Spacing Out
Boredom at its finest
Me reading post:Windows95Toaster said:
'P R O T H E I S ' (alex) V O S S
'W H E R E ' - Mawdry's, in Jakka's Pass > Fight > Girl's tree house -smirk-
'W I T H ' - 4 Fools > Piper > Alone
'THEM SICK BEATS' -
'O O C' - Forgive the ost, I do it for
every post
And there would be some travesty, some small minutia of distilled thought that left the wanderer with some recourse to remember. Ahh, to remember a time when it was all women all the time, and no thoughts of any other thing. Or perhaps a time it was no women, and he was young, dumb, and nubile enough not to tell the difference. The games were slings and arrows of physical form. He guessed it was the same in latter terms, just not killing with shots and instead having a grand old time.
It was often he plunged into thought. To mire in the knowledge of scholarly whit and retort was a great endeavor, but upon the precipice of his desire for drink and soft skin ,he'd squandered it all. Squandered it as there was a folly to his personage and he often forgot he was out for knowledge and not for a cheap thrill. A sin. A folly his slave bloodline heralded, he felt, with a drunken fool for a father and a wayward woman for a mother--both leaving at some point in his life. Both leaving because, like Proth, they were unable to sway their own desire for greed and lust, thus promoting in him an apathy and distain for ordered life.
Lust of the bottle is still a lust in that, isn't it? Lust of a flesh might as well be a gluttony.
The beatings were probably the worst of it. And it all started with some stupid friendship that ended up on the wrong side of what his father, Demeter Voss had wanted. His mother, Renalda, not wed to the man who helped bear him, didn't care much and instead took her time to wander towns and sew her seed. He didn't blame her for that, as he ended up the same. And in this she was a lonely person, as her true love was not here. Just a man she had found who had enough coin to keep her and her son alive. A lover will wander if there is no love to be had in the bed they occupy. It's only natural. Demeter on the other hand, blamed her entirely, and instead would inflict as much pain on his son as possible. And it all started because of some wayward friendship.
A boy at this time, old enough to string a bow but young enough to not know what to do with his own, and another with light hair and kind eyes. They were too close. It was apparent in his budding pubescence that it was unaccepted even in such a precarious land. Unaccepted by a man too stuck in his ways. And so, the other was beat down; Darren Thatcher. And as consequence, so was Proth.
Live by the belt and all.
Time progressed and he grew old enough to be unable to be managed. His father had taken flight a mere few days after Proth had disarmed a gaggle of men in a bar going after a small, quaint woman with rosey cheeks who had no verifiable business being there. Ignorant, he thought. Taken flight because Proth had left them bloody and sinewed--some bit of rage over the years, most likely. His mother had gone as well, but a few weeks prior, stealing away in the night. They were both older now. Older, ailing, and it was time to move on.
To leave their spawn to defend themselves.
Proth got letters sometimes, carriers sent to his defacto home-stay between a border on war. There was always strife and war, and his silly little home was smack dab in the middle of it, as of current times. Not too far away from Jakka's Crossing, strangely enough for the current gaggle of people having a
lovely
time at this current, or perhaps, near future moment. Lovely people passed along hand written scraps to his domicile, and he'd return home after a bit of wander and a bit of lust, to carry these papers inwards. He'd sit at his desk, hand to his brow, furrowed, and read of his waning mother and slow damaging father who was falling into dementia. Calling him things like 'little miss' and 'my dearest'. Words never generally used on a boy. Words generally never used on Proth, even affectations of affection as a youth.
A sneer. They'd be thrown out. As people from his life had been.
He had no real connections except for the people he sought out. A few spots in every town. Smart enough to be able to pass lines. Dumb enough to never find companionship.
Proth was an idiot, through and through.
Against his better intentions, he ended up the same, trolling in various city-areas, ducking the authorities to read, to sup on the flesh of others. He'd often sit, not ignorant to his own charms, writing with a quill and a batch of herbs tied up in paper hanging from his lips. Funny this, as a girl or a woman would eventually find their way to his snake clutches and he'd part those lips of his to inhale, exhale, breathe out the fumes of whatever it was he took to like a frothing fiend. And take a scholarly approach to a conquest. They never stood a chance. So many conquests. Just to see, just to learn, he'd propose. But no, it was to forget. No, it was to pretend he had no wants outside of being learned or partaking. Vices for days, a vulture, but a charming one if ever there was.
Where he was now, he was unconcerned. Someplace. A town. A city. Whatever. Jakka's, Mawdyr's bar. A place--drunk. On this particular night, he spent a good deal of time huddled in a particular set of the room, drinks flowing, his head to a swatch of parchment. Swatches, actually, rivets of the stuff, piled up like past lovers all about him. The bar patron was a kind older woman with an eye for the man, so Proth was allowed to work there when away from home. Work, as there was some great miss-order occurring and he had charted much and found evidence for some platonic foul play.
Not as in friends. As in something seething. Some miscourse of history, some debt of consequence. Proth narrowed his eyes and delved into books. It was probably just instinct. Or maybe it was the fear of the populace. He couldn't place it.
