Braedyn

"This is what you do, isn't it? You should be HAPPY... i'm just helping keep your business going."

The curve of the vial against his fingers was familiar. The slight sheen to the contents, haunting. He worked the stopper out, dabbing a finger to the mana, testing it to his tongue. The quality was good, but not the best. He didn't detect anything strange about it, but he knew if there was-- he'd feel it soon enough.

Without hesitation, he emptied the rest down the sink drain. He repeated the gesture with the remaining two vials.

"This is what you do, isn't it?"

The bottle of red liquor was next, foul contents mingling with what lingered in the basin of his sink. The empty bottles lined the counter. When the last drop was gone, he swept his arm along the length of them, sweeping them all into the dustbin. The shattering of glass was jarring, but somehow cathartic.

(( Context can be found here: www.rp-haven.com/blog/fortune/faithful ))

Slumped over the table in the kitchen of the shop, Braedyn ran a finger over the half full vial of mana as her eyes swam over the faint glow of the liquid. She could hear his voice. Every time she let her head rest on her arms, she still heard his voice. 'I want to know why.' In that smooth, rounded accent that made her heart flutter, and could so easily make her knees weak. Her ears twitched to hear it. But now, the memory of that voice was making her stomach clench and waves of guilt almost made her forget the rolling nausea.

Why. Her jaw tightened and she flinched before laying her throbbing head back onto the table. She loved Fortune. He had been nothing but good to her lately, if working too much to see her for much more than a kiss good night.

"If you are not faithful to me in your heart, leave."

"Fortune--"

"LEAVE!"

The clicking of heels against tile woke him, though he didn't open his eyes until the sound ceased, leaving only the pounding in his head. He felt her cool hand against his forehead, pushing the hair away. His voice croaked, "Braedyn?"

"No," She said, and he opened his eyes, the light blinding him. It muted and blurred her colors. "Charlotte." His eyes adjusted to the light, seeing the concern etched on her face, but also the subtle wrinkling of her nose as she pushed his hair from his face. "For gods sake, you're a mess, Fortune. Come on, then..." She pulled her hand away, stooping over the tub to hook him under his arms and help pull him to his feet. "...that's right, get up nice and easy, Fortune... did you sleep in here all night? You've ruined that vest... oh... no... be careful there, you'll slip..."

Hush, hush.

She had been frantic when she had burst through the door, nearly hysterical-- it had taken him several minutes to calm her down enough to get her to talk coherently. When he could finally make sense of what she was saying, Braedyn's words sent a chill down his spine. Still, as she chattered on and gulped breaths, he sat her down and took it in stride. She had seen the tauren druid in Silvermoon-- practically on the stoop. She had given chase, but the cat had slipped away and melted into shadows, lost to them. Now, Braedyn clamored for action-- should they move again? What if Fedora was in the city? What would they do if-- if -- if...

Hush, hush.

There’s flour in her hair, near the pins. Scents of cinnamon and nutmeg cookies.

Something else lingered, too. Sweet, with a hint of citrus. It made her think on picnics and Thursday afternoons.

She carried the cookies toward Fortune's home where a crowd of not-quite-family waited.

In the shop, a lemon cake waited.

Continued from "Pocket"

Artisania Stillwater-Ell’Karan wrote furiously.

She had taken a day to think it over.  In part, she had done so to allow the initial wave of intense curiosity to pass, so as not to be caught in any vague net of obsession cast forth by the thing.  But she had also let the time pass in order to structure her thoughts, her presentation, her angle of attack.  After all, it wasn’t every day one felt the need to convince another that what appeared to be a simple umbrella was actually a high-powered rifle, locked and loaded and ready to kill.  

Or, more accurately, that a book was a pocket.

Journal Entry:  Day 7 of Leaving Home

It's late, I'm being distracted by a couple of troll guys arguing here at the hostel, and I think I might be slightly stoned.  So if I miss a word, yeah, that's why.

Today I made a fool out of myself, again.  But, to my credit, I managed to pack it all into a single evening, after a day killing ooze, people that used to be ooze (or is it ooze that used to be people, I'm not sure), scrubbing squirrels, babysitting trees, and cleaning Tauren barf off my gear in Felwood.  Mother would be so proud.  Not.

