Faerie Apples

[Naunet]

((Yay for a little bit of casual RP on some characters that could use a bit of love...!))

 

***

 

Outside the busy Carline Canopy, a masked miqo’te dressed in little more than a pair of rugged pants and sturdy work gloves dropped a lumpy, fairly heavy-looking sack onto the deck of the balcony before stretching his arms up over his head. His ears cocked to one side as he muttered to himself, “Guess apples are in season... or something. Man...” He shook his head, red hair swaying.

 

A blonde roegadyn garbed in thick, earth-colored leathers and carrying a longbow across her broad back passed the miqo’te then and walked into the tavern just like a person who walked into the tavern. This would not be the last time she did things in a tautological way.

 

In a removed corner just outside the Canopy, nestled between a few barrels overflowing with flowers, a wrinkled, old Duskwight had been sitting by the inn since before dark, and he now turned his silver eyes towards the masked Miqo'te to his right. He didn’t say anything at first, for several seconds just looking him over, and then said, "What kind of apple?" as if he were asking about a corpse.

 

The miqo’te 's ears swiveled in the direction of the voice, though the mask he wore hid any change of expression or gaze. His laugh suggested some familiarity, though. "Faerie ones. Don't think they're magical though."

 

The Duskwight held up an open palm, "You should let me double check. I could tell you for sure."

 

The roegadyn from before exited the tavern not long after she had entered, with a bottle of ale and a pouch of dry fruits. Extremely interesting stuff if your interests are on the wrong things.

 

The miqo’te placed one hand behind his neck and stretched the muscles there. This action was followed by a rather... disconcerting pop, and then his arm dropped to swing loosely at his side a few times. "You just want one of my apples," his voice conveyed a grin. Still, he bent to reach into the sack and tossed an apple in the Duskwight's direction without looking.

 

The old man did not go out of his way to catch the mis-thrown apple. He watched it thud against the wall and fall near his leg, where he finally picked it up and considered the bruise. "It does not appear magical."

 

“I figured! If they were really fairies, they probably wouldn't have liked me picking 'em anyway.” The miqo’te turned to face the Duskwight and leaned against the railing of the balcony. His tail swished broadly behind him.

 

“Fairies only like dancing,” spoke the roegadyn, who had paused in her exit to turn towards the conversing pair. She intruded in the conversation like someone who intruded into a conversation.

 

The Duskwight turned his attention to the apple, ignoring that which was said to and near him as he took a bite from it.

 

“Eh? And how do you get to knowing that? Danced with a lot of fairies in your day?” The miqo’te's expression was utterly unreadable behind the mask he wore, but his tone was jesting.

 

“I hope she has not been dancing counter-clockwise about faire rings,” the Duskwight uttered in idle warning. “She may be here to take vengeance for the apples you've harvested.

 

The miqo’te man laughed at that.

 

“Vengeance about apples,” the roegadyn mused. “Maybe if there was a starving man who could have survived thanks to those apples. But no, I don't think so.”

 

“She's no faerie, then,” the Duskwight concluded. He took another bite of the apple.

 

“In either case I'm sure the sylphs do not care about your apple-catching.”

 

The miqo’te 's shoulders shook briefly with a lingering chuckle. "He doesn't count?" His tail flicked once.

 

“He is not the one who gathered the apples, is he?” the roegadyn inquired.

 

“Nah, but maybe he's starving? No way to tell!”

 

The Duskwight nodded, "You never know. I could be."

 

“It wouldn't be unlike the Gridanians to let a man starve right outside their tavern.” The observation came with the necessary irony.

 

The miqo’te just hummed to himself, scratching behind his mask with one finger.

 

The roegadyn moved to the railing then. Once she reached it, she bent against it, placing her elbows on it.  After a time, however, she found the railing to be too small for her and decided to not bend against it for long. She left her bottle on it, though.

 

“Especially a Duskwight,” the old man added. “Some days I don't even bother coming into town.”

 

“Well, this day got you an apple,” the miqo’te announced broadly. “Or two. Hells, I can spare more if ya want, I'm sure.”

 

“Did you ask the Hearers if the Elementals aren't angry about you having their apples?” came a word of caution from the roegadyn.

 

The masked man craned his neck up towards her. Though tall for a miqo'te, his height was still nothing compared to one of her race. The empty face of the masked stared up at her for a moment as he thought and then, "... Nah, figure I'll know if I do something wrong."

 

The Duskwight smiled at something in his words. "Yes, the elementals do have a way of talking to us directly."

 

“Yes, you will. Once the beasts of the Twelveswood decide to attack you without provocation.”

 

The miqo’te scratched at the back of his head, ears twitching. "Yup, definitely don't want that. So... Apple?"

 

She shook her head firmly. “No, thank you. I can tell you are new to the Shroud, but you are wearing a local mask. A souvenir?”

 

The miqo’te seemed to think on that, or at least the askew angle of his ears would have suggested it. "Not so new that I don't know what this does." He chuckled.

 

The roegadyn hand rested against her waist. “Really? I wonder what you did to get that reaction from the woods. But then not many know what they did.”

