You don't like being second, I don't like being wrong

Evelyn | Searsport

POSTED: Tue Jan 08, 2019 11:04 pm

Optime | Searsport; midday | NPCs: Glade, Brimstone, & Jack (+808)

Oi, wait a minute…

The day was as grey as any other one might have been during the season. Thankfully though, the bitter winds that had swept through the area a day or two before had moved on, allowing for a welcomed break from the freezing and agonizing cold that they had brought with them. The break in the weather meant more activity for the small, seaside town. The cry of seagulls could be heard the closer one moved to the docks. They flocked there, standing like puffy, white-feathered, annoying vultures as the fishermen brought in their catches from the frigid waters. Vendors and traders of other types could be found throughout the human ruins if one knew only where to look. Some were found in pockets along the main roadways, others settled closer towards the forested outskirts.

Smelling the salty, ocean spray combined with the metallic tinge that most human settlements seemed to have, Ragna was reminded of her brief stay in the town a year prior, before her she had joined in with Felix’s lot. She had met Posey and her daughter there, in the midst of a brewing storm of sleet, if she recalled correctly. But, she had not come there for the nostalgia of it. The scout had business to attend to, and she hoped that she would be able to find it there in Searsport so that she would not have to make preparations to make the long journey down to Portland.

Ragna had a mental list of what she had hoped to return home with by the end of the short excursion beyond the Vale. Feed for her horses was at the top, though, the Eklund had her doubts of finding for a good price in the little town. Fish and other trades would have been easier to come by, after all. However, it wasn’t like the item was out of the question either. With so many lowlands nearby, all one needed was to have had the forethought to take advantage of what was around them. Salt was another priority that was up there. She used quite a bit of it, from stews and soups, to curing meat and making jerky out of it. There were other things too, though, were of lesser desire or value compared to the other two.

She had brought Jack along for the trip. The tall gelding had been weighted with goods of her own for trade, as well as expected to haul whatever she obtained back to the Vale once they were through with things there. Jack followed along contently and was hardly needing of the lead that connected him to Brimstone. The two horses’ hooves sounded rhythmically along the snow-covered, cobblestone of one of the busier streets in town.

Never one to be left behind, Glade sat in his usual perch across Ragna’s shoulders. His beady eyes eagerly and excitedly searched each of the stalls and Luperci that they slowly and leisurely passed. If Ragna had chosen a life in Portland instead of remaining around the area in which they had lost many of their friends and comrades, the Eklund was sure that Glade would have had no qualms with the decision. He loved the atmosphere, though, and a tendency of letting his desires and imagination get the better of him.

It was one of the reasons why she had never chosen to settle for a life in a busy trading port.

Ragna took the time to let her glacier gaze scrutinize each vendor that they passed, searching with a purpose rather than with wonder like her marten companion. She wore her usual ware for the winter season; a deerskin, hooded cloak, a padded vest, and a dark, long-sleeve shirt with similarly colored pants. The scout had strapped her weaponry—her knives and her bow and its quiver—to her person, a silent threat to any ruffian who thought the had a chance of relieving her of her horses or goods that they carried. She led Brimstone on foot by his reins, not wanting to put forth the appearance that she was above the folk here.

Eventually, the Mistwalker came to a stop as she came upon a curious stall…of sorts. It had a woman at it who was wrapped perhaps just as warmly as she. Long, tattered ears stood out from her hood, and as the ex-soldier’s eyes moved down, she realized that the woman bared scars that were uglier than her own. Ragna recognized the mark of fire upon its victims, though, any sympathy she might have had ended at that.

She was a coyote, after all.

Ragna’s gaze was cold upon the stranger. “And what do you sell?” She asked gruffly. On her shoulder, Glade openly stared at the burnt half of the woman’s face.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Fri Jan 11, 2019 9:05 pm

A dull sky commanded the atmosphere and Evelyn felt frustrated with the lack of sunlight and warmth – especially warmth – in this barren, bitter place. Back home, in Rattler's Gulch, it was eternally dry and eternally sunny – warm and welcoming and wonderful. But here? A violent tremor, borne from a sudden feeling of frigid cold, shook her shoulders and traveled down her spine to the tip of her bottle-brush tail. Instinctively, she pulled her shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders and bowed her back against the frozen Northern air. Even with her cloak and her shawl, this land felt unpleasant to the little southern woman.

