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No problem, I am patient with my partners in hopes that they will be just as patient when I can't respond for a while :P
Finishing up with the large bruise Kiel looks up with a faint smile. 'I'm glad he feels safe enough to tell me his name, or at least a name' He pauses slightly as he notices the boy's flushed cheeks but looks away quickly with a cough when Zach uses his first name so openly. 'Oh my. Seems he's done more than hear about me' Standing he turn to the young man and smiles down at him as he corrects himself. “It's alright little one. Kiel, Father, or Father Kiel are all just fine.” He chuckles slightly. “A lot of the kids call me just Kiel, though I ask that they call me at least Father Kiel when around the other clergymen.” Reaching out he pats the boy on the head affectionately, smiling warmly.
“You're hair's still a little damp.” Kiel murmurs, stepping close. Pulling the towel back up he does his best to dry the dark shaggy mop without aggravating any injuries. His fingers move slowly and gently, pressing the soft fabric close to the scalp to get the moisture hidden near the roots. The dry air for the heating grate travels from it's slot on the floor up around the table to the ceiling, creating a kind of hot down draft above the chair. Kiel can feel his body warming up under the direct heat and after a minute he drops the towel back around Zach's neck and steps back. “There you go, that should be good.” Gesturing to the pants on the back of the chair he adds, “And as soon as you slip into those you should be able to dry off the rest of the way.”
Stepping further back he looks around the room, seemingly to avert his gaze from the boy. 'From what he said earlier, he most likely doesn't have a crash pad. I should get the spare room ready' He glances at Zach before moving over to the doorway to the spar room. Placing his hands on either side of the door frame his shoulders slump at the amount of dust coating a few places in the room. Most importantly, the bed itself. Turning his head slightly so the youth can hear him better he says, “This is the spare room. I'd never put anyone out in this weather, and until we find out who attacked you the slums are not safe.” He turns back to the dusty bed and sighs. “It isn't much, and there's enough dust in here to gag a cockroach. . . .” He turns his head again, “But at least it's warm, and dry.” He lets out a little laugh. “Just head in here when you're done changing and I can take care of the rest of your wounds.”
With that he wanders into the room, moving aside a few stacks of books so that the path to the bed and dresser are clear. Pulling open a few dresser drawers he smiles with relief that the stock of spare clothes is still in place. Over the years Kiel has helped many teens and young adults in need, and part of that has always been providing basic necessities. Most of the kids he's dealt with lately haven't needed clothes, so he has had no need to check his stock. Shifting through the selection of t-shirts, jeans, long sleeves, and sweat pants he nods sharply in approval. “Looks like a good selection.” He murmurs, moving over to the bed. 'I've only had a few kids stay here before, and most were runaways wanting to go home. Last one wanted to join the clergy and now serves under Father Wraith. That was. . . . .Quite a while ago' Picking up the pillow he coughs slightly as he beats off some of the dust with his free hand. 'But even so, I shouldn't have let it get this bad. . .' With a sigh he sets the pillow aside and starts beating the bed itself, shaking out the covers.
“You're hair's still a little damp.” Kiel murmurs, stepping close. Pulling the towel back up he does his best to dry the dark shaggy mop without aggravating any injuries. His fingers move slowly and gently, pressing the soft fabric close to the scalp to get the moisture hidden near the roots. The dry air for the heating grate travels from it's slot on the floor up around the table to the ceiling, creating a kind of hot down draft above the chair. Kiel can feel his body warming up under the direct heat and after a minute he drops the towel back around Zach's neck and steps back. “There you go, that should be good.” Gesturing to the pants on the back of the chair he adds, “And as soon as you slip into those you should be able to dry off the rest of the way.”
Stepping further back he looks around the room, seemingly to avert his gaze from the boy. 'From what he said earlier, he most likely doesn't have a crash pad. I should get the spare room ready' He glances at Zach before moving over to the doorway to the spar room. Placing his hands on either side of the door frame his shoulders slump at the amount of dust coating a few places in the room. Most importantly, the bed itself. Turning his head slightly so the youth can hear him better he says, “This is the spare room. I'd never put anyone out in this weather, and until we find out who attacked you the slums are not safe.” He turns back to the dusty bed and sighs. “It isn't much, and there's enough dust in here to gag a cockroach. . . .” He turns his head again, “But at least it's warm, and dry.” He lets out a little laugh. “Just head in here when you're done changing and I can take care of the rest of your wounds.”