Right, so I was at Felwood, and some guy there talked to this night elf chick, who told him that this deader dude's orc friend's cousin's boyfriend mentioned some cupcake hangout that happened every week over in Silvermoon.  Decided I needed a break and headed over there once I got a chance just to hang, and see what the city life was all about.  After all, after watching some freaked out Tauren regurgitate, who wouldn't be in the mood for a good cupcake?  Besides, liable to be some hot chicks floating around, you know, because after all, cupcakes and chit-chat are a girl's best friend.  Mostly chit-chat.  Probably.

It's been a while, dearest friends, since last she's been about.

Such monotony, you've missed her deeply, can't allow that to play-out.

The Queen's Keeper does yet wander, appearing within the crowd.

Eyes flicker, always watching, the flashy and the loud.

A slow smile, a demure glance, she'll inquire casually.

They have the same hair--that light blonde, with a hint of gold, just enough to give them color and not wash them out. She’s lovely. Not one of those beauties to make women feel small. Just ... lovely. Warm. The kind of loveliness you want to be around, not tear down or put on a pedestal. She looks very peaceful, but I know better, from what Lucas has told me. She looks like she’s sleeping. I wonder if she dreams. Maybe she is. If so, I hope they’re pleasant. It’s like one of the fairy stories. The one about the sleeping princess. ... She just needs her prince to come and wake her up.

My hand shakes as I knock. It’s a weak knock, but it would feel wrong not to knock, today. I had come straight here when I’d arrived back in the city. Another day and I would have slipped my key into the lock and entered. I hadn’t knocked in months. After all--...

I don’t finish my thought, already rebelling against reality. It just felt wrong, today, not to knock.

The door opens a crack, and he’s surprised. He opens it further and his smile is forced, confusion and already wary. He knows I wouldn’t have knocked, normally. “Braedyn... I wasn’t...” He trails off before motioning me in. “Do you need any help with your bag?”

((Due to a RL issue, I will be unable to attend Fancy Cakes, I'm guessing. Honestly, I am not quite sure how long it will be. Right now, planning on two weeks, but it may be more, it may only be the next event. I would encourage everyone to keep coming and RPing! Your support has been great over the last year+, and I would hate to see my absence have any kind of impact.

Xiuh plans to host Cakes the coming week, and we may have another temporary server lined up to help her soon, if my absence is lengthy.))

____________________________________

Zeik had been poisoned.

Saviero had been manhandled and forced to overdose on mana.

And he was in jail.

His back was leaned against the shimmering wall of the cell, his eyes fixed on a tile. He could ignore the guard that circled the enclosure, could ignore his look of contempt and could ignore the fact that he had been shoved into the cell like common rabble. He couldn't ignore the fact that he was in this predicament. You know better. You know to control your emotions. He was, now, eyes slightly glassy, hyper focused. Despite this unfortunate stumble, he was aware of the game and was playing keenly. "Know your enemy," his father had instructed on more than one occasion. "Know them better than your friend."

Master Kerwin,

I am writing this letter to you shortly after being released from a jail cell I spent my night in. My crime? Being a good friend. I'll explain sir, in hopes you will be able to right the wrongs that have been taking place within the city as of late.

My involvement in these matters took place a week ago at Fancy Cakes. A good friend of mine, one Fortune Velstand, was targeted by a sinister witch named Shryndael. I know you know of her sir, as do most for having an unsavory history within our Kingdom. While everyone was enjoying themselves, she was tucked away secretly plotting against my friend.

It was the colors that hurt him the most.

They were so intensely bright and he couldn't squint his eyes against them.

He felt anger and frustration but it was all trapped inside a cage of synthetic peace, induced by the heavy dosage of mana he had received.

And just when he was trying to get clean.

"Just stay calm, young man.  We'll take care of you," he heard a chorus of soothing voices say. They were above him, beside him, below him; everywhere. He wanted to scream, but only a moan came out. The straps binding him to the bed were tight, and held him down against the throes of withdrawal that were already beginning to hit him. The mana was good quality, but it wasn't meant to last. It offered an intense psychedelic high, but the crash was rough. 

He felt tiny bugs crawling under his skin. He watched them head down his chest, into his nether regions. He sobbed and screamed alternately.

