[Erasmos]

Quest Link (I keep forgetting where it is)

Everyone knew that some days were busier than others, and today was one of the less busy ones. Of course, there would always be folks like him without jobs to ruin what would otherwise be a quiet midday. Erasmos thoughts jumped to attention as a rather plump elderly woman scuffled along, leaning heavily on her cane. Eagerly, his eyes examined every detail, carefully scrutinizing her clothing and the way it folded on her body. Perhaps an ordinary eye might think the man a pervert looking for peeps from those less fortunate who should be respected in the utmost, but instead, he sought something else - the size and location of her purse. Like a dog set on master's hand, his eyes did not leave the location as he began to casually strut forwards, taking long strides, his hands beginning to sweat in anticipation of wealth and it's luxuries. He could count the feet slowly closing as he wove around the pedestrian traffic, while the elderly woman merely walked forwards, her way being paved for her like a parting red sea, accompanied by various greetings in all manner of tongue which he could not understand. Surely this indicated that he would not be able to understand her language. But if he could not communicate with her, how would he charm her elderly coin out of her elderly pocket? The answer didn't matter, because the woman had stopped in front of a door and withdrawn her keys. He paused also, examining the building for clues of it's purpose, and seeing a basket of flowers on an extended windowsill, returned to his gait and passed her by. It was a house, she was going home. There was always the possibility of requesting to pick up odds and ends for her, but such things had always ended in disaster. It seemed that the older one was, the more out of touch they were with how much currency was really worth, a grand smile always accompanied the smallest value of coins, with nit-picky standards that wavered back and forth, and gigantic jobs like moving furniture, mending roofs, and cutting down trees. He was capable of some of these things, but even if he had the tools and know-how, a milk delivery boy would earn much, much more than he. "Oh!", he suddenly exclaimed, turning a few heads in the process to see what the commotion was. Their raised eyebrows and inquiring glances quickly faded back to their hustle and bustle as his feet set to motion, each step pounding on the well-worn cobblestones. In a few minutes, he was there, somewhere within the labyrinth of a maze that this establishment called civilization, nestled between other buildings, and easy to miss, a steady plume of smoke rose from a ash-blackened chimney. He began to breathe heavily, his steps now slow and inquisitive, he towered his head to see past the empty lobby area of a local forge. "Heloooo?", he called into the shadows that danced from corner to corner, somehow attached to their imprisoned respective flames, surely used for smelting weapons and tools. He looked down at his trousers for a moment, carefully examining the various folds in the garment, and at last reaching with his hand into a hidden pocket. Slowly, he lifted up a gnarled object that looked more like an overgrown tree root than anything else. He placed it on the counter and hoped that there would be assistance.

[Aella]

"I must become a borrower of the night/ For a dark hour or twain."

The journey to Alexshire from the Dusky Mountains had been relatively unimpressive, yet it was Aella's first, and she found fascination with every new sight, scent, and taste along the way. Hel was especially brilliant the morning of her departure, catching the frost melting under her gaze and scattering myriad rainbows here and there and bathing the world in vivid hues amidst its seemingly perpetual white blanket high up this winter. The grass crinkled underneath bare feet (though Aella brought her boots and sandals in a pack, along with the goods Noyle wished to sell in the flatlands), and it helped snap her out of her morning lethargy. She even had a delicious breakfast upon the way at a cozy roadside inn; hot lemon tarts topped with fresh-cut fruit and glazed with the most delicious amber syrup she had ever tasted. It had been a mental exercise in continuing onward, but she had found herself in Alexshire all the same, some way or another.

Aella much later learned that her good moods were solely dependant upon the proximity of sweet breakfast pastries.

She had already traded with Noyle's contact, a sardonic, balding, older human by the name of Nathaniel Book, the proprietor of Alexshire's only forge. When Book first beheld her, he wore a look of incredulous disbelief. She saw it in his face, in his voice, in every way he handled her arrival: he thought nothing of nymphs, especially nymphs who dabbled in the "sacred male art of blacksmithing". This all set Aella fuming and huffy and in a rather sour disposition, and she was antsy to return to the mountains where things held some sense of certainty. When he begrudgingly handed her the payment for his purchase, Aella took it quickly lest the coins jump away from her, stashing it carefully in a hidden recess in her pack for the money was not hers for losing, and she some strange talent in doing so as of late. The sum was substantial, though a good portion of the work had not been hers. She did feel richer hefting the coin in her hands, but knew she would see only a fraction of it back home. This exacerbated her worsening mood.

When she was turning to leave Book's office in the rear of the forge, walled off and private for business dealings, he just had to call out to her.

"Noyle neglected to mention you were a Nymph; wouldn't dancing and pleasuring suit you better than menial labor?" He gave her a wry grin. He was goading her, and she knew it.

Aella stopped, turned on her heel sharply, and stormed up to him.

"I could dance with you, but I'd like to keep my feet from being trounced upon. And I do not think you would appreciate the pleasures I could offer you, ser. You see, it pleases me to forge — " Aella said, leaning closer, her amber-gold eyes molten in the limelight of the one-windowed stuffy room. "And my hammer strikes hard. I doubt you'd long be capable of conscious thought."

He seemed taken aback, glancing at the door nervously then back at her. She stood there on her tiptoes, leaning, as imposing as her slight 5'2" frame could be.

And then he laughed, a loud guffaw that reverberated off the clay brick walls.

"I take it back. Maybe running errands is more your style. This was pinned to my wall this morning, and I thought to do it for myself, but there are orders to fill and I don't have the time. The man is an acquaintance of mine, and helping him helps business. That is, if you can handle confrontation."

