RESSEY + THE OCCIA // pledges
Who: Ressey & the Occia.
When: After this thread.
Where: The citadel.
Rating & Warnings: G.
He wasn't a regular at the services, but even Ressey found his heart thudding in his chest as he climbed the stairs to the Citadel.
Were he to be completely honest, he'd almost forgotten about the Crow and its attack on him, but The Occia wanting to see him about it? Of course, he was smart enough to realise he was probably just being used as an example as to the havoc Others could wreak. Still, he was star-struck by the idea of meeting The Occia face-to-face. What would his parents say if they could see him? Probably a dozen things, beginning with 'stand up straight' and ending with 'and take that slack-jawed expression off your face when she's talking to you! You know the one!' He scowled uncharacteristically for a brief second, but still walked with his back ramrod straight, nodding stiffly at anyone who passed him. Meeting princesses, malicious Others and now The Occia...perhaps he should just throw the damn ledger out of the next window. He was far too normal to infringe on the time of any of these important people.
Spotting an initiate, Ressey held up his hand to tap them on the shoulder to get their attention, then hesitated. Perhaps that wasn't polite. He coughed to get their attention instead. "Hello, I'm Ressey Alworld. I'm here to see The Occia."
The young woman waited a few moments, giving him a suspicious look. He tried his best to look as un-suspicious as possible, standing up straight, looking innocent and after a few moments she left. He breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging a little as he watched her back disappear. Time to wait for Her Holiness.
He really was too ordinary for this stuff.
The Occia was flustered, too, but not on account of Mr. Alworld's visit. Sitting in the empty bathtub, one of the only places where her cancellari couldn't see her, she furiously read 'The Flowering Lady' for the hundredth time, silently mouthing the words. She only read for the Civitates on holidays. On the one hand, sermonizing more often would help her become more comfortable behind the pulpit. On the other... she was a wreck simply imagining tonight.
When she reached the end of the parable, her thumbnail half gnawed off in worry, she stared at the title of the next book and did her best to keep her anxiety in check. She was perfect, she was perfect; she tried to hear her brother's voice in her head. She was perfect. It did nothing to calm her. A knock at the door made her jolt upright in the tub, slamming her knee into the hard porcelain. The Occia winced but quickly got to her feet and ambled out of the bathroom in a hurry. Cita did watch over her. Anyone else might have broken their neck.
"Come in," she called.
The Initiate only cracked the door open to say, "A man to see you, Lady Occia. Ressey Alworld."
She set her copy of The Epistles on the bed before picking up his sealed letter and left her rooms, following the Initiate down to the main floor where Ressey waited. He seemed like a sweet man over the ledgers. A bit shade, but good-hearted. It would have been much easier to have someone else deliver the letter, but... it was nice to speak with someone new, face-to-face. And she knew that if left unchecked, she'd study The Flowering Lady so much that the words stopped making sense.
"Mr Alworld," she said, staying a good five feet away from him. The Occia didn't smile, but she looked happy enough. "I'm happy to finally match a face to your handwriting."
Ressey hadn't been paying attention. He'd been looking at the ceiling as he waited for her, wondering how many floors and how many people were inside the Citadel. He was aware he should know when it was built, but he'd never given it much thought; the tower had always been there, as though it was had grown organically like one of the trees in the woods. He had never wondered how either of them had come to be. But now he was wondering, he found himself filled with questions about the Tower, which he'd taken for granted all his life. How long had it taken to build? How many people could live in it at once? If Balfour conquered a different country, would they build more of Cita's towers in those cities, or just adapt their native places of worship? He imagined a forest of white towers springing up over the map of Europe in his head, each one taller than the last, but none as tall as Tyrol's.
The Occia's voice sliced through his day-dreamy thoughts and his chin snapped down, green eyes wide with surprise. His hand jerked slightly as he automatically started to hold out his hand to shake, then thought the better of it, mentally kicking himself. Instead he bowed low, his hair falling in front of his face as he stood back up straight rapidly. He pushed the mass of wavy-brown out of his face and smiled a little. Being flustered was probably not the best way to begin a meeting with anyone. It was time to calm down, he told himself firmly.