With that he wanders into the room, moving aside a few stacks of books so that the path to the bed and dresser are clear. Pulling open a few dresser drawers he smiles with relief that the stock of spare clothes is still in place. Over the years Kiel has helped many teens and young adults in need, and part of that has always been providing basic necessities. Most of the kids he's dealt with lately haven't needed clothes, so he has had no need to check his stock. Shifting through the selection of t-shirts, jeans, long sleeves, and sweat pants he nods sharply in approval. “Looks like a good selection.” He murmurs, moving over to the bed. 'I've only had a few kids stay here before, and most were runaways wanting to go home. Last one wanted to join the clergy and now serves under Father Wraith. That was. . . . .Quite a while ago' Picking up the pillow he coughs slightly as he beats off some of the dust with his free hand. 'But even so, I shouldn't have let it get this bad. . .' With a sigh he sets the pillow aside and starts beating the bed itself, shaking out the covers.
Danka, and here's one for you! I. . . . .Tried to find my wish in my previous post, and hashed out that the only thing that would work properly for not only the post I made, but for the RP on a whole, would be the wish I gave :P I hope it works for you!
Despite his best efforts to stay completely still, Amano begins to shake violently when the stone beneath him gives way. He has barely a moment to thank the gods that the break didn't tear him apart before the cries of those around him make bile rise in his throat. The sound of the door slamming shut makes his head pound. The light from the flame makes it so that the frightened man can see vague figures beyond the black fabric. He tilts his head slightly to try and figure out what's happening. 'This fire, what, that can't' His thoughts become more incoherent as the voices around him become infused more and more with terror, sending a different kind of fear burning through the bound man's innards. 'That, that cold on my chest. It's the thing I was cut with, I think' He tries to bring his mind to focus by wrapping his mind and senses around the feel of it there, however his efforts are interrupted by a shadow falling over him.
He turns his head to the shadow, biting his lip as he feels the blade lifted off his chest. His body jerks as the movements of the shadow seem to indicate that the figure has raised the blade above his head. He cries out as the glint of metal comes rushing down at him. 'No, oh gods, this can't be happening!' His mind cries out for mercy. 'I just want to live my life! Even though I am no one, and never will be, I just want to live me life!' Tears fall, soaking the hood as he squeezes his eye together. Heart pounding in his ears, helpless to do anything to save himself, Amano sobs silently into the hood and waits for it all to stop. Then he hears a voice speak. Deep and inhuman, it makes him shake slightly, but at the same time the words it speaks seem to bring him comfort.
The sounds of the people around him begin to fade, his mind reaching a calm, peaceful place. His will to live tingles through his veins, fighting what feels like a losing battle against the fates. The fear of the moment seems to make the wold outside the dark hood meaningless. 'Is it so wrong, to want to live? I wonder if it will end soon. What will I see? Will there be anything to see?' The loss of blood begins to get to him, and despite the knife blow having never fallen, Amano can feel his life seeping away from him.'Those cuts, they must have been deep. I can feel. . . .'
With an almost audible snap, Amano gets jolted back to reality by the feeling of something touching his wounds. 'So soft. Like flesh. . .but not. . . .' He can feel his body relaxing as whatever it is touches each of the cuts. The odd sensation feels somehow warm, and comforting, but at the same time his mind casts about to try and place whatever it is touching him. 'It feels almost like a snake, but why would anyo-' His breath catches as he hears what sounds like someone snapping their fingers and an instant later the chains binding him fall away. After the flame the room feels cold and his first instinct is to curl up for warmth. The sounds of the others in the room make him shake as he tries to make his limbs listen to him, but a moment later he cries out slightly as warm arms slide under him. His arms cross his chest as he feels himself lifted from the cold stone. As the being lifts him up, Amano presses himself into the warmth that seems to radiate from the beings skin.
