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

Bo crawled into the bed, then patiently let Othello wrap him up in a little blanket cocoon, not quite what he was expecting, but didn't mind it. "I've never been wrapped up like this, but it's oddly cozy." Bo giggled a bit, "Goodnight Othello." Bo said, batting his eyes tiredly.

"Hope you learn more about, uh.. gaia." Bo still didn't seem to understand gaia meant earth, but still said it either way.

He closed his eyes, and let Othello leave, to go back to his reading.



A few hours passed, they were silent hours, of reading most likely for Othello. When suddenly, it was interrupted by a crying shout from Bo.

If Othello chose to see what was going on, Bo was sitting up in bed, grasping his chest, eyes wide and a cold sweat dripping down his forehead, he looked scared, and had appeared to have a nightmare.

His small frame was trembling, and his blankets were half on the floor, half on himself and the bed.

Othello sat in what he assumed was the living room with the lamp on over his shoulder.  He'd spent perhaps half an hour tidying up the room and using a fair amount of magic in the process, but how could anyone expect him to actually move every individual item to dust when he could do a little dust magnet spell that trapped it all in one spot and made it disappear?  Magic was the better choice.  A far better choice.  Now he sat on the clean chair with his clean books steadily making his way through the pile with unnatural speed.  He'd almost dozed off while reading a book on local laws, but a sound from above woke him.  He looked up at the ceiling and sighed.  Of course it was the boy.  Why wouldn't it be the boy?  Maybe he should just leave him to figure out whatever was the problem on his own.  Then, after a moment, he heaved a sigh, closed his book, and set it aside.  Laws were boring anyway.

He walked upstairs and opened Bo's bedroom door.  "How did you manage to escape the cacoon?" he asked, taking in the bedding mess first.  "And what are you wailing about, child?"

Bo looked at the door opening with horror, "Stay back! Please, I-" He stuttered out, only to see Othello. "Oh- Oh It's.. it's you.." Bo shakily sighed in relief, tears rolling down his face. Bo hugged his knees close to his chest, pulling his arms close to his chest as well, almost curling up into a ball. "I had a bad dream, it.. felt so real, like they were surrounding me, laughing at me.." Bo's voice cracked, his eyes looking down.

He whimpered, shakily grabbing his blanket and wrapped it over his head and body, like a little blanket cave, then sat there, still trembling and horrified by the nightmare he had. Tears slowly dripped off his face, onto the sheets, leaving darkened spots of tears on the sheets, they almost looked like stars scattered upon a night sky, if you were to look at it poetically.

Othello tipped his head, studying Bo. "What are you doing, child?" he asked, mildly confused and curious. "Are you hiding from your dream under the blanket?" He walked over and picked up a corner that was still dragging on the floor. "You forgot some of your covers."

Bo whimpered, "It comforts me, sort of." He mumbled, "I would do it when I had bad dreams at the cathedral. But the blanket there was thinner, and was kind of itchy.." He sniffled.

Bo watched Othello pick the corner of the covers up, silently. "..I want to be held." He said very quietly underneath his breath, not necessarily a request, but more of just an inner thought becoming an outer thought.

"You wish to be held?" Othello asked with a slight frown. He looked down at himself and then around the room as if hoping that someone else would appear. No one did. Well, he was certainly not holding the child! Absolutely not! It did not matter how much the child begged, this was not a boundary he was willing to cross. But, perhaps he could find a compromise.

Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed. His hand found Bo's back, and he started patting and rubbing it softly and awkwardly. There there. Be calm. Be relaxed. With his other hand, he made several complicated gestures, and soft music began to play. It was like the classical music of Earth, but nothing Bo would have heard before.

Did Othello have mind-reading powers? Bo then realized he just accidentally said something out loud rather than just thinking it. But before he could speak up to say something, Othello had sat on the bed and gently began patting and rubbing his back softly. Bo had flinched at the touch at first, but then he slowly calmed, no longer tense and trembling. His eyes narrowed, no longer wide with fear and surprise, but looked rather sleepy and calm now.