"It's my pleasure," he told her. He chose his words carefully, trying not to sound a fool. "I wanted to thank you for sending me help once again."
Her eyes went to his hand when he extended it and the Occia steeled herself to keep from stepping back another foot. Speaking with a stranger and touching them were entirely different matters. Only her cancellari, her handmaiden and her brother could touch her without making her flinch. But she stood her ground, hands tangled in the folds of her pale blue gown.
She bowed her head, accepting the thanks. "I was only happy to-" Standing there in the middle of an aisle, the Occia had caused everyone to avoid the path entirely. They were afraid to bump into her. She frowned. Had they all heard about the incident in the marketplace? Such a small thing... "Here," she gestured to an empty pew near the exit and waited for Ressey to sit. "We're in the way, I'm afraid..."
The Occia is never in the way, her brother would say. She took a breath and forced a small smile. "I'll tell you what I've written in your letter and you can tell me if I need to change anything."
Ressey sat himself down, feeling entirely awkward. He kept his back straight, as though his spine were made of iron, and placed his hands on his knees. His fingers curled. How did you sit correctly when faced with the bride of Cita? He sat with his body facing the pew and turned his head to look at her. It was an uncomfortable position, but twisting in his seat to face her completely, was that too forward? He had no idea of the etiquette. Perhaps he should have brushed up before he came, but he had thought she would simply send an Initiate with a letter.
It was kind to do these things herself though. He nodded, bright-eyed and attentive. "Please, Your Holiness."
She didn't seem to notice how uncomfortable he was. It seemed a strange way to sit to her, but then anytime she wasn't curled into a ball she felt rather exposed. Turning the rolled parchment between her fingers, the Occia began, "I believe I said that you wrote on the ledgers that you were forced to eat crows on one of your sea voyages and that a witch who could take on the guise of a talking crow read it, found you later and put a curse on you which caused you to hurt yourself for several days."
The crow was Sebastian Kraehe. Anybody that read the ledgers knew as much. Yet she had no proof other than his argument with Ressey. Canting her head to the side, she tried to catch the sailor's eye to see if he'd heard her. "I also vouched for your story and asked that the witch be gaoled for however long the Crown thinks appropriate."
There was more. Whether the details she added were simple ignorant exaggeration or meant to hurt the witch, even the Occia couldn't say. All she knew was that she wanted the guard to start treating Others as the citizens they claimed to be.
Ressey nodded to everything she said, his eyes never leaving her. Throwing him into the gaol seemed tough for what had been mostly self-inflicted injuries, even if he had been the initiator, but he bit his tongue to keep from mentioning that. There was also the fact that despite The Occia's power, when looked at objectively, this was still a case of one person's word versus another's. How could it be proved that he had been cursed? He doubted it could be - hence why he'd been willing to let it lie. A mix of feeling as though he'd be laughed at by the guard and fear of retaliation had helped, of course...
"I had a conversation with him," he said slowly. "I could show them that too." Though that was only a small amount of evidence. He could feel his hair tickling the back of his neck, strands of it brushing against the back of his jawline. He resisted the urge to fiddle with it, instead rolling his lips over his teeth and then back out again. He had to be polite. Fiddling with your hair in the presence of The Occia was not polite...
"Would you?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. He was very polite, the Occia thought, and very willing to help. She was hardly a good judge of character, but his behavior spoke of great discipline and stoicism. Like Av- No. The last time she'd likened something to Avith, everyone became upset. Smiling at Ressey, the Occia nodded in heart agreement. "I'd be very grateful. Most everyone's too afraid to come out against an Other."
Resse considered this, resting his chin on his chest and lowering his eyes a he thought it over. Coming to a conclusion, he nodded slowly. "It's difficult because they're so powerful, compared to us. This one managed to curse me from afar. Others probably eat people..." He stopped, then shook his head embarrassed, aware that this was probably not the best conversation to be having with The Occia. Others probably had their uses but...he was unsure as to what they were. Perhaps he should research it a little more.
