed, he supposed it wasn’t impossible for them to know one another – merely improbable. With a terse nod, he suggested that yes that was the woman he meant.
The man nodded in turn. “Yes. Yes I- I did. I know I did. She walked by here like a-“ his hand rotated on his wrist as his eyes moved skyward, searching for the word he couldn’t – and didn’t – remember, “Like a… you know. Those birds the… the tall ones?”
“A… heron?”
“Yes! A heron. Like a heron, because of her hair- oh! A hair-on, do you see?” He chuckled.
Whatever the man had taken in Lair seemed to still have some claim over him. With another nod, Mathias chose not to address the play on words. “Thank you for your time. I will try elsewhere.”
Before he could move more than a single step, however, a large hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling him back with insistence. “No, wait! I-I did see her!”
Blank-faced, Mathias blinked three times in rapid succession before he carefully allowed a single, “And?”
“And… it’s just I… I’m trying to remember, right? She… she went down the way, but there was someone with her. They were talkin’; talkin’ loud, you know? Not a fight but-“ The man winced as if thinking had suddenly become physically painful. “’Plenty’. I know she said ‘plenty’.”
Quirking a brow to display a modicum of interest, Mathias ventured, “Was it ‘plenty’ or ‘Plenty’?”
“…Plenty? Or… maybe it was just ‘plenty’… what bugger was in charge of namin’ stuff, anyhow?”
It was close enough and more direction than he’d had for most of the early afternoon when he had started his inquiries. While not necessarily a rule, Graciana rarely ever left the house without leaving behind a note – either upon a piece of paper or left it directly with him through way of voice – as to when she would, ideally, return. With everything so uncertain within the city, he preferred to at least know where she was – and, better, what it was she was doing.
By midtrial, there was not a soul in the city that hadn’t heard the news in some form or another. While the specifics were as varied as the people who communicated them, there was a universal, ubiquitous, and uneasy singular truth: there were Creepborne within the city.
When he had returned the night before and relayed the events that had occurred so unexpectedly on the outskirts of Lair, the Madame Graciana Moreno had insisted he bathe and retire to bed immediately. He had heard the front door lock, signalling her midnight departure, long before he’d even finished drawing up his hot water. He had spent most of the night staring up into the darkness of his ceiling, the thought of sleep drowned out by questions and queries and, most of all, a quiet, calm statement of repeated inadequacy.
He had very nearly lost. More than that, he’d been taken completely by surprise. His entire life, from the moment it had begun, freed of the fetters of family, had been dedicated solely to the perfection of his self. Progress did not come without failure, and he was no stranger to it – only… he was. In the sense that no one had ever died as a direct result of his own inaction.
Murder was one thing. Death was entirely intentional. Hunting was the same. Graciana aside, people were objects, as much a thing as a book or a cloud or a stone. Some were interesting, some were not. That they lived and died was natural, and he had never felt guilt from helping anyone meet their end. Neither did he did feel guilt now.
He felt frustrated.
To say he felt anything at all would be to wander into the tentative realm of misnomers and half-truths; he was not directly upset at his blunder. It caused him no emotional discomfort. Instead, his mind refused to allow him the dull, whispering semi-silence it so often relapsed into when it was time to rest, to dream, to allow time its strange journey, removed yet not removed. No, instead his mind was loud – filled with scenario after scenario.
Scenarios that had churned and seethed since he’d left the dismembered pieces of the creatures in that dark alley halted now, for the first time, as the wide-shouldered, tired-eyed man before him knit his brows and nodded, slowly but promisingly reflective. “Now, mind you, I can’t be certain if it were her,” he mumbled, lips barely moving for no other reason than that he was a lazy speaker, “but if you’re askin’ for the same lady who I’m think’ of-“
Though Mathias understood it was common to react with impatience and annoyance when one was inconvenienced by slow speech or any other character hindrance to one’s goals, he opted instead to simply stare blankly at the man’s eyes – as the man refused to make direct eye contact. He was too tired to piece together the proper masks for any situations but where it would save him a good deal of trouble, but more than that, he’d never personally had much success in presenting as frustrated. Most times it either seemed to increase the likelihood of others’ mistakes or made them as aggravated as him or even more so.
“-and I think you are.” He tapped his nose, not really smiling, but lightening his expression a tad – though why that might be the case, Mathias had not the foggiest of ideas. “Well, I saw her – what was it?”
“Excuse me?”
“What was it again? Her name?” The concern in his voice was genuine but worn. It seemed he’d not gotten much sleep the night before either, though why, again, Mathias could only imagine – not that he tried.
“Graciana.” It was irrelevant, but it was clear the other man seemed to think the opposite, so he stoically offered the information in spite of himself.
“Graciana, yes… she looked like that. Like a Graciana, I mean.”
Mathias supposed, more as a passing thought than a true consideration, the man’s dark circles beneath his eyes and generally scattered mind were a result of an indulging visit to the same quarter of the city Mathias had visited last night. Though he imagined the man had had a far more sensual and altogether pleasing excursion in comparison.
“Have you heard, by the by?” His voice lowered and he leaned forward out of his doorway, one hand clinging to the smooth stone the frame and the other’s finger curling in a gesture that Mathias bridge the gap. He did not. “There’s talk, you know, about-“
“Yes. I am aware, thus my urgency in wishing to locate the Madame.” He spoke quickly, evenly, and tried to clip the words a bit more than usual. Perhaps a presentation of irritability would serve him well with the cotton-headed man before him after all.
“-about the Creepborne?” Perhaps not. “They said,” he continued, whispering loud enough that it matched the casual volume he’d been at before – only it was a whisper, so every syllable was harsh and hoarse. “They’re in the city!”
“Oh. How alarming.” One last time. “Have you seen the woman I asked after or not?”
“Who? Oh! Graciana, you mean?” The manner in which he spoke her name sounded for all the world as if he and she were old friends. Ludicrous as it seemed, he supposed it wasn’t impossible for them to know one another – merely improbable. With a terse nod, he suggested that yes that was the woman he meant.
The man nodded in turn. “Yes. Yes I- I did. I know I did. She walked by here like a-“ his hand rotated on his wrist as his eyes moved skyward, searching for the word he couldn’t – and didn’t – remember, “Like a… you know. Those birds the… the tall ones?”
“A… heron?”
“Yes! A heron. Like a heron, because of her hair- oh! A hair-on, do you see?” He chuckled.
Whatever the man had taken in Lair seemed to still have some claim over him. With another nod, Mathias chose not to address the play on words. “Thank you for your time. I will try elsewhere.”
Before he could move more than a single step, however, a large hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling him back with insistence. “No, wait! I-I did see her!”
Blank-faced, Mathias blinked three times in rapid succession before he carefully allowed a single, “And?”
“And… it’s just I… I’m trying to remember, right? She… she went down the way, but there was someone with her. They were talkin’; talkin’ loud, you know? Not a fight but-“ The man winced as if thinking had suddenly become physically painful. “’Plenty’. I know she said ‘plenty’.”
Quirking a brow to display a modicum of interest, Mathias ventured, “Was it ‘plenty’ or ‘Plenty’?”
“…Plenty? Or… maybe it was just ‘plenty’… what bugger was in charge of namin’ stuff, anyhow?”
It was close enough and more direction than he’d had for most of the early afternoon when he had started his inquiries. While not necessarily a rule, Graciana rarely ever left the house without leaving behind a note – either upon a piece of paper or left it directly with him through way of voice – as to when she would, ideally, return. With everything so uncertain within the city, he preferred to at least know where she was – and, better, what it was she was doing.