But she was determined not to let this land win. Indeed, she had made a promise to the cruel winter wind, that fateful day their wagon had broken its wheel and refused to budge – when they had met the coyotes of the Cartel and had fallen in with their ilk for the sake of survival – that she would not let it win. And Evelyn kept her promises. Adjusting her her shawl with care, the fire-kissed coyote thought, The promises that mattered, at least. Some promises, after all, were meant to be broken.

It wasn't often that the waif manned this postage stamp of a stall, but their need had become great and Evelyn was the best woman for the job. Despite the assistance they had acquired from The Cartel, they were still in need of goods and supplies and food and, harboring conflicting feelings of those coyotes which they had fallen in with, Evelyn felt it necessary for them – she and Santiago and Calhoun – to ensure that they had their own need met in the likelihood (or "possibility," she might argue) that their newfound "friends" decided to abandon them.

But, at any rate, she was a wordsmith and her charisma often made the difference between a trade and a fight. So here she was: a thin, fire-scarred coyote huddled against the cold and hoping for a trade. If there were any altruistic and wealthy Luperci out there, her appearance and situation might tug at their heartstrings and encourage sympathy.

Instead, there were only wolves.

The woman, her pale scars neat and pleasant compared to her own, stopped at her stall and stared down at her with eyes that matched the chilly atmosphere about them. Evelyn, no stranger to prejudice or judgement, lifted her eyes – one of living fire and the other of fogged ice – upwards without emotion. She glanced briefly at the thing on the inquirer's shoulder before shifting her weight and returning her gaze to the wolf.

"Remedies," she answered vaguely without blinking, her mismatched eyes steady. "You got other ailments, 'sides th' obvious?" Because being a wolf, as far as Evelyn was concerned, was a sickness that no medicine could cure.

OOC: Ahhh I so miss threading with you! <3

[WC — 474]


Loners
Coyote
User avatar
Mandi
Little Bandit

POSTED: Mon Jan 21, 2019 2:21 am


Same!<333 Evelyn is so interesting!

Her cold stare was returned, though, it was more neutral than Ragna’s own. Dead-like, might have been a passable descriptor. The sight might have been unnerving for another. Her facial scars that covered one half of her face, combined with milky hue of the eye that had been claimed by the fire as well, it made the woman something that would have definitely been a sight for children’s nightmares. A ghoul, a risen dead, a creature that had been cheated of the death it craved in light of the agony that was its pathetic life now.

She had seen plenty of wounds and injuries far more gruesome than that of the coyote’s before her. The Eklund had become nearly numb to it all because of a childhood spent amidst a never-ending war with their neighbors. When one hated their enemy with such a passion, creative methods were conjured with how to make the other suffer the most for their perceived sins and crimes against their people.

Ragna sardonically wondered if the coyote feared fire, if her injuries still burned in the deepest sleep, if the horrors of what had caused them still prowled her worst nightmares. She had never forgotten the feel of Scintilla teeth and claws upon her flesh, of one of their arrows piercing her body, of their yapping, gloating howls of victory after they brutally mutilated her packmates. In a perfect world, the coyote woman would never forget, just as Ragna never had.

“A shame, that,” Ragna replied, showing a bit of teeth. Because, yes, she doubted that this half-burned creature had the means to destroy every last hypocritical, terroristic, barbaric scavenger from this world in this ramshackle stall of hers. “But, no, I don’t.” Not like she’d trust a coyote with giving her a cure anyways.

“Does it hurt?” Glade asked, still staring at the woman’s scarred face.

His Luperci companion growled in warning. She didn’t particularly care to carry on a conversation with this woman. She had found out what she was selling, and she wasn’t interested. There was little point in interacting beyond what had already been spoken. Ragna wasn’t keen on starting unnecessary trouble when she still had other matters to attend to in the rundown city.

The marten looked at her though, whispering softly. “Posey has ailments. Aches. Maybe she have?”

“Posey is old, Glade,” Ragna hissed. She felt that she didn’t need to point out the obvious fact that this coyote woman had likely stolen, scavenged, or swindled whatever she had.

