the faith you prove

Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-29-2011, 10:14 AM

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Even if they were not kin, Ezekiel would have pardoned a child for such an offense. He was not so blinded by pride to forget the tests that small ones forced on their guardians. The pack he had spent time with had many children who tested their boundaries with similar displays. If she was older, he would have disciplined her. For now she was protected by youth and her mother’s watchful gaze. Ezekiel did not think himself so mighty to overstep very clear boundaries.

With Elijah still perched in the crook of his arm, Ezekiel followed after the colliewoman. She walked with a light, airy step. If she had not chosen the path of a healer she would do well as a hunter. He was reminded of a cat’s walk, though there was no subtle aggression within it. Forest cats were so often terrible and cruel. If any of this small family reminded him of that, it was Elvira. Even as her mother placed her into the birds-nest bed of blankets, the girl glared at them with pent-up violence in her eyes. Like her odd brother, Ezekiel felt the same wariness rise in him. Most certainly, these children were wrong. He gave no sign of it and placed the boy next to his sister, despite a wide-eyed unreadable expression at such a thing.

He turned and followed the woman back down the stairs and towards her workspace.

Alaine Winters · 03-30-2011, 08:58 PM

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His tolerance did not go unnoticed, or unrewarded. Having placed the children in the strange nest, Alaine offered the young male a gentle smile, and for once her emerald eyes seemed at peace. The children were tired, and after a customary glare and stare, allowed their little heads and eyelids to lower.

In peaceful sleep, she was allowed to forget their Wrongness. It was strange, but nobody had warned her that she would love her children more the closer to dead they appeared.

The Optime pair retreated back down the stairwell. Having been blessed with a light step herself, Alaine was able to note that Ezekiel himself was in possession of almost soundless movement. His walk was orchestrated with purpose, as she assumed everything in his life was. Not a flinch of muscle was wasted unnecessarily - The movements of a hunter, perhaps even a warrior. A strange reassurance settled in her breast. Her children would always be alienated, but at least they had a protector in Ezekiel de le Poer.

The door to the kitchen had fallen off its hinges long ago. The room was only separated from the hall by a swathe of thick cloth that hung in a curtain over the entranceway. Such a thing had been necessary to keep smokes and scents within the kitchen while she worked. Pulling the heavy, ratty material back with one hand, the slender woman slipped into the gloom. The room was small and had once been tiled - All that remained of such prettiness was the occasional china square and a mass of stained concrete. There was a working fireplace, in which currently sat a cauldron worthy of a Shakespearean witch. A workbench that had once been a dining table was littered with small bundles of various herbs and flora, most tied neatly in bunches at the stem with a section of twine.

More impressively were the walls. Little shelves had been fastened to the sides of the kitchen for her purpose, and they were currently filled with an eclectic clutter of glass bottles. Most were full, although some were half empty or completely so. The light filtered through their strange, opaque colors.

On a smaller table, propped against a wall at the very back of the room, were her more valuable items. Neat sections of cloth that had been ripped into rectangular bandages were rolled in cylindrical uniformity. Beside that was a small wooden box, in which was stored a number of formidable-looking medical devices such as needles and scalpels, tweezers and the like. The final object, which her eyes graced immediately with a loving air, was a book. Its leather cover was old, and the pages within brown and musty. Once, its title had been scripted most beautifully in gold inlay on the cover, but that too had been worn away by the touching of many fingers over time.

The Canon of Medicine would be invaluable to the right owner, but to Alaine it was merely a mystery. She could read the inner title, and a few notable words there-in, but it revealed no more of its secrets to her. Having walked directly to the book, the colliewoman leaned her meager weight against the table and gazed back at Ezekiel, searching hims with sharp emerald eyes for a reaction to this view of her inner sanctum.

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Ezekiel de le Poer · 03-30-2011, 09:51 PM

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For as much trust he placed in this woman, a dark worry had begun to form deep in his heart. Those children would not have a place within Inferni, but they were none-the-less bound to him. Each provided a separate yet terrible fear, and he could not leave it behind. Children or not, he could not shake the sense of unwelcome that blossomed in his heart when he saw them. It was cruel of him, and unreasonable, but it could not be helped. Ezekiel had lived in a savage world for so long.

The inner sanctum of the healer’s room was a wonder to Ezekiel. His eyes widened and turned bright with boyish wonder. No one had ever been so meticulous before Enkiel, and this was far more archaic and wonderful. She had all but fallen out of his fairy-tales of witches and healers hiding in forests while knights sought grails and walked into the mists never to return. She had taken care with all of her items and it showed. Briefly, he thought of his cousin—Enkiel’s workspace was equally as filled, but it lacked the warmth he felt here.

