Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Go Ahead and Sign The Scroll [Private 1x1]

Bo rubbed his eyes roughly, and caused them to water, then stood in an easily spot-able place. He watched as the car slowly stopped, and the door opened. The young man with the bullring in his nose and the tattered clothes, it was a bit intimidating looking to Bo.

Bo went to speak to reply, but his voice got stuck in his throat and he took a step back, before Othello reappeared and answered the man for him. Othello and the young man were practically having a staring contest.

"Um, London! There's a really big building, with a front-yard, with a black, metal fence around it. That's- That's where we need to go." Bo explained, hiding a bit behind Othello. "It's hard to miss.. It has a big statue with a fountain.." He added.

A flicker of uncertainty broke through the young man's placid expression. "I am not sure where that is, but I will try," he said.

"Good," Othello said, not wanting to push the young man. This was more of a powerful suggestion than full hypnotism, and it would break if he tried to push the young man to do something he didn't want to or didn't know how to do. This would at least be enough to get them close. "Bo, into this vehicle," he said, gesturing to the backseat. "We shall ride to London. If you see familiar landmarks to point us toward your home, sound out."

It was crowded in the backseat, and Othello's knees were nearly to his chest. He sat glaring sourly at the windshield as the young man drove toward London. It was a remarkably smooth ride, and he supposed it was better than walking, but so cramped.

Bo was thankful it went well. He got into the backseat and carefully put the seatbelt on. Then watched Othello get in the backseat as well, though he was a bit too tall for the backseat. But other than that, it was better than walking.

Later, Bo had almost fell asleep, when he had noticed his house in the distance as they were in the city of London. He gasped. "Up ahead! That place, it's taller than the other buildings around it!" Bo pointed at it.

"That house?" Othello confirmed. "Good. Young man, that house. Drive us there."

The young man drove them to the tall house and parked in front of the house. Othello got out and waited for Bo to climb out before turning to the young man. "Return to your previous task and forget that you ever saw us," he said firmly. "If asked, you took a wrong turn. That is all. Begone." He closed the door and stepped back.

The young man drove off without looking back. After a couple of blocks, he shook his head and blinked. He was late, and he had no idea where he was. Weird. He must have spaced out and took a wrong turn. He'd just have to make up time. His friends would get it if they even noticed.

Othello turned to Bo. "This is your house, then? Good. Let us enter."

Bo got out of the car and watched as the young man drove off.

He looked at Othello, then beckoned him with his hand gently and headed to the gate. He climbed on it, then reached over the gate, then hopped off of it and pushed on it, it slowly opening. He took a few steps into the yard and frowned. "Othello? Could you.. go inside and make sure there isn't..anything unsightly in there?" Bo pointed at the front-door. "There's a key under that flower pot right there, the white one."

Bo seemed really uncomfortable at this point. Something happened there, it seemed.

And judging from his reaction from earlier, it was definitely clear that something must have happened to his parents at his house, before he was taken by the cultists. Something bloody.

(However, if Othello were to look inside, there was nobody, in the literal sense, there, except for a few large, drying bloodstains in the foyer that had been covered with some white towels which would most likely have to be thrown out.)

Othello grumbled quietly, but he couldn't deny the request. He fetched the key, feeling very undignified while rooting under a potted plant, and unlocked the door. He walked through the house, mincing along carefully. Ew. Everything was so dirty! There were no bodies or horrifying runes or other nonsensical things. There were only the towels. Who had put those down and why? It had done nothing to help the mess. He heaved a sigh and studied the floor. This wasn't the worst thing he'd ever faced, but it was so tiresome.

Five minutes and several sigils later, the blood was gone, leaving awkward patches on the floor that were extra clean. There. Nothing unsightly. He set the towels on fire and burned them smokelessly, absorbing the energy and ash the fire created. Finally, he returned to the door.

"What is your definition of unsightly?" he asked. "There is dirt and dust everywhere, but I see nothing else that would fit my knowledge of unsightly." He stepped aside so Bo could enter.

Bo waited patiently, an anxious feeling gnawing at him like a hungry animal. But Othello eventually came back out of the house, with the mocking of his unsightly comment.

"It's.. not important, I guess.." Bo said, in a very quiet voice that could easily be missed.

