10-03-2016, 01:08 AM
“--ning.”
“...ood morning…”
I feel a groan slip between my lips. There’s… something pressing against my shoulder and moving me, but I just want to sleep.
...And then singing. Something I immediately mentally associate with morning, sung beautifully and… sounding almost like Ciamath, but higher than I could ever imagine she might sing. Vaguely the word soprano floats from ear to ear in my mind.
I peek an eye open and see, yes, it is Ciamath. She’s sitting on my bed near my right hip, letting loose a little tune and smiling. She looks almost slyly at me upon noticing I’m awake. “Well, weren’t you tired?” she observes. “It should be noon before long.”
I yawn and turn away, hugging my blanket close. “Really? Wake me up later, then…”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Ciamath shouts playfully, lifting me up and away. I squeak as I’m plucked away from the comfort of my bed and into the horribly chilly outside-my-bed air. “You have things you want to do, and we couldn’t do all of them yesterday because it got late. Do you want to have the same problem again?” she asks rhetorically.
“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” I lie. “Just… lemme get dressed--”
“It appears as though you already are, madam,” Granville’s distinct voice interrupts. Immediately I smell something unmistakable - bitter, steamy, but not without its perks. Coffee. A saucer with a cup of black coffee, alongside a container of cream and another of sugar, gets offered to me. “If madam has no interest, she may decline.”
What a change of tune. “You’ve… gone a long way since just calling me Prime yesterday, huh?” I point out, claiming the cup of harsh-smelling liquid as my own. “But more importantly, thanks. I’ll try not to cause trouble here any more than I already have.”
As I make myself an overly-creamed, overly-sweetened coffee, I notice Granville faintly smile. “I request simply that madam allows me the opportunity to handle issues before leaping headlong into them herself.” He takes what remains as I lift the cup to my mouth, blowing at it a bit and, eventually, sipping cautiously. “Your help is appreciated, but I can deal with those who are bothersome. If the issue escalated to full combat, I would doubtless request your aid.”
I sigh, looking to Beskyttende and Brug Hild. “Honestly, I don’t know how helpful I’d be. I’m still new to this whole ‘hero’ thing,” I note. “I don’t even know if I’m really comfortable fighting in the first place.”
Ciamath nods wisely. “What you choose is up to you.” Granville presses further, “however, there are many in this world who would give anything to have the power a Prime possesses.”
Food for thought, I admit mentally. “The thought of playing hero sounds pretty sweet, so I’ll have to give it time. See if I’m really cut out for this sort of thing. In the meantime, how about… something from a bakery?”
The corners of Ciamath’s mouth perk up. “My treat.”
The streets of Minas Tirith are as busy as they were yesterday, if not busier. I consider asking what day of the week it is, but as I think on that, it occurs to me maybe days of the week are different here. Maybe that concept doesn’t exist, or maybe it’s something I can’t even comprehend.
The thought makes me want to ask even more. “So is it Saturday or something? Everybody’s out and about, it seems…” I look around, shifting slightly on Ciamath’s shoulders. I hold up a hand as a visor so the sun doesn’t get in my eyes.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you,” Ciamath replies. “Traveling in the Omniverse skews your sense of time, and can completely destroy it if you do so too often.” I frown, then look around. Maybe one of the locals knows, but I’m a little too introverted and the topic’s not important enough to pursue.
What is important is the bakery. I squint as I scan the area for it. It’s all noisy and the world’s a messy blur of people and signs and different buildings… not too different from home, but an awful lot less suburban. I can’t see anything, but what I do see is…
...A woman on her knees in the streets, sobbing. Her clothes look charred and ashy and as I try to get a closer look, I notice a bit of blood on her hands.
A crowd is gathering. I mark a figure out in midnight black armor. “Ciamath, over there,” I say, pointing to the woman. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ciamath leads a charge through the crowd in her direction. I struggle a bit to remain on her shoulders, though I hop off as we draw close.
It’s now that I notice a cart drawn to a stop beside her, and a man stepping off to offer a raggy handkerchief. “Miss, are you gonna be…”
“Fire… everywhere…!” she chokes, and dissenting murmurs spread about the crowd. I faintly recall the bystander effect as I step forward. “Excuse me,” I begin somewhat nervously. “Can I help you?”
