Completed A Fly in the Soup

[Faramund]

The Knoll was quiet this time of night. A place where knights and squires went to unwind and share tall tales, the Knoll was one of Astenvale's busiest locales. During breakfast, lunchtime and dinner, at least. Now, though, the hour of the owl was upon them. How lonely it felt.

It ain't all bad, thought Faramund, nursing a cup of something potent. The bar was fully-stocked, the larder fit to bursting. Good food, better drink. All that he was missing was good company.

Hard to come by, that.

As of late, it seemed most everyone he called friend tried their utmost to avoid him. 'Course, that might just have been him reading too much into it. Not that he could read to begin with. Learning, though. Aye, that he was. One of the benefits of being restricted to monastery grounds was that he had plenty of free time. Mostly, he spent it training.

But sometimes, on quiet eve's like this, he took the time to practice his literary skills. Or get drunk. One usually preceded the other, though, the order had a strange habit of varying.

Footsteps drew his attention from the page laid bare before him. With his eyes on the door, the big dawnling slipped a hand towards the empty bowl nearby. A spoon sat within. Pretty shit, so far as weapons went, but it was the only one he was trusted with these days. Well, that and his fists. Can't take those away from me, can they? He pondered.

As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, they could. Had, even.

'That you, Bebin?'

Helena

 

[Helena]

"Were it only," came Helena's voice. As warm as an early autumn eve. She sat beside the lonesome Knight, somber, despite her smile. "Then I might know what tale has you so enraptured, as to be enjoying its pages at the Knoll,"

That was awful. She chided herself. Tried not to let it show as she settled into the seat beside him.

It was one of the rare times the young Captain was out of her regular vestments. No crown of proud horns, or armor to be seen. Plain clothes. A loose fitting chemise, cream in color, and some dark trousers, hair let to curl about the sides of her face.

"How-" she tried, stopped, as if she had touched too hot a flame. "It's been a long while since you stopped by for tea," she said with small measure of sadness. Though her lips curled up in strange smirk.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Yes, well, I've been-' imprisoned, interrogated, 'rather preoccupied, as of late.' Making room for Helena, the dawnling closed the book he was "reading" with an audible thump. 'I haven't been avoiding you. On the contrary, I thought maybe you had decided to avoid me, given the current... situation.' But he knew now that wasn't true. I hope it's not, anyway.

'Would you like a drink? No one's manning the bar right now, but I'm sure I could summon you up something.'

Or not. Trust was in short supply at the moment, especially where he was concerned. From the higher ups, at least. Those lower down the totem pole didn't seem to know about his "condition" - that's what they had taken to calling it. In truth, no-one really knew what the fuck was going on with him. Faramund included.

Smiling, the big dawnling shifted his weight. It was strange to see the Dawn-Captain in normal clothes. Surprising, even. 'Have you done something with your hair?'

Helena

 

[Helena]

A drink.

"Normally, I'd say no," she confessed. "Too much to do, too little time," she shook her head and let out a breath. "Why not," she said with a smile, looked at the man sidelong. "One drink can't hurt," she nod, and smiled a little warmer at his easing.

Her hair. Something normal. Something here.

"Just, let it down is all," she looked at the casks behind the counter. The old cloudy bottles of spirits, tall and short, skinny and broad. His words lingered in her mind. But what was she to say to that?

Her eyes fell to her hands, where fingers twined nervous.

"How are you doing, Faramund?"

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

One drink couldn't hurt, 'twas true. Nodding, the big man stood, made like a bee and buzzed his way to the bar. He didn't see the way Helena mulled over his words, but he could tell something was amiss the moment she asked the age-old question.

How are you doing, Faramund?

'I'm fine,' he said, vaulting over the bar. 'A little bored, maybe. Ain't used to being cooped up in one place for so long.' Dropping from sight, the wylder knight appeared once more, cups in hand. So what if she knew he was lying? It wouldn't have been the first time. Not here, and not to her.

'Name your poison! Vodka? Ale?' A pause, accompanied by a raised brow. 'Tea?'