His hand comes up to press against a firm bare chest and it vaguely registers that he's being held by a man. 'He smells nice' The vague observation barely registers as he begins to lose consciousness. When he speaks, his chest rumbles pleasantly and Amano can feel himself being lulled. However when the question finds it's way through the fog of pain, and fear he manages to pull himself out of the fog long enough to murmur, “They wanted my life, which is mine and my most precious.” His head comes to rest on the bare shoulder of his rescuer. “Take from them what they prize the most, and make them feel the pain of it forever.” He has no idea how, but when Amano makes the request he knows that the man holding him can make his wish come true. The shock of everything that has happened finally brings his mind and body crashing down, and with a finally shuddering breath, he passes out, going limp in the man's arms.
He turns his head to the shadow, biting his lip as he feels the blade lifted off his chest. His body jerks as the movements of the shadow seem to indicate that the figure has raised the blade above his head. He cries out as the glint of metal comes rushing down at him. 'No, oh gods, this can't be happening!' His mind cries out for mercy. 'I just want to live my life! Even though I am no one, and never will be, I just want to live me life!' Tears fall, soaking the hood as he squeezes his eye together. Heart pounding in his ears, helpless to do anything to save himself, Amano sobs silently into the hood and waits for it all to stop. Then he hears a voice speak. Deep and inhuman, it makes him shake slightly, but at the same time the words it speaks seem to bring him comfort.
The sounds of the people around him begin to fade, his mind reaching a calm, peaceful place. His will to live tingles through his veins, fighting what feels like a losing battle against the fates. The fear of the moment seems to make the wold outside the dark hood meaningless. 'Is it so wrong, to want to live? I wonder if it will end soon. What will I see? Will there be anything to see?' The loss of blood begins to get to him, and despite the knife blow having never fallen, Amano can feel his life seeping away from him.'Those cuts, they must have been deep. I can feel. . . .'
With an almost audible snap, Amano gets jolted back to reality by the feeling of something touching his wounds. 'So soft. Like flesh. . .but not. . . .' He can feel his body relaxing as whatever it is touches each of the cuts. The odd sensation feels somehow warm, and comforting, but at the same time his mind casts about to try and place whatever it is touching him. 'It feels almost like a snake, but why would anyo-' His breath catches as he hears what sounds like someone snapping their fingers and an instant later the chains binding him fall away. After the flame the room feels cold and his first instinct is to curl up for warmth. The sounds of the others in the room make him shake as he tries to make his limbs listen to him, but a moment later he cries out slightly as warm arms slide under him. His arms cross his chest as he feels himself lifted from the cold stone. As the being lifts him up, Amano presses himself into the warmth that seems to radiate from the beings skin.
His hand comes up to press against a firm bare chest and it vaguely registers that he's being held by a man. 'He smells nice' The vague observation barely registers as he begins to lose consciousness. When he speaks, his chest rumbles pleasantly and Amano can feel himself being lulled. However when the question finds it's way through the fog of pain, and fear he manages to pull himself out of the fog long enough to murmur, “They wanted my life, which is mine and my most precious.” His head comes to rest on the bare shoulder of his rescuer. “Take from them what they prize the most, and make them feel the pain of it forever.” He has no idea how, but when Amano makes the request he knows that the man holding him can make his wish come true. The shock of everything that has happened finally brings his mind and body crashing down, and with a finally shuddering breath, he passes out, going limp in the man's arms.
Moving quickly across the room, Tatsuki quickly scoops up the dishes closest to the sisters. As soon as he's far enough away he slows down. He keeps one ear turned in the direction of them as an early warning system should they try and corner him, but a faint smile crosses his lips as he hears the voice of the young innkeeper from their general direction. 'I owe that boy From his tone I can tell he's running interfearance for me' Glancing over to the small groups he smirks as he watches the skillful blocking move of the kimono clad youth. 'He's a good lad' Almost without thinking he balences all the dishes on one hand, stacking them rather high.
By the time he notices that he's doing something rather odd the room is clear of all but he and Shigetoshi. Looking over at the young man he catches his eye and smiles. Scooping up the last of the dishes he weaves through the room, the high stack looking unusually steady for being held the way he's holding it. Stopping a few paces short of the young man he gives him a little bow with a grateful smile. “Thank you Shigetoshi-san. You didn't have to got out of your way like that, and I am in your debt.” Glancing over at the stack he inquires, “Where should I bring these? I would very much like to see the kitchen before I try my hand at cooking in it.” He chuckles slightly and follows the innkeeper.
