[M] and our clouds still full of rain

POSTED: Wed May 14, 2014 8:51 am

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Seaside in The Waste. AW for one. :)

As if it were Mistral's replacement, his companion of late had been the beaten-up old acoustic guitar taken from Juniper Peace as gift the previous summer when he had chose to depart them once again. Razekiel would have been proud; the guitar did not receive regular attention, but in recent weeks Micah had tended to it on a near daily basis, a reprieve from his thoughts and an outlet for his stress. D'Artisan predicaments had settled some, and while he had become accustomed once more to a silent, empty household, the transition had been made easier with the instrument as distraction.

Among the wastes and one again a distance from home Micah and his guitar had trekked, no destination in mind but far away. Hours spent within Cercatori d'Arte held little purpose—scouting, painting, checking borderlines. He received no visitors, held no conversations, relished in no reoccurring friendships. The Lykoi had started to numb to it all, to the repeated days of quiet easily mistaken for peace, and chose to stray from the misery clouding his household to open air and sights of spring reviving and summer soon to return outside his pack. When the clouds gathered and rain began, the coyote—a meandering dark blur resembling his migrant father—took to the rocks of the Waste and made himself comfortable within a small nook with view of the sea.

Head dry but toes tapped by falling rain, Micah reclined there a while, no longer hollowed but numbed. In his lap he propped an old book of sheet music, religious in its time but unknown to Micah, and the notes designed for another instrument.

He stammered a time through the lyrics, blurs of letters piled together in patterns he could not make heads nor tails of, and replaced them with humming and stray chords as loosely guided by the book.

Even the people of Juniper Peace could read stories and adventures. But he—dumb, weak, anxious Micah—he could only read dots on a staff and no more. How pathetic he was, and yet how fine did his music accompany the rain.

Last edited by Micah Sunrise Lykoi on Fri May 23, 2014 12:05 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Wed May 14, 2014 11:17 pm

he wanted to share His key to the locks on the chains he saw everywhere

His own fault, Marlowe thought, but that didn't really matter.

He had misjudged the rain, unused to the effect of the sea. They had been living here long enough that he had thought himself clever, but the sudden shift had caught up with him.

It helped that he had been drifting before that. The musky scent of smoke still clung to his fur, and he was regretting not bringing the horse. Hunting had been easier without him, and he had two fat birds dangling from the quiver on his back. This was more than enough for him, even though his appetite was more apparent now.

Rain caught up with him before he made it to Inferni, though, and so Marlowe sought cover amongst the boulders. His time in the desert had made him leery of storms of any sort, though they had traveled through many to get here. Still, he had a healthy respect for the greater forces of the world and a half-full pouch that could ease the time.

That was, at least, his first intention. He heard the faint twang of unnatural noise amongst the rain, and it was enough to draw him towards it. Marlowe had no cloak to hide him (he had traded this away) and his dark fur was further darkened by its dampness. With his long hair pressed to his face, he all but leered at the source of the sound.

“What are you doing?” He asked, sounding far more authoritative than he had any right to be.

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Luperci Every man has a price to charge and a price to pay. Take peace from the earth and make men slay each other. The Cursed
plead the fifth
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the devil made me look

POSTED: Thu May 15, 2014 12:01 pm

:o well hello

The sound startled him, a noise like grating concrete among chattering songbirds, and almond eyes fell upon his intruder visibly startled. Fingertips frozen at the hanging strings, it was the scene with Sparrow repeated, for his guitar had drawn in a vagrant when the music had been intended as company for Micah and Micah alone.

But the Inspired did not mind the company of another, unusual as it was to find some in the pouring rain. Among the rocks there was little cover—the nook shielding the downpour scarcely big enough to house the torsos of two, and less when Micah dragged in his legs out of nervous reflex by the approach. "Um," he started, glancing no others accompanying the man, catching no scents from the stranger's soaked pelt. Tone hovering between anxious and suspicious, Micah drew the instrument close as if it might serve as shield and mumbled, "Just, umm, just waiting out the rain."

Micah knew these parts; he was not too far from home. Swallowing the lump in his throat to avoid panicking as he had done with Sparrow under similar circumstances, the Lykoi reminded himself of nearby borderlines and his considerable distance from them. What else could he have done wrong to rouse the flat interest of this man of auburn hues?

"I-I'm not hurting anyone." Speak slowly. Don't stumble. "I, I didn't mean to intrude, if I have."


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Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Tue May 20, 2014 9:07 am

he wanted to share His key to the locks on the chains he saw everywhere

There had been very few dark coyotes in the south. Marlowe was especially interested in the flinty shade of his fur, especially when it bore that odd red stripe that seemed so familiar. The north bred dark things, he thought—Lokr was another especially dark coyote.