Helena

 

[Helena]

The sudden rush of movement had her head cock back, her eyes wide. A blink. And a small laugh.

"If you could make a cup of tea back there, I might actually be impressed," she teased him. Her hands slapped flat against the counter.

"Barring a good cup, how about a bit of gin?" her smile turned wolfish. "Josai keeps a good bottle of elder flowered gin..." she leaned forward some, and stretched her neck out, eyes spying for the prize. "Somewhere back there," Sat back down.

"Or used to, anyhow," a smile, like a candle flame.

 

[Faramund]

The dawnling hummed and hawed as he searched. 'Good news and bad,' he said. 'Good news: I think I've found it.' A bottle landed on the bar in front of Helena. Half-full, or half-empty depending on how you looked at it. 'Bad news: I can't understand any of these labels nor the hand that wrote them. So, consume at your own risk.'

Smiling evilly, he poured the two of them drinks before toeing it around the bar -the proper way, this time- and back to his seat.

'I'm surprised you know where Josai keeps her stash,' he said. 'Guess our resident spear witch is slipping. Personally, I blame the alcohol.' He offered his cup in toast. 'To Josai! May we be long gone by the time she realises we plundered her bar.'

Helena

 

[Helena]

A tut of her tongue. "There is a lot about me that might surprise you," she said as she welcomed the drink in her hand, and bowed her head ever so as she took it from him, and raised her cup to meet the toast.

The subtle sweetness of the flower syrup tickled her nose.

Though he still couldn't read, he did to have some sort of luck.

She took a sip of the drink, and relished the play of sharp bitterness, and mellow citrus. How it burned all the way down.

The cup came down against the well-worn wood of the counter. A soft clack. Her eyes were on the drink, her smile still there, if but a hint of her feeling as her finger traced the rim of the thick old rim of glass.

 

[Faramund]

A noise, low. Doubtful. 'Such as?' Faramund asked, expectation writ in the way he smiled at Helena. He didn't expect a reply, or at least not an honest one. But maybe she really was full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe, he was teasing her on purpose.

A dangerous game, that. One of these days his mouth was going to land him in a whole heap of trouble.

Fortunately, Helena had a sense of humour, and the patience to deal with his bullshit. Still, surprises.

 

[Helena]

"Such as," she began, her finger came still, and she smiled soft to herself. "I can actually read Josai's hand writing," she looked to him, and raised her cup. "And," she trailed. "I know though you pretend you can't read, still, you were writing reports," before all this.

Her brow scrunched, and she took a pull of her drink. Wiped it from her lip, and furrowed her brow. "And you are a whole lot more than just some sorry drunk at a tavern, Faramund," she almost growled. Let the air come cool from lips again. Hissed. "So stop bloody acting like it," she said softer. "Please," There was still a bit of drink left in her cup.

 

[Faramund]

'Didn't help that I signed the damned things with an initial,' Faramund replied, unfazed by the vehemence with which Helena spoke. Sipping his drink, the big dawnling grimaced. He had never much liked gin. Hated the stuff, actually. Did he drink it in order to live up to the legend he had built for himself these past... what, ten years?

Maybe. Maybe not.

'Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I could drop the act. For now. With you.' Pushing his glass away, Faramund shot the captain a look. He smiled, genuinely intrigued by Helena, and how she seemed to see right through his façade. 'How long have you felt that way, I wonder?'

 

[Helena]

Since she had asked so nicely.

Since she had asked so nicely.

A hot breath left her nose as her brow stiffened. "Felt, what, way Faramund?" she asked. Her eyes cut to him, her stare sharp. "Like you've been playing games with me?" she pressed. "Like I hardly know who you are, even after all this time?" A hot breath as she pulled her eyes away. Shook her head.

"You won't even tell me how you are, after everything, and you want me to tell you such a thing," she scoffed. Grabbed her drink and drained it.

The cup came down with a clack. But her hand still held on to the glass, too stubborn to let go just yet. Too foolish to dare look at his big brown eyes.

