Letter Delivered
Location: Exile Island
Time: Evening on Day 9, Month 9, Turn 2, Island Time
Players: Derek, Roa, Ashwin (NPCed by Roa because player said that would be ok)
Scene: A quick detour in the middle of bringing home the Boys. This scene takes place when Ashwin and Roa wander off screen from this log.
Day nine, month nine, just before what would have been - back when life was simpler, in another place and another time - the dinner hour. The island bustles with people preparing the largest meal of the day, little figures in clusters ranging in size from four to twenty. Some are still busied with fishing or foraging; some have already eaten and moved on to cleaning makeshift dishes and sharpening tired old knives. Like any other social animals, the humans who live here work communally, eat communally, act communally. The hive hums with their efforts and the vibration of ongoing life sends warm shivers through the air into the canopy of the trees.
Derek is part of the hive, but only a marginal part. He and two of his guards as well as a woman associated with one of them make up a foursome. They have completed their meal already, having begun early and finished while many are still waiting on a chance at the cookfires. In a little time the woman and her man discuss something in quiet tones, while Derek and the other guard discuss something else more quietly still. After this the three men leave, starting off along a narrow trail that leads a winding way up and around toward the dragonweyr cliffs, toward the massive cave at its foot that houses most of the strange tribe, toward other things to the island's north as well. Derek leads; the two men walk shoulder-to-shoulder behind him. The woman is left to fade into the background hum of life on the island, washing up and putting away. If there is irony in this, she's as blind to it as are the men.
Into and through the thrum come a pair of figures moving with quiet purpose. One is familiar, if relatively new: Ashwin. One of the two men that arrived nearly two months ago. The small, dark-haired woman walking beside him is unknown, and her skirt and shirt look clean and fresh still, though her feet are already bare. A new arrival, perhaps? She moves as if she knows the way, though those who watch carefully will see that she takes her cues on direction from Ashwin. The quiet guard's head turns as his eyes scan the group, falling on the departing trio of men. One hand is already on one of his knives, and he gives a silent head tilt in the direction of the departing three. He and the much shorter woman begin to follow, some paces back, up the winding pathway the three men take.
They go on for a while like this. Derek is either oblivious to being tracked, or - just as likely - indifferent. But those men moving along behind him stop suddenly perhaps a quarter-mile out of the main grounds of the settlement, and they look first at each other before turning inward to stare at those who trail them. "Oh," says one, low, catching sight of Ashwin. "Oh," says the other, more strained, seeing the girl with him. Jaws set and eyebrows raise and hands drift anxiously beside hips - but these two of Derek's men follow him to some duty where blades are unwelcome, and they travel relatively unarmed.
Derek keeps walking; after four paces he seems aware he's lost his entourage and stops, but he does not turn to see what delays them. Instead he pulls a hand out of his pocket and lifts it, knuckles bent, head down. Inspecting his fingernails, it seems.
There is a momentary stalemate as the two men turn and the girl with Ashwin stops walking. When she stops, so does Ashwin, so for a long beat, the four are simply watching one another. Both hands are on Ashwin's knives now, but he's making no indication he means to do anything more than keep his fingers resting curled around those hilts. The girl draws in a slow breath and then says a single word, loud enough for it to carry. "Derek."
The men who followed their leader turn their narrowed eyes from Ashwin to the girl, and as one they visibly grit their teeth. One of them then opens his mouth, and would surely have said something vaguely threatening in the form of a question regarding the identity of the asker - but Derek himself cuts such conversation short by turning around. "Yes," he says, simply, his voice sandy-soft and weather-worn, as if he's simply exhausted by all of these newcomers on his island. Especially the armed ones. But like his men before him, it's Roa who draws Derek's stare, and after a moment he drops his hand into a wave, dismissive. His men cannot see it, surely, but they can just as certainly hear the soft grunt in the back of their leader's throat. They part, stepping into the brush of the forest, clearing the narrow path.
"Strangest stuff washes up on shore here," remarks Derek, by way of greeting, and the hand that dismissed his men reaches out to offer Roa greeting, or help her up the little bit of a slope - whatever might be assumed. A jerk of his chin is all Ashwin gets: you also, dismissed.
Ashwin doesn't move. But the girl turns and lifts one of her hands just slightly so that when she steps forward and towards the other man, he's not walking -with- her either. For now, the blonde guard only stays where he stands, jaw clenching just slightly. The girl, on the other hand, is watching Derek intently, her eyes flicking over his face, down and up the length of him, back to his eyes again. There is nothing seductive or inviting about her examination. It is, if anything, clinical. "Strangest stuff," she agrees. Her own hand goes to her pocket to draw out a piece of folded hide. It's extended towards the mustached man in a slow and deliberate motion. "I agreed to give this to you."