He slid across the oaken table a parchment, an image of — what — corn? partially visible. She snatched the document from his grubby paws and read it silently. Money. As much as was taken from her, and more. The answer was simple:

"Fine. I'll do your dirty work."

She kept the paper in hand, turned and marched up to the door and then shoved it open, not caring for his protestations. Her eyes took in the forge proper, her body felt the heat wash over her and seep into her bronze-colored skin, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She would need to contact this farmer John Dunne and ask for specifics, though she already had a dozen ideas on how she could solve his dilemma. A strange thing happened, though: a familiar face appeared before her, an effeminate man, standing with an expression of bewildered patience, if that were ever possible - that same face of the sidhe in the dusky mountains the night when she lost her bonus.

"What, are you stalking me?" Aella said, only half-joking.

[Erasmos]

Blobs! (here) It looks like 'boobs', therefore, I approve.

He felt almost stupid, standing there idly, nothing to say, nothing to look at, nothing to do. Almost in an obsessive-compulsive manner, his hands found their way once more to the secret cavities in his pants, searching them for anything interesting to twiddle with. It was just then that there was a sudden gust of wind, passer-bys of the shop swaying like reeds in the breeze, recovering, and resuming their march onwards. As it so happened, the wind carried forwards stream of spoke from the fire, pregnant with smog, which seemed to give birth to sparks. Perhaps the sparks had been there all along, but they fiddled and danced right towards Erasmos and happened to at last come to a rest on the table that served as a counter. They began to grow brighter, more orange, and suddenly, low and behold, a single tiny ember seemed to grow brighter, like it was on fire, a wispy entity growing out of it and at last emerging as something completely separate. Erasmos could have sworn that it looked up at him. Amazed, he leaned forwards. It seemed to flicker, and what appeared to be a mouth suddenly opened and stretched wide, accompanied by a jarring movement that made the mouth disappear, but the creature divide into two, smaller at first, but in a few moments, both the same size. "Woah...", he mumbled. The two seemed to dance about excitedly, little streams of wisps connecting to each other here and there like static electricity. "You're a cute little feller. Whod-a-woob-a-boob-boo-boo.", he cooed to them, finding the tiny entities entertaining. After all, if they were going to dance, the least he could do would be to show his appreciation of the otherwise mind-numbing lack of activity. Just as he had finished cooing, suddenly, the area around the ashes seemed to explode and there were not two infinitely cute beings, but ten. His eyebrows arched in alarm. They appeared to be multiplying at a rapid pace, and surely, if it kept happening, there would be no place to stand. It was then that he noticed that the embers they danced around were not embers anymore but scorch marks sporting growing flames. "Er!", was all he could manage to say, flapping his hands around the area, hoping it would douse the fire. What happened instead was that motions spurred more oxygen into the spot and a few of the little beings jumping onto his hand. He cried out in pain, not so much because it hurt, but because of the shock, he had never expected the little beasts to be savages. His hand retreated quickly in a knee-jerk reaction, the tiny ember creatures seeming to evaporate into poofs of smoke as he did so. He struggled his arms to withdraw the twin tarps he had lashed together as a sort of load one wears on their back and began to smack the surface with his tarps. The creatures flung up and down as he did so, as if a child splashing in water, and at last, nothing emerged from the table but smoke. A nasty charring marked the crime spot. The sound of Aella's voice was a bucket of water in a sleeping man's face. "Wah! Oh!", he jolted, his skin nearly jumping off his bones. "No!", he replied defiantly. "Er, only a little. I mean... No! Of course not!", he defended himself. "So what if I was? Dream on.", he now huffed, his different phrases having barely enough room for anyone to interject. "Iiiiiiii came here for buisnessssssssssss.", he exaggerated, stretching his words with the tone of a know-it-all. Quickly, he extended his hand and nudged the thing he had placed on the table earlier. "See. I'm selling it.", he now chattered proudly. "You wouldn't happen to know a good buyer, would you? I mean, of course I won't need the spare change once I rake in the bounty for the task I'm going to complete, and all. In fact, I'll be rich. More than rich. I'll even buy you a drink. But not to get you drunk or anything shady like that. No-sir-re-bob.", he continued on, verbally putting his foot in his mouth several times. On quick inspection, one might deem the object on the table as a perfectly odd and completely useless piece of indescribable junk. But on closer inspection, one might note that the shape of it was nearly flag-like, the flag-part a blunt top which formed a kind of edge and had a peculiar shape to it. The pole part consisted of a gnarled, twisted, and half-rotted piece of wood, a stray splinter peeking out here and there. But, if one looked even closer than that, they might notice that the object was not one object, but two, as the flag part of it contained a dark, coarse mass that had welded another object to it, a small kitchen knife, with a few gemstones embedded into it's silver handle. "It's a human tinder-box. You know. You turn a windy thing and make music. Some looser said it was for chopping firewood, hahaha. He was clueless.", he explained, his words making zero sense at all in relation to what a tinder-box actually was, and what the two objects on the counter were.

[Aella]

Aella had thought to interject the excitable fellow, but try as she might there was not a moment to do so with his barrage of retorts and deflections. Instead she just stood there in a huff while he gestured and gesticulated wildly. For all this sidhe was, he certainly was adept at letting his tongue run away with him. She found herself able to be mildly amused by his personality, or at least adequately distracted by it.