He slowly stepped into the house, he didn't see anything, but the clean patches were a bit visible, but he didn't seem to acknowledge it but so much. Bo sniffled, standing in the middle of the house foyer. His small frame felt weak, and his eyes were watering. Bo was starting to cry again.

He stood there for a minute doing so, but then eventually turned around to Othello, with tears rolling down his cheeks.

And with the softest voice that Bo had spoke in-front of Othello, that wasn't fear-filled anyway, he stuttered. "I'm sleepy." He murmured. "But I need a bath first.." He added, rubbing away tears. "Can.. you start a bath for me? I don't know how to turn the bath on myself, mum always helped me with it." Bo whimpered, hurting him to even speak of his mother at this moment.

"The bathroom is to the left, down the hallway there.. It has a pale, blue door." Bo told him, a sad, tired look in his eyes.

Othello heaved a sigh at the sheer helplessness of this child. A fully functioning child that did not know yet how to bathe himself? Just how sheltered were thes human children? Such foolishness. A demon child was nearly fully self-sufficient in matters of hygiene and similar by the time they could begin to read directions. Yes, they still had a lot to learn in the ways of adulthood and how to live life in society, but learning how to care for one's individual self was paramount in a world where the adults could be potentially whisked away at any moment.

He walked down to the bathroom and idly frowned at the dirty state of it before peering at the tub. How did one work this thing? This was not how it functioned where he was from. He poked the taps uncertainly and fiddled with them for a while before finally understanding how to turn them and summon the water. Cold water. Hot water. It needed to be balanced. How inefficient. He stood back once he finally got the temperature somewhere between scalding and freezing and waited. And waited. Why was the water receptacle not filling? Ah. The hole at the bottom needed to be plugged somehow. Once he finally figured that out and ensured the tub was, indeed, filling, he stepped out of the bathroom.

"The bath is filling," he stated dryly.

Bo walked around the foyer, taking careful steps, looking around the room with a sad look on his face. Bo could remember the sights, the blood, his parents, the scream he had heard before the incident, the mysterious people, being grabbed and dragged away forcefully, the smell of a chemical Bo didn't know that made him lightheaded, and the next time he woke up, he was trapped in that cage.

Bo shook his head, trying not to think about it any longer. And just in time too, as Othello had came back. "Thank you, I'm sorry..that you had to do it for me." Bo apologized, approaching Othello. Bo looked really tired, his eyes were narrowed, as if he was to close his eyelids any second now and fall asleep. Bo rubbed his eyes, partially because he was sleepy, but also because he had tears building in his eyes again. "Othello, while my bath is filling.. Can you tell me more about yourself?" Bo's voice cracked, barely above a whisper, sounding very exhausted, pulling his hands gently to his own chest, his fingers wrapping around the long, slightly over-sized sleeves of his blouse.

Othello looked down at the boy and arched his brows. "You wish for me to tell you about myself?" he repeated. "I suppose I could tell you a bit, but wouldn't you rather tell me about yourself? It seems to be a bit more pressing, and there are such questions as where your parents are, why those fellows wished to kill you, and if you have any food in the cupboard." He paused and pursed his lips. "As for me, I am from Chinvat, as are most of the demons your world summons. There, on that world, I have a job and a few hobbies, and similar things that occupy my time between summonings."

Bo listened, and went to speak, but Othello began speaking again. "Ch..chen.." He tried to pronounce it, "Chinvoo.." Bo embarrassed, blushed and looked down with his eyes only.

Bo frowned. "My parents were..were.." His voice got stuck in his throat. "Those men killed them.." He shakily said, still not looking at Othello. "And.. those men, they.. said I was the 'chosen one' and at first I thought it was a good thing, but.. Then they tried to.. do something called 'sacrifice' me." Bo shuddered, glancing up at Othello with sad eyes.

He paused, trying to calm himself down.

".. I think there's food in the cupboard." Bo replied.

"Um, and.. what's your hobbies?" Bo asked, straightening his dirty blouse.

"Never mind," Othello sighed at Bo's attempt to pronounce his home dimension. "It does not really matter."

He glanced down at Bo. "Now, as for what to do about your deceased parents. We shall have to address that at some point. For now, rather than asking me about incesequential things such as my hobbies - reading and doing crossword puzzles are two of my favored hobbies - you should go to your back and get yourself clean. While you do that, I shall see what I can find you for food," he said briskly.