As they walk Tatsuki keeps a step behind Shigetoshi but he shifts the stack to his other hand so there nothing between them. “I was thinking of heading into town tonight and picking up some ingredients. I'll need to check the cooler to see how much room there is for my meats and such.” Once they reach the kitchen Tatsuki wanders over to the sink and carefully breaks the stack into smaller ones and puts them next to it. The kitchen has a few modern touches, like a refrigerator and an overhead light, but much of the cookware is traditional. The bamboo utensils make Tatsuki smile. [i]'After spending so much time in the modern world of metals and plastics, this is a comforting change to what I once knew. Turning to Shigetoshi he smiles warmly.
“This place takes me back. I was in a kitchen like this once, maybe a touch bigger, in a palace several years ago. He was a minor lord, but it still felt so grand.” Looking around his eyes soften. “This place feels warmer however. More inviting.” He rolls his eyes at his own sentimentality and grins sheepishly at the young innkeeper. “Forgive me if I ramble.” The smells from breakfast still permeate the room, and Tatsuki takes a deep breath, letting them sink into his mind. He wants to keep this place in his memory, and smell is the best for that. Leaning against the counter beside the sink he examines everything in view, calculating what he can make with what he has access to.
By the time he notices that he's doing something rather odd the room is clear of all but he and Shigetoshi. Looking over at the young man he catches his eye and smiles. Scooping up the last of the dishes he weaves through the room, the high stack looking unusually steady for being held the way he's holding it. Stopping a few paces short of the young man he gives him a little bow with a grateful smile. “Thank you Shigetoshi-san. You didn't have to got out of your way like that, and I am in your debt.” Glancing over at the stack he inquires, “Where should I bring these? I would very much like to see the kitchen before I try my hand at cooking in it.” He chuckles slightly and follows the innkeeper.
As they walk Tatsuki keeps a step behind Shigetoshi but he shifts the stack to his other hand so there nothing between them. “I was thinking of heading into town tonight and picking up some ingredients. I'll need to check the cooler to see how much room there is for my meats and such.” Once they reach the kitchen Tatsuki wanders over to the sink and carefully breaks the stack into smaller ones and puts them next to it. The kitchen has a few modern touches, like a refrigerator and an overhead light, but much of the cookware is traditional. The bamboo utensils make Tatsuki smile. [i]'After spending so much time in the modern world of metals and plastics, this is a comforting change to what I once knew. Turning to Shigetoshi he smiles warmly.
“This place takes me back. I was in a kitchen like this once, maybe a touch bigger, in a palace several years ago. He was a minor lord, but it still felt so grand.” Looking around his eyes soften. “This place feels warmer however. More inviting.” He rolls his eyes at his own sentimentality and grins sheepishly at the young innkeeper. “Forgive me if I ramble.” The smells from breakfast still permeate the room, and Tatsuki takes a deep breath, letting them sink into his mind. He wants to keep this place in his memory, and smell is the best for that. Leaning against the counter beside the sink he examines everything in view, calculating what he can make with what he has access to.
Tatsuki has a stack of dishes he needs to bring to the kitchen, It;s just says that T follows Shigetoshi there :P
Do you mind if your guy guides mine to the kitchen? I'ma put it in if I don't hear a response soon, but if it bothers you I'll remove it, no problem :P
". . .but when he realized the alternative was to find work, the decision had taken no time at all."
This line really cracked me up. In my head I could just hear his voice, and the tone, and. . . Just, too funny for some reason :P
This line really cracked me up. In my head I could just hear his voice, and the tone, and. . . Just, too funny for some reason :P
Seishu rolls his eyes at the other guardian admitting guilt for killing. On the inside however he feels a little twinge. 'I wonder if I can help it when I say stuff like that. I've always been this way with him. Even though I no longer feel that he is an enemy, for some reason, I still feel like picking on him. . . All the time' He observes the little lesson with an expressionless face, but a part of him feels like patting the Dream Guardian on the head for speaking without prejudice. His eyes trail down, following Enasi's line of sight, until they rest on the symbol they share. The little white curve, the light, and the little black dot, the dark.
