seekrit is now known as Flauri
Oxford has changed the topic to: Gevaar! Mijnenveld!
<Oxford> Dusk begins to settle over the rolling hills of northern Gaulia. From her hideaway high in an abandoned grain silo, Flaurentine watches the approach of night dye waving fields of golden grain a deep purple. With the sun down, the risk of being spotted by a passing patrol drops significantly; it is finally safe to emerge and get a feel for her surroundings.
- Flauri uses this opportunity to get a break from the hour or so spent hyperventilating and then the next few spent in silent, pure self-loathing. Hair now an almost messy wave instead of pulled back by her usual ribbons, the poor girl's physical discomfort is easily tossed aside to make room for the emotional side of it, which consumed thought after thought. Slowly but surely, she tucks the pendant into a part of her outfit where it can't be seen easily, though without removing it, and steps outside. Each breath and each step are taken with caution as the small girl makes like a mouse and tiptoes, warily but a little hungrily, through the field.
<Oxford> The fireflies begin to come out, mirroring the stars that gradually resolve against the deep blue dusk. Across the field, beside a stand of poplars, a square of golden light within the black silhouette of a building shows that at least the farmhouse here is still occupied.
<Flauri> The little girl's thoughts are clouded, mostly those of failure, but her rumbling stomach is something else. What good is it to stay and one place and do nothing, anyway? At the same time… it actually IS night, and having every memory she still has be one of a time when a curfew was in place, the lateness grants her a newfound sense of freedom. At least for now. Instead of heading
<Flauri> straight to bother anybody, her steps are taken swiftly and silently - avoiding any crops or the like in the process - past the field for somewhere else to get a good look at what else is around. In the pessimistic mood she's in she certainly expects empty space, but surprises happen!
<Oxford> The grain is tall and already heavy with seed; the harvest should have been weeks ago. Beside the farmhouse is a long dirt road that winds up a low hill and out of sight down the other side. The moon is waxing gibbous, about three-quarters full, and provides good illumination in open places, but ample shadows along the hedgerows that mark off the border between fields. A faint glow in the distance, down the dirt road, might be coming from a village of some kind.
<Flauri> With a small determined nod to herself, little Flauri sets off down the road while measuring in her head every single meter of distance she takes from the building… just in case of needing to go back there. Then again this isn't anything new at all, since she'd conditioned herself from the beginning to make every distance immediately known considering the terror of getting stuck in a wall and instantly dying or some other horrific thing. That's why after a gamble like this one, despite the depression of being responsible for the pilot's death and other things, she's at least just a little grateful to be alive. Each step still as wary as the last, she trots down the road clutching the hidden pendant at her chest.
<Oxford> Reaching the crest of the hill, Flaurentine has a good view of the surrounding countryside. The glow she saw earlier is indeed coming from a small village, twenty or thirty low brick and mortar buildings arranged haphazardly around a central well. A few wisps of smoke emerge from chimneys in town; from her place atop the hill, the young girl feels a chill breeze blowing in off the sea, despite the unseasonable warmth of the day.
<Flauri> The thoughts of curfew still rise to the top of the girl's head, but under the rising flame of instinct they all slowly evaporate. Putting on her best smile despite the unlikeliness of anybody being out this late she clutches the pendant even tighter, looking off to the direction of the breeze with the slightest bit of worry in those eyes of hers that nobody can see, before silenty proceeding to walk in a gentle slide down the hill.
<Oxford> The dirt road is deeply grooved with use, and Flaurentine has to carefully step around a small heap of horse manure. It seems automobiles are still fairly uncommon in this part of the world. At the base of the hill, the road becomes cobblestone at the edge of the village, though grass pokes up defiantly through the cracks. A number of storefronts and vender's stalls sit empty and dark, plate glass display windows reflecting the moonlight that emerges from behind the church's bell tower.
<Flauri> Finding it difficult to resist a smile, she takes a nice, deep breath at how calm the scenery is, lessening her caution and proceeding straight into the village, keeping an eye out for anybody who might live there despite how doubtful it is. Her first mission… find something somewhat better than a grain bin to stay in for the time being, and if there happens to be any vendor nearby that's still open that would make the process even easier. She's not even sure at this point whether the pocket change she has is enough to matter, here, but faces the situation with determination! Or… something close enough, at least. With a peek at each stall, she makes what's otherwise a beeline toward the square…. only, in the form of a slow stroll.
<Oxford> Most of the stalls are locked up tighly, though one - a dairy-farmer's spot, judging by the metal jugs inside - is probably loose enough to squeeze into if need be. In the center square, the round public well sits like an endless pit, its bottom lost in the blackness.
<Oxford> From across the square, Flaurentine thinks she sees fleeting movement - a shadow flickers and ducks around the corner of a building.
<Flauri> Flauri's own shadow ducks around the corner of the building with a tiny gasp… but a drink isn't such a bad idea. Spending what may even be a few minute smothered in timidgirltom, her head slowly peeks out to look in the direction of that 'shadow' before even making an attempt to head toward the well. Breathing softly, she assures that her voice is soft enough to not reach the nearby residences before making an attempt to speak up across the square. "H… Hello? Is somebody there?"
<Oxford> A low shadow detachs itself from the alley across the far side of the square and approaches cautiously. The silhouette is about 4 feet tall and carrying a long, cylindrical object.
<Flauri> Pendant clutched even tighter. But what's there to lose at this point? The little girl approaches, herself, heading presumable to the well. But that's not going to stop her from just waiting for the other party to reveal themselves a little more.
<Oxford> The approaching outline catches a beam of moonlight midway across the square. The cool white light reveals a young girl of about nine or ten, her arms clutching a white metal tube of some kind, covered in knobs and dials. Her short, square bangs swish from side to side as she walks slowly forward.
