03.27.3014: From Whence We Came
Summary: A quiet afternoon in one of the smaller towns around The Hand is shattered by Roger's Booming Voice.
Date: 12-13-13
Related: None
Alix Cyrielle Dominic Roger 

Small Town, Beacon, The Spine
See log.
Thursday, March 27 3014

There is a smaller Ways within a town outside of the area around The Hand. Further inland and on the roads heading into The Spine. The air is still fairly balmy and pleasant, but with a slight edge coming off of the mountains further north. It's a small town, but not lacking for what it provides. A waystation, of sorts, for travelers and those wanting to spend some time closer to nature. Buildings are a mix of those built into the trees like down in Arborenin and the more basic affairs known around Beacon. Not far off are lands owned by Hollolas proper; often used for hunting and training.

While much of Imperius was beset by cold winter weather, Beacon had rain. The rains have begun to taper off and when they do, they are replaced by a humidity and the intense smell of growing things. It's a humid, warm afternoon cut by the breezes that herald another bout of rainstorms will be in soon, but the residents are enjoying what time they have to be outdoors. At one particular cafe — known throughout Beacon lands for their amazing pastries — there sits Cyrielle Hollolas, the youngest of the Lord Commodore's brood. She's enjoying a light dessert, sitting with her leg propped up upon a small stool.

A common sight in these parts, there's a young girl chattering away at her while clutching a small, potted fruit tree. "You're welcome," the brunette says to the child, lips tugging in a smirk. "Next time, remember to bring it inside before the rain, mm? It's too young to be left out, especially while it's still in a pot. You'll have an orchard yet, never fear." The girl disappears back away to her father's shop — tool repairs, largely — and Cyrielle settles back, staring absently at the partially eaten cake before her.

Dominic is one of the handful of survivors of House Amran, one of which that can count himself a knight of Amran -and- amoungst the living. For an Amran Knight is an extremely rare breed. Hard to say how many of want to of stayed in Beacon, but Dom is one of the few, perhaps the only one. When he was offered the position in a makeshift hospital, he agreed on the condition that he be left alone to the deep forests that surround the coastline. He wanted his solitude, his isolation and more often than not, he's hardly ever seen in Beacon save when he needs particular supplies that he can't make in the wild. Walking along the road, a large intimidating timber wolf stalks alongside him, it's fur the shade a dark red, tinged with silver and black.

Well, Cyrielle is out and about in the city. It's only natural that her father might be around to join her. Indeed, there's the Lord Commodore blustering his way through Beacon, drawing plenty of attention as his voice booms down the streets. There's an exchange of words with his companion, followed by a great bout of booming laughter. And then he spots his daughter seated at a nearby cafe, and instantly he veers off in her direction, raising a hand in greeting.

Alix, of course, has been following Roger like a much thinner, snarky little shadow, taking his jokes with grains of salt and only nodding when he's looking to her. She'd accompanied her uncle out for a new book (because one can never have enough of those) and she's holding it to her chest as she navigates the streets, her pants voluminous enough to look like a skirt despite her large steps to keep up with Roger. But lo, what's this? A CyriCousin? She perks up upon noticing her cousin and makes a beeline.

What was once a warming drink has since gone cool, yet Cyrielle enjoys a light sip of it nonetheless. She's attired in black, synth-leather pants that form to her well and hide the cybernetic beneath for the dark, well-worn boots they disappear into. Her top is a fitted thing of dark blue with the Hollolas maelstrom in grey at the left breast. The sleeves only descend to just above her elbows and thus edges of her tattoo work are visible. A proper seafaring coat is draped over the back of another chair at her table, with the white crutches she must use at current time propped upon the same.

The approach of Roger is something few can miss; the man is incapable of going anywhere quietly. It's a thing Cyrielle has adapted to appreciate rather than feel embarrassed by. Her father is the one who was always around; she rare even desired to visit her mother in the mountains as a girl. She is Roger's progeny through and through. The woman smiles and lifts her mug in a form of salute to both the Lord Commodore and her cousin: "Did you see my letter already or is this just fortune?" The approach of the man and wolf is noticed- primarily for the animal itself. She kicks out a chair lightly for Alix with her good leg, even as she leans about to get a better look.

It's not that Dominic wants to be noticed. He really doesn't, it doesn't tend to be his thing to stick out, though it's easier if he's not out around buildings, he blends in better around trees. Seems he prefers the clothing of a ranger, a lot of browns and dark greens, his compound bow has a latex camo print that it's been wrapped in. So if it looks like he's just walked out of the woods, it's likely that he probably has. As for the wolf itself, he doesn't really speak to it, but it also doesn't seem inclined to leave the hunter's side. Some might think he may need a leash, being a wild animal, but he looks rather docile at the moment, the only sign he's not some wild animal in disguise is the leather collar around his neck, peeking through reddened fur. There's a glance at the cafe, and the suddenly conglomeration of Hollolas nobles that have appeared. He and wolf come to stop, the taller of the two seeming like they're debating whether to walk up or not.