And instead, he studied, wrote, and drank. And kissed. Bergen's Drink-hole was quite literally next to Mawdry's and both taverns had a sort of rivalry that pitched the poor older woman into fits. He stopped there on occasion but was loyal to Mawd and her spicy ale. Proth would not be drinking at Bergen's tonight, as he was intent on peace and privacy, and there was some sortof ruckus and celebration--lots of singing and general debauchery--there at the moment. He had popped in momentarily, eyeballed the place, and quickly tussled his way out so he could write in relative peace. He had, however, noticed a rather tall man with a slave chain on his wrist but had paid him no general mind for the glimmer of time he had stuck his head inside.
Not his type. Moving on to the current point in this deviant's journey.
"
Proth, are you going to sit there and write all night, or come join us for a drink!
"
"
No, I am going to...I'm already drinking. What's the need to join you four in imbibing when I'm fist deep in papers?
"
Yemen snorted, a sometimes friend. "
Fist deep in what-now?
" An acquaintance, but the only he kept around for very long. And very long was not very long at all. Just talks of girls. No talks of dire ends or words or literature or ideas about theology. Just girls. He was an idiot. The same as Proth but couldn't count to 4 on his fingers.
"
...come on you fool! I have this,
" Yemen grasped a girl by the shoulders, beautiful pale hair a mess on her head, and she giggled. Intoxicated. The three other men, Proth would therein refer to as 'Doop', 'Dick', and 'Dolt' all jeering. No, he didn't want to have this sortof event. No, he was busy. "
And that, and a bit of this, and more..
"
More fillies. Proth rolled his eyes. "
...I'm not......
well
....hmm...
" he shuffled his papers and jammed them into the large sack he carried about, filled with texts and things. A bow on his back, a pair of daggers in his belt. "
.....the red head.
"
"
No! He can't call just whatever he w--
" Doop, annoyed at this.
"
..you sure you can stop him?
" Yemen Feres laughed his gruff, low, rolling laugh. Salt and pepper hair and the like, a beard for days. "
.....well, why not? Candy-ass is perched like a bird and he ain't stronger than me.
"
Protheis sighed and hoisted his bag on his shoulder and proceeded to push past Doop, Dick, and Dolt, to lay a hand around the waist of the 'red head' who might as well have been named 'woman #3'. "
...hey, son. Step down. I've already--
" Proth laughed and continued on, the woman in his employ, her warm smile making him feel a bit more comforted. Something about her was cat-like and not all-together oblivious. It puzzled and intrigued him.
"
It's your choice dear. I can also take you home and take my leave in swiftness, as it is far too late, and you have had far too much to drink.
" Gentlemanly. Sometimes he wasn't a right arse about these sorts of things. Sometimes. Before she could speak, Doop made a stupid mistake.
Doop swung back a fist towards Proth and he took the hit to his face but didn't flinch, a trail of blood down his nose, which he wiped clean with his dark shirt. The woman was now between two beasts and the thinner, more handsome man had one wrist in his hand, and the other dingus had her other in his.
"
Both you!
Let me go!
This is ridiculous..
" "
Sure.
" He struck a sly grin and pulled her back, not enough to hurt, but enough to throw Doop off his balance, and stepped back as she grasped a chair to kick Doop squarely in the ribs. He was drunk. If he had managed to be more salient he would've just gouged his eyes out, crawled up the larger man's body and speared them with his fingers, or did some elaborate flip over his shoulders to slam him to the ground between his thighs. It was always amusing to see a large man pinned to the ground underneath his crotch. Pissed them right off and made Yemen laugh until he was horse in the throat.
Amusing but, as of this moment, he was dizzy enough to be unable to perform some great feat of gymnastic and antagonistic heroism. A kick sufficed. A piss-poor kick. But a piss-poor Proth kick was still far more deadly than the general machinations of most combatants.
It managed to potentially crack a rib but Doop had a strong constitution that Proth hadn't anticipated. He thought he was a two-beer
ignoramus
who puffed up his prowess. A truth to be sure, but the guy could take a smack to the ribs pretty well.
Doop tried to rush him, and the tackle ended up with Proth to the floor. But instead of admitting defeat--he was far from wounded--he simply grinned and pressed his dagger to the man's throat which he had snaked out of his belt like a seething viper during their minor conflict.
"
Nice try. If you wanted to crawl on top of me, all you had to do was ask. Except I'm not keen on you, so you might want to 'step down' yourself, 'son'.
" Doop, Dick, and Dolt were rather surprised.
Yemen was not apparently and instead pulled Doop off of the thinner man and helped Proth up.
"
Would you have killed him?
" He asked his 'friend'.
"
Yes.
" was all the rogue-scholar said before grasping the girl with fire-hair and meadow-green eyes and ushering her outside. Yemen laughed, but, as always was concerned about his 'friend's' reckless nature.
He'd take her home and take his leave. There was no use in this tonight, he was tired, she was tired, and he wasn't such a beast. Not generally.