"They do," the Occia replied earnestly, the smile dropping from her face. Her hands shook a little with the effort it took to seem composed. Gracefully, she knotted her fingers together in her lap to disguise the way they tremored. "You've heard, of course, about Lord Myron."
The Duchess had been good enough to keep her informed of the investigation. The guard had almost concluded that the perpetrator could be nothing but an Other. "It was an Other that did it." Her voice was low. As much as she wanted to make sure all the people of Tyrol remained safe, this information was just for Ressey. "The guard has said as much."
"Please. Tell the crown everything. Even if they laugh, or- or-" the Occia took a deep breath, her voice thin with worry, "You'll always have a place here."
Ressey nodded again, watching her. It must be terrible to have the burden of the city's spirituality on her shoulders, to have to worry about things like this. The Others obviously plagued her thoughts. He looked away, straight ahead over the tops of the pews. Him, Lord Myron....he was an easy-going man, but he had to admit to some nerves in the face of such things. Of course, it probably wasn't all Others who were wandering around throwing curses at people and draining blood - it was likely some had simply been tarred with the same brush. That was the logical approach.
Still, if the crown did do something, at least they would probably restrain themselves for fear of future retribution. He looked back at the Occia and nodded again - this time decisively. "And should you need it, the Citadel will always have my bow, Your Holiness." It was his only skill on land. He inclined his head in a bow of gratitude.
"Thank you," she said earnestly, bowing as well. When she raised her head, she looked to the glass mosaic behind Ressey. The cancellarius therein depicted held a mace, not a bow, but it was easy enough to imagine another weapon in his hands. He stood directly behind the sailor and, for a moment, the Occia was blinded by the colored light that streamed through the window. Gingerly, she touched one of Ressey's hands with her fingertips. She patted it a few times, unwilling to hold it but wanting to show some sort of appreciation, then she got to her feet.
"Please, stay for the reading. I must prepare, but, it would... it would be nice to see a Civitas I know."
A good man who was not an initiate, priest or cancellarius. The Occia couldn't remember the last time she'd met one.
When: After this thread.
Where: The citadel.
Rating & Warnings: G.
He wasn't a regular at the services, but even Ressey found his heart thudding in his chest as he climbed the stairs to the Citadel.
Were he to be completely honest, he'd almost forgotten about the Crow and its attack on him, but The Occia wanting to see him about it? Of course, he was smart enough to realise he was probably just being used as an example as to the havoc Others could wreak. Still, he was star-struck by the idea of meeting The Occia face-to-face. What would his parents say if they could see him? Probably a dozen things, beginning with 'stand up straight' and ending with 'and take that slack-jawed expression off your face when she's talking to you! You know the one!' He scowled uncharacteristically for a brief second, but still walked with his back ramrod straight, nodding stiffly at anyone who passed him. Meeting princesses, malicious Others and now The Occia...perhaps he should just throw the damn ledger out of the next window. He was far too normal to infringe on the time of any of these important people.
Spotting an initiate, Ressey held up his hand to tap them on the shoulder to get their attention, then hesitated. Perhaps that wasn't polite. He coughed to get their attention instead. "Hello, I'm Ressey Alworld. I'm here to see The Occia."
The young woman waited a few moments, giving him a suspicious look. He tried his best to look as un-suspicious as possible, standing up straight, looking innocent and after a few moments she left. He breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging a little as he watched her back disappear. Time to wait for Her Holiness.
He really was too ordinary for this stuff.
The Occia was flustered, too, but not on account of Mr. Alworld's visit. Sitting in the empty bathtub, one of the only places where her cancellari couldn't see her, she furiously read 'The Flowering Lady' for the hundredth time, silently mouthing the words. She only read for the Civitates on holidays. On the one hand, sermonizing more often would help her become more comfortable behind the pulpit. On the other... she was a wreck simply imagining tonight.