Then Othello made the gestures with his other hand, and made a soft, classical song play. Bo closed his eyes for a moment, and reopened them slowly, as if fighting to stay awake. But, he closed his eyes again, and failed to reopen them, too sleepy and relaxed to attempt to. Bo had fell asleep sitting up. He began slowly leaning to the side until he rested on Othello's shoulder.

Oh no! Oh, no, no, no! The child was on his shoulder!! This was not part of the deal!

Othello sat stiffly, feeling absolutely freaked out, but a demon of his caliber did not freak out. No. They just dealt with it. So he sat there and waited until the child seemed asleep. Then, very carefully, he nudged Bo with as few fingers as possible until he slumped sideways. Then he stood up and brushed off his shoulder. Humans were strange, and their offspring even more so.

He walked out, leaving the door slightly cracked open and the music playing. The music was on a timer and would run out on its own time in about three hours. He'd figured out the music on a slow day when his area had had construction in the neighborhood and he'd wanted music that could drown it out while he read. He never would have guessed this would be how he would use this particular spell. Whatever. He just wanted to get through the night.

He found a couch down on the first floor and stretched out with an exhausted sigh. How was he ever going to survive this? Within moments, he was asleep, but it was not a sound sleep. Couch sleep was rarely sound.

Othello had pushed him gently, flopping back down into the bed instead of resting on Othello's shoulder, and it seemed he was hard to wake up at this point, he must have been really exhausted, most likely from the lack of sleep in the past.

However, it had been proved wrong. Because once Othello had walked out, Bo opened his eyes slowly and carefully held up one hand, not far off the bed as he didn't have the energy (so basically the bottom of his hand was still on the sheet) and waved goodbye softly and then closed his eyes, finally, fully asleep now, and probably wouldn't wake up again until the morning arrived.


The next morning, the sun leaked into the house's windows, at least ones that weren't covered with curtains, and even those covered with curtains, the sun managed to squirm its' way through the cracks in the curtains. Bo was in bed, and was curled up in the blankets, he looked quite adorable sleeping.

The music had long run out, but Bo was asleep so he didn't mind.

Othello groaned as he peeled himself up off the couch. This couch was comfortable to sit on, but it was not a good bed. This was possibly the absolute worst contract he'd ever accepted! He had a kink in his neck, his suit was wrinkled, he didn't have a hairbrush, and he desperately wanted a shower! He allowed himself a hardy grumbling session as he got up and did his best to clean up in the bathroom. Why, why, why had he been the one to accept the contract?

Grumbling wouldn't solve any problems, though, so once he felt a little better, he went to the kitchen and started putting together breakfast. His reading had not been in vain the night before. He had a few ideas for how to move forward in his new venture, as he chose to think of it.

Bo batted his eyes open, smelling the breakfast all the way from downstairs. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and got out of bed. He pushed open his bedroom door and wandered into the hall, then began downstairs, to go see what Othello was up to.

"Good mornin' Othello." Bo yawned, approaching the kitchen doorway. "What are you making?" He said with a soft smile.

Bo's hair was a mess, in-fact, it had been a mess since Othello found it, but it was more of a mess today. Bedhead hairstyle.

"Good morning, child," Othello said, turning to look at Bo. He paused and stared. The child was becoming increasingly goblin-like in appearance. Perhaps he'd accidentally rescued a changeling. He shook himself and turned back to the pan. "I am making bacon and eggs. There are the things you call 'waffles' over there in that heating contraption." He indicated the waffle maker off to the side. "I considered doing pancakes as that is what I am familiar with, but waffles apparently are structured to have individual moats for the purposes of holding extra condiments. It is an intriguing idea."

He took a moment to flip the bacon slices amid a cacophony of hissing and sizzling. "I have decided that if we are to stay here, we are going to need an extra set of hands. Therefore, I shall endeavor to seek the employment of one known as a 'housecleaner.' I would have preferred a maid, but it seems only those who are well-off are allowed to employ such without it being termed derogetory."

Bo giggled a bit to himself at the 'individual moats' comment about the waffle in the heating contraption.