The stag, lost in the woods.

 

[Faramund]

Faramund's anger made him a dangerous man. It had seen him through many a fight, helped him stomp out evil all across Arethil. For the Order. For the side of "good," if such a thing existed. For her. 'That makes two of us,' he growled, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. She must have thought him a cold bastard indeed, to make such an accusation.

But what if she was right? What if he really was just playing games, with her... and everybody else.

'Want to know how I am? Fine. Okay.' Grabbing his discarded glass, Faramund downed the gin within, slapped it down on the bar. 'I'm fuckin' shit. There! Happy?' Grimacing, he reached over and under, found a bottle more to his liking, one with a label he could understand. Pouring the vodka into vacant glass, he set the bottle aside.

For a moment, he regarded the shot, like it would help quench his anger. His sorrows.

He sent it, turned to Helena, cooler now, even if a fire did simmer beneath the surface. 'I'm hurting here, Helena. This place is my home, but right now I no more understand it than you seem to understand me.' He paused, a sudden pain spiking his chest. 'The Masters and Pursuants look at me like I've already got one foot in the grave. My friends are all afield, or else have been given tasks that take them away from the Monastery. Not to mention...'

He met her eyes.

'My Captain no longer trusts me the way she used to.' He smiled, but there was no light to it. No joy, like one usually felt when drinking with a friend. 'How's that for games?'

 

[Helena]

Helena scowled at Faramund, her hand tight around her glass. "If I did not trust you, Faramund, you would not be sitting here, drowning in your self pitty," She stood up. "Open your eyes, you damned fool," She turned away, "Look at what's around you," and let go of the glass. "Thank you for the drink, Syr Faramund," and she left, tall and straight backed.

 

[Faramund]

Faramund watched the Captain turn tail. At once, he felt the need to rush after her. To apologise for being a fool-ass, and worse things besides. Another part of him screamed, "fuck her!" He wasn't the only one whose emotions were all aflutter right now.

He wasn't being honest? Yeah, right, okay!

Turning back to the bottle, Faramund took a long, hard look at it before hurling it against the wall. Glass cascaded, vodka spilled. Eyes of brown shifted, turned black. Almost instantly, the knight's rage began to fade, as if snuffed out by unseen hand. 'That could have gone better,' the Doppler commented, smiling to itself despite being incapable of feeling anything.

Alas, Faramund differed in that regard.

'I need some air,' he told himself, angry at the world and everyone in it. Particularly himself. Guess she was right after all. Usually is. With a scrape of wood on wood, the dawnling left the Knoll a few minutes behind Helena. Weary, he made his way outside.

 

[Josai]

At some time later in the evening, whence the rain poured hard and the wind did bluster and howl through the creaks in the Knoll...

Late nights were common practice for the Spear Witch. Prepping potions in the healer's hut, or unwinding with a bit of research in the stacks. On such eves, she would oft make one last stop in the Knoll. Tidy up the shelves, take account of the stock, make ready for the new day to come.

As she did on this night.

Greeted by a bottle smashed. The burning scent of strong spirit, fuming through the air, and singing her breath.

"Well," she said small and too herself. "Isn't that just lovely," she sighed, and began to clean up the jagged, sharp mess. And thought how maybe after all was cleaned up, she would take another walk. Sure to bring her spear, and company.

Few things were more dangerous than a Knight, too deep in their cups.

 

[Faramund]

'Quite.' Standing in the entrance, rain beading his hair and beard, the big dawnling grimaced apologetically as Josai cast her gaze his way. Armed with naught but a broom and a dustpan, he took a few tentative steps deeper into the Knoll. He was not sure how long he had been gone, or if he had been missed. The walk had done him some good, though. Helped cool his ardour.

Now, at least, he could look his brethren in the eye.

'Blowing a hooley out there,' he said, trying on a smile, only to give up halfway through. 'Thought I should... well, you know.' He gestured, damp clothes adhering to his skin. Outside, thunder clapped. The Knoll shivered. 'Apologies! It was not your mess to fix.'