<Flauri> A sigh of relief. Though… it's not time to take it easy just yet, as the pendant's still clutched just a little. It probably even looks a bit strange for ltitle Flauri to be showing up with her hand to her chest, but if anything that just emphasizes her worriedness at this point. And she's not all that little in comparison, anyway. "Ex… cuse me…" Clearing her throat softly, her finger begins to reach up and point to the well. "Is this…?"
<Oxford> The little girl - rather, the littler of the two - tilts her head to one side in confusion. Her eyes follow Flaurentine's finger, but go back once she realizes what's being pointed at. "Zo het fontein…?" she says carefully, head still cocked.
<Flauri> "Zo… oh…" And then the realization hits. "… O-Oh." And then there's probably a good bit of a staring contest before going through whatever memories are there… only to find most language classes totally a blank spot. Great. Mustering all her courage she makes a small, apologetic bow of some kind and makes motions to the fountain indicating a drink, then follows with a quizzical gesture, questioning. And her eyes by themselves do the entire apology 'I'm sorry, I'm lost' thing.
<Oxford> "…!" The small, brunette girl shifts the odd cylinder in her arms to get her hands free, and then pantomimes taking a drink from a cup. She points toward the side of the well, where a bucket attached to a long rope sits half-hidden in shadows.
- Flauri gives a gesture of genuine thanks before dashing straight over to get it free, making a quick effort to actually utilize the well and have something to drink if allowed. That is, if this girl doesn't actually indicate there's something wrong with it. Cleanliness doesn't really matter at this point anyway, having been alone in an empty place for so long. But however that ends up
- * Flauri going by, little-big Flauri would politely set it back down and approach again, starting to speak but cutting herself off and starting to make hand-gestures… of course, not long after she realizes that won't work and just speaks WHILE indicating, starting with a point to the outside of the village. "I'm sorry, I'm… lost and there isn't… anywhere to stay here." A pantomime of a
- Flauri roof above a head, then of sleeping. It looks kind of silly.
<Oxford> The girl shakes her head and waves both hands flat and horizontally, making a little X. "Nee, ik heb geen behoefte om te gaan nog slapen." She points to the long tube - a telescope, Flaurentine realizes - and then points at the night sky above.
<Flauri> To somebody who's been in the military, any long cylinder could be a gun. Finally understanding that it isn't, a soft breath leads to her grip loosening. But with that, she looks down at the pendant and starts to formulate some thoughts that most would find more than unusual, putting them aside for the moment as she nods with a smile. "Oh… I see. I'm sorry, this was the only place I could find this late… are you looking for somewhere to…" Pointing to the telescope she realizes how horribly misinterpreted this sentence is going to be, "… Use that?" She follows by motioning questioningly to the outside again.
<Oxford> While it is unclear how much of that the little girl understood, she nods happily when Flaurentine points to the telescope. Then she turns and, gripping the expensive device carefully, trots toward the corner of the church, looking back to make sure the older girl is following.
<Flauri> She is, happily so. Though she straightens her hair on the walk there, a bit unsettles about the looseness of it all with nothing to pull it back. What a pain. What the younger girl has no idea as to, though, is that she's actually thinking of simple things and doing unnecessary acts to them… like how can this pendant make this girl's life easier, for starters. She clutches it with a smile but runs along, even somewhat worriedly.
<Oxford> Behind the church is a small graveyard, set on the near slope of a low hill. Gray headstones, some thick with moss, dot the hill; the small girl weaves her way up between the markers toward the top. The wind blows softly, carrying away the thin clouds of breath that puff from her mouth every few steps.
<Flauri> "Is this really okay?" Flauri shows worry (rhyme intended) in her voice, though it's soft enough to not indicate requesting an actual response. It's not like that would be able to happen even if she WANTED it to, though the uncertainty in her voice is evident. Still, she makes her best effort to follow and help set up in whatever way's possible.
<Oxford> The little Gaulian girl stops at the edge of the graveyard, next to the last of the headstones, and starts to extend the legs of a tripod to rest the telescope on. "Dit is mijn grootvader kijker," she explains as she works, tightening the knobs with expert precision.
<Flauri> This is my… well, cues are starting to be picked up, so she gets a crisp nod in response. At least, crisper than the mood Flauri had been in before, and that says plenty. Without the kind of technical knowledge to help with the setup, though, she can only lean back and look straight up at the stars with naked vision.
<Oxford> She looks through the telescope carefully, tweaking one dial and then the other, before looking up at Flaurentine and smiling. "… En dit is mijn grootvader ster!" she says, gesturing the older girl toward the eyepiece invitingly.
- Flauri looks on with interest that actually is somewhat genuine, having not really enough memories to be familiar with something like this. And in such a rural-looking village… still, a big smile plasters itself on her face as she observes curiously. "And you use this to look at the…?" The inquiry in her voice is followed as she looks straight up again.
<Oxford> The girl nods encouragingly and mimes putting her eye to the eyepiece. "Ja, de sterren!"
<Flauri> "Well, it's yours," she says while gesturing the younger girl ahead, before being overcome by curiosity and leaning just a little bit closer, making the questioning sound in her voice apparent with a gesture do it. "Are you sure you don't mind if I…?"
<Oxford> The little girl nods again, more for encouragment than in answer to the question. She watches Flaurentine with rapt attention.
- Flauri nods and puts her eye to it, considering as this girl may not know encouraging actually IS answering the question. Her hands keep mostly to themselves instead of touching the device, mostly out of fear that she'll accidentally do something to it because her deactivated pendant has yet to come off her person.
<Oxford> Through the glass lens of the telescope, the universe opens up before Flaurentine's eyes. The 'scope brings even the faintest lights into stunning focus; one tiny patch of the night, viewed through the telescope, holds more stars than can be seen by the naked eye on even the clearest night.