When he mentioned business, Aella hardly paid him heed; the object in his hands she glanced at out of a craftman's curiosity, but she was unsure of what it was and her sour deposition trampled over such fragile mental activity like a drunken dashiri so that she was forced to come back begrudgingly to the conversation. He was flirting with her, or something. She really had no idea at this point. She had conversational limits and it seemed he possessed none of them. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to focus, though a faint aroma of foreign cinder and smoke lingering in the air buffeted her concentration: all she could comprehend was that he had said something about getting her drunk, and a bounty, and it took her a moment to remember the flyer crumpled in the balled up fist at her side, the corn symbol, the reward. A reward AND a free drink sounded a good deal better than a reward alone. But first, out of common courtesy (she was always in short supply, so it was a precious commodity to be handing out, he must know), she offered her advice about his weird object and potential business transaction.

"Your 'tinderbox' intrgiues me." Aella knew it wasn't a tinderbox. She knew at least that much, even if she had no clue what that object may be. "I am sure my master Noyle would be interested in purchasing it, or at least appraising it. He is a blacksmith, as am I, but he is back in the Dusky Mountains and I am here off running errands."

She paused for a moment, then added. "I would not bother trying to sell it here, though." She jutted a thumb back behind her, at the closed oaken door. "He cheats people he does not know and has no fondness for nymphs." Nathaniel had crossed her and she was not about to offer him a potential customer.

"But," she said, producing the crumpled flier from her hand and holding it out infront of him so that he may read it. "Would this be the source of your future riches? Oh, I do hope not. I so desire that drink you offered, but you see, I'm on my way to do this same quest. Unless you had plans to join me already? I think it better to do so upfront rather than skulk about in the shadows, though perhaps my thoughts are antiquated. We could finish this twice as fast together, have our drinks, then head back to the mountains and see about selling your ... thing."

She extended her hand, a playful grin upon her lips. The majority of her anger had quickly dissipated by his odd personality and she found herself having fun, despite it all.

"I am Aella Karakinos. I would like to know my semi-stalker's name, at the very least, especially if he plans on getting me drunk."

[Erasmos]

Bad reply, sorry : (

His eyes narrowed as the woman seemed to visually examine his precious artifact much in the same way he, as a male, might carefully examine another female's rear end as they walked by. His mind was absorbed on her movements, her every facial twitch and even blink, trying to analyze how much she cared for the thing, what she really thought it might be worth, and if she would be willing to purchase it. As if a poker player, he tried his best to read the woman's hand by her facial expression. "A-", he started to say but quickly hushed as she continued speaking. After her nymph comment, he felt there was room enough to speak once again. "Well, that's good, since I'm not a nymph.", he bragged, crossing his arms only for a moment before uncrossing them and letting them dangle passively at his side. When she produced the paper, his eyebrows raised in curiosity, trying to read the parchment even while still crumpled, as if not patient enough to wait the few more seconds it would take to smooth the paper out. "Uh...", was all he could manage. He remembered seeing a similiar flyer in another town, but he'd set it aside in his mind as something he could check out later. He had acquired a sort of bad taste for these sorts of things, little old ladies gave as many coins in reward as they had patches of unwrinkled skin. But perhaps if he had some company, in particular this fine piece of rear end... "Sure", his testicles spoke for him, answering no question in particular, and perhaps all at once, but mostly attesting to his most primitive desires. "Why, I would do no such thing. I'm Erasmos, and such devilish things would never ever enter my mind.", he replied in jest, his mind slowly beginning to take back the reins to his thought process. Quickly, for the sake of having something to do, he scooped up the paper and looked at it. First upside down, and then right side up. He paused for a moment, as if carefully reading the parchment, and then reverted it to it's upside down state. "This makes no sens....", he began, and then cut himself off. "Oh." "I saw this a few towns ago", he lied, embellishing on the fact that he remembered meerly seeing similiar parchment papers for other quests, though perhaps not that particular one. "So I guess...", he rambled. "We should start at the scene of the crime! The very grounds where the insolence of a lawless hungry man steals the essence of life, necessary for all things, in order to maintain his sick child's health and appease his starving wife's stomach already occupied with twins...", he made a gross speculation. He set it down now and looked at Aella. In truth, he had no idea what he was doing or even where to start. He hoped the woman would know so that he could ride off her direction and appear to be fully in control, nonchalant, and in general, an awesome badass.

[Aella]

"I am sorry." Aella said, letting her eyes wander over his body anew. "A Sidhe then? I meant no disrespect." She really had not.

"I think he likes them even less. You would just confuse his sexuality."

She let him talk and listened as best she could, though if she were quizzed on the matter she did not have much faith in her performance. He reminded her a bit of her brother, and she thought back to her childhood and the few innocent moments she had before things fell to shambles. She loved to fuss with his hair, it being prettier than hers, and he'd always laugh and chase after her until the both of them were breathless and alone and blanketed with Neme-sky. Sometimes time seemed to travel too quickly; she felt exasperated with its maddened pace.

After he finished talking and seemed to be waiting for a reply, Aella staggered out of her reverie. The images of her brother lingered on her mind, superimposed with the reality that lay before he, ghostly imprints.

Aella felt drawn to sudden compulsion. She wrinkled her forehead a bit and concentrated on the motes of air around her. She felt the currents caress her bronze skin, which pricked into goosebumps in reply, and sensed the element wrapping around her; she then commanded. She attempted to ruffle up the sidhe's hair like she would her brother's, only with a tuft of air instead of her slender fingertips. Out of habit her lips curled into a small 'O', giving the appearance that she was whistling. She acted rather nonchalant about the whole thing and pretended not to have done anything at all, but the foolish grin that crept upon her lips betrayed her.

She stared at the floor with apparent deep interest, and realizing the heavy silence lay naked her foolishness, covered it all up with talk.