 

[Josai]

Josai's expression remained stolid, her dark eyes cast down from the cold outline of the Dawnling. Her fingers a bit tense about the haft of the broom, but, they eased with her next exhale.

"Comes with the territory, Mund o' Mund," she said easily enough as she swept up the shards of glass. There was a sense of tiredness in her voice, made all the more clear with the cold clink and clatter of the shards of broken bottle. "Not the first of our kith to loose their cool after a night of," her broom paused its steady, scratch-a-scratch. "Whatever leads folks to this sort of thing," To that she smiled, and the broom picked up the rhythm of work.

"I see you raided the stash," she nod to the bottles left about. "Surprised to see the Elderflower out though," she confessed.

 

[Faramund]

'An experiment.' Faramund lied, falling back into his old ways. He doubted it would hold up under scrutiny. Frankly, he was beyond caring. 'Can't say I took much of a liking to the stuff. As for the stash,' he smiled, 'it's almost like you're not even trying anymore.' Rounding the bar, Faramund began scouring the floor for bits of glass. Stuff gets everywhere, he thought, like grains of sand.

Of course, sand didn't cut the same nor could it drive a broom handle into one's ribs.

'I'll pay for what was taken,' he promised, crouching down to dislodge a shard from between the floorboards. Taken, yes, and broken. He straightened, set the shard aside. Something shimmered in the entranceway. Faramund pretended not to notice. 'Need help with your... er, duties?'

 

[Josai]

Josai stared cold daggers at the man. "Get on the other side of the bar, Faramund,"

 

[Faramund]

If looks could kill. 'Take that for a "no," then.' With a hop, skip and a jump, Faramund found himself back on the other side of the bar. He wasn't safe, as such, but at least now he stood a chance of surviving long enough to rue his drinking habits.

'Sorry.'

 

[Josai]

Like a creature easing out of their coil, Josai relaxed as the knight put space between them. A nod of approval before she kept sweeping.

Big men oft forgot how big they really were. The drink never helped.

"Few like it," she said as she looked at the large shard of glass he had laid onto the counter. Like a knife in the dark, it's edge gleamed with the flash of the storm that poured just outside. "The elderflower," she smirked. Pulled her eyes back to the gathering mess.

"Fewer still know where I keep it," another few brushes of the broom. "Trust yourself to fetch the dustpan?" She added. "Can leave it nice and neat right on the counter," she went on as she put the broom up, and started to grab bottles to put away.

 

[Faramund]

'I'm sure I could manage,' the big knight said. Scooping up the dustpan -but leaving the broom- he deposited it on the counter near Josai. The glass shard caught the light, drawing Faramund's eye. It was big enough to be used offensively. Very nasty.

Pinching it between thumb and forefinger, he dropped it into the pan with an audible, chink.

'My contribution.' He would have done more, but they'd been over that already. Pissing off the barwoman was as bad as bad ideas got. Twice in one night might be pushing it. 'The elderflower. One o' your creations?' He took a seat, folded his arms. What else was he to do with them?

 

[Josai]

Josai took up the pan, and set it to the floor. Swept the pile of shards into with a few deft movements of her wrist.

"It was the last bartender's creation," Josai said with a smile. "I just learned how to make it," she glanced up at the big man, sullen as he liked to make himself look. "So, you want to help clean a mess you made," she said, the she walked over to an empty bucket, and dumped the glass. "But you don't want to tell me about why you made it," she smirked, now that he seemed more settled in his seat. "Funny that, don't you think?"

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Wasn't much to laugh about, at the time.' Grimacing, Faramund shrugged. It wasn't something he wanted to revisit, now or ever, but maybe Jos had the right of it. Talking about it whilst it was still fresh in his mind might help him understand where he'd gone wrong.

Probably not. He wouldn't know unless he tried.

'I let my anger get the better of me, ended up directing it towards someone who was only trying to help. There were... words.' Another shrug, accompanied by a sigh. 'Tell me, Jos, do you believe it's possible to make up for past mistakes?'

Josai