<Flauri> The telescope keeps aimed at that point, in minor concern. She wouldn't necessarily know whether that's normal or not, but very carefully she makes sure to keep it aimed in that spot while pulling back and pointing to it. In cheerful interest, if nothing else.
<Oxford> Like salt spilled across black velvet, the lights form the barest hints of structure: clumping in groups or strewn in long strands. And at the center of the display, one star in particular, bright and unwavering against the night. "Mijn grootvader ster," the little girl repeats, smiling.
<Flauri> "Your… star?" How nice it must be to have something you can say something even resembling that sentence about. Shooting a smile in return, she looks back up at it even without the telescope's aid. "That must be nice to have… I never knew the stars could be this pretty."
<Oxford> The little girl wanders over to the gravestone nearby. She carefully pats the top of the stone, almost lovingly. "Mijn grootvader," she explains slowly, "gaf me zijn ster."
<Flauri> "Oh…" Her smile loosens as Flauri walks over. "I see… so you miss your grootvader?" The tone could make it 'grandfather' or even 'father,' she notes to herself, but without being one for linguistic study that thought keeps to itself. Even knowing she won't be understood too she reaches to pat the girl assuringly… before pulling back and deciding to do it with words alone.
<Flauri> "I have somebody… somebody I think I'm going to miss very much, too."<Oxford> By moonlight, Flaurentine can read the tombstone: "Arjen Daavos, 1861-1935." The girl ducks under Flauri's aborted headpat and scrambles over to put her own eye to the eyepiece. She looks for a moment and then, after smiling at Flaurentine, runs around the hill in little figure-eights, arms outstretched at either side.
<Flauri> She can't help but giggle. "Hee hee. You have a lot of energy, don't you… um…" It's at this point the realization hits that there's no way to introduce each other, which just leads to another jolt of depression. Looking straight up at the night sky she can only keep smiling, though.
<Oxford> A voice suddenly calls out from the direction of the church below. "Corinne! Je mag niet onevenredig zijn in deze koude!" The voice is male and gravelly, as though worn with years.
- Flauri can't help but let out an "Eep!" and go back to timiding, shrinking behind the nearest object without even noticing it.
<Oxford> The man jogs halfway up the hill before he notices Flaurentine. When he does, he slows and asks, "ah, hallo?"
<Flauri> Well, so much for hiding. She slowly comes out and realizes she can't even fake the language, politely bowing. "Ah… I'm sorry. I-I'm lost, and we met, and um…" The nervous clusterfuck of a sentence is followed by pantomimes and nervous, apologetic faces.
<Oxford> The man is round-faced and short, dressed in the black dress clothes of a Gaulian priest outside of services. "Er, you speak Alb?" he asks, confusion on his face.
<Flauri> "O… Oh! I…" The Flauri blush comes back in full force as she busts out a flurry of apologetic gestures. "I-I'm very sorry! I didn't know you spoke it too… it's, um…" Cough. "I… don't think it's my first language, it's just the only one I can…"
<Oxford> The little girl - Corinne, perhaps? - runs down the hill to stand between the priest and Flaurentine. The man ignores her and walks closer to the other girl. "Yes, I speak it. Ah… thank you for looking Corinne?" Unfamiliarity with the language makes everything he says come out as a question, but his demeanor is friendly enough.
<Flauri> At least it's better than no translation at all! Although, Corinne's attitude is friendly enough to practically translate itself. "Oh, I… yes, she's a very nice girl. I-I hope she didn't do anything wrong, Sir," she'd raise her hand slightly but quickly pull it back before accidentally giving off the wrong impression. Her other hand's still nervously clutching her chest, though lightly. "I just… ah, I'm lost and wanted to know if she knew of a place to stay, but…" At this point Flauri just chuckles at the girl's excitedness.
<Oxford> "Lost…to stay…ah! Yes, you are able to stay. Here." He gestures down the hill to the church. He leans over to whisper something in Gaulian to Corinne, who goes over to the telescope and starts taking it apart.
<Flauri> Well that's awfully quick. "O-Oh, but I couldn't ask for something so… suddenly…" Her hand reaches for nothing, feeling the crippling loneliness about to converge. Flauri can only nod. "But… i-if you wouldn't mind, I mean…. I'm not sure how to find my way again."
<Oxford> The priest watches his young charge take down the tripod. "She is like you are? Since her grandfather died, no parents." He looks wistfully at the night sky. "He gave…kijker? Tele…?"
<Flauri> "T… Telescope." She utters out the word slowly but surely. "It must have been expensive.. b-but that's right. No… No parents."
<Oxford> The priest nods understandingly. There's a faint boom off in the distance, and a dim flash far off to the north. "The fighting," he says, quietly, "only a little north. Sometimes closer, sometimes not."
<Flauri> A gasp. "You mean… near here?! B-But it's dangerous! What are you going to do when they… I mean…"
<Oxford> "We were in the basement. H…hiding?" He makes a peek-a-boo hand gesture, nodding when he sees he 's understood. "But the army is going north. Soon, no more occupation, no more war." His statement seems confident, but the doubt on his face is plain.
- Flauri remains silent before forcing a smile. "… That's right. The war will be over soon."
<Oxford> The priest sighs. "Yes. Soon, I hope… very many was died, very many destroyed." He nods again, then points down the hill to the church. "I hope, soon. Ah…come now, inside?"
<Flauri> "It's alright, Sir. I know it won't be much longer." With a small nod she finds it hard to anything other than accept, but still clutches her pendant. "T-Thank you for all your help, though. I-I'm Fl…" Gasping she realizes she already screwed up, scrambling to remedy this. "… Flau! My name is Flau."