The armored one I saw earlier advances as well. “Bandits, likely,” a tinny voice interjects. “Usually guards and wandering types like myself can handle them. However, she may not have been so fortunate.” A metal-plated hand gestures to the woman on the ground.
“They robbed us… b-burned what they didn’t want… killed, and took over the rest…” the woman continues. “I had to run… I couldn’t do anything…!” she pounds a fist against the ground and bursts into tears again.
There are many in this world who would give anything to have the power a Prime possesses.
One of my hands has already wrapped around Brug Hild. “Excuse me, Miss. I’m a Prime. Tell me where these bandits are - I’ll unleash Hell on them.”
Silence.
Ciamath puts a hand on my shoulder. “Joline…?”
I puff out my cheeks. “You said it yourself. I’ve been given this power, and I’m going to use it to help people. This is my responsibility,” I explain. “If you don’t want to come, Ciamath, I understand.”
The armor-clad individual opposite myself rests a hand on what looks like a rapier. “A Prime, you say? Well, this should be an interesting experience. With guts like those, you either have to be fountain fresh or a lot tougher than you look.”
I don’t answer, but take the ‘fountain fresh’ comment as a bad sign. “Come, then. I assume you’ll be taking your friend along, as well?” the armored hand gestures to Ciamath. I look to her, and she nods. I don’t like the idea of Ciamath putting herself in danger, but I suppose the other way around is true as well.
“While there are many nearby villages, figuring out which one is far enough to be targeted shouldn’t be hard, especially given a fire must still be going on. That gives us a pillar of smoke, which makes finding our little friends even easier.” The explanation feels like something I could come up with, if I were given a minute or so. “The only issue will be getting where we need to in good time.”
I clear my throat. “Faster than a speeding bullet,” I begin in my best ‘movie trailer guy’ voice. “I should be able to handle that. You’re okay with me towing you guys in a cart, right?”
I trail off, noticing the woman’s still not in good shape. Frowning a bit, I produce my coinpurse and pour its contents into her hands. “Familiar Angel’s. Down the street, take a left. Can’t miss it. Tell the guy behind the bar Ciamath and Joline sent you.” I force a smile, and the woman seems to smile back. “Please… if anyone is alive--”
“I’ll bring them back here, I promise,” I finish. “Now, we don’t have any time to waste!”
“...ood morning…”
I feel a groan slip between my lips. There’s… something pressing against my shoulder and moving me, but I just want to sleep.
...And then singing. Something I immediately mentally associate with morning, sung beautifully and… sounding almost like Ciamath, but higher than I could ever imagine she might sing. Vaguely the word soprano floats from ear to ear in my mind.
I peek an eye open and see, yes, it is Ciamath. She’s sitting on my bed near my right hip, letting loose a little tune and smiling. She looks almost slyly at me upon noticing I’m awake. “Well, weren’t you tired?” she observes. “It should be noon before long.”
I yawn and turn away, hugging my blanket close. “Really? Wake me up later, then…”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Ciamath shouts playfully, lifting me up and away. I squeak as I’m plucked away from the comfort of my bed and into the horribly chilly outside-my-bed air. “You have things you want to do, and we couldn’t do all of them yesterday because it got late. Do you want to have the same problem again?” she asks rhetorically.
“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” I lie. “Just… lemme get dressed--”
“It appears as though you already are, madam,” Granville’s distinct voice interrupts. Immediately I smell something unmistakable - bitter, steamy, but not without its perks. Coffee. A saucer with a cup of black coffee, alongside a container of cream and another of sugar, gets offered to me. “If madam has no interest, she may decline.”
What a change of tune. “You’ve… gone a long way since just calling me Prime yesterday, huh?” I point out, claiming the cup of harsh-smelling liquid as my own. “But more importantly, thanks. I’ll try not to cause trouble here any more than I already have.”
As I make myself an overly-creamed, overly-sweetened coffee, I notice Granville faintly smile. “I request simply that madam allows me the opportunity to handle issues before leaping headlong into them herself.” He takes what remains as I lift the cup to my mouth, blowing at it a bit and, eventually, sipping cautiously. “Your help is appreciated, but I can deal with those who are bothersome. If the issue escalated to full combat, I would doubtless request your aid.”
I sigh, looking to Beskyttende and Brug Hild. “Honestly, I don’t know how helpful I’d be. I’m still new to this whole ‘hero’ thing,” I note. “I don’t even know if I’m really comfortable fighting in the first place.”