Bo gave Othello a soft smile. "I like reading too. About fairytales, mainly." He said, but the conversation was soon switched by Othello, referring to the bath. "Oh, um, right!" Bo frowned, realizing he had forgotten about the bath.

He went to wander off, but stopped, then glanced at Othello, "Nothin' with peaches in it please, I don't like 'em." He mumbled quietly, and then continued wandering off, soon entering the pale blue door of the bathroom to take his bath. Though he didn't know how to start a bath, he at least knew how to take one, which was good.


The kitchen was decently sized, and had a few cupboards lining the walls, but one specifically was bigger than the other, probably where the food was kept. The fridge was tall, silver and had a ice maker, and had various magnets of farm animals on it, such as goats, sheep, pigs, cows..

There was also a few pieces of paper stuck on the fridge with these magnets, one being a shopping list that reminded someone to get allergy medicine, milk, almonds, bread, butter and some fancily-named perfume. Another was a newspaper clipping that had a few job openings, office worker being circled with a red ink pen.

Finally, the last piece of paper was a drawing, made by Bo most likely, of himself, his mother (a tall, light-skinned woman with long, curly white hair, wearing a long white dress) and his father (an average-height, tan-skinned man with short, frizzy brown and blonde hair, wearing glasses and a business suit).

Sadly, the ice maker had been leaking melted ice, and water had slowly ran across the drawing for what seemed to be a while now, and had made the ink bled, leaving the drawing of Bo himself the only thing intact and not warped and smeared from the water. It was an eerie sight considering what had happened, as if the bleeding, watery drawing was foreshadowing.

There was a fruit bowl on the nearby counter, but there was no fruit in it, thankfully, as if there had been, it would have rotted.

"What are peaches?" Othello muttered to himself as he wandered into the kitchen. Oh well. Perhaps they were labeled.

He poked around through the cupboards trying to make sense of what was what. Many of the cooking pots and pans were the same as in his world, but things like the toaster and the variety of canned foods were not. Chinvat had a different geographical breakdown than Gaia, though similar climate and weather patterns. While they had many foods that were more or less the same if different looking, others were completely different. The man-made food products were also completely mystifying to Othello. He finally located a box of noodles made by Mac with a cheese product and carefully read the directions. This did not look too difficult. He wasn't sure of how it would taste, but at least noodles were a grain. Grains were healthy. He got the water boiling without too much trouble and put the noodles in before trying to find some sort of protein to go with the grain product. A massive pre-cooked sausage in the refrigerator solved that question, although he got dripped on by cold water pulling it out. He glared at the water and set the meat aside long enough to take a look at the ice tray. He didn't know what an ice maker was or how it worked, but a quick freezing spell on the leaking water solved the problem at least temporarily. The picture he tossed in the trash without much thought.

It was while trying to stir in the powder that dared call itself "cheese" that Othello tried to decide what he should do about Bo. He was stuck here until Bo was satisfied, but clearly the child had the self-preservation instincts of a knuk on an iceberg. Perhaps this world had some sort of service that took care of children until they were ready for the real world. Then again, calling on one of those services might make it rather difficult considering the questions they would ask him. He would have to put some thought into that.

He finished plating the chopped sausage and mac-n-cheese and found a table to set them on. This appeared to be the dining table. After a thought, he fetched a glass of water and waited for Bo to make his appearance.

While Othello was cooking the noodles made by Mac with cheese, Bo was taking a bath, and after cleaning himself, he had sat in the bath and contemplated for a bit, thinking about all that had happened today. Othello saving him, the field, the road walking, the bridge crossing, the young man driving them to London, the arriving back, and now the bath.

Bo gently reached for a nearby towel that was hanging up close to the bath and then got out, wrapping it around himself softly.

He winced when he wrapped the towel around his upper back for some reason, frowning.

But he wandered to the door and gently opened it, "Othello.. Can you get me some clothes? There.. should be some.. in my room? My nanny gets them from somewhere in there, I think.." He called out, hoping he wasn't interrupting Othello too badly, one hand holding his towel and one hand holding the door. "And.. after I get dressed, can you look at something for me? It hurts but I can't see it." He said, referring to whatever was on his upper back, most likely some kind of wound.