<Oxford> "Flau?" He nods. "Vader Pieterhoff. Come, then; you have eated?" The round priest waddles down the hill towards the church, waving for 'Flau' to follow.
<Flauri> "N… No, sir." Following his lead, she makes a note to keep being as secretive as possible… but even in the moonlight she looks down at the pendant's tiny glint, which in itself may end up symbolizing the hope for these poor people at some point. Given purpose, little Flau prepares herself for the first meal in what may just have been a while.
<Oxford> /session
- Oxford has changed the topic to: "…Wie einst, Lili Marleen"
<Oxford> From the bell tower of the old church, Flauentine - now just Flau - watches as dusk settles in over the small village. Most of the windows are dark, though the distant laughter of soldiers in the town pub drifts up from an open window, accompanied by the golden glow of lantern light. Above, the stars come out.
- Giantree is now known as Flau
<Flau> Little Flau hums along, the pendant that's never once come off her neck twinkling just like the stars in the sky as she sits alone. And as for how she got up to the top so quickly, of course, only she knows— but it's getting closer and closer to the time for the others to find out. Physically she's really only a shred of what she used to look like, the permanent blush on her face
<Flau> replaced with a tiny frown that just won't go away, even when she's smiling. And that says a lot because she tries to smile all the time. With a -blip- she decides to check up on a certain somebody inside the church. Or maybe she's already gone out?
<Oxford> Corinne isn't in her room, tucked under the basement stairs, but Flau's second guess is spot-on. The little Gaulian is once again out on the hill behind the cemetary, carefully setting up her grandfather's telescope.
<Flau> Blip! This isn't the time to make a ruckus though, Flau is content sitting somewhere nearby without even making her presence known. Or at least not trying to draw attention to herself, since they've clearly gone stargazing together more than once since then. Her own fascination is mixed with the feeling that guardians often have, toward what might as well be her new little sister of
<Flau> only a few days. So she smiles, even with that little hint of a frown that won't go away.
<Oxford> The late autumn air is chilly, though Corinne seems perfectly content. She's bunbled up in a long scarf and a too-big quilted coat, with a flop-eared knit cap of the sort peculiar to Gaulia pulled tight over her messy hair.
<Oxford> *bundled
<Oxford> Unaware of Flau's presence the little girl eagerly sights in her telescope and sets about star-gazing, a happy grin on her face.
<Flau> Socute. But at least the stealth mission succeeded for now, so she intends to spend the peaceful time like that… for a while anyway. Just watching this scene is enough of a flood of sisterly instincts she never had back home. 'Home.' But of course, nothing can stop her from waving from afar with a smile once the telescope is completely set up. After all, it's too dangerous to be
<Flau> alone out here this late.
<Oxford> Corinne looks up with a start, but then grins and waves back as she recognizes the source of the motion. "Gedag, Flau!" she calls, greeting her warmly.
- Flau giggles and gives a curtsey kind of impulsively. A bit brushed up on language but still far, far behind anything she skips forward through the cemetary, stopping and pointing straight upward to make her intentions hard to miss. "<How are they, Corinne?>"
<Oxford> "<Pretty!>" says the little girl, moving aside so Flau can look through the telescope. "<See that one? And that one? And over there, that's Grandfather's star!>"
<Flau> "Hee." She inferred 'grandfather's star' even without knowing the language last time. The unmistakable twinkle in little Corinne's eyes was one that could only be seen when talking about family, that was clear enough. She even wondered to herself if she'd look like that too if she ever had to talk about Donalds… or if she'd just be completely sad. Shaking it off she puts an eye to
<Flau> the 'scope with a friendly chuckle, observing each of them and pulling back, letting its rightful owner back on. "<They are pretty. Thank you.>"
<Oxford> Corinne nods and smiles. "<Oh, did you talk to Father Pieterhoff? He was looking for you…>"
<Flau> "Hmm? This late? Ah…" She ponders to herself in clear albean, though maybe a little under her breath. Being bilingual isn't something you can really master in a week, unfortunately, but they both figured that out. Giving a wave, she nods, despite knowing she's not going to be completely understood. "I-I'll go see what he wants. <Please be careful!>" Heading off, she can't help
<Flau> but look back every few seconds to check on poor Corinne's safety. And mysteriously, each of her own steps provides a bit more distance than it naturally should… still, back to the church for now.
<Oxford> The sanctuary is dark, and row upon row of empty pews sit silently in the darkness. The huge stained-glass windows, some broken and boarded over, glow under the faint moonlight, providing the only light. Pieterhoff's office is just past the altar, tucked into an alcove behind the rear curtains.
<Flau> In that case, only a single step is necessary to get across the entire sanctuary, much like most curious children would. Vwoop. A bit concerned, she approaches the office and raps a fist on the door. Knock, knock.
<Flau> It's a quiet knock.
<Oxford> Inside, the plump priest is seated at his writing-table, a candle burning beside him, with the notes for a sermon spread out before him. He looks up and smiles at Flau, speaking in the mixture of Sachsen and Albaea they've been using during their time together. "<Ah, hello, Flau. Did you notice if Corinne was going out with her telescope tonight?>"
<Flau> Mixture… right. It's incredibly shoddy when Flaure- Flau herself speaks it, but she tries and it ends up coming out as MOSTLY Albean, very shakily. She enters with a polite gesture and responds with a quizzical expression. "<Yes, Father. I was just with her. Is… something the matter?>"
<Oxford> He shakes his head quickly, but frowns. "<No, no… but I need to ask you some things.>" He takes a deep, sad breath, reluctance evident in his expression.
- Flau shows worry in her eyes, but seriousness. A small nod. "Ah… p-please do."
