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@gwenna-hart
Well?
Oh, yes. Lovely, lovely. [ Ruby waves Gwenna off with a smile and a sip of her drink. ] Your hours of work show.
You think so? I'm glad. [Mildly uneasy. An awkward pause: Gwenna's never wholly sure of how to act around Ruby.]
You...don't think it's too much, do you? Too bold? I thought to make it a bit finer, but...
Well?
[A small smile still only twitches at the corner of her lips and she cocks her head in question as she adjusts the basket on her arm.]
Were ye already a Hart, Mistress Hart, or did ye become one wiâ marriage?  I ken the Harts have metal magic, oâ course, butâŚI didna ken whaâ kind oâ Hart ye were.
Oh -- why, I became one, treasure; before I married Cillian I was called Trance. My father had no magic, but I believe his mother shared the very same gift as I...It's a funny coincidence, isn't it? Married a man from a whole family full of metal-workers.
Well?
I think itâs lovely, Miss.
You do? Oh, I am glad you think so, thank you treasure. See, it's all -- re-used! I've reshaped this one necklace half a dozen times I swear it, yes ma'am; certainly keeps that coin in my pocket.
Well?
[She smiles, nodding absently.]
Verra fine, Mistress Hart.
Oh! You flatter me, treasure.Â
Ah, well. I just count myself lucky the gods saw fit to bless me with my touch for metal.
Well?
What do you think? I made it myself.Â
[Sybil smiled at Gwenna. She too was much happier having a sound mind than a man at her side, but that did not stop her from feeling lonely.]
Well, lucky for me that Iâve run into you today. You are a married woman, correct? Tell me, whatâs that like? I only have the tales of women who utterly detest their husbands to go on.
[It was perhaps not the most polite question Sybil could have asked, given Gwennaâs background. But she really meant no ill will towards her, none at all. In fact, she looked at Gwennaâs relationship with her husband as something aspirational.
Something that could have been if the man sheâd fallen for was worth a tick.]
Oh? Well, IâŚ[Gwenna blinked a bit, somewhat taken aback by the question, and somewhat alarmed by the prowling negativity that crept forth, threatening to steal the light from what answers she intended to give.] IâŚhave been with my husband an awful long time! I - that is a tough question. Marriage, especially one like ours, certainly has its ups and downs. But, fifteen years! We must be doing something right.
[She was truly proudly of how far she and Cillian had come, and smiled and chuckled without hesitation. He just worked late, a little voice in the back of her mind told her. He just worked late.]
Theyâll say youâre walking down the wrong path, if youâre walking down your path.
Antonio Porchia
Oh, not so hard to believe after being me for forty years. I find most men are intimidated by me. Something about having a mind of my own seems to keep them disinterested. [Sybil shrugged her shoulders.] Moreâs the pity for them, I suppose.
[Gwenna gave a good-natured chuckle.] Well, I for one would certainly rather be carrying a brain up here than the attention of a fellow, let me tell you. Indeed, certainly their loss, treasure.Â
Paint It, Black // jack + gwenna
As she began to help him, Jack he looked to her and gave her a smile in thanks. She had been wearing incredibly clean clothes as well as holding herself as if she were higher than othersâŚyet she was helping Jack. He would have hugged her if she hadnât been so clean. Taking the parchment and trying to wipe it off some more, he folded it up and figured that he would have to try and dry that out at home with his brotherâs help. He had stolen that piece of parchment but it was a feat that took much thought and patience. He was no thief nor a boy with Sneak so he had to do so carefully and while no one else was around.
Many people who encountered Jack knew that he could play flute and that he was deaf, but only a select few knew that his parchment and ink were for something other than communication. Looking to a man holding a map up, he smiled brightly and started to gesture to it and then to his ink and parchment as if to express that he needed the ink and parchment for cartography. He did use it to communicate but it was hard to do so with many people in town since so very few were literate. He did see her hands, though, and thought about what seemed to be indicated as a tablet. Shaking his head, he pulled out one of his pockets to show that he didnât have any currency for that. Tapping his left temple, he shook his head and then swept his hand across the area as if to indicate people in Nore while shaking his head again. He hoped this would get the message across saying that not everyone could read what he wrote.
Knees bent slightly, Gwenna watched little Jack's flurry of movements and gestures, small understandings piling up and up atop each other. A point to a map -- down to his parchment -- he needed to make a map, and now, with both materials ruined, couldn't? Seemed the case. Gwenna raised her eyebrows and nodded, a small smile warming her face. An inside-out pocket was clearer, and obviously in response to her tablet-gestures, understandable indeed...as she worried, coin was indeed an obstacle.