While he did not touch anything, he slid the weapons from his body and dropped them near the entranceway. His bag followed soon after, granting him mobility that the bulky quiver would not allow. He did not wish to damage any of her products, and walked into the space cautiously. Amber eyes sought to find everything they could capture, storing it in the confines of his memory. “My old teacher didn’t carry much with her,” he said as he walked. “I didn’t think places like this would really exist. Enkiel’s isn’t at all like your room.” It was far too sterile despite containing an equally large assortment of tools.

Alaine Winters · 03-30-2011, 10:10 PM

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She watched intently as the man discarded his belongs and began to peruse the room. It was with a curious and somewhat self-conscious gaze with which she observed him - arms crossed beneath small breasts in a defensive, closed posture. Not many individuals had been allowed access to this room, and the inhabitants of the Chien Hotel avoided it out of respect to the Apothecary. It truly was a portion of her, stored in brilliance in the strangely neat but feminine clutter of the room.

Color burst from everything - From bottles and plants, broths and shredded materials. The scents, too, were somewhat overwhelming; crushed and dried herbs were stored in little clay pots by the single window. The place smelt strongly of Alaine, just as she did of the place.

But her curiosity had much more to do with Ezekiel's reaction. It was crucial that she monitor him now - Every single expression or inclination he displayed told the colliewoman more of his viability as an apprentice. She had not discussed this secret desire with the man, but kept it carefully inside her mind. Gaze trailed him as he wandered, enthralled, about the long wooden table in the center. In spite of herself, that now-familiar smile curved gently at the corners of her maw to his words. "Some would call it an obsession," She rose as she spoke, feeling a certain degree of pride with the male's awe. Gentle, slender ivory fingers began to peruse the dusty bottles on the wall, turning some of them this way and that so the light hit them differently. "Make no mistake, it is one," The sultry sound of her laughter filled the room, but it was inwardly directed. She had been battling work-a-holic tendencies for years, and this room was the product of a long time of dedication to the craft of healing.

Continuing her gentle administrations with the bottles, the tucked some stray auburn ringlets behind one floppy ear. "Tell me about your teacher, if you would," She was curious to know of this other individual Ezekiel spoke of, and how much he had learned from them.

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Ezekiel de le Poer · 04-02-2011, 04:29 PM

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A menagerie of scents came from every corner of the room, from dried herbs he recognized to poultices he did not. There was certainly something magical here, of this he was certain. The woman his father had sired children with was a witch, a healer, and she would most certainly have the talent to rear them. Despite this thought, a darker one shadowed it—those children gave him twisted feelings simply from the way they behaved now. In time he hoped it would change, and they would grow out of such oddities. This was an empty hope, one that he knew in his secret heart could not be true.

Each motion she took was deliberate. He read her body the same way he did with the beasts; low speech was so much a language of motion and not of words. Alaine had spent her life following her path, and she was proud of such a thing. It spoke volumes to Ezekiel that he had been allowed within the room. When her question came, the coyote’s eyes darkened slightly. Gabriel had told him about what had happened to the woman he had known as a mother for so long. “Her name was Fatin Kali. She was an incredibly skilled healer, and a friend of my families for years. My father said she saved the lives of two of his siblings when they were attacked by a wolf. She was there when I was born, and was my godmother. I spent many months traveling with her and her brother, who taught me how to use the bow. Fatin wanted to ensure I knew both sides of their tribe’s teaching so she taught me healing as well,” he explained, eyeing the plants in the room and indentifying those he recognized.

“My sister and mother were with us for a time, but after they left I got homesick. When I came back my aunt taught me a little, and I read a lot after…well, after I got these,” he motioned to the scars over his eye. “Along with a few broken ribs, so I was laid up pretty good. My dad knows basic stuff too,” the boy went on quickly, unwilling to speak of Corvus or the damage done by the demon crow-wolf. “I think he’d be called a combat medic, from what I read. Setting bones, cleaning wounds, dealing with shock, that sort of thing—I know a little more than that, but I only really practiced on myself. Saved me a few scars though,” he added with a wink, proud of the fact that he had treated every wound quickly and saved more damage like the wounds on his face.

He made his way towards her corner of the room and studied the cover of the book there. It was obviously important to her, and he dared not touch it. However, he motioned to it with a nod and looked over to the smaller woman. “Another one of your obsessions?” He asked.

