Participants:
| Scene Title | Uneasy On The Eyes |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Eve quests for answers. |
| Date | November 29th, 2011 |
Pollepel Island
Patrols and posts are simple, for now, especially for Huruma. She and others with lingering injuries have been relegated to castle and island security. It keeps them close and lets them stay working. Keeps them busy. Huruma likes to stay busy.
A walk does her some good, at least when it comes to the cold, not-quite crisp air outside. The sun is dipping below the horizon, outlining the patchy trees still clinging to dead leaves, dappling the dirt pathways. She has a post in the woods, her ability giving her a way to find a place to sit and wait it out, staring at the sun over the river. There is very little in the way of minds near her, and for these precious moments she uses the reprieve as a life-raft of nothing. Quiet, inside and out. Huruma watches the sun’s descent through a copse of trees on the edge of the wood, sitting on a fallen tree along the patroller’s path.
Winter birds peck and scrape at the brush, a squirrel or two chittering their way in the litter searching for the last few acorns. The air is chilled, a balmy pre-winter state with smears of clouds that reflect off of water.
Thud
Thud
The sound echoes through the wood. A couple birds take flight as a pinecone bounces towards them.
Thud
Thud
Another two pine cones come falling down from.. above? But not directly above the tall woman. One of them bouncing and rolling to a stop near Huruma. A wave of mischief and excitement fills the air around Huruma. A chuckle echoes through the wood and a hum follows. Long drawn out notes rising slowly in a crescendo no words sung.
Thud
Thud
Huruma's head swivels slightly at the first couple of sounds, eyes tracking the fall of a pine cone. At first she could assume wind, though the continuance of them divests her of that idea. An inward sigh forms as she feels the emotions of impishness. She looks upward, head tilting its way towards where the cones continue to fall from. Eyes hooded, Huruma stares ahead and gives a soft, catlike blink. The chuckling is expected, the song faintly familiar in its wordless tune. Something about it…
It is not quite enough to coax Huruma from her log perch; she remains sitting there, legs crossed at the ankle, nostrils flaring subtly as her senses study those beyond.
There is a brief lull in the falling of pine cones as the wordless tune echoes around Huruma. A fox peeks its head up towards the trees as another pinecone suddenly falls and bounces his way with a smack.
“If ya shake it hard enough all sorts of things fall out.” The song cut short as the voice decides to use words now to speak. “But pine cones are just pinecones.” A creaking can be heard coming from the trees surrounding. The sound of fabric scraping against bark. “Unless they're on fire.”
THUD
A lone pinecone falls from the sky again and a figure off to her left and behind her a little waves a hand. Sitting in the trees pale legs swinging from the branches bare toes wiggling. Eve Mas’ feral grin peeks through the branches at Huruma.
“Hi.”
Raven hair just unknotted from a bun her curls lay in waves down her back. A few loose twigs and leaves stuck in her head. A squirrel stares warily at the oracle from its perch inside the tree.
Huruma casts the local wildlife a significant look before turning her attention back to the source.
The significant look is now on Eve, as the trees speak and shake and drop more cones. Her waving earns a slight narrowing of pale eyes, curious on a base level. What is she doing? It’s easy to read, at least. A look goes to the bare lower legs hanging there, the twigs and needles in the woman’s mass of hair.
“Climbing trees with loose hair causes accidents.” Huruma finally responds with a quiet, velvet voice, still watching Eve in the same vein as that poor squirrel. “Hello.”
“What's a tiny mess,” the oracle waves a paint stained hand at her mess that is her hair. “To the big messes.” Eve shrugs a shoulder and shimmies to a more comfortable position. Wiggling and almost falling over with a snicker before settling on her belly, peering over the edge of the thick branch she lays on to regard the deadly woman below her.
If they were in the jungle somewhere worlds away this might look as if a lamb had climbed away to hide from a hungry lioness. Though the feelings that Huruma detect range among that impish mood and a madness that seems to swirl and holler in Eve’s head constantly.