With a sigh he holds up his hand and turns his gaze to the little white dot in his symbol. It seems to pulsate, a faint glow around it. 'Must be reacting to being around so much positive for so long. This situation has never happened before, we have no way of knowing how this will affect the balance' with a sigh he drops his hand on to the soft surface of the bed, only to grimace as it lands in a half dry puddle of his own blood.
A creepy chill runs up his spine, but not at the feeling of so much of his blood outside his body. His eye widen and slowly he looks towards the room's two other occupants. With both sets of eyes on him he feels a new wave of unease. Rather than being embarrassed at the rapt attention, he feels the need to lash out. His eyes narrow into a glare and his lips part to lash out with some sort of venomous statement or question, but then his self control inquiry to himself flashes through his mind and with great effort he brings up his left hand. With a low growl he sticks one of his knuckles in his mouth and bites down on his crooked finger hard enough to draw blood.
The taste of blood and sharp pain brings him down a bit and as soon an he's sure he won't lash out at his host the the little bite he lets his finger go. Licking it carefully he keeps his eyes on the wound and asks, “I know I should make no requests of you, seeing as I'm an unwelcome force in your realm, but perhaps you could find it somewhere in that never ending well of kindness you have buried in your chest the will to grant me a small favor.” Still focused on his finger he turns in this way and that, like a girl examining her nails he takes a deep breath and mumbles, “This bed is rather foul with my blood. . . .” His voice trails off and once again he feels the urge to snap, so the finger returns to his teeth, the blood to his tongue.
With a sigh he holds up his hand and turns his gaze to the little white dot in his symbol. It seems to pulsate, a faint glow around it. 'Must be reacting to being around so much positive for so long. This situation has never happened before, we have no way of knowing how this will affect the balance' with a sigh he drops his hand on to the soft surface of the bed, only to grimace as it lands in a half dry puddle of his own blood.
A creepy chill runs up his spine, but not at the feeling of so much of his blood outside his body. His eye widen and slowly he looks towards the room's two other occupants. With both sets of eyes on him he feels a new wave of unease. Rather than being embarrassed at the rapt attention, he feels the need to lash out. His eyes narrow into a glare and his lips part to lash out with some sort of venomous statement or question, but then his self control inquiry to himself flashes through his mind and with great effort he brings up his left hand. With a low growl he sticks one of his knuckles in his mouth and bites down on his crooked finger hard enough to draw blood.
The taste of blood and sharp pain brings him down a bit and as soon an he's sure he won't lash out at his host the the little bite he lets his finger go. Licking it carefully he keeps his eyes on the wound and asks, “I know I should make no requests of you, seeing as I'm an unwelcome force in your realm, but perhaps you could find it somewhere in that never ending well of kindness you have buried in your chest the will to grant me a small favor.” Still focused on his finger he turns in this way and that, like a girl examining her nails he takes a deep breath and mumbles, “This bed is rather foul with my blood. . . .” His voice trails off and once again he feels the urge to snap, so the finger returns to his teeth, the blood to his tongue.
Sweat drips down his clothed back as Viltez works hard on the old lady's roof. His arm comes down over and over, the work fading almost into an automatic action. He's repaired several roofs in the past, and this is no different. 'That's how life in this village tends to be' he thinks, turning to pull another wood shingle into place. Lining it up he pulls a nail from between his lips and holds it in place. 'One day is very much like the next. Anything unusual tends to be unwelcome, and won't be tolerated for long. Like that time those performers came through town with that magic act' Another board, another nail. 'I mean, I thought they were great, but Old Lady Jinni almost had a heart attack when that ball of fire wend bouncing around the stage. Everyone practically ran them out of town'
He chuckles slightly as he grabs the next board. 'I swear, the only people welcome here come bearing gifts of food or other wares, but even they outlive their welcomes eventually' Lining up the nail he hammers it in with a single strike and reaches over to the nail bag for more. However he spots something out of the corner of his eye that causes him to pause and turn towards the market stalls. The thing that grabbed his attention is a large group of people just standing around a single stall. His brows furrow. 'For the normal flow of traffic in the market to be stilled, something either really good, or really bad must be happening' His eyes are drawn to the stall itself and he feels a strange sensation as his eyes land on a figure clad in blue.