"'Course I did, Lady Cyrielle, 'course I did." They're out in public. Everyone in the area likely knows that she's Roger's daughter, but nevertheless, appearances must be maintained. And it's not as though anyone will have trouble hearing him. "Still workin' on the response, of course, but you'll get it soon enough." The Lord Commodore just motions to a nearby server, and instantly she disappears into the cafe. In the meantime, Roger pulls out a seat of his own. "How does the day find you?" The man with the wolf doesn't draw his attention /yet/, but it likely won't be long.

The wolf is what draws Alix's attention first, actually. She's not an observant bookworm for nothing. Her dark eyes focus on the monstrous canine, blinking once or twice before looking up to the man accompanying the wolf - because that's totally how that relationship works, right? Silently the blonde pulls another chair over and hunkers down close to her cousin, letting the patriarch do all the talking while she demurely places the book on the table and sits just as gracefully. She'll look over to Cyri and wink if they meet eyes.

"No need to rush. It's a matter that can't really be wholly resolved, but… I wanted you to know that I'm ready to return." Cyrielle sits up somewhat as her father approaches. She gets rather doted on in this part of Beacon; smaller, quieter, and the closest place to her personal (though sometimes shared with Ephraim) treehouse. She feels a certain care for the people of the town. "Well enough. I can't return to the trees just yet, but I missed them all the same."

There's a smile cast for Alix, but a raised eyebrow — if for a second — at the wink. She brings in her plate closer to her edge of the table, keeping the mug in hand. Cyrielle knows well what is about to happen; it happens to her often enough and she does not have the legendary appetite of her father. The man and the wolf? Where, there's a smile for them- or maybe just the wolf? Difficult to tell.

Something black and looking like a dried piece of leather produced from a pocket. It's only when he start to chew on it that it becomes clear that it's jerky, ever moreso when he tears off part of it with fingers to hand it over to the wolf. Who only takes it after the man nods. Seems lke a respect for of thing. For a moment he sucks on the strip of dear dried deer flesh, watching the group of nobles on the outside of the cafe patio. Then he gives a look down at the wolf. Who only looks up at him, a pair of golden eyes blinking, perhaps curiously. As if there was some kind of unspoken dialogue shared between the two. Then, he moves toward the cafe, even if he stands out like a broken thumb.

And so it happens: The server returns with a tray full of food, setting it down in the center of the table but just slightly closer to the Lord Commodore. Accordingly Roger picks up a bit of pastry and takes a healthy bite, gulping it down before replying, "Mmm. And I'm glad to hear it, glad to hear it indeed. We'll all need to keep pushing forward, no matter how high the waves. All in our way." Sea-green eyes sweep from one Hollolas woman to the other. "Speaking of. Lady Alix, want to tell us a bit about that book you've just picked up?" And then those eyes fall on Dominic, and with no more than a moment's hesitation Roger is waving him over as well. "Don't just stand there, lad."

"It's on the gardens around here," she offers. Maybe that's what the blink was for for Cyrielle? Regardless, Alix is impressed with this book, looking down at its embossed cover like it's a relic worthy of museum display. "I think the two of us Hollolas women together could make your garden something wonderful, Lord Commodore." Because he's only 'Uncle' at home.

There's something of a smirk when Roger speaks to the Knight and Cyrielle sits up to lean forward, grabbing her coat and crutches away from that chair. The crutches are tucked up against another table and the coat draped over the back of her own chair. She even adjusts the stool that her leg is propped upon, to provide more space. Her drink is finished, the cup settled in somewhere amongst the mass of food now dominating the table.

"I would also like to begin learning use of the trident, alongside my usual archery practice," Cyrielle says towards Roger. "Perhaps you can recommend someone suitable?" She's not about to request the time specifically of him. At Alix's explanation, the young woman offers something of a laugh and a sheepish shrug. "I'm afraid I only know the basics. Much of it comes intuitively."

And should man and wolf approach near enough, she'll offer her hand gently towards the latter, palm up. It's a slow, careful gesture; nothing threatening to it in the least.

There's some kind of guttural, non-verbal sound that comes out of Dominic at first. As if trying to find his voice, that hasn't been used in some time. "Wanted to…thank." he says in somewhat clipped tones. "Taking in…after Port Amran." A glance down at the world. "Crimson too." A glance goes to the other two women, but he focuses mainly on Roger at the moment. "Had…nowhere else to go. Being useful. Good. Wanted to thank for that." Yes, it's an odd way to talking, and he doesn't sound stupid or simple, he wouldn't of gotten a Knight's title if he was. Talking just comes difficult. And true enough, there's an old patch of the House Amran sigil patched on his cloak, slightly singed with burnt markings. Next to that is a newer one of Hollolas. A sort of 'never forget' symbolism to the man.