“My, your teeth are so clean.” A curious look is given to Huruma. She bares her own teeth to show fairly clean and white teeth. “Mine got dirty in Cambridge. Real dirty.”
Dappled light still filters through the trees, and the horizon is a blaze of orange and pink. Huruma watches Eve from her own, lower perch, regarding the woman slinking about nearby with a fresh, lazy upwards look. Studying.
The tumult below the mischief is familiar, in a way. Huruma’s own storms and quakes are brought to an even keel mostly by her ability, though Eve seems to embrace it. On the other hand, Huruma is potentially more dangerous if she were to do the same. She can’t be like Eve. She tried, once upon a time. Sometimes it still comes— and yet—
A smile flickers over Huruma’s expression at the compliment, a sliver of ivory against dark skin. Thank you. “May I help you with something?”
As Huruma asks what she could help Huruma with a page flutters down from the tree. It's edges curled from being rolled too many times. As the page travels down towards Huruma the woman would notice a face etched on the page in charcoal.
A smirk forms the lips of a handsome man with a dark look in his eyes. Light hair discerned by the lack of charcoal used to color it in. The ears of a miniature dog peek in the page as well as the eyes.
Adam Monroe
A feeling of worry wafts in though it is buried beneath the multitude of emotions Eve always feels. It is true she revels in her madness. Now at a place in her life where she has firmly accepted who she is. A butterfly capable of change. Remorphing at will, she can be whoever she wants to be because she gives herself no limits. She is free. If the price of freedom is the behavior and mindset of Eve though, yes most would decline the offer.
“He brought me back to life.”
A simple statement but Huruma would hear not a riddle in these words but literal truth radiating from the long haired woman. “He is not easy to see.. even when I do..”
As the page flutters down and lands at her feet, Huruma is slow to look. She knows, peripherally, about what Eve does. What she sees. Part of her resists the temptation to inspect the drawing, but the rest wins. One hand moves from her lap to retrieve the paper, plucking it between her fingers and bringing it to bear.
The dark woman's expression is difficult to read. A light flickers in her eyes, at least at first. Eve’s worries linger in her senses, though they do not seem to cut in as Huruma now holds the picture with both hands.
She is silent, eyes half-lidded, ears perked to Eve’s voice.
“He really isn't.” Huruma's thumb moves over the edge of a charcoal line deep on the page, and it smears slightly between finger and paper. Her breath moves inward with a faint laugh, the coolness bringing a sigh with it. She hums, faint, voice low. “…He did the same for me, once.”
“It felt like the biggest plot twist.” Eve says frankly as she props an arm up holding her head as she regards the woman below. Her light eyes flick from the page to Huruma’s face studying her. She tilts her head. “It's nice of him. I want to thank him. Also..” she looks down at the forest floor directly beneath her. There is a twang of regret in her words. “I think I have to find him. Sometimes the whispers aren't clear but I have gotten much better at deciphering.”
The prophet rambles as she closes her eyes with a sigh. “Do you know where he is?”
There remains something fond behind Huruma’s gaze as she studies the charcoal, thumb adjusting over the edge once more. When she looks up, her eyes briefly meet Eve’s before roving back to the horizon, then the picture.
“Plot twist sounds right…” Huruma whispers to herself. Nice of him? Maybe. “Thanking him is flattery, and he loves that.” The dark woman offers this much, looking to Eve once more. She thinks she has to find him, and of course she comes to Huruma. No surprise there.
“If I did… what would have me tell you? How would I be certain you only seek to stroke his ego?” Huruma’s voice melts into a laugh, smooth but dry. “As much as I know he enjoys stroking—” Hff. She can’t help but laugh once more. “Sometimes discretion is still important.”
As the dark haired woman listens to Huruma she tilts her head and snickers at the joke of stroking. “I think the whispers might have problems with an Adam and Eve procreating! Huruma!” Eve cackles and almost slips off the tree branch with a Whoa! Before righting herself she peers down at the taller woman.
