This group has been archived by its founder. It may still be viewed, but can no longer be joined or posted to.
TRIGGER WARNING: Freaky voice thing
The ghoul was being bold, walking in daylight. He looked every part a blind man, and did a good job hamming it up to the point where it seemed like that could possibly be his only problem.
He bowed and stumbled and scraped towards the library, clicking the pavement with his cane. Once inside, the act was dropped. He stood up, sniffed subtly, and headed off to find his translator.
Masha seemed almost a workaholic. She had a routine, even. Certain days, she worked in the library; researched, took notes. Other days, she worked from home. Home, in fact, was where the bulk of her writing took place. The nanny did not get those days off, either.
Today, predictably, she sat at the usual table with the usual large stack of books - some that were always there, others that were needed for one particular project or another - with her usual stacks and rolls of papers, working away.
He found her table, and walked quietly up to it, taking a seat on a stool opposite her. "Hello. It is nice to see you again." His throat sounded sore. He certainly looked ill, he always did these days. "How have you been?"
The older woman did not look up immediately. In fact, it was as if she'd not heard him at all. But this had likely been seen before. A minute later, she wrote something down, put a ribbon in the book where she left off, and looked up. Seeing Andrei, the now-usual look of worry crossed her face...and then she caught his eyes. She couldn't break her own stare.
"...Nevermind that. Should you be about?"
"Don't worry about me. I've never been better. In fact, I came to thank you, again, for the help you gave to u-me." He grinned, then leaned in close to whisper, as if it was very secret information.
"Masha, it worked. It was true, all of it. The miracles... the rituals...it worked."
Masha leaned away as Andrei leaned close; their shared language was protection enough, and, though she tried hard to hide it, the twitch of her lip gave away the fear and disgust. Clearly, she felt him ill, possibly contagious.
"...What worked? Andrei, I do so much work, I have no time to keep track of every piece of information I translate. What have you done? Is this why you appear so ill?"
"I've become a priest of the death god. It isn't beautiful to look at but... no illness can hurt me now." If he was insulted by her backing away, he didn't show it. "I've unlocked the key to immortality. It's so much simpler than everyone thinks... the death god is very generous. They give it so freely."
He tilted his head. "And I have you to thank. All of the blessings of the vulture, and more, belong to you, if you want them."
Many years with a husband like Masha's own had stifled the majority of horror and fear of magic, if only to the point of tolerance...and use where it truly benefitted her in desperate ways, apparently. But gods?
Her frown was intense, leaning even further from Andrei, eyeing the man as if he'd lost his mind...or as if he were dangerous.
"The gods are of no concern to me, this is not my business, nor something I wish to dabble in." It was rattled out quickly. At the same time, the ribbon was moved, and the hamster seemed to very fervently return to her research.
"There is nothing you want in return for your hard work?" His head tilted the other way. "Or perhaps you just need some time to think about what to ask for. That is fine. You do not have to ask the gods directly. That is what the priest is for."
He gestured to himself. "And of course, I would like to see you again, outside of work. It has been too long."
Masha looked up at him, her frown having never left. The stylus in her hand was gripped tightly. Snapped out: "I have been paid for my work. I did not ask to be involved in the business of some god or other."
She seemed almost irrational. Or, well, perhaps perfectly irrational. He'd pushed, and now she was gathering her papers, her inks. There was a slight, flighty tremble to her hands.
"It's a rare day people ask to be involved in the affairs of gods." Too many voices crept out at her. Oddly enough, nobody else nearby in the library seemed to hear them. "Of course, one way or another, someday, you will become wrapped up in my affairs no matter how hard you or any mortal tries to the contrary."
The strange sounds disappeared. He wasn't moving to follow her. "I am sorry, I didn't realize you were so terribly opposed to this. I meant to give you gifts, not upset you."
The sounds got her, they truly did. Where at first she'd tried to control herself, to get up and leave without too much of a disturbance, she now ended up dropping papers, scrabbling to regather them, her hands shook so bad. Wide-eyed, she watched him in fear, not acknowledging anything he said.