Ciamath nods wisely. “What you choose is up to you.” Granville presses further, “however, there are many in this world who would give anything to have the power a Prime possesses.”
Food for thought, I admit mentally. “The thought of playing hero sounds pretty sweet, so I’ll have to give it time. See if I’m really cut out for this sort of thing. In the meantime, how about… something from a bakery?”
The corners of Ciamath’s mouth perk up. “My treat.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The streets of Minas Tirith are as busy as they were yesterday, if not busier. I consider asking what day of the week it is, but as I think on that, it occurs to me maybe days of the week are different here. Maybe that concept doesn’t exist, or maybe it’s something I can’t even comprehend.
The thought makes me want to ask even more. “So is it Saturday or something? Everybody’s out and about, it seems…” I look around, shifting slightly on Ciamath’s shoulders. I hold up a hand as a visor so the sun doesn’t get in my eyes.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you,” Ciamath replies. “Traveling in the Omniverse skews your sense of time, and can completely destroy it if you do so too often.” I frown, then look around. Maybe one of the locals knows, but I’m a little too introverted and the topic’s not important enough to pursue.
What is important is the bakery. I squint as I scan the area for it. It’s all noisy and the world’s a messy blur of people and signs and different buildings… not too different from home, but an awful lot less suburban. I can’t see anything, but what I do see is…
...A woman on her knees in the streets, sobbing. Her clothes look charred and ashy and as I try to get a closer look, I notice a bit of blood on her hands.
A crowd is gathering. I mark a figure out in midnight black armor. “Ciamath, over there,” I say, pointing to the woman. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ciamath leads a charge through the crowd in her direction. I struggle a bit to remain on her shoulders, though I hop off as we draw close.
It’s now that I notice a cart drawn to a stop beside her, and a man stepping off to offer a raggy handkerchief. “Miss, are you gonna be…”
“Fire… everywhere…!” she chokes, and dissenting murmurs spread about the crowd. I faintly recall the bystander effect as I step forward. “Excuse me,” I begin somewhat nervously. “Can I help you?”
The armored one I saw earlier advances as well. “Bandits, likely,” a tinny voice interjects. “Usually guards and wandering types like myself can handle them. However, she may not have been so fortunate.” A metal-plated hand gestures to the woman on the ground.
“They robbed us… b-burned what they didn’t want… killed, and took over the rest…” the woman continues. “I had to run… I couldn’t do anything…!” she pounds a fist against the ground and bursts into tears again.
There are many in this world who would give anything to have the power a Prime possesses.
One of my hands has already wrapped around Brug Hild. “Excuse me, Miss. I’m a Prime. Tell me where these bandits are - I’ll unleash Hell on them.”
Silence.
Ciamath puts a hand on my shoulder. “Joline…?”
I puff out my cheeks. “You said it yourself. I’ve been given this power, and I’m going to use it to help people. This is my responsibility,” I explain. “If you don’t want to come, Ciamath, I understand.”
The armor-clad individual opposite myself rests a hand on what looks like a rapier. “A Prime, you say? Well, this should be an interesting experience. With guts like those, you either have to be fountain fresh or a lot tougher than you look.”
I don’t answer, but take the ‘fountain fresh’ comment as a bad sign. “Come, then. I assume you’ll be taking your friend along, as well?” the armored hand gestures to Ciamath. I look to her, and she nods. I don’t like the idea of Ciamath putting herself in danger, but I suppose the other way around is true as well.
“While there are many nearby villages, figuring out which one is far enough to be targeted shouldn’t be hard, especially given a fire must still be going on. That gives us a pillar of smoke, which makes finding our little friends even easier.” The explanation feels like something I could come up with, if I were given a minute or so. “The only issue will be getting where we need to in good time.”
I clear my throat. “Faster than a speeding bullet,” I begin in my best ‘movie trailer guy’ voice. “I should be able to handle that. You’re okay with me towing you guys in a cart, right?”
I trail off, noticing the woman’s still not in good shape. Frowning a bit, I produce my coinpurse and pour its contents into her hands. “Familiar Angel’s. Down the street, take a left. Can’t miss it. Tell the guy behind the bar Ciamath and Joline sent you.” I force a smile, and the woman seems to smile back. “Please… if anyone is alive--”
“I’ll bring them back here, I promise,” I finish. “Now, we don’t have any time to waste!”