His hand is already out; taking the missive from its deliverer is trivial, and substitutes easily for the greeting he might have had in mind. "Then you have discharged your obligation," Derek remarks impassively, and withdraws his hand and the hide together, a thumb slipping into the fold to immediately straighten it. His gaze stays on the intruder's face for a long moment, and when it seems he's seen there enough to make his steely gaze even harder, he glances down at the hide.
The hide is simply written. The message is simpler still:
Dear Father,
I did my best. I don't regret it. I only hope it was enough.
I love you.
Your daughter,
Aivey
Her duty discharged indeed, the small, dark-haired woman is already turning and moving back towards Ashwin without another word.
"No one dismissed you," says Derek, voice soft - soft enough it could be lost in the distant sigh of the sea. But his men step forward, closing in on the path; their threat is toothless, but not without some other measure of weight. Their leader only then looks up from the letter sent him, folding it again over his thumb. "You're going back, aren't you. Well. I have a message for you to take, too."
She stops, not at those soft words but at the pair of bodies that block her way. The girl's chin lifts, eyes moving to meet first one man's and then the other's. Behind the men, Ashwin is now making his way further up the path. Not running, but moving quickly. When Derek speaks again, the girl turns to now meet his eyes. Cold and familiar. "Say it, then."
Derek smiles. It's a trivial thing, the disappearing of his mouth into the shadow of the thick, glossy mustache, and it passes quickly - like a cloud passing over the sun, but without the promise of light afterward. "That you can't escape your nature." He lifts the letter and gestures with it, the ends of the hide flipping audibly against each other from the fold. His men part again, clearing the path. "I'll let you decide who to tell that to, little one. Maybe you'll keep it all for yourself."
Her eyes rest on Derek's face as he speaks, and then for a beat longer once he's fallen silent. Then the girl turns again and will, unless stopped, walk between his pair of men and towards the third guard who has, as soon as those men stepped away, ceased his forward motion.
Derek's men do step again onto the path - but only after Roa has passed between them. Derek stares for a long moment at Ashwin, and what is conveyed in that stare between blue eyes is nothing words could do any better job of saying. Then the island's leader turns his back on sudden change and starts back up the slope. His men follow - but only a few steps, before a growl from their master halts them. Derek turns off the path and bashes through the brush, an elbow in front of his face, shortcutting through forest toward the cliffs.
See what happens next with Derek, or return to rescuing the Boys.
Time: Evening on Day 9, Month 9, Turn 2, Island Time
Players: Derek, Roa, Ashwin (NPCed by Roa because player said that would be ok)
Scene: A quick detour in the middle of bringing home the Boys. This scene takes place when Ashwin and Roa wander off screen from this log.
Day nine, month nine, just before what would have been - back when life was simpler, in another place and another time - the dinner hour. The island bustles with people preparing the largest meal of the day, little figures in clusters ranging in size from four to twenty. Some are still busied with fishing or foraging; some have already eaten and moved on to cleaning makeshift dishes and sharpening tired old knives. Like any other social animals, the humans who live here work communally, eat communally, act communally. The hive hums with their efforts and the vibration of ongoing life sends warm shivers through the air into the canopy of the trees.
Derek is part of the hive, but only a marginal part. He and two of his guards as well as a woman associated with one of them make up a foursome. They have completed their meal already, having begun early and finished while many are still waiting on a chance at the cookfires. In a little time the woman and her man discuss something in quiet tones, while Derek and the other guard discuss something else more quietly still. After this the three men leave, starting off along a narrow trail that leads a winding way up and around toward the dragonweyr cliffs, toward the massive cave at its foot that houses most of the strange tribe, toward other things to the island's north as well. Derek leads; the two men walk shoulder-to-shoulder behind him. The woman is left to fade into the background hum of life on the island, washing up and putting away. If there is irony in this, she's as blind to it as are the men.
Into and through the thrum come a pair of figures moving with quiet purpose. One is familiar, if relatively new: Ashwin. One of the two men that arrived nearly two months ago. The small, dark-haired woman walking beside him is unknown, and her skirt and shirt look clean and fresh still, though her feet are already bare. A new arrival, perhaps? She moves as if she knows the way, though those who watch carefully will see that she takes her cues on direction from Ashwin. The quiet guard's head turns as his eyes scan the group, falling on the departing trio of men. One hand is already on one of his knives, and he gives a silent head tilt in the direction of the departing three. He and the much shorter woman begin to follow, some paces back, up the winding pathway the three men take.
They go on for a while like this. Derek is either oblivious to being tracked, or - just as likely - indifferent. But those men moving along behind him stop suddenly perhaps a quarter-mile out of the main grounds of the settlement, and they look first at each other before turning inward to stare at those who trail them. "Oh," says one, low, catching sight of Ashwin. "Oh," says the other, more strained, seeing the girl with him. Jaws set and eyebrows raise and hands drift anxiously beside hips - but these two of Derek's men follow him to some duty where blades are unwelcome, and they travel relatively unarmed.