“I want to thank him.. and ask him..” her brow furrows as her lips press into a thin line. “His reasonings.” The prophet scratches her head and rubs a pale hand down her face some charcoal rubbing off on her cheek.
“He and I will meet again you will see,” she says in a singsong voice, “Whether you help facilitate that or not is the only real question my Huntress.” Eve dips her chin towards Huruma in a gesture of respect. Admiration for the woman’s deadliness and effectiveness fills the air. Whether Huruma has useful information or not Eve doesn't know, but any clue is better than nothing. As she does her best to decipher the dreams she has been having surrounding the man.
Watching Eve laugh and nearly tumble away from her perch is entertainment enough, Huruma’s features blending with a playful shift, amusement taking seat for Eve’s bark of her name in joy. It’s a little touching, the way Eve reacts with such vibrance.
His reasonings, she says. Huruma lifts her hand to her neck, fingers kneading at dark skin and massaging muscle as she listens to Eve continue her ramblings on finding Adam. Eve might have that luck, considering her abilities— or she may not.
“He is slippery if he doesn’t want you to find him…” Huruma offers up to her after a long pause, head tilted up as her senses take in the feelings ebbing from the younger woman. Eve’s are chaotic, but always stark. They are face value, blazing despite being everywhere at once.
“He left the city last year. July. Since then he has been travelling.” Lifting the art in one hand, Huruma lets the sunset glow through the paper past the charcoal. Her voice is soft, but a purr all the same. Eyes move towards paper again, studious as they move between Adam’s face and Eve’s languishing above. “I asked him to send postcards… among other things.” She deftly skirts the answer Eve seeks, leading her on in a way. Still a note of something playful in that face.
“He does.”
As the weight of Huruma’s words descend on Eve her eyes widen in excitement and she leans over the branch to peer more at the woman. “Postcards you say?” Suddenly the oracle is shoving herself backwards on the branch towards the trunk of the tree. Nimbly navigating the branches with bare feet until she comes to a crouch not too far from Huruma.
Anticipation comes from the younger woman as she lifts her head to look directly across at Huruma. A twig and leaf tumble to the ground as she tilts her head and grins widely at the woman.
“Sending the Huntress gifts is a great way to keep her favor.” Eve seems to ponder something squinting one eye up into the sky muttering to herself.
“A fair trade is a fair trade.”
Nodding to herself she blinks as if just remembering Huruma is there. “What shall I owe the Huntress? I seek her.. favor.” Eve laughs a raspy one her shoulders bunching together she points one finger up towards the sky with an expectant expression. “They watch. Words are bond. They just don't pass immediate judgment when we are wicked.” Wickedness is something Eve knows about. But none of that is apparent in her tone as she offers a trade to the woman for the information she seeks.
“One of the… later ones put him in Australia. He was quite disappointed that the outback was nothing like Mad Max…” No wasteland gangs. No Tina Turners. Only emus, dropbears, and too many toads.
Huruma turns her neck to watch Eve as she scuttles her way down out of the tree, twigs and all. When she crouches nearby, pale eyes study her further. A tiny smirk settles in, because Eve isn’t wrong. Keeping Huruma’s favor is something that certainly takes a bit of care. For some it is easier. She tilts her head again as Eve blinks her way back to the present moment. An offer, for something said? Eve’s words on those who watch come jumbled.
“I do not understand. Who watches? Whose word is bond?” Huruma questions back, eyes half narrowed. She was never one for understanding oracles— not even her own Grandmother. Something something wickedness. It gives her a little bit of a headache. “What would you possibly have me ask of you?”
What can she give, besides paint and charcoal and confusing words?
“He lives in movies. Maybe he's so old that's all that's exciting.” Real life must get incredibly boring when you're an immortal. Movies and other sources of entertainment must make up for so much of that. “He didn't see a kangaroo?” Eve has always wanted to see a kangaroo live..
With a light roll of her eyes she taps her lips and then points up to the sky. “The whispers my Huntress.” Eve’s eyes open fully and she shakes her head. “They listen. They watch, they pass judgments when we don't honor our word.” Her attempt at saying karma is real and if you don't follow your word.. it's gonna end bad for you.