Alaine Winters · 04-03-2011, 12:41 AM

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She could sense the male watching her, reading her. The desire to still her natural movements and inclinations so as to hide herself mentally from him surfaced, and passed. She simply felt no need. The woman had allowed him into one of her most private of places, and already she wished to show him the other, the sacred place where Elvira and Elijah had been born. It was strange how quickly she had warmed to him - Almost like the chemical connection she had felt with his father. The world had taught her to mistrust all men and all strangers, but Ezekiel and Gabriel were Different, in the same way that her children were Wrong. There was a purpose in fate having brought him to her, and the pagan witch felt a sense of duty. Ezekiel would need the skills she could teach him, some day.

She stillled as he began to speak, respectfully levelling him with a cool emerald gaze. The story spun out of the hybrid male like scripture, and she watched him intently, capturing snippets of emotion as they flickered through the handsome lines of his face. This woman, this Fatin, she went deeper in his blood than a mentor. Clearly, she had meant a lot to him, and to Gabriel also. A troubled frown shadowed the colliewoman's eyes, but she did not speak yet, waiting for him to finish the tale.

It was interesting, how quickly he attempted to lighten the subject, especially with a charming wink. Undistracted but bemused by the young man, her frown was replaced with an endeared smile. She leaned against the bench and regarded him a moment in thoughtful silence, claws drumming on the worn wooden surface. The coyote-blooded man approached her vaguely, and her emerald eyes didn't leave his face as he inspected the leather-bound book with interest. When he gestured to it with a nod, she finally rose and moved to his side.

Ivory fingers caressed the intricate cover, the small indents where gold inlay had once lain untarnished. Her palm smoothed lovingly over the surface of the book. "It was my mother's," Memories bubbled beneath an inky brew in her mind, revealing stained pictures of a humble, brown-furred woman with sharp emerald eyes. A faint smile curled about Alaine's maw, but the pain was dull and empty. That was a scar that had been inflicted a lifetime ago. "An obsession only in foolish sentiments, perhaps. It has no use to me - I cannot read." The words were simple enough, and offered with little emotion. She could sound out some of the letters, produce simple words, but nothing more.

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Ezekiel de le Poer · 04-04-2011, 09:29 AM

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The most terrible thing within Ezekiel was a talent his father lacked—if he had so chosen, this boyish wonder, this charm, it could be made into pretense and warped many a trusting heart to dark deeds. He knew this because he had done it. Corruption had not yet grasped his heart as it had with so many, but like the world, he had been touched. It was inevitable.

He sensed this capacity within Alaine, which was why he did not push her. His instincts had turned him against the children from the start, but she loved them and he would protect them because they were kin. No matter what else, they were kin. This foolhardy faith in his bloodline had carried him into the wilderness and stranded him there for two years. This time he recognized, at least, that something was Wrong. He had not sensed it in Talitha, but her wickedness was perhaps a fault of the most vile things she had suffered.

Perhaps this was why he sensed it within Alaine, though he did not know her and knew nothing of her past. Or, perhaps, he simply imagined the world as it was. There was little romance within him for the lives of beasts. Earth was a savage place, and he knew that all too well.

Her memories carried her away but she remained grounded and spoke with the same indifference to her illiteracy as so many others had. Again, he thought of his sister. “I could try teaching you some,” he offered, fingers scratching at the back of one hand. “Or I could read it to you, if you would want.” This too, was offered with little emotion—he did not indicate anything besides the fact it was an offer, aware that the wrong tone might make him come off as cruel.

Alaine Winters · 04-05-2011, 08:12 AM

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It was remarkable, the fragments it took to create a personality. If she focused hard enough she could see them all - The little pieces of Ezekiel, slotting together like shards of a broken portrait. Each little chapter concealed something crucial, something defining - A map of decisions that had crafted the young man's entire existence.

She wondered what his decision would be, when she offered him knowledge and the ability to fight death itself.

There was a potential to him, a quality that begged for the sculpting hands of those who would impart their wisdom on the male. Already, she saw the careful moulding of his previous mentor, eclectic against the powerful slices of his father, the erratic sweeps of his sister. So many intricate threads weaving together to create the whole - It was no wonder the coywolf was a charmer, complex as he was. He belonged to different gods than her own, but Alaine liked to consider the joy of Dea in his creation, and the power of belief that he could wield. A natural leader, if such a thing was real beyond the hollow words of those who considered themselves beyond being led.