<Oxford> "<I haven't asked you anything about how you came to this village,>" he begins, "<but from your accent, it's clear you are Albaean.>"
<Flau> "Y… Yes, Father." She stops mixing words in, for the most part, and speaks clearly. Slowly, but clearly. "I apologize. I… didn't mean to deceive anybody." Finishing up she shuts up and lets the questions come.
<Oxford> "<If it is… uncomfortable, for you, then tell me, and I won't ask any more. But I want to know how we can help you, and part of that is knowing the kind of situation you're in.>"
- Flau hangs her head down, but shakes it. Her head, that is. "N-No… I don't mind. It's… my memories. I'm still missing some of them. Albean was the language taught to me by the last people I was helped by, but… ah… I'm not with them anymore."
<Flau> A small cough, and she puts on a serious expression. "Am I being a bother by staying here, Father?"
<Oxford> Pieterhoff shakes his head quickly, and holds up both hands. "<No, no. My church will never turn away someone in need. But… what do you mean, that you are 'not with them'?>"
<Flau> "Something… happened. I, ah…" Her eyes show the sad spark that only an orphan can. "I ran away."
<Oxford> "<From Albaea to here is a long way to run,>" Pieterhoff says softly. Though his tone is understanding, Flau knows the priest is waiting to hear more of the story.
<Flau> "You're right… I didn't mean to hide it. But, ah, Father… I can't stay here for long, either." She cracks a sad smile. "I enjoy looking after Corinne, and I'm glad we could make friends so quickly… but I only needed a place to stay for a little while. There are things happening in the world that, um, only I'm able to do anything about."
- Flau hangs down again. "I… I'm sorry, but I don't think you'd believe me if I told you the truth."
<Oxford> The priest smiles sadly. "<You can try.>" After a short silence, he adds, "<I know the War seems like it's everywhere, and effects everything, but that doesn't mean it should govern your life.>"
<Flau> "… I didn't do a very good job hiding it, did I, Father?" She flashes her own sad smile, only it's much, much sadder. The sadness is entirely in her eyes, too.
<Flau> "I… heard there were attacks here when I first came. That it was dangerous. That's… why I wanted to stay." She clutches her pendant, which despite usually being hidden probably still just looks like strange jewelry or somesuch. "To see people like you and Corinne unable to protect themselves, it makes me so sad… I've seen horrible things happen to people and places I love, and
<Flau> I don't want it to happen anymore."
- Flau sniffles. "I want there to be peace."
<Oxford> Pieterhoff puts a hand on the girl's shoulder, and uses the other to dip into his pocket for a handkerchief. "<We all do. But wars like this don't happen because of the soldiers, or the people, or any one cause. They are like blizzards, or hurricanes: people like us just need to wait them out and make the best of it.>"
<Flau> "N… No, Father. Waiting doesn't save lives. Waiting doesn't stop bombings from happening. I left… because I'm not a normal person." She clutches the pendant even tighter. "I can defend the people who need it, and… and stop the war."
<Oxford> "<I'm…>" The priest's brow wrinkles in confusion, even as he offers Flau the handkerchief. "<I don't understand. Not a normal person?>"
<Flau> "Yes… Father." Her eyes dart side-to-side, remembering all sorts of things, but ultimately remembering how they were tossed aside. Bringing her smile back up, she takes a step back and extends a hand, tapping the pendant with a fingernail to bring the handkerchief instantaneously into her grip from a few feet away. "I'm… I'm a magician."
<Oxford> Pieterhoff simply blinks in disbelief, at a loss for words.
- Flau slinks down again. "Please don't tell Corinne… I… I don't want to scare her. I'm sorry I hid it from you, Father."
<Flau> Her smile is accompanied by tears; she doesn't even use the handkerchief. "But this is the only way I can live now. I abandoned my country, so I… I want to protect the weak."
<Oxford> The priest still seems to be struggling with the 'magician' part. "<How is this… what do you mean? …And how have you abandoned your country?>"
<Flau> "I.. I said I ran away. It's because I… failed at something important." NOW she wipes the tears a bit. "The person I used to be is dead now, so there's nowhere to go back to. I… want to make up for that failure by helping people in need. That's why I can't stay."
<Oxford> He still seems confused. "<Ran away as in… deserted? You were a soldier?>"
<Flau> "…"
- Flau doesn't know how to respond, staring in nigh-terror for a long time before a slow, silent nod. "I've sinned, Father. I've taken lives… and to be able to find that peace I may have to take more. M-Maybe I should just go now. I'm eternally thankful for all the hospitality you and Corinne have showed me."
<Oxford> Pieterhoff bows his head, though not in time to hide a tear on his cheek. "<It…is not wrong, to seek peace and the safety of the innocent. Yet…what will you do? A war like this does not end easily…>"
<Flau> "I'm… not sure. I'll travel until I'm needed. I'll stop attacks from all sides. I don't know if I can end the war by myself… actually, I'm positive I can't. But I'll save as many people as I'm able, and try the best I can. If soldiers knew there was… there was magic at work, then um, they'd be scared, wouldn't they? I wonder if I could stop them from fighting that way. At
<Flau> least some of them."
- Flau blips a few feet to the side, now unable to look the Father in the face anymore. "They… won't be able to catch me, either. But this is all I can do."
<Oxford> Pieterhoff doesn't turn to face her, either. "<Then, you will head north? Where the fighting is fiercest?>"
<Flau> "Y.. Yes, Father. We'll probably never see each other again… and Corinne, too."
<Oxford> The man lets a long pause slip by before responding. "<…you can stay here, you know. With me and Corinne. Violence only begets more violence.>" His tone is not so much pleading as resigned, like he already knows her response.
<Flau> "I would be happy to, Father." Her smile is ominous as she continues, "if there was anybody else who could do what I have to do. I told my last… family," the word makes her start sniffling uncontrollably, "I'd stay with them too but I couldn't! And I don't even remember my real family… I can't keep lying to people. I have to move on."