A warm breeze tosses his hair before his eyes, but so focused on the figure Viltez doesn't even bother to brush it aside. 'What the. . . . No one travels alone on the roads around here, and the caravan are the only visitors we have today. And that guy, is no merchant' A faint itch starts up on the back of his neck as he watches and he realizes that the stall owner is getting pisses. So too does the stranger seem to be losing his temper. Not wanting a fight to break out while he's watching, Viltez turns and slides down the ladder and almost like a snake darts between the gathered crowd to the front.
He just gets within earshot when Mr. Warren delivers an ultimatum and with practiced grace Viltez steps between the two men. He can feel a faint but menacing tingle run up his spine as he turns towards Mr. Warren with his hands raised. “ Now now Mr. Warren, there's no need to be getting so upset. This guy here doesn't seem the shifty type, I'm sure he plans on paying.”
The owner of the stall, a vein pulsating in his forehead clenches a fist in front of Viltez. “That bastard needs to pay for what he's already taken, and pay what I say! Did you hear him before? 'You will be adequately compensated once I have decided on the price.' The arrogant ass!” Fuming he tries to push past Viltez.
Feeling a twitch in his brow Viltez presses a gentle but firm hand against he man's shoulder to keep him from passing. 'Wow, that is very arrogant, but still' “Mr. Warren, it could just be the way it is where he comes from. We've had a few visitors that have very different customs, right?” With his hand still on the man's shoulder he turns to the stranger. Now closer he takes a moment to get a better look at the stranger. He has to look up to meet eyes that look a lot like Viltez's own, and the young half-breed can't help but notice how slender and pale he is for a traveler. Taking a steadying breath he addresses the taller man. “You're use to picking your own prices, no? That may work if you're buying from someone you trust around here, but as a stranger you should show a little respect for our way of doing things and pay what Mr. Warren asks. You understand, right?” He cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.
He chuckles slightly as he grabs the next board. 'I swear, the only people welcome here come bearing gifts of food or other wares, but even they outlive their welcomes eventually' Lining up the nail he hammers it in with a single strike and reaches over to the nail bag for more. However he spots something out of the corner of his eye that causes him to pause and turn towards the market stalls. The thing that grabbed his attention is a large group of people just standing around a single stall. His brows furrow. 'For the normal flow of traffic in the market to be stilled, something either really good, or really bad must be happening' His eyes are drawn to the stall itself and he feels a strange sensation as his eyes land on a figure clad in blue.
A warm breeze tosses his hair before his eyes, but so focused on the figure Viltez doesn't even bother to brush it aside. 'What the. . . . No one travels alone on the roads around here, and the caravan are the only visitors we have today. And that guy, is no merchant' A faint itch starts up on the back of his neck as he watches and he realizes that the stall owner is getting pisses. So too does the stranger seem to be losing his temper. Not wanting a fight to break out while he's watching, Viltez turns and slides down the ladder and almost like a snake darts between the gathered crowd to the front.
He just gets within earshot when Mr. Warren delivers an ultimatum and with practiced grace Viltez steps between the two men. He can feel a faint but menacing tingle run up his spine as he turns towards Mr. Warren with his hands raised. “ Now now Mr. Warren, there's no need to be getting so upset. This guy here doesn't seem the shifty type, I'm sure he plans on paying.”
The owner of the stall, a vein pulsating in his forehead clenches a fist in front of Viltez. “That bastard needs to pay for what he's already taken, and pay what I say! Did you hear him before? 'You will be adequately compensated once I have decided on the price.' The arrogant ass!” Fuming he tries to push past Viltez.
Feeling a twitch in his brow Viltez presses a gentle but firm hand against he man's shoulder to keep him from passing. 'Wow, that is very arrogant, but still' “Mr. Warren, it could just be the way it is where he comes from. We've had a few visitors that have very different customs, right?” With his hand still on the man's shoulder he turns to the stranger. Now closer he takes a moment to get a better look at the stranger. He has to look up to meet eyes that look a lot like Viltez's own, and the young half-breed can't help but notice how slender and pale he is for a traveler. Taking a steadying breath he addresses the taller man. “You're use to picking your own prices, no? That may work if you're buying from someone you trust around here, but as a stranger you should show a little respect for our way of doing things and pay what Mr. Warren asks. You understand, right?” He cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.
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