His offer, given in the same casual indifference as her statement, was matched with a thoughtful glance from shadowed emerald eyes. He was wise to be careful in offending her, for the Winters woman was a proud creature in spite of the humility she had been forced to tote for so many years. One ivory hand of hers rose, aiming to settle on his own and stop it fiddling and scratching. "Ezekiel," Lyrical voice was heavy with responsibility, but thick with electric currents of an excitement that pulsed through her blood. "I would like you to be my apprentice. Do you accept?"

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Ezekiel de le Poer · 04-05-2011, 07:13 PM

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It was unsurprising that Ezekiel would be the sum of the ghosts in his families lineage. He had come from things feral and savage, come from men who had gone mad and turned on their beloved, women who had killed their own children. He was not made to be sculpted as so much as he was chipped into something new and beautiful from an old statue. Away fell the sickness that had claimed his grandfather, away fell the weakness that lingered in his grandmother’s heart, and even further came scars from demons and feathers and wisdom from ravens, experience from a warrior of a time forgotten and another who would have been her enemy, and still further the most terribly savage truths of a world that was as indifferent to suffering as it was to the struggles of life and death because it went on without end.

Ezekiel, in this broad view, was nothing remarkable. Yet he had survived and he had flourished and he had something that was perhaps the most powerful ally of all: hope. He had clung to hope searching for his sister in the depths of winter, and he had clung to hope when he had fled from her and to this strange woman. There was hope within him because he knew to let go and put his faith in God’s hands. Each decision had been a test or a reward; and now he was presented with another choice, another path, and saw it was not a question posed to him lightly. This woman, the woman who had mothered his half-siblings, she had been testing him since he had returned. He wondered if she had planned this all along.

Though he had been full of humor only moments ago, the coyote’s face changed as suddenly as a summer storm. His eyes turned sharp but not cruel, and his face took on lines that turned him into the adult he was in truth. Ezekiel had grown up a long time ago, even though he hid this fact well. Walls upon walls had to be built or else there would be room for all the fear to creep back into his heart and he could not have this. “I do,” he replied, his tone even but his eyes bright. Almost as suddenly as it had come, the seriousness had passed and he smiled again. “It’ll give be a reason to come see Nana, after all.”

Alaine Winters · 04-06-2011, 07:00 AM

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Her words seemed to pull the young man back into his serious mentality. It was like the flipping of a coins - Once face had the charms, the wit, the handsome and endearing chivalry. The other side was the real side; no fake smiles here, just sharp gold eyes and a sharper mind. This was the side she could use, the side that would craft him into something greater than he was now. Alaine was almost certain that destiny held something terrible or wonderful in store for Ezekiel de le Poer, and she could only hope that it was the latter, for his sake.

It did not take him long to accept her offer. The words, heavy with the responsibility he had accepted, pleased her immensely in the deep secret world within the woman. It was important that he accept. A path had been set, and her purpose made clearer. Although she did not smile, the petite Fae's emerald eyes were fervently bright about their thin, precise pupils. It was he who broke the intensity of the moment, shrugging back into the natural charm that falsely adorned him so well. She acquitted to it for now, but would not long tolerate the plastic smiles he sometimes instinctively offered. The Apothecary knew he did it out of habit and instinct, but it was important to her that he was aware of the distance between his identity and the identity he sometimes portrayed. The best actors often found their identities stolen away by a common role, and Ezekiel was far too important for such a fate. His jest provoked a generous smile from the woman, and she stepped back to give him personal space once more. "It would be cruel to deprive her, after all," She agreed mildly.

The serious expression returned, although mixed with a satisfaction she had not worn before. "We will start your training this afternoon." It was essential she begin as soon as possible, although she was weary from the mornings antics and wished to take one of common naps with the pups. Alaine had a deep feeling that she would not have long to spend with Ezekiel on this trip - Surely it would not be long before the Warrior-King came to reclaim his son.

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Ezekiel de le Poer · 04-06-2011, 06:55 PM

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Sincerity had the potential to hurt, and not simply others. Ezekiel’s torrent of emotions were all carefully focused inside, allowing only the charm to show itself. Anger was the second most common, rising when he lacked the tact to show feelings. He did not understand how to do such a thing. Worry and regret had done nothing for him, so outward came the war and the strife. The scars over his eye and the broken ribs had shattered whatever hope he had of staying gold.

Ezekiel was pleased by her response, and equally pleased that they would have time to rest. His body did not show the strain of the morning, but he felt the tension in his muscles and knew that the events unfolding behind him would not take long to catch up. Alaine directed him to an empty room, her subtle warning he might stay inside until she returned a suggestion he agreed with. There were enough remains of whoever the last tenant had been to suit him. With the sun streaming in though a glassless window, Ezekiel made himself comfortable and was swiftly asleep.

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