<Flau> "… If I actually stop it… if… if I do just a little part and the world becomes peaceful again… I promise I'll visit again. Until then, Father… please be sure to make Corinne happy. Like me, all she needs is a family… a-and she has a chance to actually have one."
<Oxford> He lets out a long sigh. "<…your mind is made? Then… at the least, take this.>" From a drawer under his desk, he retrieves a small wooden box, dusty with age.
- Flau turns back to face him and holds her hands out frantically. "O-Oh no Father, I couldn't possibly…"
<Oxford> Despite her protestations, he holds the box out for her, opening the lid so she can see inside. On a lining of red velvet sits an antique rosary, in the Eastern style. Its beads appear to be bone, and the emblem carries an intricate carving of an angelic figure extending her hands in supplication.
<Flau> She at least reaches out to physically touch it, admiring it, but still looks up to the Father for approval before doing even that. "It's… something important to you, isn't it? But, we still just met only recently…"
<Oxford> "<It was given to me by my first reverend, when I was just 18, the first time I left home. My village had been tapped for conscription, and my mother had pleaded with him to give me something for protection during the battles to come.>" He lets out a long sigh, remembering. "<It has seen me safe through many battles, but now I am old. You need it more than I.>" He grasps her hand and closes it around the rosary. "<Take it, and go f
<Oxford> orward with my prayers with you.>"
<Flau> Little Flau realizes just how little she is, hearing this, even if she only understands maybe 70-80% of what's being said. The language is still a bit shaky. But the idea makes perfect sense, and her tiny hand continues to grip it, pulling it closer. She of course has to take a moment to wipe the tears again. "Thank you, Father. I promise you won't need something like this anymore…
<Flau> since I'll be your protection. For you, and Corinne, and all the townspeople, and everyone in the world who needs it!" Sniff, sniff. "Please… please tell her I'm sorry, though. I don't think I'll be able to say goodbye like this… seeing her sad would just make me even more sad."
<Oxford> Pieterhoff nods silently, closing the empty box and setting it down. For the first time, Flau sees the sadness behind his eyes, the weight of sights and experiences even long years cannot relieve. It is a look that reminds her suddenly of Major Donalds, and the look he used to get whenever he got lost in recollection. They would be about the same age, the two men. Perhaps they would even be friends, were they to meet. Little chance
<Oxford> of that now, though.
- Flau looks to her hands, not because of what's in them, but what they've done. What they're able to do. And the terror of them coming into contact with a person BECAUSE of what they can do. It's a long, long moment of silence before she resolves herself and approaches the man for a small hug, being all she can do- and a whisper in his ear before she isn't there anymore.
<Flau> "<Goodbye.>"
<Oxford> Long after the girl is gone, Father Pieterhoff remains standing, head bowed, in his office behind the sanctuary. An indeterminate time passes, until he is roused by a draft of chill autumn air slipping through the church's door along with Corinne. Hastily, he dries his tears and goes downstairs to tuck the little girl in for bed.
<Oxford> /session
- Giantree is now known as Flau
<Oxford> The road north is hard-packed dirt, and the deep ruts left by a passing tank column are filled an inch deep with ice. The air is dry and cold. Over the last few days, the number of Novgoraadi supply trucks on the road has increased, and Flau can hear the deep booms of artillery fire most nights now.
<Flau> Little - physically still, not as much otherwise - Flau keeps herself covered, not only by the terrain but by all the 'clothing' her focus pendant could scrap together for her now. Fortunately for her sake, there isn't much to cover, and she'd mastered the art of stepping lightly- so lightly that she never even moves her feet, or at least rarely so, each 'step' being a choice to move
<Flau> further. And tonight of all nights, she knows she has a mission to continue.
- Firespitter (ten.letxa.citats.97D62C22-xus|ettipseriF#ten.letxa.citats.97D62C22-xus|ettipseriF) has joined #WorldWarBurst
<Flau> Her silence is only staved by a little whispered prayer to the rosary beads she holds, even if she's not sure who exactly she's praying to.
<Oxford> As the girl nears the crest of the hill, she can hear gunshots from somewhere nearby; the familiar staccato of a light machine gun punctuated by single shots from infantry rifles.
<Flau> Pendant still activated… check. Not spotted yet… check. Flau tones the gunshot-noises out and focuses on everything else in the air, tapping a couple of her fingers against each other to 'feel' the direction of it like a sonar. Change the wind direction… let each bullet's pattern bend to her will like flowing water. This is how she'd done it, and that's not going to change.
<Flau> So, maneuvering more closely through her own brand of extremely light steps she hides behind somewhere and sends out another wave at a frequency only she can here, with the intent of disrupting whatever fight's happening from afar.
<Flau> Stop who from fighting who? She doesn't really care at all. If anything she knows that to mimic the concept of a 'ghost' on a battlefield is enough to do her job. End it all, one at a time… and of course she keeps her whispers to herself, though she at least can feel the intensity of her own wishes getting stronger as she does. The fear of battle and all that.
<Oxford> The effects are not immediate - it takes the soldiers a moment to notice how their bullets go astray. Then, gradually, a few frustrated shouts in a gruff Novgo dialect are heard from a row of hedges halfway down the slope. The machine gun pauses as they switch barrels, blaming their accuracy on heat build-up. From the other side of the wide valley, a similar pause takes hold.
<Flau> … They noticed, didn't they? With a whisper in Alb - or maybe a hint of something else - to herself, the teleporter starts to pull back. She makes sure to not expend too much effort sending out waves of distorted air lest she lose her chance to make an escape in an emergency, but… right now the important thing is to watch. What could possibly be happening over there?