The prophet takes a moment to ponder the woman’s question and she drums her fingers on the forest floor. “A favor. Cash it in when you wish. Nothing is off limits.” Though she takes a moment to amend that, “I will not hurt Chicken or Lene and I will not give up my last Snickers. That is..” she thinks further, “Just don't ask me to be too bad.” She gives Huruma a serious look.
A favor for a favor. Seems fair to the oracle.
Whispers. Again with the whispers. Huruma knows better than to push at metaphor when it comes to someone like Eve. Do they ever give straight answers? Not even Usutu does. Her expression sinks somewhat when Eve reassures her that they are listening, a faint nod accompanying it. Fine, fine.
The decision to let a favor stand between them is surprising, in all honesty; one of Huruma’s brows arches further on her head, questioning.
“I do not like Snickers bars. So it is safe from me. Your friends, too.” Huruma’s features soften, the hard stare of her eyes taking on a less critical cast under Eve’s serious look. “Badness is relative, although mine is…” She has always considered herself the hero of her own story, of course— but— seeing herself from here? With them? “Mnh. Lessening. Perhaps. You would need to ask someone else.” Huruma turns it around soon enough, expression lowered before she lifts her chin in a brief tease. It slackens enough once more, enough to fix Eve with a considering stare. There is one other thing that bothers her. But it’s not just Eve. Anyone like her.
“If I were ever in one of your… pieces, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”
A rush of relief floods out from the oracle and she smiles brightly at Huruma with a nod. What an awesome answer to that. But Snickers are so good! (More for Eve). Her eyes twinkle with delight at Huruma’s assessment on her ‘badness’.
“We've come a long way from Level 5. Those were dark days, I use to think the darkest.” Is said flatly from the seer and she draws her fingers through the dirt tracing symbols into the dirt. Those days did seem dark but the days as of late.. they are of total utter darkness no bit of light seemed visible for people today.
At the sound of Huruma’s tone as she asks about Eve’s ability and if Huruma was held in its scope whether she would warn the woman the younger woman gives the taller one a energetic nod and grin. “You will know. I promise.” An innocent smile flashes Huruma’s way. “It would be only right.”
We’ve come a long way from Level 5.
Huruma had escaped the Company once. From Benjamin, once. When they finally took her, she saw what they had likely planned for her from the start.
“Dark days. Same as here. I feel it all, you know…” Huruma repeats, a passive affirmation in a whisper on her lips that skirts something even deeper. She would not have survived down there on Level 5. She knows it to be true. And here— she has reservations. Worries. Pangs on the inside. Eve’s energetic response to the question of Huruma’s presence in her pieces earns a sober little smile.
“I have more difficulty than usual trusting oracles like you. So…” Huruma breathes out, idly lifting up the charcoal drawing towards Eve. This is yours? “It is appreciated.”
“I wonder how you manage..” seeing the future and dying multiple times in your dreams is different than feeling and being able to manipulate emotions but they are united in that they feel it all. Eve wrinkles her forehead and nods gravely, “These dark days know no end. You feel all the darkness.”
As attentions turns to her drawing she smiles weakly and nods, “A gift,” a twinkle in her eyes that mischief just overlaying the madness within her. “May his handsome face visit your dreams.” A dark grin from Eve as she suddenly lays back in the dirt. Arms out at her sides she makes a dirt angel before peeking her head up at Huruma.
“You know people like me?”
“I— because I must. Manage.” Huruma stumbles only a little with her words, lips pursing tightly at the end. She blinks at the chance to keep the drawing, the movement slow as she looks back to it, letting it hang between her fingers instead of pressing it back towards Eve. A gift, then.
“At the moment I have different preferences in faces that I want to see in my dreams.” Huruma’s mouth twists in a smirk, a laugh in her chest. Not that he would be particularly unwelcome, but her gaze has shifted, somewhat. The empath cocks her head at Eve’s dirt angel on the patrol path, watching the antics with an increasing patience. “Not quite like you.” One way to put it. “Similar. People that see things. Paint them. Dream them.”