‘Finally!  Baker Braedyn has been found.’  Ari’ella had heard rumor of the baker’s homecoming.

From a distance, it took Ari a moment before she spotted the blonde woman on the shop‘s front stoop since her hair had been dramatically shortened.  It seemed there was a moment of dispersion among the patrons that usually crowded the shop so she fished out the sealed scroll she had been waiting weeks to deliver and strolled across the Royal Exchange.  She climbed to the top of the steps, careful not to trip over the long skirts of her herbalist’s robe and leaned against the wall several paces away from the shop’s door. 

I hate cleaning the fish tank. Pirahnas leave the most disgusting reddish-brown waste behind after a large meal, and having to mind-control fish requires a lot of effort. Small brain, and it's hard to think that basic. I'd prefer to have flesh left on my arm, though.

The tank was almost cleaned - glass scrubbed, pebbles washed, plants replanted, new water and fish added - when Fortune arrived. He checked out the house but couldn't find out how an assassin got in either. I could see it rattled him, though. He is a protector sort. He promised to protect me, and he failed. And he failed to my cousin, a woman he despises.

I wonder how much he would despise me if he knew I was the one who provided her with the drugged wine, that year past? But it is not something to come up.

There had been no rest in the long hours since he'd received the letter.

Sheared locks belonged to her head. His suspicions had already been confirmed, but this propelled him to relentless action. They warned him away, vaguely wording that if he persisted there would be an accident. How excruciatingly unwise of the Solancer family-- the accident would be their own. He scoured the countryside while Xiuhteena toiled in the city to pinpoint the area for him.

((Fancy Cakes IS back to normal this coming Sunday, August 29th! See you there hopefully!

This is late! But that's nothing unusual for me. The events here are just before: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/boss/back))

For her, the most disconcerting thing was that she could never be sure she was alone when she woke. Night or day, it could be quiet for long stretches, as it often was, and then, seemingly at random, He might start asking her questions without any preamble. Sometimes it was well over an hour, sometimes just a moment.

“What do you know about the Velstand informants? Can you name them?”

[Large image below the break]

Fortune Velstand receives the following letter in today's mail:

The contours of her living space were familiar to him. He surprised himself; he knew his way around without dwelling long on it. His hands knew each piece of furniture, knew which finicky drawer would grind unless opened a certain way. His hands knew the humble thread of the sheets. His hands knew that the layer of dust was the only thing out of place, the only thing that didn't belong. Even he had his place. The dust, the stranger that betrayed that life hadn't existed here. It was wrong. Life belonged here. The dust strangulated everything.

[Image below break, refers to events at Fancy Cakes last night]

Wednesday

((Late update compared to entries by others!

Braedyn's predicament isn't exactly public, though her disappearance is mysterious and unprecedented, but cause for concern (and gossip!) is likely if you attended Cakes last week. And her last name, as mentioned in this blog, is NOT general public knowledge, I appreciate your discretion between OoC knowledge and IC knowledge. ))

Very early on Saturday morning...

What had started as uneven shuffling metamorphosed into a brisk stroll in the cool morning air. Subconsciously, he tucked in bits of shirt wrangled loose in the night before and brushed off his sleeves to remove the wrinkles in vain. It wasn't a long walk to Fancy Cakes but this morning, with so few people about and the city so still for a change, it felt otherwise. Corridors seemed to stretch out like imagery from a nightmare, the light at their ends unreachable. He slowed to a stop, leaning himself against the wall. He hadn't meditated yesterday or the day before, the magic saturating the air playing tricks on his mind. He had been far too busy with Braedyn's cake, far too busy with waiting. His eyes scanned the archway hanging over him like a pendulum, the city itself acting as his enemy. Closing his eyes, he breathed.

A breath to clear his head.

A breath to settle his nerves.

A breath to calm is mind.

It had been easy to sneak away in the twilight-like hours where night rolled over to morning.

Xiuhteena was missing, left to visit a friend. Fine with him. There was only so much of her he could stand. In his volatile state, the threshold was much lower. Even Koina needed to rest sometime; it had been possible to sneak past her notice with silent, cat-like steps. He didn't trust that she'd stay asleep for long, so he had to move quickly. Get out from under her radar. If he moved several steps ahead, he could keep her out. Nobody was allowed to interfere with him, not tonight.