"I agree. Whatever is stealing the crops may try to do so again, except we will be there in wait. Let us hope."

Aella set her pack down onto the table and quickly fetched a crude map of the area, unfastening its tie and unfurling it beside the ad on the table so that Erasmos could see. She bit her thumb in thought, then grinned, pointing to an area a few miles outside the Alexshire labelled "Dunne" in blunt script, then traced the small path from the farm back to where they were located approximately in town.

"Here, see? It is not too far a walk. Hel is high in the sky, so we can get there before Neme-fall. Let us see what Farmer Dunne has to say. I have everything I need in my pack here, though sadly my hammer is at home."

She scooped up the ad, retied the ribbon fastening the map, then stashed both in her pack and slung it over her shoulder again, making her way to the door. She gave it a push and let Hel's warmth seep into her skin. The whole experience was so different from the sobering cold in the mountains. She turned back to Erasmos and beckoned him with her free hand, her hair shining and her lithe form framed in orange-red light.

"Shall we?"

[Erasmos]

OOC This post officially qualifies as the longest roleplay post I've ever written - but not by much : P

At the mention of confused sexuality, trailing right after Aella's apology, Erasmos expression turned to one of distasteful scorn. "Why does everyone keep saying that.", he muttered aloud in a huff, unable to contain his most private remarks. Though, it was a rhetorical statement, and he had some ideas as to why this was. But he was himself, uncaring, wild, and free. He didn't care for the most part what other people thought. Heck, the only reason he wore clothes at all was because of the two times, twice in a row, that he'd tried to enter towns without them, and quickly gotten the law laid down on his head. A few days in prison for public indecency had net him meals better than he could cook himself and a pair of clothes. He might have turned into a regular delinquent for the meal and board, had it not been for the putrid small, the other dying souls, and the intoxicating foul loneliness that invited him to shout his life's story to the wall over and over again until the remaining shreds of sanity had shriveled into miniscule threads the quality of it's rodent inhabitants' pubic hairs. He was brainy enough to notice Aella's eyes on him, the heated 'being watched' feeling that followed, but for the most part, he found his eyes gawking at the expanse between her chest and the top of her shirt. For a moment, he thought of breasts, like all men do, and should, as nature indicates that breast size is generally related to a woman's ability to feed her children, and of course, for that reason, men lacked those bodily parts. But rather, he found his thoughts drifting off into the soft bronze yellows that made up her skin. Milk was sometimes known to be slightly yellow. And teeth. Ivory. And urine. Hmm, he wondered what other uses urine might have? Why, to fertilize trees of course, and fecal matter as well for that matter. But how much of a difference would it make? Would it be any better than manure? If trees thrived off of the waste of other animals, what did that make them? Were they recyclers of waste, a kind of garbage disposal machine? Were they more like vampires, hidden in the dusky twilight, sharp pokey branches waiting to tear out the eyeballs and brains of anyone who came to close in order to grow their roots over their deceased victims and proceed to slowly drain out their contents until nothing was left but a pile of bones? He realized he was still staring at Aella's chest and changed his direction of sight to something more appropriate. A wall. Oh look, the wall is boring. Is that a spider? Yuck. There seemed to be a sudden gust of wind and all of a sudden, his carefully groomed and matted hair was now all messed up. His face changed to one of horror for a split second. With a half-cough, he excused himself, turning around and quickly using his fingers to put it all back in place, accompanied by various licks to his palms which were then applied to his meticulous hair style. He spun back around when he was done, saying nothing, and his eyes occupied looking up at the ceiling, as if there were a stray piece of gold up there. As Aella pulled out a map and spread it out, he found himself looking at a great expanse of lines. And letters. And more lines. This thing made absolutely no sense from this angle. But rather than try to read it, he succumbed to his most primitive need of being lazy and kept himself occupied with the occasional 'ahah', 'oh', and 'okay', smiling and nodding where appropriate. The woman's fingers held the map steady, her finger tips perfectly round, protected by glossy nails. He began to wonder what kind of nail polish she used. Would he be able to acquire some as well? How much would it cost, exactly? She began talking once more. A pretty voice, but still talking. Talking. Talking. More talking. So boring. Hammer? He winced and dove his head under his hands, seeking protection from under his arms. It took him only a moment to realize that no bad thing had happened. "Oh, well, I don't think you'll need a hammer to walk. I suppose you could throw it at the thief, but, if it's any bigger than you, it can just eat it. And then you won't have a hammer at all. How terrible would that be? Yep, best to leave it at home.", he started talking, his tones reassuring, but his words illogical. The trek to the farm was anything but adventurous. Erasmos spent the time in mental solitude, his brains floating somewhere between his male ego and the clouds, blissfully detached from the surroundings around him. Instead, it merely connected the input and output needed to move his legs forward, and provide the occasional smile and nodding needed to keep Aella happy. Whether or not she had actually talked at all, he didn't know, instead, his memory was short-circuited by the brain that handled everything for him, quickly providing the same response, the correct one, according to all male-kind tradition. The skies were a blaze of rich tangerenes melting into canvas of hot strawberries and hinted with smoky trials of cinnamin reds. The smell of cornmeal and beans wafted through the air with such pungency that eating even the most sour of things would still produce the same taste, simply by breathing the smellls of dinner in. A large barn was a mere dot on the horizon, fields of grain drifting about lazily as the wind combed through them, a sea of reeds. On one side of the barn, a small house, resembling more of a shack. On the other, various fences for livestock. And dotted all around, smaller areas of various other fruits, some strange trees which looked like they beared multiple kinds of fruit, and patches of green berries. Remembering what they were here for, even though he hadn't really wanted to talk to the man, the duo came to the door. For the sake of placating Aella, Erasmos raised his hand to the splintery door and rapped. A few moments later, the aged thing that looked like it might have been older than Father Time himself swung open by a short man, height approaching Aella's shoulders, with pale aquamarine eyes and shabby clothes. "Where's mah tobaccy?", came a thickly accented tone crackled with hints of putrid celery. "W-w-what?", Erasmos stammered immediately in response. "Well den, what'd James do this time occiffer? I swears I'm gonna beat his head till dat boy bleed out his brains. Boy ain't got no sense.", he changed his request, but now stood a little higher, straightening up as if at attention. "Excuse me, sir, we're here about your barn?", Erasmos tried to interject. "My barn? What's wrong with it?" "Well sir, we found an advertisement about someone stealing?" "Oooooh yessss, dat's right. It was just this mornin that three youngsters come to check it out too, but they all ran away screamin'. I wonder what was the matter. Never did hear from 'em again." "No, that was because you forgot your clothes, deary.", came a new voice from deep inside the dwelling, sounding like an aged female. "What's that?", the man at the door replied to her. "You forgot your clothes. Them kids come up two months ago to sell some strawberries and you scared em off.", the voice replied quickly. "Oh yeah....", the man chuckled now. "You should'a seen da look on der faces.... heh heh heh..." The man's look suddenly changed into one of alarmed bewilderment. "What you doin on my farm! Who are ya! Where'd ya come from!", he now hoisted his fist up in the air. There was the sound of footsteps in the background accompanied by a squeaking for each step. An elderly female face appeared in the gap between the man's body and the door. Shriveled hands gently patted the man on the back who muttered something about "young punk know it alls" before turning to leave, the woman now replaced his place. "It's nice of you two girls to come out and help us. We just can't get any help here, no one really likes John, he forgets all the time." "Ma'am, is there anything else that you might be able to tell us about the crimes?", Erasmos interjected, hoping for more clues. "What's wrong with your voice? ", her eyebrows seemed to shrivel in confusion, before a long thought. "No...", she trailed off her answer. "Anything at all?" "Nope, it's all there on that ad-ver-tisement." "Have you ever seen the thief?" "Nope." "How often does it happen?" "Oh, I don't know... " "Well, when was the last time it happened?" "Last night, about two hours from now, actually." "Does it always occur at the same time?" "Why yes, actually, about this time of evening, right when it's time to start supper. You know how John likes his beans and cornmeal. I tell you, I tells him that eating so many beans and cornmeal all the times is gonna make corn cobs and oats grow right out your ears. ", she chuckled. "Well...", Erasmos trailed now, struggling to thing up more questions, glancing at Aella for a moment before continuing. "Where does it usually happen?" "Why, in the barn of course" Erasmos opened his mouth once more but quickly shut it, stepping aside and slightly behind Aella. A moment later, he poked her arm with his finger as if it were a dead snake. His brain felt numb from the excruciating conversation. No more details to tell than what was on the advertisement, his bottom.