<Oxford> After a moment, the shooting starts up again. Flau is close enough to see a squat Novgoraadi officer with bushy, snow-white sideburns waving a sword overhead dramatically. Groaning, the men under his command struggle from their trenchs with bayonets fixed, ready to rush down the hillside toward the Albaean lines.
- Flau flinches. This is one of those times where making an immediate decision is nigh-impossible, but waiting is just as bad. She takes a bit of time to wonder if she'd even made herself known as a 'witch' or 'ghost' of the battlefield just yet… but one idea that immediately springs to mind is to scramble their sense of direction. Make the direction they intend to go not lead to
- Flau where they're expecting it to… that's it, just a little trap. A real magician messing with the battlefield is bound to strike fear in their hearts, right?
<Flau> So, this time, she sets a tiny trap in the air for the poor, unsuspecting soldiers. Now to find a way to stop the other side from fighting too…
<Oxford> The Novgoraadi soldiers charge down the hill, gray greatcoats flapping behind them. As they reach its base, however, they soon find themselves running parallel to the bottom, ninety degrees from their intended direction. The officer howls and waves his saber frantically, but the momentum of the mass of soldiers cannot be stopped. From the other side of the valley, Flau hears a voice in Albaean: "They're retreating! Counter-assault;
<Oxford> take that ridgeline!"
<Flau> The ghost of the battlefield takes her position watching from… likely from a tree branch or something cliché, though her cover still has the highest priority. She has a wonder a bit if she's evil for doing this to people, or if it's ultimately what's for the best. While one side is forsed to 'retreat,' why couldn't the other do the same? This time she sets another wave of distorted
<Flau> air, aiming for mass chaos. Chaos amongst themselves for both sides. That's how to do it- make them confused. Make them unwilling to fight a battle they can't even start. "Go home," she whispers in the faintest Albaean, to where not even sound escapes her lips. "Just go home, just go home…"
- Disconnected (Connection reset by peer).
- Now talking on #WorldWarBurst
- Topic for #WorldWarBurst is: =Curfew STRICTLY Enforced - Avondklok strikt toegepast!=
- Topic for #WorldWarBurst set by Oxford at Tue May 15 21:07:39 2012
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<Oxford1121> The Albaean soldiers, wearing dark green fatigues and jackets, stumble out of the edge of the forest on the other side of the valley. They begin to run, forward at first, then to each side, looping around until they're heading back the way they came. This time their officer is right along with them, charging away from the fight with a determined look on his face.
<Flau> The conspirator gives a little curtsey in the air, aimed at nobody, once nobody's around. Another day, another success. But the war will keep happening… battles will keep on happening if there are still people willing enough to be able to fight. And that Nov commander had the ferocity in his eyes to be one of them- after all, she had promised that she was going to continue what she
<Flau> was doing, even if it meant killing more people herself. And this isn't like it used to be. Somebody's going to have to cut off the head. But first… a little surveying. Is there anything else nearby? Is it safe to move on? Well, 'safe.'
- You are now known as Oxford
<Oxford> The valley below is clear, but from the sound of the artillery going off it sounds like this skirmish was just one part of a much larger battle. The battlelines go both east and west, roughly speaking, with west eventually turning northward up to the coast.
<Flau> Okay… it's not over yet. Just a little more. She'd gone over the prayer in her head and repeats it one more time, clutching the rosary beads, before there's nobody there anymore. Warping and warping through the fields, the poor girl tries to stave off thoughts of how she's going to have to end lives again to stop the battles here. And how she's going to have to leave again immediately
<Flau> after, lest anyone catch on. It's a shame because there was actually edible food for once… enough of that, though. Instead of making a mundane decision, she claps a sonar once positive nobody's around. The soundwaves travel and return; she hopes it'll inform her of which side has the more 'density' right now.
<Oxford> It's hard to get a good fix on the number of troops on each side, mixed in among the trees and trenches as they are. She can, however, hear what sounds like pitched fighting to the east - explosions, gunfire, and the shouts of soldiers fill her sensitive hearing until the individual sounds form an inescapable din.
<Flau> West comes later. After the sonar returns, the not-as-timid-as-before teleporter leaps to action… well, not really action, considering she's still in hiding. Move everything to the side… that's all that fills her thoughts. Separate everything. Even if they're completely childish ideals, even if she knows that, it's all she can muster right now. Perseverance, persistance. Have
<Flau> to be enough of a pest that they give up.
<Oxford> Flau reaches out and…nothing. While she can feel the effect she's having on the bullets and shells, the screams of the dying only become more intense. It sounds almost as if the enemy- or rather, the attacking side, has already gotten close enough for hand-to-hand combat. But aside from that, there's a presence Flau feels, a powerful thrum at the edge of hearing, like she's standing next to a high-power transformer.
<Flau> …. How awful. She doesn't need to brace herself anymore, having gotten used to the sight of blood, the terror of death- the girl can only wear a smile as she approaches, bearing all the 'x of the battlefield' titles she'd given herself to feel like she's accomplishing something. Even if nobody notices. However, the source of this is something bone-chilling to her for some reason,
<Flau> so each 'step' she takes is even more silent than usual, which says a lot considering she rarely touches the ground with each 'vwoop.' The source of this noise is the target as she sends sonar after sonar to bounce off… what she'll do when she meets it, she has no idea.
<Flau> Staying out of sight keeps its top priority, of course.
<Oxford> She comes to a clearing just in time to see a pair of Albaean soldiers struggle into view. One is supporting the other, the wounded man's arm thrown over his comrade's shoulders. Both men are covered in blood, which shows as dark splotches against their forest-green jackets. There's a noise behind them, and the wounded man turns, a look of terror on his face, while the man helping him continues to struggle onward.
