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[ OOC | That's pretty much all the information I've come up with for the Heart. We'll be playing according to the descriptions there, so you might want to read up just so you know what we're talking about and can keep up with us. ]
[ OOC | Loose descriptions of "Sqarr" | Formal, casual, most frequent | Battle dress ]


Far away he is, but still close. Because of the paint, the ceremony, the emotion.

He feels her move, feels her feel. The cup in her hands. It's been long enough, he supposes. He may as well pop in. Whip the lazy help back into shape, or so he thinks; in practice he's not so mean. Except with that one boy. That one troublesome little snot of a mouse who keeps challenging him.

But not straight to her. He'll make her anticipate a while. She'll feel him come as he feels her.

Somewhere out in the garden, the air shimmers for a moment. It's been a while. How did he used to look? How long was his coat? How curved his blade?

It resolves and he steps down from nothing, to the garden floor, among the nevertheless well-tended flowers and bushes. The path has been moved a bit to accomodate a new arrangement; the gardner's been creating. It's dark, but it smells good.

He stands for a few minutes, flexing the leather wrapping his left hand to remember how it's supposed to move.

Satisfied, he steps onto the path and moves toward the inn's back end; the sliding walls are open to let in a breeze and there are a few patrons lolling in the pool. One of them starts at the sight of him, but another, more experienced visitor calms her.

"It's just Scar," the comforting patron says. She seems dubious. It's not much of a comforting name. But then, how can you wear black and call yourself Corriander? Or some other equally girly name?

The dark, dark-blue scribe smiles emptily at them as he passes and slips into the hallway that leads to the kitchen and common room. Instead of going there, though, he cuts left and moves toward the stables. The girls will likely be spending the night in the field, what with the mild weather, but he can still say hi.

Out the door and across the bridge, he comes into the barn and makes a cursory check of the beasts to see if he recognizes anyone's mount. Past them and out the open door to the field he continues. There he stops and scans to pick out his mare of choice; the one that hasn't yet thrown him. Not while he was riding her, anyway. Otherwise, she's still as much of a pill as any other.

He calls to her, but she ignores him. That's fine. Back in the barn, he spends a few words with one of the young crew. The boy's not impressed with his employer, but that's fine. He doesn't want to be a figure of fear all the time.

Back across the bridge again, he knocks on the common bath room door. When nobody answers, he pops his head in and approaches to see if the baths are nicely clean. They are. Good. The towel closet is stocked. The fire in the room isn't lit, but who needs that on a day like this? His coat's feeling heavy already.

Across the hall, he slips into the kitchen and stops at the sandwich counter to pilfer some 'fixins' to make himself one, which he eats while he puts it together. By the time he's done making it, it's already down the hatch, with a baby tomato and hunk of cucumber behind it for good measure. He's hungry. Something with potatoes and cheese and gravy and chicken might be nice.

Another time.

He catches a passing kitchen girl by the hands and smiles into her face with a mouth full of sandwich as he twirls her about. Flustered and a little off-balance, she stops to catch her breath and he moves away, his arms spread high and low in a bit of a bow before spinning on the balls of his feet and stepping lightly toward the door that separates the kitchen and common room, behind where Mahayr's sitting, waiting, wanting...

The kitchen crew chief puts her hands on her hips for a moment and gives the flustered girl a crooked grin. Blushing, she hurries on to whatever she was doing.

Scar smiles to himself. He'll have to dance again. Show them how it's done. All he needs is the right tune in his head; the right feeling. His skin crawls and his bottom jaw moves forward at the thought: Oh, yes. Somebody'll remember this.

Likha sits on a rock under a tree stump, flicking a short knife about between her fingertips, small acrobatics and feigns of the hand. The knife is a common knife, a simple knife, not particularly sharp or pretty or special in any way; the kind of knife you can find at any blacksmith without wait or ordering, the kind a common traveler might carry. If anything the hilt looks worn.

Likha does not look like a common traveler. The fingertips the flip the knife around are a pale grey, as is the rest of her skin. Her eyes are a darker grey, shadowed by unusually long black eyelashes that match her black hair. The hair is waist-lenght and at the moment untied, flowing down to her waist with not even a comb to keep it out of her face -- not by any standards the perfect picture of modesty in a woman traveling alone on a road. She wears a tightly laced corset and a simple skirt, the latter a b***h patched and torn. The corset is a deep blue, the skirt a simple grey darker than her skin but lighter than her eyes. Perhaps they shimmer a bit when she moves. Perhaps that's a mere trick of the light. Her ears are slightly longer then normal ears are and pointed at the top. She wears two sets of earrings in them and the earrings extend to her neck. Strange, strange. She is humming a tune as she plays with her knife. She is barefoot. A simple bracelet jingles a bit on her right wrist in tandem with the bracelet she wears around her left ankle. Her head tilts a bit to the side at a strange angle now.

Perhaps she'd been riding on a horse before. A small black horse of some sort. She vaguely recalls a black horse with a tangled grey mane, but there is no horse nearby and she doesn't mind the fact. Perhaps she had riding bags with her before; she doesn't now, and that's fine. Perhaps she has vague images of the angry face of a hag imprinted somewhere in the backwaters of memory, but she doesn't think of that now. Perhaps she food once, perhaps she drank from goblets of fairy-wine. Now she doesn't feel a rumbling of the stomach or a parched tongue, or doesn't mind. Perhaps that corset shrunk her stomach down too much for such things.