 

The masked man waved a hand. "Ah, who knows. Maybe it was the apples! Or the fairies." He shook his head, ears bouncing with the gesture.

 

“Likely the apples,” the Duskwight, who had been rather silent and partaking of his apple until now, spoke up.

 

“Can't help it,” the miqo’te was saying. “They're tasty! Took some getting used to, but...” He shrugged and grinned, but that expression was not at all visible.

 

The Duskwight threw an apple core past the two, over the railing. "Behold, I have disrespected the Shroud and am doomed to die. Typical Duskwight.” At the action, the miqo’te’s whole body bent and shook in a burst of laughter.

 

“Yet you have no mask, Duskwight. You seem to have fared quite well with the woods.”

 

The Duskwight looked up at her and said, "What of your mask, Roegadyn?"

 

She folded her arms, shaking her head sligh. “Quite an insensitive question, but a deserved one, I admit. Half of my face was torn apart by a creature. It is not a sight anyone should suffer.”

 

The miqo’te’s tail swished. “Aw, I'm sure it's not so bad. Only half your face, after all!”

 

The Duskwight hummed and closed his eyes, "I had not intended to broach such a question. You could have deigned not to disclose. I apoogize for my young friend's lack of manners.”

 

“Manners?” The masked miqo’te quirked his ears. “I was perfectly mannerful. You're supposed to encourage the lady.”

 

“Yes. Yes, you should be ashamed.” The woman jokingly threw her sight to the miqo'te.

 

“I think you've mistaken 'encouraging' for 'insensitive'. Shame.” The Duskwight shook his head.

 

“We have not shared names. I am Aiswys.”

 

The masked miqo’te wagged one finger at the Duskwight, but whatever response he'd been about to deliver was interrupted by the woman on his left. He turned to her and extended one hand welcomingly, "A pleasure to meet you then, Ai-s-wys!" The name, for some reason, was difficult on his tongue. Not used to Sea Wolf names, perhaps. Off to the side, the Duskwight did not seem to catch the queue to volunteer his name.

 

Aiswys nodded to the miqo’te, acknowledging his difficulty to say her name. “What is yours?”

 

The miqo’te stared blankly back at Aiswys for several seconds. The mask helped this, for it still refused to reveal any expression. Then his ears twisted one way, then the other. His tail performed some weird contortion. Then finally, he laughed. "Ah! Just some guy with apples."

 

“That's quite a long, nonspecific name you have, Guy-with-Apples.”

 

“Just-some-guy-with-apples, actually,” the Duskwight corrected. “He doesn’t like it shortened.”

 

“Eh, it works! Some days, I'm ‘Guy with chestnuts’ or ‘Guy with alligator pears’.” The masked man waved a hand at the Duskwight. "That's Megiddo, by the way."

 

“Charmed to make your acquaintance,” Aiswys nodded. “I hope Gridania is not threating you too badly this day.”

 

“Gridania holds no threat to those who understand it,” the Duskwight, Megiddo, replied.

 

“It's okay,” the miqo’te mused. “Rains too much, but what can ya do.”

 

“There are plenty of things wrong with the Black Shroud. And the world at large. They just...differ in scope.” Aiswys turned her head to look away into the horizon like a woman who looked away into the horizon. It was all very tautological.

 

The miqo’te tilted his head and then just shrugged. "Not quite sure I follow your meaning there, but alright."

 

“Life is a barter,” Aiswys explained calmly. “Here and everywhere. The Shroud has the Elementals to collect and rectify debts, but they are only here. Everywhere else, debts are created and there is none but the gods and their servants to collect. A matter of scope, as I said.”

 

The miqo’te tapped his chin beneath the mask. "Aaahah. Well, I'll pay the forest back for these apples one of these days, how about that." Then he hefted the bag and swung it over one shoulder.

 

“I hope you do. Otherwise, the woods might want to collect. Though...” Aiswys let out a faint chuckle, muffled by her mask. "I do not think apples are very important on a divine scale."

 

“They're important on my belly's scale! And others'.” At this, the miqo’te burst out laughing, perhaps in poor taste to his own joke.

 

“Well said! Do not eat them all in one go.”

 

The miqo’te shrugged, "I make no promises," and turned then, lifting an idle wave to Megiddo in his little corner. "Catch ya later. Got more where these come from if you want."

 

Aiswys left the apple guy with his apples. She looked down to the railing and pondered about how short it was.

 

Megiddo tossed a slight wave to the masked miqo'te with the apples, who then walked off, his tail swinging in time with his steps.

 

A moment later, Aiswys picked up her bottle. She walked near the Duskwight and left the bottle next to him. “A little Gridanian gift. I'm sure they won't mind.”

 

Megiddo looked down at the bottle and up at the Roegadyn, "I'm a hermit, not a beggar."

 

“Good, because this is not charity. It's a gift.”

 

“In that case, thank you.”

 

Aiswys gave Megiddo a short nod and departed with her pouch of dry fruits, just like a woman who carried a pouch of dry fruits and who just gave a man a short nod. This was her last tautological action of the night.