Crimson looks at Cyri's hand, then glances up at Dom. Hearing no word of being told otherwise, he takes one step forward, sniffs the hand, then shakes his head, like he was casting off rainwater. Then, he'll sit on his haunches, deciding to eyeball her the way that wolves do. A slight head-tilt, curious.

"Ah." Roger's brow furrows for a moment, and his sea-green eyes flutter closed. As though to literally chew over the problem, he picks up another pastry and shoves it in his mouth. Once he's swallowed, he replies, "One of the refugees from Cape Amran. Sir… Dominic, if I'm not mistaken. You're welcome to sit, lad. Please." The Lord Commodore even deigns to kick out the chair opposite him to make room, though he doesn't get up.

"Would you, Lady Alix? I'd think that'd be a fine addition to the Hand, no?" And to Cyrielle, he says, "About time you did. We'll make certain you have an exceptional teacher."

"I would, I would." Her tone is sarcastic and chipper as she impersonates her uncle amiably enough. "Besides. Being outside might to me a bit of good." Smoothing her pants on her legs before letting her eyes wander back to Dominic. "Yes, please," she offers, having no authority to do so but doing it anyway.

There's a slight cant of Cyrielle's head as she listens, loose hair — too humid to do anything with — falling against her shoulder. It's a quiet sort of thing, the appreciation. She was not yet returned from her studies when it all occurred; arriving back within Beacon shortly after. It's much stories and near-legend for the young woman. To her father, she snorts softly, bemused. "About time, mm? Thought you might see it that way."

Turning slightly towards the wolf, she lets her Awakened aura come over her. Eyes go white and a faint glow that forms into tendrils of vines begin to appear about her; winding about limbs… save her right leg. In that, she reaches out towards the wolf's mind. A very gentle gesture of a more formal greeting. Should he resist? Well, she won't press.

"Know my name." Dominic says, suggesting he wasn't expecting the head of Hollolas to remember the name of one of his knights, never mind a citizen one. "Thank you." he says, on both accounts likely, unslinging his bow from across his chest and setting it down near him, just within arm's reach. Sitting in a chair seems like it's a motion that isn't used very often, but rather glad for it, long becoming using to lean up against trees when it comes to sitting.

Crimson doesn't seem affected by Cyri's efforts to get inside his head. Rather, the wolf seems rather unfazed by her in general. Could be the sense of pride all wolves have or the idea that it's long since lost any real idea of what fear is. But an Awakened aura, no that doesn't seem to startle him. So either Dominic is a good teacher, or this is just a very even keeled wolf. Possibly a mixture of both.

"You know mine, lad. Only fair for me to show you the same courtesy. Eat something." Roger's insistent on that point, and he makes a great show of pushing the plate in Dominic's direction. Sea-green eyes stare into his, and he leans back in his chair, letting out a little sigh. "Deserve some shore leave, you do. There'll be time for you to do your part before too long."

Watching her cousin, Alix looks from her cloudy eyes to the wolf watching the procedure. It's an interesting interaction, to be sure, and when her brows rise with her 'hmm'ing sound before she plucks a pastry off the tray, she smiles. "Shore leave, eh? That may include eating more pastry than you're accustomed to. Lord Commodore doesn't like taking no for an answer," she offers, smiling to Dom.

"I know a man involved in the rescue there, though I know little of his part," Cyrielle muses aloud. "A squire." Her eyes, however, remain on the wolf. This is a good practice for the woman; she's not quite managed a full telepathic engagement, as it were, with an animal, but the basic senses are there. After a moment, however, the aura fades away and her eyes return to their dark brown hues. She then attempts to reach out and pet the wolf.

"Not just pastry, dear cousin," Cyrielle says towards Alix with a smirk. "But just about everything else the kitchens can scrounge up, I'm sure."

"No rest for wicked." Dominic shrugs lightly. Leave it sounds like hasn't been something he's thought much about. And likely for good reason. No home to go, no family to return to see at home. This of course, is left unsaid because it doesn't really need to be said. "Do the job. Haunt woods. Good at that. What else to do?" he then asks, appearing as if he doesn't know if there's anything else he can do other than what he's been good at. He will however, eat something. Nice to eat something he didn't have to kill, clean, and cook himself for a change. Good change of pace.

Crimson for his part, shakes his head again and seeing that the little light show is over, returns to Dom's side, laying down next to his chair, ready to pass out.

"Tracking." Bite. "Scouting.' Bite. "Finding out what's going on." Big bite. "We still don't know near enough about what the enemy is up to, Sir Dominic. Need all hands on deck to remedy that." There's a glance over to both Alix and Cyrielle, and the Lord Commodore gives a little nod and a big grin. "Indeed. Fighting men need to keep up their strength, I always say. Can't be strong without good food."