Bo raised his brows, "Is the housecleaner gonna be a demon too?" He said jokingly, and then stepped further into the kitchen, slowly crawling into a chair and sitting down in it, resting his hands gently on the table, occasionally patting the surface of the table with the palms of his hand. "I'm joking, of course.." Bo mumbled quietly, a small smile still on his face.

The boy sniffed the air, taking in the scent of the breakfast cooking. He looked to the fridge and noticed something missing.

He frowned a bit, "I had a drawing up there, on the fridge. I wonder where it went?" Bo said, not really speaking to Othello, but wasn't really speaking to himself either. More or less an inside thought becoming an outside thought again.

Othello opened his mouth to tell Bo the truth and then thought better of it. Bo was such a fragile child. Frustratingly so for someone like Othello, but it was something he was slowly resigning himself to work with. Since Bo didn't seem to be waiting for an answer about the picture anyway, Othello chose to ignore it and move on.

"No, the housekeeper shall not be a demon. Rather, it shall be one of your people," he replied. The bacon and eggs were done, so he started plating everything up including the waffles. "It may take some trial and error to find the right one, but I have no intention of becoming your house cleaner as well as your guardian. This house is simply too big for that. As an added bonus, a housekeeper from Gaia will surely be able to help us both navigate this world seeing as neither of us are in much of a position to do so alone."

He placed a plate of hot waffles, eggs, and bacon in front of Bo as well as the syrups and a glass of orange juice. He had a small bit of milk for himself, but otherwise had the same breakfast only larger.

Bo nodded curiously as he listened to Othello explain the housekeeper situation. He also watched Othello plate the food as well.

"This house is awfully big." He said warmly, "It was built in the 1800s, I think. At least, that's what my mum used to say. There's rumors it belonged to someone really fancy back in the day." Bo said, before picking up a fork and taking a bite out of a waffle. "I don't know how true the rumors are, but.. it is very interestin' to hear about." Bo added after swallowing.

Bo continued to eat, and he stopped for a moment to add, "I hope we find a nice housecleaner- keeper- person."

Othello ate delicately with a knife and fork. "I hope we find an efficiant one that will be able to help tame your..." he looked Bo over, "appearance. Perhaps aid in your schooling. You do have schooling, yes? Is it in an official building?"

Bo drank some orange juice, before replying. "I'm home-schooled. I was schooled by my mum or nanny here, at home." He said. "I used to go to school, but the kids bullied me so much that mum took me out of it and decided it was best to teach me, or have my nanny teach me, instead."

Bo gently tapped the glass as he talked, "I think there's a few schooling books in the library, with math, and science, and history and stuff, in it." He looked at the glass, focused on the liquid moving when he tapped the glass. Before he looked back up, "Math sucks though, it makes my brain hurt."

"Running away from hardship is hardly the way to go through life," Othello sniffed. "It is a most unfortunate thing, I shall not deny, that offspring such as yourself are bullied, and I do not support such behavior, but life is nothing if it is not hard. You must learn how to deal with such hardships, and those who allow such goings-on should be brought to task." He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "There is nothing for it now. You have been removed, and perhaps it is for the better in this situation as it shall cause fewer questions." He heaved a sigh. "What days are you to be schooled?"

Bo listened, though he didn't quite understand everything Othello said.

He did, however understand that life was hard, and sometimes cruel, very very cruel.

When he was asked a question, he spoke up. "Monday, Wednesday, Friday." He said, tapping the table with his finger as he said each day. "And sometimes Sunday, but only if I feel like it."

"Only three days? Hmm. That hardly seems conducive to long-term learning, but I have never attempted to train a Gaian mind before," Othello said as he finished the last of his bacon. "I do not know what day it is today, but I suppose there is no time like the present. I shall endeavor to search for some sort of house cleaner, and while I do that, you will study in your books. Following, we shall see what it is you have learned from your studies."

It was informal, but what could he do? He was making it up as he went. He doubted the schooling system was anything like his world, which was different now than it had been when he was a child, but it would keep Bo busy and not sulking or whatever it was children did after trauma. Perhaps he could consider some sort of tutor? Indeed, but with what money? He looked around the stately kitchen. Maybe he could sell a few things, but Bo would likely protest, and he would run out of things to sell sooner or later. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was getting more complicated by the day.