Damp as he was, Marlowe was north-dark too...though much of him was snowy against the rain-soaked stones. He tried to ignore the water, as he had been trained, but it was already deep in his fur and dripping down his paws.

“No, you ain't intrudin'--I just hear ya,” he jerked his scruffy chin towards the guitar. He didn't know how to explain what it was that really drew him—he lacked the vocabulary to make sense of music. That sound, though...

“You think there's a bigger place to hide out 'round here?” He said, falling back on this presumed ignorance of the place. His red ears turned against the downpour, bright against his gray-streaked hair.

they are basically both weird art kids
(also marlowe is gonna maybe be a bad influence so this might need to be M at some point lolidk??)
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Luperci Every man has a price to charge and a price to pay. Take peace from the earth and make men slay each other. The Cursed
plead the fifth
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the devil made me look

POSTED: Thu May 22, 2014 11:07 pm

"I just hear ya," replied the stranger with a nod to the guitar, a gesture Micah was not certain how to identify. Like Sparrow the instrument had drawn in an unidentified straggler for the type of small talk Micah very much disliked, and in that moment the Lykoi wished Faolan had finished learning the strings and taken the instrument as it had been promised to him.

"Um, well," said Micah, crawling from his dry haven and straightening amidst downpour, "there's a little opening up there, yeah. Follow me, I guess."

Why was he bothering? The two had barely exchanged words. Micah had yet to determine whether he was a threat or a friend and yet the Lykoi trudged through the rain for his sake, soaking the guitar and his satchel and his hair whose curls would surely flare out past point of return. It was his own fault, realized Micah, for he could have been confrontational. He could have said no. He could have lied.

A hand ever near to his satchel where the dagger buried within, the granite man motioned a finger to a bigger nook in the rocky shore, more akin to a shallow cave and well suited for shelter. Micah stopped short of the entrance, expecting the stranger to take his place so that he himself might take his leave. "There," he said with a gesture, almond eyes straying, arms hugging the guitar as if his body was all the shelter it needed. "I, um, I guess you're not from around here, huh?"


User avatar
Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Thu May 22, 2014 11:22 pm

he wanted to share His key to the locks on the chains he saw everywhere

There was the faintest kind of recognition in him—like he could step outside of himself—and suddenly Marlowe felt very conscious of how he must look, though he gave no sign of it. Wildlings, savages from the south that were so wild they had abandoned everything—even God, if they believed the Speakers—to come and pledge themselves to an unfamiliar place.

Maybe they were all mad out here. Marlowe frowned visibly.

“Naw, not really,” he muttered. Then, sharply, he gestured for the dark coyote to move inward. This was further emphasized when Marlowe himself remained still, glaring out from under bangs still dripping rainwater. He did not advance until after the stranger had settled inside, and then dropped his wet rabbits to the floor.

Keeping close to the edge, he shook himself all over until his fur stuck up wildly and in odd places.

Goddamn does it rain up here!” He lamented, and combed his wet hair back from his face with one hand. “You from in these parts? It always this fuckin' wet?”

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Luperci Every man has a price to charge and a price to pay. Take peace from the earth and make men slay each other. The Cursed
plead the fifth
hell is other people
the devil made me look

POSTED: Fri May 23, 2014 12:05 am

Micah did not want to go inside, he did not want to—and yet he did, like the spineless fool he was. It was not as if the man looked dangerous, but the stranger seemed so commanding and deliberate in his every motion, as if all their interaction were scripted and Micah never informed that rehearsal was to begin.

The Lykoi tried not to frown in his compliance, marching stiffy from rain to new shelter and tipping guitar to dump out water collected in its center. He flinched when the man shook water free, then flinched again when he burst out in unwanted noise. If only he had not played the damn guitar. If only he could bust it over one damp, pointed rock and get on with his pitiful life further uninterrupted.

"I-I think so," he replied, stiff but entertaining humor. "I mean, if you go west or south enough... the weather sort of evens out. It's, um, it's different here every day."

He continued with a gesturing finger, "My, um, my pack's that way a ways. I haven't really been home in a while. It's, it's nice out here, even with the rain." A pause. Might as well get his name. "Oh, um. I'm Micah, by the way."

Odd scent caught his nostrils between stench of rain, one familiar yet estranged considering the scene. One of the jars in his satchel must have unscrewed and opened—Damn. Committing the cleanup to later and ignoring the weak smell, Micah realized himself expected to satisfy smalltalk and asked, bumbling, "Where—uhh, if you don't mind me asking—where are you from?"


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Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Sat May 24, 2014 10:37 pm

he wanted to share His key to the locks on the chains he saw everywhere

The words charm and charisma suited him, and for a very long time Marlowe had made things easier on them using these skills for heartless things. He lied and cheated and stole, and he did so with an honest smile and a genuine wish for their lives to go on. The only men he ever hurt, the only men he ever killed...well, they deserved it.