Eve hasn't really come across many others like her except for Else and a few others. Whether it is because she uses her ability to avoid them or she just doesn't often run in the same circles (though she does) remains to be seen. Any talk of a fellow oracle gains her immediate interest. And Huruma seems to know more than one!
“Are you a collector of us?” Eyes squint as Eve looks to Huruma in a new light. “A protector of the ones that see?” A gleeful expression and Eve’s smiling. “I would love to meet them.” She says, longing in her voice. How are they different? How are they the same? These questions run through her head and Huruma would feel the curiosity taking over the cat as Eve leans in with another smile.
“Collector? No. Protector, perhaps.” Huruma breathes outward under the sunny side of Eve’s smiling, watching as she wonders and wonders and leans closer. “Maybe one day. One of them keeps company with my son, last I knew. He is as vague as you might expect…” She does not lean back physically, though there is an expression on her features which speaks loudly enough when she looks down at Eve’s — everything. Why all the smiling? It isn’t even fake smiling, like Huruma is so apt to do—
A protector.
The thought warms Eve’s heart as she continues to wear her cheerful smile leaning closer still to the woman. It is reeking in serenity. “I really like your eyes..” the kooky lady tilts her head as eerie light gray eyes is level with Huruma’s own irises. “A child of yours yes yes and a vague friend.”
Just as Eve seems to be getting to close as in Huruma can feel her breath on her nose. Eve draws back until she is leaning against the trunk of the tree she was sitting in earlier. “You can say you have another vague friend now.”
Watching Eve come closer results in an even more quizzical look. The moods and the face and the manner are just disjointed enough to not quite match, an uncanny ableness. Huruma’s ivory stare comes unflinching when the other woman gets close enough that she can feel breath on skin.
Eve reminds Huruma of a slow song, piano, maybe. A sonata, slow but deliberate, sometimes purposefully misleading. She imagines the keys under her fingers, the bone colors dipping and lifting along with Eve’s words and movements. At the very least, the inward comparison allows Huruma to equate Eve with something more… familiar to her.
“Thank you.” For the compliment. “Can I?” For the offer of ‘another vague friend’. Huruma’s response is measured, head following the other woman as she leans back.
“Oh please yes I insist.” The ivory skinned woman speaks quietly and with a pointed look at Huruma. She would feel the respect tinged with curiosity from Eve. The oracle is truly intrigued by the woman. She manages because she must. Maybe Eve must manage. Maybe she can.. though she's happy in her maelstrom of madness.
Eve closes her eyes and leans her head back staring up at the tree branches above them. Humming softly to herself she digs her fingers into the dirt. At this rate Gillian will be very upset when Eve comes to visit after trailing all this dirt in with her.
Insisting. Huruma’s gaze narrows when she smiles this time, the expression touching her eyes. Respect seems to get Eve exactly where she wants to be. Flattery was more Adam’s wheelhouse. Speaking of—
“Was my help sufficient?” Huruma lifts from the log, favoring her right side as she stands and rolls up the drawing in her hands, tucking it into the inner pocket of her coat. “The sun has downed and I ought to be on my way. Are you returning?”
“You were most helpful Huntress”
Eve dusts off her dress on the front as Huruma rises to her feet. A distant look as she looks past Huruma. Her head tilts and a nearby squirrel runs down from the trunk and speeds past her and Huruma. The oracle continues to stare ahead with that now blank expression. “It's okay..” her eyes lid flicker as she leans her head back against the tree trunk again.
“I'm going to sit here a while.” Much to ponder, much to see. Sleeping in the woods isn't unappealing to the dark haired woman.
“Do not catch a cold.” Huruma advises, passively, glancing after the darting squirrel and looking on as Eve settles into the ground to feel at home. She adjusts the drape of her own coat and the gun at her side, the weight of its holster familiar around her. “You are welcome.” With this last said, the dark woman turns away from Eve to make her way further down the path, eventually taking her back to the castle grounds.