When she reached the end of the parable, her thumbnail half gnawed off in worry, she stared at the title of the next book and did her best to keep her anxiety in check. She was perfect, she was perfect; she tried to hear her brother's voice in her head. She was perfect. It did nothing to calm her. A knock at the door made her jolt upright in the tub, slamming her knee into the hard porcelain. The Occia winced but quickly got to her feet and ambled out of the bathroom in a hurry. Cita did watch over her. Anyone else might have broken their neck.
"Come in," she called.
The Initiate only cracked the door open to say, "A man to see you, Lady Occia. Ressey Alworld."
She set her copy of The Epistles on the bed before picking up his sealed letter and left her rooms, following the Initiate down to the main floor where Ressey waited. He seemed like a sweet man over the ledgers. A bit shade, but good-hearted. It would have been much easier to have someone else deliver the letter, but... it was nice to speak with someone new, face-to-face. And she knew that if left unchecked, she'd study The Flowering Lady so much that the words stopped making sense.
"Mr Alworld," she said, staying a good five feet away from him. The Occia didn't smile, but she looked happy enough. "I'm happy to finally match a face to your handwriting."
Ressey hadn't been paying attention. He'd been looking at the ceiling as he waited for her, wondering how many floors and how many people were inside the Citadel. He was aware he should know when it was built, but he'd never given it much thought; the tower had always been there, as though it was had grown organically like one of the trees in the woods. He had never wondered how either of them had come to be. But now he was wondering, he found himself filled with questions about the Tower, which he'd taken for granted all his life. How long had it taken to build? How many people could live in it at once? If Balfour conquered a different country, would they build more of Cita's towers in those cities, or just adapt their native places of worship? He imagined a forest of white towers springing up over the map of Europe in his head, each one taller than the last, but none as tall as Tyrol's.
The Occia's voice sliced through his day-dreamy thoughts and his chin snapped down, green eyes wide with surprise. His hand jerked slightly as he automatically started to hold out his hand to shake, then thought the better of it, mentally kicking himself. Instead he bowed low, his hair falling in front of his face as he stood back up straight rapidly. He pushed the mass of wavy-brown out of his face and smiled a little. Being flustered was probably not the best way to begin a meeting with anyone. It was time to calm down, he told himself firmly.
"It's my pleasure," he told her. He chose his words carefully, trying not to sound a fool. "I wanted to thank you for sending me help once again."
Her eyes went to his hand when he extended it and the Occia steeled herself to keep from stepping back another foot. Speaking with a stranger and touching them were entirely different matters. Only her cancellari, her handmaiden and her brother could touch her without making her flinch. But she stood her ground, hands tangled in the folds of her pale blue gown.
She bowed her head, accepting the thanks. "I was only happy to-" Standing there in the middle of an aisle, the Occia had caused everyone to avoid the path entirely. They were afraid to bump into her. She frowned. Had they all heard about the incident in the marketplace? Such a small thing... "Here," she gestured to an empty pew near the exit and waited for Ressey to sit. "We're in the way, I'm afraid..."
The Occia is never in the way, her brother would say. She took a breath and forced a small smile. "I'll tell you what I've written in your letter and you can tell me if I need to change anything."
Ressey sat himself down, feeling entirely awkward. He kept his back straight, as though his spine were made of iron, and placed his hands on his knees. His fingers curled. How did you sit correctly when faced with the bride of Cita? He sat with his body facing the pew and turned his head to look at her. It was an uncomfortable position, but twisting in his seat to face her completely, was that too forward? He had no idea of the etiquette. Perhaps he should have brushed up before he came, but he had thought she would simply send an Initiate with a letter.
It was kind to do these things herself though. He nodded, bright-eyed and attentive. "Please, Your Holiness."
She didn't seem to notice how uncomfortable he was. It seemed a strange way to sit to her, but then anytime she wasn't curled into a ball she felt rather exposed. Turning the rolled parchment between her fingers, the Occia began, "I believe I said that you wrote on the ledgers that you were forced to eat crows on one of your sea voyages and that a witch who could take on the guise of a talking crow read it, found you later and put a curse on you which caused you to hurt yourself for several days."