Her arms were full and their contents disorganized; she scurried away in a right hurry.
The ghoul was being bold, walking in daylight. He looked every part a blind man, and did a good job hamming it up to the point where it seemed like that could possibly be his only problem.
He bowed and stumbled and scraped towards the library, clicking the pavement with his cane. Once inside, the act was dropped. He stood up, sniffed subtly, and headed off to find his translator.
Masha seemed almost a workaholic. She had a routine, even. Certain days, she worked in the library; researched, took notes. Other days, she worked from home. Home, in fact, was where the bulk of her writing took place. The nanny did not get those days off, either.
Today, predictably, she sat at the usual table with the usual large stack of books - some that were always there, others that were needed for one particular project or another - with her usual stacks and rolls of papers, working away.
He found her table, and walked quietly up to it, taking a seat on a stool opposite her. "Hello. It is nice to see you again." His throat sounded sore. He certainly looked ill, he always did these days. "How have you been?"
The older woman did not look up immediately. In fact, it was as if she'd not heard him at all. But this had likely been seen before. A minute later, she wrote something down, put a ribbon in the book where she left off, and looked up. Seeing Andrei, the now-usual look of worry crossed her face...and then she caught his eyes. She couldn't break her own stare.
"...Nevermind that. Should you be about?"
"Don't worry about me. I've never been better. In fact, I came to thank you, again, for the help you gave to u-me." He grinned, then leaned in close to whisper, as if it was very secret information.
"Masha, it worked. It was true, all of it. The miracles... the rituals...it worked."
Masha leaned away as Andrei leaned close; their shared language was protection enough, and, though she tried hard to hide it, the twitch of her lip gave away the fear and disgust. Clearly, she felt him ill, possibly contagious.
"...What worked? Andrei, I do so much work, I have no time to keep track of every piece of information I translate. What have you done? Is this why you appear so ill?"
"I've become a priest of the death god. It isn't beautiful to look at but... no illness can hurt me now." If he was insulted by her backing away, he didn't show it. "I've unlocked the key to immortality. It's so much simpler than everyone thinks... the death god is very generous. They give it so freely."
He tilted his head. "And I have you to thank. All of the blessings of the vulture, and more, belong to you, if you want them."
Many years with a husband like Masha's own had stifled the majority of horror and fear of magic, if only to the point of tolerance...and use where it truly benefitted her in desperate ways, apparently. But gods?
Her frown was intense, leaning even further from Andrei, eyeing the man as if he'd lost his mind...or as if he were dangerous.
"The gods are of no concern to me, this is not my business, nor something I wish to dabble in." It was rattled out quickly. At the same time, the ribbon was moved, and the hamster seemed to very fervently return to her research.
"There is nothing you want in return for your hard work?" His head tilted the other way. "Or perhaps you just need some time to think about what to ask for. That is fine. You do not have to ask the gods directly. That is what the priest is for."
He gestured to himself. "And of course, I would like to see you again, outside of work. It has been too long."
Masha looked up at him, her frown having never left. The stylus in her hand was gripped tightly. Snapped out: "I have been paid for my work. I did not ask to be involved in the business of some god or other."
She seemed almost irrational. Or, well, perhaps perfectly irrational. He'd pushed, and now she was gathering her papers, her inks. There was a slight, flighty tremble to her hands.
"It's a rare day people ask to be involved in the affairs of gods." Too many voices crept out at her. Oddly enough, nobody else nearby in the library seemed to hear them. "Of course, one way or another, someday, you will become wrapped up in my affairs no matter how hard you or any mortal tries to the contrary."
The strange sounds disappeared. He wasn't moving to follow her. "I am sorry, I didn't realize you were so terribly opposed to this. I meant to give you gifts, not upset you."
The sounds got her, they truly did. Where at first she'd tried to control herself, to get up and leave without too much of a disturbance, she now ended up dropping papers, scrabbling to regather them, her hands shook so bad. Wide-eyed, she watched him in fear, not acknowledging anything he said.
Her arms were full and their contents disorganized; she scurried away in a right hurry.
Moderators: CindarellaPop Goo Tate Rigby