The last one was a tad more challenging. Gwenna furrowed her brows, watching keenly as the boy's hand jumped from his head, to the air, to sweeping across the area. She puckered her lips thoughtfully, just a tiny bit, straightening up to turn her eyes to the boy's face once more. Shaking his head -- alright? His head...thinking? Understanding? The area...the shops, or the street? Maybe even man and his dog, so...people? And another shake of the head. Understanding, the area or street or people, negative. He didn't understand the area? He didn't know his way around? That would be consistent with the map. Maybe he wanted to map the street? He didn't know his way - oh! To a shop! He needed to get to a shop to find a new pot of ink, of course, for a map. Goodness, well, many scribes made their own, but the folks at the University had to get theirs from somewhere. Being fond of the arts herself and rarely without at least some small amount of ink in her home (especially since her letter from the princess), she happened to know a little old fellow who happily sold off some he made for a tad cheaper than most. So, she nodded brightly, and beckoned him to follow, quite convinced that she'd decoded his meaning.Â
Ah yes, I played the maiden fair in that one. [Sybil playfully batted her eyelashes, letting her magic slide away so her own face was revealed to Gwenna again.] A particular stretch for me. I have never been anyoneâs maiden off the stage, but it was fun to be doted upon so affectionately for an hour or two.
No? Oh, I find that hard to believe.
[Sybil â or, Gwennaâs â face lit up when recognition dawned upon the lady.] That is indeed what they call me.
Ah! You must've been who they were talking about. Oh, see, not too long ago a friend mentioned seeing a play...got me thinking how long it'd been since I saw one...and soon enough, I was standing by the Gyld with coin in hand! Um, oh. [She snaps her fingers a few times, searching her memory.] A lion. One about a lion and a knight.Â
deckle edges ⧠victor + gwenna
Victor tried to imagine a knife-like tooth. He imagined a human with a mouth full of them. A shudder ran through him then. Maybe there were some creatures that humans were just better off not knowing about.
When Gwenna stopped flicking through the book, he peered over at the pages once more, and- Oh! They kind of reminded him of the octopus sheâd just shown him, what with the long appendages coming off of it. They looked soâŚlight, so harmless, it was hard for him to imagine them causing such harm. But he had to believe Gwenna, for all that he could not find this knowledge on his own.
"I can imagine it," he said quietly, a hint of a smile tickling at the corner of his mouth. "Who would imagine such a funny-looking thing could be so dangerousâŚ" But maybe it had adapted itself with that in mind. Perhaps its look was meant to lull would-be attackers into a false sense of security. It was hard to imagine animals with such sentient thoughts but, well⌠In a world where dolphins exist, he supposed anything was possible.
Gwenna hummed in agreement, clasping her hands. "Indeed," she responded, "though I must say, I'd certainly prefer to be imagining than experiencing, treasure, of what's written about those streaming bits is true."
"So, there you are," she said, flipping a book shut and tapping on its cover. "Jellyfish. And not quite as tasty as the name suggests!" Gwenna's eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled, a warm feeling of odd pride blooming once more in her spirit. Dolphins, coral, tropical fish and octopi -- goodness, what a crew Victor had met with here within the deckle-edged pages of the library's tomes. Oh, but there was still more...sharks, as mentioned, but what of the sand and salt water and sea plants? Or, the little crabs that curled up in seashells? Drawings and letters in a book were all very good and well, but there was nothing quite like a look with one's own eyes. The library and Gwenna's memories were all Victor had (for now, she thought, for she hoped for change despite all in his way), and once his feet were out the door it was back to the grit and the snow.
But the books would always remain, even if one far-off day in her old age her capacity to recollect might shrink. The library, she hoped, would always be there -- but more to the point, so too would Sol.
[Sybil gave a tiny smile to her response, tilting her head to the side in curiosity.] And why is that?
[Absently, but with a certain matter-of-fact air to her words.] Well I can't have another person picked on for -- [she halted, and blinked.] Wait, mirror. Are you Sybil? The actress?Â
Paint It, Black // jack + gwenna
As soon as he felt someone touch him, Jack quickly looked up to see who it was. Seeing a woman helping him, he relaxed a bit before reaching for his quill and ink butâŚit felt wet. Not the wet from the mud but the kind from ink. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he saw that the jar broke. Sighing heavily, he looked to her and gave a nervous smile. In hopes to express that he couldnât hear her, he gestured to his ear and then shook his head.
He looked down and noticed that his parchment was soaked as well and he was even stepping on it in the mud. Wonderful, grand, bloody brilliant. Looking back to her and smiling again, he wondered how they could communicate. Reaching down and into the mud, he picked up the paper and started wiping it off some. Jack scanned the parchment and found his first name. Pointing to it, he looked again for something he wrote a while back. Finding it, he pointed to that which said, âI need helpâŚ" He skimmed around and pointed to another word that read, "I need writing supplies.â
âOh, dear,â Gwenna remarked breathlessly, seeing the ruined ink pot drawn up in his hand. Oh, the poor little thing! All muddied-up and, what was more, ink was not a fun thing to be cleaning from clothing. A sympathetic look was offered his way, but it was during said look that the motion toward his ear was made, and with that, the significance of the ink and paper dawned quite quickly upon her.