[Aella]

The walk to the Dunne Farm was idyllic and surprisingly abrupt. Aella's attention was equally lost in long gazes at the roseat sky and at Erasmos' rear end. She caught his eyes on her several times and thought nothing shameful in it; she was proud of her body, why should he not be? She set to enjoy the good sights while they lasted, both around and before her, and spent most of the trip in quiet contemplation.

Used to the fires of the forge and adorned with a thin white blouse and not much else, Aella found little discomfort in the evening's heat. To placate the communities in which she oft found herself she donned her accoutrements, though she picked the least obtrusive and most comfortable garments. If it were up to her she'd rather enjoy Hel's warm gaze upon her bronze skin, and she rather relished her appearance under Neme-light where everything seemed a shade different, more mythical. In an obtuse fashion she understood the appeal of covering certain parts of the body; something to do with overactive imaginations. She was infected by a clothing-induced sadism, and savored teasing others once she knew she had their attention with a sway of the hips or a misplaced shoulder strap.

Something about Erasmos' entwined masculinity and feminity intrigued her, so she found herself swaying and misplacing with heightened frequency.

When they had arrived at the farm, Aella glanced at the strawberry fields forever spread across the sky, plucking an approximation of the time of day and chewing on her calculations that they would only have a few hours until Neme-fall. She wanted to eat and her stomach growled in protest.

Dutiful, Erasmos questioned the farmer, though Aella's entire image of him could be summed in one word: senility. His partner was little better, and offered empty-headed ramblings as answers. Aella's eyebrow raised when the woman thought Erasmos a female, and she almost giggled aloud but was able to catch it and merely looked daft instead. She considered groping Erasmos' rear but thought better of it. She doubted it would've aided the conversation. She chimed in instead:

"Before or after or during supper? Which do you mean?"

"How the heck would I know when I'm busy slaving away in the kitchen? Dontcha girls cook for yer husbands? Yew 'aint got no husbands? What kinda girl yo age 'aint got married? Yew 'aint one of those lehz bee ans are ya? "

Aella coughed and ignored her, for the most part. She had difficulty enough understanding the accent, and had no idea how Erasmos managed. She trudged on.

"If you'd just direct us to the barn where the theft occurs, I'm certain we can help you, Mrs. Dunne."

"Yew is strange ladies, yessie, but thanks. Want to join us for supper? I always make aplenty."