The crow was Sebastian Kraehe. Anybody that read the ledgers knew as much. Yet she had no proof other than his argument with Ressey. Canting her head to the side, she tried to catch the sailor's eye to see if he'd heard her. "I also vouched for your story and asked that the witch be gaoled for however long the Crown thinks appropriate."
There was more. Whether the details she added were simple ignorant exaggeration or meant to hurt the witch, even the Occia couldn't say. All she knew was that she wanted the guard to start treating Others as the citizens they claimed to be.
Ressey nodded to everything she said, his eyes never leaving her. Throwing him into the gaol seemed tough for what had been mostly self-inflicted injuries, even if he had been the initiator, but he bit his tongue to keep from mentioning that. There was also the fact that despite The Occia's power, when looked at objectively, this was still a case of one person's word versus another's. How could it be proved that he had been cursed? He doubted it could be - hence why he'd been willing to let it lie. A mix of feeling as though he'd be laughed at by the guard and fear of retaliation had helped, of course...
"I had a conversation with him," he said slowly. "I could show them that too." Though that was only a small amount of evidence. He could feel his hair tickling the back of his neck, strands of it brushing against the back of his jawline. He resisted the urge to fiddle with it, instead rolling his lips over his teeth and then back out again. He had to be polite. Fiddling with your hair in the presence of The Occia was not polite...
"Would you?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. He was very polite, the Occia thought, and very willing to help. She was hardly a good judge of character, but his behavior spoke of great discipline and stoicism. Like Av- No. The last time she'd likened something to Avith, everyone became upset. Smiling at Ressey, the Occia nodded in heart agreement. "I'd be very grateful. Most everyone's too afraid to come out against an Other."
Resse considered this, resting his chin on his chest and lowering his eyes a he thought it over. Coming to a conclusion, he nodded slowly. "It's difficult because they're so powerful, compared to us. This one managed to curse me from afar. Others probably eat people..." He stopped, then shook his head embarrassed, aware that this was probably not the best conversation to be having with The Occia. Others probably had their uses but...he was unsure as to what they were. Perhaps he should research it a little more.
"They do," the Occia replied earnestly, the smile dropping from her face. Her hands shook a little with the effort it took to seem composed. Gracefully, she knotted her fingers together in her lap to disguise the way they tremored. "You've heard, of course, about Lord Myron."
The Duchess had been good enough to keep her informed of the investigation. The guard had almost concluded that the perpetrator could be nothing but an Other. "It was an Other that did it." Her voice was low. As much as she wanted to make sure all the people of Tyrol remained safe, this information was just for Ressey. "The guard has said as much."
"Please. Tell the crown everything. Even if they laugh, or- or-" the Occia took a deep breath, her voice thin with worry, "You'll always have a place here."
Ressey nodded again, watching her. It must be terrible to have the burden of the city's spirituality on her shoulders, to have to worry about things like this. The Others obviously plagued her thoughts. He looked away, straight ahead over the tops of the pews. Him, Lord Myron....he was an easy-going man, but he had to admit to some nerves in the face of such things. Of course, it probably wasn't all Others who were wandering around throwing curses at people and draining blood - it was likely some had simply been tarred with the same brush. That was the logical approach.
Still, if the crown did do something, at least they would probably restrain themselves for fear of future retribution. He looked back at the Occia and nodded again - this time decisively. "And should you need it, the Citadel will always have my bow, Your Holiness." It was his only skill on land. He inclined his head in a bow of gratitude.
"Thank you," she said earnestly, bowing as well. When she raised her head, she looked to the glass mosaic behind Ressey. The cancellarius therein depicted held a mace, not a bow, but it was easy enough to imagine another weapon in his hands. He stood directly behind the sailor and, for a moment, the Occia was blinded by the colored light that streamed through the window. Gingerly, she touched one of Ressey's hands with her fingertips. She patted it a few times, unwilling to hold it but wanting to show some sort of appreciation, then she got to her feet.
"Please, stay for the reading. I must prepare, but, it would... it would be nice to see a Civitas I know."
A good man who was not an initiate, priest or cancellarius. The Occia couldn't remember the last time she'd met one.