This young man wasted no time in attempting to salvage his scraps, and Gwenna too moved to assist. Soon enough, three morsels of information had been presented, and she watched with a mild curiosity as he went about his endeavour. What a hassle this mustâve been for him! With that, she resolved to be as helpful as possible: it wasnât as though she had an awful lot to be doing otherwise. She neednât start organising food for a good few hours at least, and sheâd made steady work of cleaning up at home in the morning.
"Writing supplies," Gwenna repeated to herself, and nodded, to communicate her understanding. "Writing supplies, writing suppliesâŚ" Now, Emmeline made regular use of charcoal pencils, and they were as easy to come by as they were convenient. At the commencement of the girlâs apprenticeship it had also been recommended that she own a wax tablet, though Gwenna had presented her daughter with a blank-paged notebook in addition come her nameday. A book was sturdy and messages could be reused â for example, no matter how many times Jack might need to introduce himself, he could always just flick to page one â but oh, a tablet would not wilt on contact with Noreâs ever-present wet! One issue, however, was priceâŚ
Gwenna stepped back from the puddle, and gestured for the boy to accompany her. Then, as they set off, she touched the inner sides of her hands together, to mime reading from a book. Immediately after, one finger was taken to squiggling imaginary lines across her palmâs âpageâ, and carefully she mouthed, âa book?â Then she slid her writing-hand down in a wiping motion. âA tablet?â
Paint It, Black // jack + gwenna
He was stuck in the marketplace while his brother worked at his candle shoppe since Jack got caught trying to leaveâŚagain. All he wanted to do was go and see the witch out in the Wastes. That was it. It wasnât as if Jack was going to go and fool around with the Fey. Huffing in irritation, Jack sat there with his flute and decided to play out his frustrations. But, just as he was about to, he remembered that people ended up feeling his emotions through his music. Bollocks.
Deciding to read instead, he dug around his bag for his book but realized he didnât bring one. Asking his brother if he could go get a book, he walked out of his shop and made his way through the marketplace to go get a big. But, just as he was leaving, he didnât hear someone shout âWATCH OUTâ and got hit by a running dog. Falling to his backside, he looked around to see what happened but only saw a blur of black fur take off and a man running after it. Looking down and seeing the mud around him, he groaned and stood up, trying to clean off the snow and mud from his back and his backside.
After all these years, the mud and frost and meltwater all but coating the less-walked streets of Nore still, persistently, seemed to long to touch the dipping fabric of her gowns. The only real thing that had changed was Gwenna's willingness to allow such unions: once a fallen little noble girl, a vibrant heart disembodied from its body of wealth and sunshine, the dirtying of her dress was something she stomached with a grimace. The current Gwenna, fifteen years older, did not mind quite so much.Â
Though the streak of black was certainly a thing to startle, only a sigh and mild frown saw the splash of mud to her clothes. A look of weak disapproval followed the man, followed the dog, following the man following dog...oh, dear, what a hassle that fellow was in for! Briefly, she craned her neck to assess the splatters of muddy water. Then, she looked up. Then, she saw -
"Oh goodness treasure, are you alright?" Gwenna exclaimed, rushing over toward the boy, all grey and brown and groaning. As he stood, the lady joined him in brushing, hurriedly patting the snow off his shoulders, worrying over the mud on his back. "My, what a mess this is! Are you hurt?"Â
deckle edges ⧠victor + gwenna
Victor was glad he had diverted her attention for the time being. He was hardly interested in souring Gwennaâs mood, not when she was being so kind. But he frowned a bit when she spoke again. He remembered someone mentioning sharks to him before, though he couldnât place who at the moment. Jellyfish though? Several images came to his mind and all of them were, well⌠They were quite baffling to say the least.
"I have heard of sharks before, but I have never heard of a jellyfish, Miss." He paused for a moment, looking back to the book. "I um⌠I would presume they are not made of jelly, as their name would suggest?"
Victor hoped they were not made out of jelly. He could scarcely imagine putting the stuff on bread again if they did.
"Well, they certainly don't seem so sweet," Gwenna responded, eyebrows raised. "Or -- so I've heard. Though, I s'pose they earned such a name for a reason..."
"Frightening to think of, these things," she went on, flipping back to the front of the book and trailing her finger down the contents page. After a moment and a tap of her fingertip, the parchment went all a flicking once more, a quest for page fifty-three. "And sharks, too - gods! I remember this trader, come in from the Southern Isles, selling off a necklace with this great white tooth fixed to the middle," she explained, "and treasure, it was nothing like a dog or cat's I will tell you that. A shark's! A big old shark's. Triangle, with dents down the side like a knife."Â
Ah. Gwenna smoothed out the page, and turned the book again to her companion. "Here we are, see, these long, floating tendrils here," she began, "are said to burn if you touch them. But they're oddly beautiful, or, they're supposed to be. Billowing out in the water, catching the light, you can imagine."