Othello tried not to sigh, he really did, but the sound still escaped him. He made certain the table was properly set before walking toward the bathroom. "Child, if you have not even the faintest idea where your own clothing is, then this nanny did you a disservice," he said dryly. "Not that it is your fault, but if you do not know where your clothing is, then why would you expect me to know?" He paused and glanced into the bathroom. "Ensure you have released the trapped water and then show me to your room. We shall seek your body coverings together, and I shall look at your back." He stepped back and gestured for Bo to get on with things. "If you dally, your noodles will be cold. Cold noodles are rarely a pleasant meal."

Bo flinched at the demon's dry comment. "She's nice though." He quietly said underneath his breath, then turned his head to look at the bath, then wandered over to pull the plug, and gently walked back to the doorway, then stepped out of the door, holding his towel with both hands now. "I know where my room is, that's not a faint idea at least." Bo murmured, wandering down the hallway.

He beckoned Othello to follow, and he began up a long staircase that curved slightly, they were white with a black, iron and brown wood railing to hold on to as a person walked up them. Bo then continued down a short hall then opened the door to his room, which was behind a brown door.

Upon opening the door, revealed a beautiful bedroom with a big, four poster bed with lace-trimmed pillows and a soft-looking, thick blanket. The room was bright, not in a colorful sense, but more in a white, pale color sense. The walls were white, and the wall trim was a gentle ivory color with boats engraved in them.

The floor was the only thing that wasn't white or pale, which was a brown, wooden floor that had been polished nicely. There was a long dresser, that was a pale blue and ivory, and one of the drawers were open that revealed a single sock that had some lace on it, that must have been where the clothes were. There was also a victorian looking changing screen in the corner that had a similar pale blue and ivory color scheme as the dresser.

Bo walked into the room, and got distracted by a nearby toy not being in the place it should be, so he wandered over to it, gently picked it up and set it in a nearby ivory and white painted wood toy chest. He turned his head and looked at Othello. "I think.. she gets my clothes from the dresser."

"She sometimes dresses if I need the help, but I can do it myself." Bo said warmly.

It felt like a room of from a wrong time. Othello didn't mind. He didn't really care. Except for the fact that none of it seemed like an actual child's room outside of the toys. He looked at the dresser then back at Bo. Bo showed no sign of moving forward. He raised his eyes upward before walking over to the dresser himself and opening it up. Such a pathetic child. How was he ever going to survive in the outside world? At this rate, he would end up homeless and likely dead from sheer naivety. He sorted through the clothes until he finally located undergarments.

"Here," he said, tossing them to Bo. "Put these on, and then I will look at your back. I can hardly look at it after you are fully dressed, now can I?" He turned back to his task and delicately picked out a black pair of pants and a black shirt. This would do, he supposed. "Are you decent, child? I am about to turn around."

Bo quickly held one of his hands out to catch the undergarments, only for them to comedically hit his face, like in a cartoon. He then caught them in his arm and then nodded. Once Othello turned around, he took the towel off and began putting the undergarments on. He gently picked the towel up and placed it on his bed gently. "Mhm." Bo said quietly.

His body had small scrapes and bruises scattered all over, it wasn't of weaponry it was clear, but possibly being dragged around or being handled roughly. From his torso, to his arms, to his legs. It was mostly bruises, and less wounds, thankfully, as it could be much worse. Bo walked over and sit on the end of the bed, waiting for Othello to look at the wound on his back.


When Othello would come over and look at what was wrong with his back..

There was a horrible wound on Bo's upper back, it was of a strange symbol, which seemed to be of the cult's symbol. It was burned painfully into his skin, clearly from something hot, as it was almost the level of a third degree burn. His skin was red and agitated around it, it was clear that this was what Bo was talking about and was giving him pain.

Othello walked over when Bo sat down and laid the clothes off to the side so he could take a look at Bo's back. "Hmm. This is quite the interesting mark," he said. "It appears to be a nasty burn." He shifted so he could look at Bo. "Do you know how to take care of a burn? Do you know what it is we need to do now?"

He fully expected Bo not to have any actual knowledge of how to treat a burn, but he wanted the boy to think and attempt to problem-solve. He could not go through life letting other people do everything for him. It was time for him to start thinking and doing for himself. Othello didn't care if what Bo said next was the completely wrong answer just as long as he made an attempt. Wrongs could be righted as long as effort was put into them.