She doesn't recognize this land, doesn't recall where the trees should lead, who made that path and where it winds. She can hear a stream somewhere in the distance but she doesn't know where it flows to or from. She recalls a forest somewhere in illucid memories but knows instinctivly in wasn't here, wasn't this one. She grows bored with the old flicking of her knife. Her eyes settle on the road as though deciding to go, but which direction she doesn't know. Either way seems arbitrary and fine all at once. She smells of a vague smoke in the distance, exhaust from a chimney or furnace of some sort and thinks, yes. She stands up and tucks the knife away and begins to walk. The dirt and rocks feel slightly strange under her bare feet, but after a few moments she ceases to notice. It doesn't matter. Likha hums to herself as she goes.

A while later, exactly how long Likha can't tell, see sees a building in the distance. It's grown dark, but that doesn't bother the girl, doesn't even warrant any particular pause of consideration and worry. The dark seems as natural as the day. Perhaps for a moment the thought of a glowing orb of light flickers through her mind, but that dissapates soon enough. Her thoughts have been flowing in and out of her mind constantly, nothing staying long enough fo her to think it through, her attention three different places at once. Had anyone talked to her, their impression would have probably pegged her as a bit crazy, a bit off. But Likha has been by herself all day, walking and humming along as she pleases.

The building catches her attention though. For a moment her thoughts settle into place enough for her to think. What is it? A tavern or an inn, perhaps, something in the back of her mind tells her. Previous knowledge. Inn, more likely, given the location. Likha nibbles on her lower lip, ignoring a momentary flash of apprehension. Then her thoughts jumble up again and with a shrug she walks towards the building. Her appearance, the state of her hair and dress, does not enter her mind, does not concern her. The idea that strangers might take issue with a penniless woman traveling alone in a tattered dress, without even shoes, isn't a thought, even. She is as she is.

As she comes closer, however, apprehension returns all the stronger. She doesn't quite know what to say, what to do. Likha sits down on the ground then suddenly, as if this was as normal a course of action as any, and running her fingertips along the hem of her skirt, tries to think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He murrered softly and made his way upfront a rather large pile of furs nearly blocking his view. He would mutter a little bit and attempt to begin to set up for the party. He would set the large pile of furs in the middle of the room calling several of the girlies over to help him arrange the extra furs and prepare for the guests that would begin to come in over the following couple of days as preperations for the ceremony for Master and Mistress's renewing of their vows was to take place. He shakes his head a little and mutters. "Its almost always all on my shoulders."

He shrugs rolling his shoulders attempting to get a particularly annoying knot out of one of his lean, wirey muscles. He muttered softly and headed back to the back to gather up another armload of furs muttering softly and then shouting at one of the girlies to steady that ladder. "I don't want to have to have HER bandage anyone up!" He would shake his head. Sometimes those girls are just too silly.

Having given up some time ago on the girl outside and returned to daily doings, she looked up from where she was quietly working her weave as this new someone entered and listened as she spoke, little emotion showing on her face.

As she was left there to stand alone and forlorn, the Mistress raised an arm and motioned to one of the servants who hastily went to the girl, whispered something to her, pointed to Mahayr, and gently nudged her in that direction.

Lowering her weave onto her lap she smiled now, watching the bedraggled thing approach.

Remaining on her furs, Mahayr's thoughts turn to the new girl... working in the kitchen for some days now. She makes a mental note to remind herself to stop deducting room and board as she seems likely to stay for a while.

She would see to things tomorrow, check on how she is faring with the others... talk to her more than she had when she first arrived.

Having seen a fragment of one of her books, she wonders if the girl would benefit from her own medical skills... and fades into her quiet thoughts of such a possibility...

Mahayr sat sipping her tea slowly, her hands wrapped around the warmth of the familiar mug. Her thoughts flitted from this to that... she really needed to see to the books, the rooms, the instructions to the staff, but the hour was growing late, well past the dimming of the day. She had no desire to eat, and the mark on her cheek flared just barely and she touched it with light fingertips.

Turning her thoughts again to staff matters, she called one of the younger girls who came at once, kneeling in front of her Mistress with her hands relaxed on her knees, smiling up at her after the intial greetings and pleasantries.

"I have a new girl", her Mistress informed her softly. "I need to talk to her... I have had no real opportunity to do so, and I should have done so when she first arrived here."

"Please fetch her for me in the morning. Make sure she is bathed and give her a set of the soft green skirt and both the long and short sleeved work smocks. Also, a robe for herself, one of the white ones with the thick cuffs and pockets."

"Then bring her to me when you feel she is more relaxed... let her take her own time in this, and instruct her to bring along her favorite book. She had some with her, I saw one briefly. A medical text, i believe. Do your best to put her at ease and let her know it is not for a harsh meeting."

The girl repeated her instructions and her Mistress smiled her acknowledgment and flicked her fingers to let her know she was released. Sipping at her cooling tea, she put it out of her mind for now, rising easily and makiing her way to the tower, into her Chambers. Closiing the door quietly and regarding the knife set on the inside knob. He would be there soon enough.

She prepared for bed alone and took her time, finally approaching the bed and covering herself with the plush furs... drifting off with images of kaleidoscopes. Her eyes, which she took care to not touch, as he took exception to such an action. She scowled slightly, wishing he would just let her do... but slept soon enough.