Proth kept a hand on her shoulder in this harrowed night. It might have been day, he couldn't quite tell as he was too liquored to give two shakes of a lamb's rear.
Ended up staying the night anyways in her small home, carved from a tree but low to the earth at the base, overlooking a central area of the small village. A village of rain, trees, wetness, and an annoying mud that clung to his boots. That part about the clearing is important later. But when she awoke to find her bed empty, and the handsome intellectual sitting on her back steps, writing, she quirked a brow. It was irrevocably early.
"
...you are an odd fellow....care for a bit of food before you are off, then?
"
"
Do you have meats? I can give you some coin for it--
"
"
I'm not a woman of the night. I won't take payment, even if for a meal. Come, we'll eat.
" Her name was Piper. He'd remember it, as he remembered her jabbing him in the face the night prior when he tried to trespass, but ultimately allowing.
She punched hard. Well right hard, a bruise on his charming face this light, lilting morning. He liked a woman with vigor and fire. It was a different pace for him. Birds in the trees, her home cramped between two large buildings, but inviting. She smiled and, in strewn clothing loose and comfortable, wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"
..you called me 'woman number three' last night.
"
"
I'm sorry.
"
"
It's fine. I called you 'man number five'.
" She grinned. Her chest at his back, and rolling red hair, much more dark in the day, almost brown, than he remembered the night prior. It was most likely the drink.
He felt fear in his chest when he smiled. She was too kind. He enjoyed her too much. Her smell, her hair, her smile, her hands. Her kind words, the quips they exchanged in the vague hours of dim light and perhaps flickering morn-stars.
It was time to go.
Proth grabbed his things without a word and began to leave, and she stood with arms crossed at her backstep.
"
...so that's it then?
"
He didn't answer her and fixed his clothing properly, making sure he had everything, filing away his papers into that infernal bag. The only love he allowed in his life. He had no room for her. No room to feel it. Then he'd be vulnerable. Then he'd have something real to lose.
She was uninvited into the journey of his life.
He remembered he had forgotten something, and Piper followed him up her shaky, planken stairs as he rifled around for one of his daggers in her bedroom. A hay bed. He had thickets of it in his hair, and perhaps other places. He had misplaced it like a fool, and he turned to look at her, her arms crossed and face narrowing in a scowl.
"
....coward.
"
"
I may return. I may not. Light a candle for me in the night, then. One with a red flame. You know, herbery and sorts. I saw them in your cupboards.
" The thin man had found his dagger, turned it over to inspect it, and placed it back in it's rightful place with it's twin.
"
Sure. Hey...
" She perched a hand to fix his hair, bits of hay in that, and his eyes grew dark and skin pale. After a bit of fussing he snatched her hand away and held it there, not sure if to fling it to the side or kiss it's knuckles.
Neither, it dropped, and he was about to be off on another journey.
"
...What's your name? Your real name?
"
So she had sussed out that Protheis was an alias. Smart girl, that one.
"
Alex. Alex Voss.
"
There were no more words in this wilted conversation and he was about to carry on, to leave behind a woman he had taken a shining too. The first in many years. Tilting his head out of her window he saw a great path of destruction, a mammoth 'man' was all he could process, devastating people in their wake. There had been screams earlier, but he and the woman had been
entirely
too busy with each other to give two shakes of a lamb's ass. Brows lifted, he thought
not my problem
. Piper was the same in this, more or less ignoring it. Have fun, drink a lot, stay alive. They were not so different.
Perhaps equals, even.
Proth ferried himself from her domicile and was about to leave the fair woman, the woman with a mean left hook, and felt a sadness in his cold little heart for this.
"
Pipes. Don't go out
for a
bit
--
" His words trailed off like sand between soft hands--her soft hands. Her face in anger was still a lovelier sight than any in soft repose.
She stood, straight faced, brow annoyed, arms crossed, her hair blowing gently in morning air. But as he turned to gaze, she waved. Waved as a brown bird flew above her, and a blacker one, as pitch, a raven or a crow, flew after it. "
I won't. I'm not going to die today.
" A chortle of fathomless resolve in a sea of pain--some kindof sadism was happening. And a scream.
...I'm not getting involved in this shit.
Good...I'd like to see you again.
Something he could never say.
He'd need to avoid whatever-it-was that was happening at the front of the home, screams and
disruption
erupting, and was attempting to navigate the backwards, dirty innards of Jakka's Crossing in a part he hadn't been in before. Namely shit stained alley-ways caked in mud and leaves. With the tree-homes littered about like pods. Piper's was closer to the ground, at least. And goddamned giant leaves at that. And bugs.
Navigating seemed silly. It was a small village with a clearing. But he was intent on avoiding whatever was happening, and so, Proth was slinking behind tree areas, shrubbery, and the like. The sounds grew louder.
Perhaps he'd meet with Yemen if he felt the need...and tell him of the girl with red in her hair.
....no companions, indeed, Mr. Proth.
Sadly, our characters have a unlikely chance of meeting since Sera is on a quest to dominate the world.
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I am joining the rp, and here's my character sheet. It's a bit short, but I hope to expand it with the rp.