He turned his attention to the coyote once more. “Have remedy for old?”

Had it not opened the possibility to be ridiculed by one of their kind, Ragna might have simply walked away and effectively ended any further conversation between Glade and the woman. She didn’t want to have to defend her honor if the burn victim decided to throw a degrading remark at her “retreating” back.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:05 pm

A lot could be said for how the horrors of life could desensitize the folks that tried to survive it. Even before the Deadcreek Revivalists had swept into their dusty region and burned her family's ranch to embers and ash, Evelyn Escuella had seen her share of troubles and tragedies. But then, life could be right unkind in Rattler's Gulch, and few were spared from the harshness of their climate or from the indifference of disease or, in her case, from the bad luck of a gambling father.

Oh, no sir. Trouble was no stranger to Evelyn.

Granted, that did not make the arrival of those Deadcreek wolves any more tolerable. When they arrived, with all the strength and disgust and ruthlessness that a cougar might show to a wildcat, it had felt like the devil himself had stepped onto their ranch and intended to drag each and every one of them into the fiery, sulfurous pits of hell. For her brother, Lawrence, and for the rest of her family, excluding Calhoun, this had been reality.

But the devil would not have her; not back when she believed in the Good Word, and sure as horseshit not now – not ever.

Keeping her eyes firm and steady on the face of the wolf, only shifting them to consider the thing on her shoulder, Evelyn wondered after the woman. Was she someone to worry about, or was she just another piece of shit in a river of nobodies? She might have allowed herself to believe that, but for the wolf's facial scars. What had caused them? An innocent mistake, or an act of intent from someone else? It was always only one or the other.

"Hn," the coyote uttered, shifting her weight subtly. "Yes, it is." Burning her flaming eye into the face of the wolf, she added, "Quite a shame." Not because Evelyn would have cared to alleviate a wolf's ailments (if, indeed, she was even offering anything that possibly could), but because the wolf did not have any.

It was always more agreeable when wolves had afflictions that kept them up at night and made living unbearable. But then, who could have it all?

When the thing on the wolf's shoulder spoke up, Evelyn stared at it long and hard and not unlike a predator considering its prey. How typical, she thought to herself without adjusting her unblinking stare, for a wolf to call a lesser creature an equal companion before they would a coyote. "No," she answered before continuing in her unwavering, emotionless tone, "Feels like sunshine on a cold, winter day."

Except even sunshine kissing her burn scars on a cold day like this would feel marginally unpleasant. The frozen air, though it did pinch and poke at the hairless scar tissue in an uncomfortable way, was more welcome than the roaring, raging burning she felt whenever the heat and sun of summer bestowed its hateful kiss against her ruined flesh.

Falling silent, but never allowing her gaze to stray, Evelyn listened as the pair whispered and hissed. Scarred as her body was, her ears were in perfect working order. Whoever Posey was, it seemed to the coyote that it was someone important to the creature and its wolf and she immediately disliked them.

"Ain't no remedy for bein' old," she grunted back. "Besides a bite to th' neck." Pausing a beat, Evelyn inhaled sharply and glanced away to retrieve a small vial of clear liquid. She held it up, her eyes on the wolf again. "This would rightly ease them aches, though."

OOC: ;__; Thank youuu! She's a lot of fun to play!

[WC — 601]


Loners
Coyote
User avatar
Mandi
Little Bandit

POSTED: Sat Feb 02, 2019 5:48 pm

The coyote seemed capable of dishing back as much ice as she was dealt, which said a lot about this particular burn victim. There weren’t many that possessed some sort of intelligent wit to them, at least, not at a level that Ragna could somewhat appreciate. Most were stupid, or, were so arrogant that the wolfdog wanted nothing more than to carve one of her knives into their breast. This one though, she could mildly tolerate…for now.

After all, she could feel the prejudice ebbing off of the one-eyed creature, could see it in her dead stare.

Ragna’s lip curled a bit at the dry comment that rolled off of the coyote’s tongue in response to Glade’s question. With any luck, the cold, dry air made the scar feel tight and constricting, made her face feel stiff like an old grey nose’s joints on the coldest morning. With any luck, it still burned at the memory of what had caused it. Glade, thankfully, didn’t take any offense to the neutral remark. Instead, the little marten patted at his own cheek, likely trying to imagine what it might have felt like to have exposed, ugly skin marring half of his face.