Her stomach revolted against her brain and nearly won, save for the allure of xanthia. Pastries and tarts can be bought in great quantities with money like that. She frowned, turning to Erasmos who was hiding behind her. "We get food when we solve this, remember.. but don't let me hold you back."

He seemed preoccupied so she poked his cheek, her eyes aureate and inquisitive in the last bleeding moments of Hel.

—— Dunne Barn, Some Moments Later, After Much Hustling and Tussling ——

Saying the barn was a large structure would not do it justice; it was built on the end of a rounded hill and had three stories of useable storage area, though the bottom floor of the barn was filled with equipment crude and advanced alike accessible by two large sliding doors that did not so much as shudder when Aella gave them a forceful shove. Two glass windows were beside the heavy double-doors, solid and unbroken but clear enough to see through. The wood of the barn seemed old but it was certain hard work had bastioned the beast against rain and weather alike. It may have had been painted any assortment of colors in the past, but it now only wore an elegant shawl of old thick wood.

The second door was locked with a simple iron padlock, looking not a day older than her finger polish (which she applied before heading out of the mountains, a nice gloss, muted) and looked very much out of place. The door was positioned on the opposite side of the barn. Aella hefting the padlock in her hand. Not light. And not easy to break, though I might best it with my hammer given the chance. The hammer that is at home. At least they were given the key by crazy old Dunne. She unlocked it, opened it, and went in first, to be greeted by darkness.

She fussed with an oil lamp until it cooperated.

They were standing on the second story of the barn, with the third story accessible by wooden staircase to their right. The first story led up from there as well. All around them were crops neatly bundled (Dunne was not in charge of this procedure, Aella knew; his hands shook as much as she had when she saw her first dragon). She ran her eyes along the flooring trying to find any signs of illicit activity. The door and lock were in good shape. No blood. No muddy footprints. No odd animal smells (well, she really had no idea, it all smelled very much like hay and corn and that dreaded haycorn which had a noxious aroma — thankfully it was outlawed in the Fae Woods, so she was spared a traumatic childhood).

"Um. Now what?" The only windows were on the first floor, though she had seen shutters on the third on their trek up to the beast. The small door they had just passed through with the key was sure to be locked solid every night, as it had been when they approached. The door below didn't budge a bit. She thought to lock the door here, but had no way to lock it and be inside at the same time, so just stood around with key in hand and a bit perplexed.

[Erasmos]

Luckily for Erasmos, his mind was on other things as they trudged along. From the complexities of the universe to his mundane to-do list, his thoughts were absorbed mostly in the scenery, with only marginal attention paid to the scenery, with trace thoughts attending to things like walking and breathing. Had he been paying more attention, he might not have missed her loose glances, which would have ensued male thoughts, and from there, an awkward tension that surely would have lasted the rest of his life. But as it was, he was blissfully unaware. Hiding behind Aella, he was able to let his mind gradually cool down from the blazing inferno that the woman had set him into from her confusing nonsense. He had no doubt that even asking them what they were cooking would be painful. How these people actually managed to sell their produce, to other real people, via talking, he had no idea. He was quietly enjoying being able to be silent while Aella did the work, when, suddenly, there was a finger in his face. Without knowing what was happening, he jerked mechanically, like an aging bar-style bucking bull machine, and his direction was an unfortunate mistake. "OH GOD MY EYE!", he cried out in bewilderment, quickly cupping his hand to his face. He stood there for just a moment before ducking to crouch, carefully nursing his injury. A near inaudible whimper followed every now and then as he comforted himself and tried to mend his ego. After a minute or two had gone by, he stood up once more. "Well whats-a-matter wit chu? You ain't doin no potty dance on my doorstep.", she raised her hand as if she were going to clout him over the top of the head. "She poked me in the eye.", he muttered for an explanation. But the woman wasn't satisfied. "What chu done do that for!", she now exclaimed, exasperated. Once inside, the barn felt warmer than the outside open air, thanks to the thick lumber that held the sturdy establishment. He beamed in a sort of fond pride for a moment, resting his hand on the side of the wall and leaning up against it, if only for a moment. The building gave a large groan in response. Startled, he straightened up, following Aella still, his head turning periodically to view the right and left, with a sort of determination to take it all in. He took no interest in watching her fumble, in his opinion, with the locks, and the woman at last seemed to pause at a door, confusion daunting her brow. "Shouldn't need to lock doors while we're inside. This isn't exactly a meat locker or anything, it's not like all the cold air is gonna get out. Since you violently jabbed me in the eye and all.", he began to reason and finished with a pout. "This must be it.", he now voiced, pointing to a large stack of hay that reached the ceiling. Next to it, some kind of dirty round vegetable, in crates, stacked nearly as high. He checked the ground near it for footprints, as Aella seemed to be doing. Nothing. Quickly, he licked his finger, pressed it to the dirt floor, and tasted it. He made a face. It tasted like dirt. Suddenly, outside there was a large booming sound, but before he could even get up, there followed the distinct sound of rain pelting down. At least they'd be cozy and warm here. "If we figure it out tonight, we'll have to go outside in this and then wander around and find a place to stay. Why don't we dawdle so we can stay here for the ....", he explained his idea, but a different sound cut him off. He felt sure that he saw leather wings. Stepping towards the noise tentatively, there was suddenly a multitude of wings, going up towards the ceiling, and at last, coming to rest there. "Bat infested.", he mused aloud to himself. "So how do we know if anything's been stolen yet or not.", he now fixed his gaze on the produce.