"And all food," Alix adds cheerfully, "is good food in the Lord Commodore's opinion." Grinning, she pulls the book down into her lap before flipping through a few pages right there in the presence of guests. Apparently growing up a nerdy recluse didn't teach her /all/ manners.

There's something of a dry chuckle from the youngest Hollolas at Dominic's initial words. She's barely touched the cake she initially had, but as the wolf moves away… the woman does lean in to do so. After a few bites, glancing between the Knight and her father, Cyrielle shifts. She lowers her leg from the stool and drops a hand to a spot just above her knee. She rubs at the fabric there, brow furrowing in frustration.

"Seem like normal." Dominic notes idly, turning a danish that he had picked up over in his hand. There's a gesture at the air. "Satellite data not enough?" he asks afterwards, eating, and generally trying to fit better into the chair. "Where?" An extended finger points downward, making a circular motion. "Traveled Hollolas territory. Few marks of Cantosan movement. Presence known…minimal." Then, a small shrug. "Compare to other lands. Valen. Heavy occupation." he offers as an example.

"Satellite is good, but I don't trust machines more than I have to, lad. There's nothing better than a man's eyes to tell him what's safe and what isn't." There goes another pastry into Roger's waiting maw. "Glad to hear you've already taken a look around Beacon. Initiative, that's what I like to see. Independence." A long pause, and for the first time, Roger almost looks uncertain. Not about what to say, probably, but about whether to speak at all. Sigh. "Beyond that, though, I'd like to look at what's happening on Cape Amran."

As is typical for the times that important things like this come up in conversation, or when she's feeling unsure of herself (usually those two coincide often, no?), Alix is silent, looking between the men before ducking back to her book. Meep.

Though she has little to contribute to the conversation, Cyrielle is keeping track of the conversation. She picks absently at the food before her — no need to have Daddy dearest fuss — and looks from one man to the other. There's still an absent rubbing at her upper leg, nose wrinkling.

There's a visible paling of Dominic's features at the mention of Cape Amran. Or at least, whatever is left of the place. The food that he was eating seems to of taken on a taste and consistency of ash, the danish that he had been eating is set down quietly. Like most of his movements, this one is just as slow and subtle as the rest. "Go…back?" he says, as if he wasn't hearing the Lord Commodore right the first time. "Nothing left there." he says after another moment. "Nothing left there but ghosts." he replies initially but falters slightly. "Can…understand why. Need to look. Need to see. Need…to make sure." His jaw sets. "Will go. Have to. Few know terrain around Cape."

Well, that's about the reaction Roger was expecting, and it's enough to quell even his legendary appetite for a moment. "Not asking you to go back today, Sir Dominic. Just be warned that when there's a need, you'll be called." Shouldn't be too unreasonable, that. He's a Knight, isn't he? "We don't know what's left. May be nothing. May be a whole legion of Hostiles poised to storm the gates. Have to be sure."

Alix debates taking a pastry and forcibly offering it to Dominic or the wolf before her cousin's behavior is catching her attention. She turns, looking at Cyrielle in as low-key a way as possible, before whispering, "are you alright?"

Attempting to distract herself, Cyrielle looks between Dominic and her father. She draws in a breath, sitting up somewhat. "Lord Commodore, I would like to volunteer, once cleared by the doctor, to take a ship up the coast to begin ground surveys."

The offer made, she glances over to Alix and gives a small shake of her head. There's a brief, half-smile for her cousin. "Itches is all. Part of the healing process, they say."

It's like being punched in the gut. Being one of the few hundred out of thousands to survive that massacre, only to be asked a few months later to back there. It's the kind of thing that can drive a person crazy if they let it. Swallowing hard, he shakes his head, after getting whatever images out of it. "Understand. Have to make sure. No attack. No vulnerability. Can't be…blindsided." At least he agrees with the reasons why. "Personal. Nothing left. They took supplies. Left. Should have been caught, wasn't. Snuck out of city. Seemed…intrested more in supplies. Less…on staying."

"Could be wrong." Dominic adds then. "Didn't stay to look. Who knows. Unsure."

"Even if that's the case," Roger intones, his voice relatively low - though still fairly loud - by now, "No such thing as useless information, lad. Knowing what they took and what they left, that tells us somethin' about them. Knowing how long they stayed. All could help us. And if they are there…" Suddenly, the Lord Commodore shakes his head and perks up, grinning and letting his voice boom again. "Enough talk of that. Eat some more, Sir Dominic. I insist."

And there's his daughter, providing a perfect distraction with a related-but-less-awkward topic of conversation. "Once you're cleared, Lady Cyrielle, we'll see."

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