- Flau herself looks behind them, hands outstretched even though she's behind the cover of whatever trees available. No matter what it is there's no way it can be good news. Misdirect, misdirect…. another whispered prayer, whatever's coming let it go off-course, please…
<Oxford> As Flau adjusts herself, peeking around the edge of the tree, the two men are momentarily blocked from view. The bushes at the edge of the clearing rustle, and then a young girl steps through, wearing a crisp white uniform with blood-red trim. Her light brown hair is held up in a bun behind her head, upon which rests a matching red caubeen. She cannot be more than 12 years old.
<Flau> Flau's own garb had changed a bit… within reason. The school uniform something out of her mind now, she'd instead been doing her work wrapped in a cloak matching her short, black hair- often the rosary beads themselves had a place on it. That's not to say the wing ornaments weren't still floating on her back. Still, as soon as somebody shows up she dives into a bush or behind
<Flau> something, even if spotted. DEFINITELY not going to say the first word in the latter case.
<Oxford> With a small giggle, the girl extends her hand, index finger pointing forward, thumb pointing up. A swirl of blue-white energy coils around the arm, snaking up and down from shoulder to wrist. Then, with a crack like a bullwhip, the blue light flashes forward. The entire clearing is illuminated for a moment, and then all Flau can smell is ozone and burning flesh. When she turns to look for the soldiers, they're gone.
<Flau> "…" She heaves deep breaths, realizing it wasn't her she was after at all. And misdirecting… wasn't something that would be a passive action against somebody with THAT kind of power. If anything it's obvious exactly what's being dealt with here. However, even if Flau's powers of trickery take more work to use on a magical source, using them on the environment is something else
<Flau> . With a small pinch of her fingers, the air starts to distort, scrambling the appearance of the clearing. A minor illusion.
<Flau> Being foolhardy isn't anything new to her, after all- once the parlor trick is set up, Great Magician Flau takes off further into the battlefield. Knowing full well which side this horrorterror belongs to, she's going to pull out everything she has to evacuate the OTHER side. And maybe afterward a confrontation's in order.
<Oxford> The girl in the white uniform glances around in confusion as the clearing around her changes. It won't keep her busy for long. Flau does her best to make use of the time, however. The Albaean forces are already retreating in disarray, but some units are seperated from the group or cut off. There's precious little time for subtlety; Flau teleports into the midst of them, reaches out - and the soldiers are gone, teleported back to sa
<Oxford> fety with surprised looks on their faces. Breathing hard, she sees a bolt of pure blue-white shoot upward from the clearing to hang above the battlefield. The girl in white has escaped the illusion.
<Flau> Flau curves her lips into a smile, hoping the soldiers at least caught a glimpse of her helping them. The publicity could be nice, even if she'd helped both sides before. The true terror's reared its head though, and Flau already knows that beam can't be anything other than a challenge. And indulge she will, taking cover before heading back. Behind her she makes sure to place a little
<Flau> 'present'- if the girl in white or ANYONE tries to follow the soldiers past that point they'll be heading west. Hopefully that's good enough. At the same time, it's a bit much using her powers even this often, leading the little girl's best option to be hiding out and watching.
<Flau> Need to have just… enough… left to be able to flee at a moment's notice. The Great Magician can't be caught. That's the rule. There is no shame in fleeing or accepting defeat, even in failure- only in being caught in the act. She must never allow herself to have a face, only to do what little she can. Rumors of a helpful little fairy on the battlefield or somesuch are one thing,
<Flau> but… she's prepared for this, tailing the girl in white. In her mind, she actually hopes to pull it off completely in the shadows, behind her every step of the way if she attempts to do anything more. It's okay, they probably don't speak the same language… or maybe they do.
<Oxford> The girl in white floats above the treetops in a crackling globe of electricity, jagged bolts arcing off onto anything that gets too close. She catches sight of the retreating Albs and cocks her head to one side, surprised to find them so far back. The girl begins to follow, but then stops, hangs in the air a moment, and reverses course, straight toward Flau. "Mogu vas vidjeti!" she calls out, teasingly.
<Flau> The teleporter musters a giggle to herself, but keeps silent. Moving one's own body is easier than moving things from afar, she'd know this better from anybody- she claps her hands and expects to emerge at the opposite side of the clearing. And of course, the only thing to do from there is… run. That's the best that can be done alone.
<Flau> Well, not neceesarily 'emerge' so much as… be. Since the noise doesn't come with her. But, a playful witch is the easiest type of witch to fool. How lucky for her.
<Oxford> The girl floats to where Flau just was, looking around with a quizzical expression on her face. "Odota! Minne mennä?" she says, her voice delicate and playful, especially compared to the gruff soldiers that Flau is accustomed to hearing Novgoraadi from.
<Flau> Playful spirits on the battlefield… that would work! Much like the little girl she is, Flau lets out a loud, provocative giggle… only, as she does, she instantaneously warps the noise far away so that it sounds like it's coming from a completely different direction. Straight north, in fact. And to make it more believable she flickers some soundwaves to sonokinesis a few leaves
<Flau> around in that direction while she herself flees west. West, to go back into hiding and come up with a REAL plan.
<Oxford> "Aww, älä ujostele!" says the lightning-witch, racing off after the sound of Flau's giggle. The ball of energy around her tears burning chunks from the trees and bushes as she passes, leaving a scorched trail blazed deep into the forest. In moments, she is out of sight, heading north toward the retreating Albaean army.
<Flau> … And straight toward the barrier set up to lead her in the opposite direction. Perfect. Satisfied, Flau hops back the direction she came, cloak fluttering in the cold breeze with no more direct conflict going on nearby. It's only temporary, but something'll happen somehow.
<Flau> On the way back she clutches the rosary beads, wearing a blush and a smile that hasn't appeared in a long time. "Thanks."
<Oxford> /session