[Aella]

Poking people in the eye was a learned skill; sure, one could arbitrarily jut out a finger and manage a direct hit, but true poking required precision, diligence, and courage. Aella, then, had not truly poked Erasmos in the eye, for she had no formal training in the matter. Now, poking cheeks she was good at. She had experience with that. She could poke a cheek any day of the week with satisfactory results. Poking eyes was not really her forte, and Xanth must have desired to reaffirm that point at Erasmos' expense. She felt bad, really, but tried to shy her mind from the matter.

As usual, Erasmos' train of thought seemed eternally derailed, for he talked of everything and nothing, usually both at the same time. Taking him in context was a trial for her senses, and just like eye poking, she was not up to the challenge. She merely let him speak, nodding and uttering "Yeah"s and "Mhmm"s to cajole his male ego, though her hawkish eyes were actively scanning for clues. She was fortunate enough to possess impressive attention to detail. Her overinfatuation with food gave her a keen nose; her elemental mastery of air (though still improving) spoke volumes about changes in pressure, temperature, and disrupted air currents; and she had a craftsman's eye for physical details.

She wore the barn on her senses like a giant wool hat, deaf to the outside world, so she jumped in surprise and shrieked when a sudden boom of thunder shook the building. A blush crept upon her tanned cheeks, and realizing too late the cause of the noise, Aella did everything in her capacity to avoid the eyes of the nearby sidhe. Soon they were drowned in the cacophony of the storm, though they had dry solace where they stood, as Erasmos was due to note. She wondered aloud if the rain might discourage an attempt at theft, hoping that the whole ordeal would not be a waste of time. The sight of bats did not discourage her in the slightest; any barn had its share of inhabitants, and animals were often less nosy and obtrusive than their humanesque counterparts. The bats would most likely hide up in the rafters and stay there until the storm subsided.

"I'm not sure how we can tell if anything has been stolen... I was hoping we'd witness the thief in action, y'know?"

As if on cue, she heard an unnatural creak of old wood, like someone's footsteps on a rotting floorboard. It sent a shiver up her spine, causing her to turn to Erasmos with wide eyes. "Did you hear that? I think it came from the first floor."

Aella tip-toed over to the stairwell that led to the floor below when everything became illuminated with a flash of lightning. The building shook and she held on to the dividing wall between the second floor and the staircase for support, fearing it would all tumble down around her. She got hold of her balance a moment later and peeked around the corner, down the stairs to the inky darkness below. She saw nothing. As she turned to encourage Erasmos to accompany her downstairs a faint blur of movement at the bottom of the stairs caught the edge of her vision. It seemed a sillouette of pale fabric, the color of bone shrouded in an overcoat of darkness, a face gazing up at her. She snatched herself back behind the wall instinctively and pressed her back against it, the little hairs on the back of her neck standing on end and the sensation of being seen tantamount and overbearing. Her heartbeat quickened.

"I saw something down there." Aella uttered. She reached instinctively for her hammer and grasped nothing. "Something moved. White." She added.

Aella closed her eyes and sought emotional stability. She first imagined the pile of gold she'd get from catching this thief, and then a mountain of sweets sparkling in the Neme-light. Each called out for her to eat them. She licked her lips and could taste their fruit-flavored innards filling her mouth. She found herself salivating, exciting, insatiable, and without regard for her well-being or her previous trepidation Aella vaulted down the wooden stairway.

She should have thought to bring a light. It took her a fraction of a second to find something to run into, which she did candidly. She yelped in pain. Her small hands fluttered over the object; it was large and cold and metallic. Some sort of farming device, Aella mused. After a moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The machine was a gray, hulking beast, a metal behemoth with countless sharp appendiges frozen in a macabre gesture of mirthful slashing. She thought that it was probably very good at its job. She was glad that she did not poke her eye out, thought of Erasmos, and thought she should call up to him that she was okay and that it was safe.

Lightning struck again, rudely interrupting her. The room lit up for an instant through the two windows that framed the large wooden barred door. She saw in that brief moment of clarity a spectre floating away from her towards the opposite wall. A distinctive sound signaled the shape to vanish. The light receded as quickly as it had come, and once again Aella was blind, stumbling towards where she had seen the slinking spirit and keeping away from any other looming mechanical monstrosities. She did not want to lose any limbs; she just wanted dessert.

She may not be talented at poking people's eyes out, but she certainly had a knack for running into hard objects — this was twice today. She found herself in the loving embrace of a towering wooden bookshelf. The bookshelf thought it playful to ruffle her hair up by dropping an assortment of rotten old tomes atop her, but Aella did not enjoy it much. A thick coat of dust covered her, and she involuntarily started coughing. She decided quickly that the bookshelf was not her type. It received her rejection in the shape of a fist.

To her surprise, the bookcase gave way, swinging inward, and Aella fell along with it. It shut with a forboding click.

She found herself in a narrow hallway of sorts, lined with rows of crystals emanating soft light. She spun around and banged her fist on the back of the bookcase. "Erasmos!" she yelled, though the sound seemed to deflect off the thick redwood of the damned furniture. She punched it again angrily, though it seemed to have developed stage fright and would not perform its trick another time. "The bookcase is a secret door or something! Just push it open!"

That same trepidation that incapacitated her before crept back. She was trapped here with a ghost. A killer. She would not get her money. She would never devour another pastry. She would die here in this old barn having accomplished nothing, not being able to finish even a simple quest. Apparently even crop thieves were beyond her adventuring skills.

Some force inside her urged her onward. The path sloped downwards after several feet, the ground earthen and cool. She could still hear the storm raging above her, though it seemed muted, far away. I am going underground, under the hill we approached from earlier, Aella thought. After several meters the path flattened again and a heavy iron door appeared before her. She thought she heard noises, second guessed herself, and with stubborn courage reached to open it.