He was already going to hell.

Seemingly half-paying attention, Marlowe sat down and set about undoing the gear he had come with. He was still damp from it but dry enough, though his concern was more for the materials. It was the weapons he tended to first, as he had been trained. It was during this process, when he had removed the arrows and set them to his side so they wouldn't grow soft, that Marlowe's full attention really did focus on the black coyote—Micah--and what he was saying.

He wasn't from Inferni, but somewhere else. South. That meant little to Marlowe, and he was only vaguely interested in such information.

Micah was interested in him, though, and that meant he had to pay attention.

“Just moved in a little that-a-ways,” he made vague indications northward, thinking that someone with a red-nose and coyote blood had to understand his implication. “I'm Marlowe.”

Mindlessly, his hands began to work at his belt—and in doing so, he slipped this off. Though the bag he carried was hardened leather, the softer pouches inside were his primary concern.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Marlowe began examining the small satchels. The sweet-sour smell permeated from his touch, and his coin-colored eyes drifted up to Micah.

“What was that song you were playin' before?” He asked directly, obvious need in his eyes.

It was so fucking familiar.

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Luperci Every man has a price to charge and a price to pay. Take peace from the earth and make men slay each other. The Cursed
plead the fifth
hell is other people
the devil made me look

POSTED: Tue Jun 03, 2014 10:29 pm

With comment and introduction Marlowe motioned to a northern home. He hoped, quite desperately, that it was not Inferni in question, for as of late Micah had met many an Infernian unconsciously determined to sway his opinion of the clan. Sisters Sparrow and Vesper were not the types the fire clan once boasted, nor the meek Snapdragon. The Lykoi decided, knowing it foolish, that Marlowe could have meant any of the northern packs, for there was quite a selection to choose from "that-a-ways."

"Oh," said Micah, as uncommitted to learning the proper answer as possible, but it was too late. Shelled by the cave and in such proximity, between rain and wind he might have glimpsed the slightest scent of the coyote clan. He told himself it was in his own fur, unwillingly stuck there as if bred into him as a Lykoi. He realized at once that Marlowe might have recognized the flash of scarlet at edge of his nose, and the d'Artisan awkwardly attempted to angle it out of vision.

Challenged for a name of the song, Micah froze beneath pressure: "Uhh, well, i-it's, I-I mean, is it that important?"

He grabbed suddenly for his satchel and dug out the book buried within when told to relocate. Holding his breath, the Lykoi presented it to the man, the golden cross and regal font on the cover catching light. "It's, it's just some song in this book I found." Almond eyes briefly glancing the staff of several pages, he held over the weary book of music opened to the song in question. Its title clearly read, Lift High the Cross.

"I-If you must know," the coyote continued, slowly smothered in shame, "I, umm— I, I can't—I can't read. I... I've just been making up the words." Posture withdrawing, he hugged his elbows. "I-I don't even know the title."

Four years old and all he could read was dots on a staff.


User avatar
Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Tue Jun 03, 2014 11:05 pm

he wanted to share His key to the locks on the chains he saw everywhere

Once the speckled coyote began to speak, Marlowe's attention drifted downwards. He worked fast despite his knobby fingers (for they had been broken and rebroken many times) and he worked well, quickly undoing the tight knots made by small cord made from twine from the plant itself.

Within his little sacks, thought they were certainly not the bulk of his stash, were several orange-tinted buds, reeking of the good growth they had come from. Against his fingers they felt sticky, but not damp. Marlowe grinned a little, and then looked up at a flurry of movement.

The book was too thin to be a Bible, but it bore the Cross. Marlowe felt his breath catch, and wonder if the stranger noticed—he forced himself to exhale, and feigned his true interest. Bright eyes peered at the book, and for the most part, all he saw were scribbles and dark marks. He did not know what notes were, of course, and had no basis for them.

Words, though. Words he knew.

“Ain't nothin' wrong if you can't read,” he offered, and tried to downplay his enthusiasm. “Back where I came from, most people ain't supposed to read.”

Behind him, though, his tail was wagging a little.

“Aww sheet,” he drawled. “If you know what the fuck these little things are, you know more than me. The song's called Life High The Cross—this,” he further explained, and one of his hands lifted to the turquoise stone around his throat. “S'what you got on the cover, too.”

Then, taking note of the man's body, he held the book out—offering to return it.

“It sounded nice,” Marlowe mused. “You pretty good on la guitarra.”

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Luperci Every man has a price to charge and a price to pay. Take peace from the earth and make men slay each other. The Cursed
plead the fifth
hell is other people
the devil made me look

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