Derek keeps walking; after four paces he seems aware he's lost his entourage and stops, but he does not turn to see what delays them. Instead he pulls a hand out of his pocket and lifts it, knuckles bent, head down. Inspecting his fingernails, it seems.
There is a momentary stalemate as the two men turn and the girl with Ashwin stops walking. When she stops, so does Ashwin, so for a long beat, the four are simply watching one another. Both hands are on Ashwin's knives now, but he's making no indication he means to do anything more than keep his fingers resting curled around those hilts. The girl draws in a slow breath and then says a single word, loud enough for it to carry. "Derek."
The men who followed their leader turn their narrowed eyes from Ashwin to the girl, and as one they visibly grit their teeth. One of them then opens his mouth, and would surely have said something vaguely threatening in the form of a question regarding the identity of the asker - but Derek himself cuts such conversation short by turning around. "Yes," he says, simply, his voice sandy-soft and weather-worn, as if he's simply exhausted by all of these newcomers on his island. Especially the armed ones. But like his men before him, it's Roa who draws Derek's stare, and after a moment he drops his hand into a wave, dismissive. His men cannot see it, surely, but they can just as certainly hear the soft grunt in the back of their leader's throat. They part, stepping into the brush of the forest, clearing the narrow path.
"Strangest stuff washes up on shore here," remarks Derek, by way of greeting, and the hand that dismissed his men reaches out to offer Roa greeting, or help her up the little bit of a slope - whatever might be assumed. A jerk of his chin is all Ashwin gets: you also, dismissed.
Ashwin doesn't move. But the girl turns and lifts one of her hands just slightly so that when she steps forward and towards the other man, he's not walking -with- her either. For now, the blonde guard only stays where he stands, jaw clenching just slightly. The girl, on the other hand, is watching Derek intently, her eyes flicking over his face, down and up the length of him, back to his eyes again. There is nothing seductive or inviting about her examination. It is, if anything, clinical. "Strangest stuff," she agrees. Her own hand goes to her pocket to draw out a piece of folded hide. It's extended towards the mustached man in a slow and deliberate motion. "I agreed to give this to you."
His hand is already out; taking the missive from its deliverer is trivial, and substitutes easily for the greeting he might have had in mind. "Then you have discharged your obligation," Derek remarks impassively, and withdraws his hand and the hide together, a thumb slipping into the fold to immediately straighten it. His gaze stays on the intruder's face for a long moment, and when it seems he's seen there enough to make his steely gaze even harder, he glances down at the hide.
The hide is simply written. The message is simpler still:
Dear Father,
I did my best. I don't regret it. I only hope it was enough.
I love you.
Your daughter,
Aivey
Her duty discharged indeed, the small, dark-haired woman is already turning and moving back towards Ashwin without another word.
"No one dismissed you," says Derek, voice soft - soft enough it could be lost in the distant sigh of the sea. But his men step forward, closing in on the path; their threat is toothless, but not without some other measure of weight. Their leader only then looks up from the letter sent him, folding it again over his thumb. "You're going back, aren't you. Well. I have a message for you to take, too."
She stops, not at those soft words but at the pair of bodies that block her way. The girl's chin lifts, eyes moving to meet first one man's and then the other's. Behind the men, Ashwin is now making his way further up the path. Not running, but moving quickly. When Derek speaks again, the girl turns to now meet his eyes. Cold and familiar. "Say it, then."
Derek smiles. It's a trivial thing, the disappearing of his mouth into the shadow of the thick, glossy mustache, and it passes quickly - like a cloud passing over the sun, but without the promise of light afterward. "That you can't escape your nature." He lifts the letter and gestures with it, the ends of the hide flipping audibly against each other from the fold. His men part again, clearing the path. "I'll let you decide who to tell that to, little one. Maybe you'll keep it all for yourself."
Her eyes rest on Derek's face as he speaks, and then for a beat longer once he's fallen silent. Then the girl turns again and will, unless stopped, walk between his pair of men and towards the third guard who has, as soon as those men stepped away, ceased his forward motion.
Derek's men do step again onto the path - but only after Roa has passed between them. Derek stares for a long moment at Ashwin, and what is conveyed in that stare between blue eyes is nothing words could do any better job of saying. Then the island's leader turns his back on sudden change and starts back up the slope. His men follow - but only a few steps, before a growl from their master halts them. Derek turns off the path and bashes through the brush, an elbow in front of his face, shortcutting through forest toward the cliffs.
See what happens next with Derek, or return to rescuing the Boys.