He didn’t however, take kindly to the coyote’s initial assessment about how to help Posey. He frowned at the woman, baring his little teeth as he vehemently denied the option, “No kill! She nice and caring! Good all, even us.” When the coyote shifted to procure a remedy though, he couldn’t help but to eye the small vial curiously but warily. “What that?”

It looked like little more than water, maybe some sort of backwater moonshine, either of which, would be a cruel joke.

The Eklund snorted, and her unwillingness to take the held up vial showed her doubts in the supposed cure. “Yeah, I’m sure. There’s no need to worry about aches when you’re dead.”

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sun Feb 17, 2019 7:42 pm

With a flash of orange, Evelyn regarded the little pine marten in his vehement distaste of her solution to cure old age. He was a feisty little morsel of meat, she thought without emotion. Considering for only a moment the unpleasant thought that she could understand why the damn wolf kept the thing around, The Vicar shifted her shoulders into a subtle shrug and looked away. "You asked," she reminded the creature. "Besides, everyone goes th' same. This world don't care about good folk no more than it cares about bad folk." Near the end of her response, Evelyn made it a point to shift her eyes to the wolf's scarred face, suggesting precisely who she considered the bad folk were.

If she was a more light-hearted and whimsical woman, it might have amused her at how quickly the little pine marten's attention was diverted. Instead, she thought him simple. "Medicine," she answered, shifting the vial between her thumb and middle finger. "Somethin' to ease your Posey's pain." But she didn't think that it was the pine marten she needed to convince.

Shifting her eyes to the wolf again, Evelyn didn't bother to convey annoyance or displeasure with the woman's disregard for her "medicine." Instead, she held her gaze steadily on the wolf's cool eyes and waited for her words to die. "Can't argue that," she said in what was probably one of the most honest words she was likely to utter to the woman. "But until that happens, this would lessen 'em." After a moment, in which Evelyn turned more directly to the wolf, she asked, "Are you interested in helpin' your friend?" Or are you just wastin' my time? were the words she left unsaid but which she did not shield from her eyes.

OOC: Ragna omfg xD I love her.

[WC — 306]


Loners
Coyote
User avatar
Mandi
Little Bandit

POSTED: Sun Mar 10, 2019 6:48 pm


Thanks for the thread! <333

Glade’s frown only deepened at the coyote woman’s retort to his outcry. He didn’t Posey to be hurting when she died, nor did he want to kill her either to end her aches brought about by old age. So preoccupied with his discomfort with thinking of the old she-wolf’s ending days, he didn’t take much note into the pointed shift in the stranger’s attention towards his Luperci companion.

Ragna did though, and she merely raised a lip to reveal teeth in reply. If this burned creature thought she was the only “bad folk” around, she was dead wrong. The wolfdog was not afraid to admit to the atrocities she had committed in the name of Boreas, in the name of her family, in the name of her lost comrades. She did not regret a single release of her arrow, a single swipe of her blades, a single snatch of her teeth, a single swipe of her claws. She regretted none of it. Every Luperci she had killed had deserved their demise, and she would gladly kill them all again if she had to do things over.

Scintilla. Inferni. Salsola. Coyote. All of them. She was no more wrong than they had been.

The tattered-eared vendor attempted, once more, to lure them with her supposed cure. Ragna could feel Glade’s gaze upon her, but, her glacier eyes remained locked onto the coyote’s half-molten ones. With the hateful and cold aura that had ebbed off of the woman since the Mistwalkers had paused at her stall, Ragna somehow doubted that whatever “cure” was in the vile, it was not something that would help Posey.

If anything, the coyote could have been selling her poison.

“I am, but, not from the likes of you,” Ragna replied with a growl and chilly glare.

She turned then, swinging up into Brimstone’s saddle. They had wasted enough time talking to this creature. Glade scrambled to hold on at the sudden movement, but, managed to somehow stay perched on his Luperci companion in the end. Brimstone shifted on his feet, snorting before Ragna urged him and Jack to take up a trot down the partially empty street.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

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