[Aella]

She was assaulted by an overwhelming acrid odour the moment she barged into the room, headlong, and against all of the consternations of her mind. The stench was foul and made it difficult for her to breathe properly. Her throat tightened and felt parched. Her eyes darted about her, but it took them a moment to adjust to the change in lighting. Everything was awash with the glow of pale greens and yellows, like the place had become a tree aging into autumn. But the sight held little of autumn's grandeur, and her eyes were soon watery and irritated from whatever foul chemicals were adrift in the air. It took her every effort not to wipe them, lest she show a moment of weakness. But her body was screaming at her and her mind, tired of its protests, quickly began to abandon prudence.

She ground her feet into the floor and hunched down, feeling the clean air at her back, and began to beckon it towards her, wrapping it about with both palms as if she were caressing a lover's face. That air even looked different. She wanted to just shove all of the bad smells and tastes and feelings away. She compressed the clean air methodically and to the best of her limited abilities, her biceps trembling, and was nearly about to blast every ill essence from the room until she actually looked and saw the truth of what lay before her. Above all else, the room begged caution. The kind of caution written with big, bolded letters. And then bolded some more, because they were clearly not big enough. Nearly all of the room's contents were frothing or bubbling or hissing or otherwise alien to her, and it all looked too fragile for her heavy-handed destructive impulses. So, she slumped and released her tense muscles and exhaled. Simply put, she didn't want to cause a mess. Or die. Explosions (not created by her) were on Aella's list of things not to experience. It's not that she wasn't curious. She just liked living.

She took a better look around her.

Vials were stacked and sorted, labelled and corked in neat rows on an unadorned wooden desk at her left. They were tapered and no two were alike in color. Straight ahead was another door, much like the one she had just thrust open. The ventilation gap beneath the one infront of her seemed to be emitting a strong, tawny light, reaching towards her like greedy tendrils, undulating. To her right was a figure caught attempting to do two conflicting things at once. Whatever it was, it stood taller than her, and if not for the length of the garment it was wearing she could swear it was floating. It looked, strangely enough, like some scarecrow-ghost hybrid. Or maybe this scarecrow was simply beaten with a bag of flour. What it did to deserve that, Aella had no clue. She thought of flour-covered inanimate objects and reasoned that they wouldn't even taste that good, then questioned why she was thinking of food in the first place when some strange creature was within a leap's distance, gesticulating wildly.

Her stomach rumbled, but she assured herself that the quiet rumbling of the storm overhead was the culprit instead. Nature raged on, oblivious, still barely audible despite the thick buffer of soil and root resting solidly above her head.

If this was the spectre she was terrified of earlier, she would feel ashamed. It looked not at all frightening. Or maybe she was just really hungry and wanted this case over with.

The creature thing dropped what it was holding and began to bolt towards the far door, but Aella was quicker, pouncing atop it and shoving it to the floor.

If it was a ghost, it was awfully solid. And noisy. It seemed to be yelling at her.

She pushed her kneecaps against the thing's back, grabbing its shoulders and slamming it against the ground. She didn't even care that much anymore. Whatever it was, it was moving around too much for her comfort, and that sidhe was nowhere to be seen. He had probably gotten lost somewhere. She didn't blame him. Cute, but vapid.

The thing stopped struggling so she gingerly removed herself from atop its back and hoisted it up, turned it around, and shoved it against a spare wall. Her hands went to the cloth instinctively, yanking.

The ragged, misshapen cloth that, in its former years must have been the epitome of white and now was anything but was tossed aside. It dropped like a sheet of cloth would. That wasn't surprising. The figure underneath, however, was.

Aella gasped in revelation, golden eyes widening in her shock.

"Farmer Dunne! It was you all along!"

It was not the farmer Dunne she had met earlier today, however. Any sense of senility previously present had been driven from his features to a degree that it would be unfathomable to imagine his face ravaged by dementia or time as it had seemed before. His eyes were sharp and penetrating and met hers unwaveringly as he spoke.

"If it weren't for you meddling kids, I'd be the wealthiest man in all of Alexshire! I told my wife some addled tale to cloud her suspicion, and gradually began to put on that persona of a senile old man so that no one would suspect a thing. It was all too easy. Those fools who came here earlier hoping to make an earning avoiding hard work and sweat are a disgrace to society! I was raised on better principles than that. I put up that advertisement myself, to lure indolent folks like you. The corn had never been stolen; I just needed test subjects. And I was so close. Alchemy to grow the corn without the prudence of nature, to sizes unimaginable, with the juiciest of flavors. Curse you! Nature is too slow, and I'm too old to wait around to make it big."

The room with the eerie tallow glow was indeed full of "test subjects," though the sight eased her worry: three neighborhood boys lay in a corn-induced stupor, bellies slightly distended, huge husks piled high at their side.

Aella bound Farmer Dunne and promptly deposited him at the Alexshire guard. They knew better than her what to do with him, though he complained all the way and she wanted to exact some measure of justice for that alone. Plus, she was dripping wet.

She felt obliged to tell his wife, and resigned to do so come morning.

Hel came soon enough, cresting over the crust of Elysia like an omelette. It was the color of melted butter and just as beautiful.

Dunne's wife offered breakfast, perhaps more out of courtesy than anything else, and Aella began to turn and wave her hand in dismissal.

And then her stomach protested. It turns out that the mention of omelettes and buttered toast was too delicious to pass up.

Smiling, sated, Aella reflected on the events of the past day.

Her toils were worth every bite.

Piper's Boutique || Jessica Clark