Topic: In Veno Veritas

Hobo Hoboken

Date: 2010-11-02 02:22 EST
Since NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is here once again, I finally got up the courage to join and participate. Figured since people have asked, I'll tell Hoboken's story. Will try to update this as I write and hopefully it's entertaining for whoever reads it.

Oh, I edited some and added in places.

**************************************

"Getting cold bottle-bottle, me wish dare wuz sumting tasties and warms to eats." Light flares from nothing to illuminate an odd staggering figure stumble prone into one of the few vacant alcoves along the alley. "Ah, dat hitsa spot. Youse always takes cares of me's bottle-bottle." The wobbling course draws the gaze of others not blinded by the flash of light against the evening darkness in the small gathering drawn to the shelter of the alley. Dirty and patched clothing cover every peering body. Emaciated women pulling the smudged faces of their children protectively close. Men watch the unusual soul warily, each one edging to the borders of their little piece of the alley, prepared to defend it. This was their claimed territory, no room for charity at the bottom of the well. Just rocks to break upon and shallow prayers for deaf ears. Potential hostiles ignored as the figure rights itself, low groans rumble over the louder cry of an empty stomach. Bleary bloodshot eyes lift from something held in gloved hands, dilated pupils retaining the unexplained light for just a matter of breaths. Grubby hands dig around gathering together odds and ends found within the recess. A stained news printing smelling of dried ammonia gets spread flat at his feet. Fingers" curl against something rough and moving; closer inspection discovers a loaf end more maggots than bread. With a heavy sigh the stranger bites into the unsavory morsel, ignoring the way flies-that-never-will-be dance and squirm across his tongue for their lives. Meal set aside, he twists to explore the space behind him realizing an unexplained draft. Feeling against the back wall unearths the hidden secrets of a boarded up door. Finding the knob, he jiggles it only to feel the unyielding response of locked iron. "Me not dat luckies, figurines. But it all burns bottle-bottle" Hands close around crotchety boards heavy heaving a trio free. Rusty nails carefully worked free by touch and stuffed into an as of yet unused pocket. Price per pound a distant thought behind durable toothpicks. Thickest of the three placed length ways between his spaced feet, the odd object brought with him into the alley upended against the grain. "Now for da kindles?" Fingers reclaim the discarded loaf and shake maggots off onto the braced board before ripping a page off the newsprint and crumpling it over them. Keeping everything balanced precariously, he fishes free one of the removed nails, bracing it along his thumb tightly. With a slow inhale of breath, he strikes the nail across the odd object, blue sparks dance to life in a vibrant shower where they catch on the news print setting it smoking. Spread hands cup about the flaring embers, softly breathing them to heat and rise moving from paper to maggots beneath. The thumb of his right hand covers an odd roundness on the object he strikes against the nail. Shaking it with soft mumblings, he slowly removes his thumb, a clear substance pouring forth making the olive sized flickering burn bright. Hasty movements bring the ignited board deeper into the recess.

Huddling around a fire, with the fetid stink of months without bathing sat a middle-aged man in a rumpled and dirty suit. On one sleeve the words "Gift from Jadey Lady?, scrawled in ink of questionable origin. Clutched to his chest seemed to be his only possession of value; a silver bottle covered stopper to base in strange rolling calligraphy. Rocking back and forth, ignoring the other dirty faces slowly gathering around the meager fire, he mumbles softly to this clearly precious object.

Hobo Hoboken

Date: 2010-11-03 11:18 EST
"Youse wants hear stories bottle-bottle?" shakey-achey handsies lifty-ifty the glittery ceramics. "What story bottle-bottle?" A shimmy-shake to set contents swirling. "My story' But yous was dares! Well, mostlies. Da rests was all Hobokens! And da friers"how me miss dems."

Three faces look up to stare at the obviously drunken soul rambling on, clearly pegging him as addled, if not outright insane. They watch as he lifts the odd bottle to his lips, a mysterious orange libation glowing like the sun pouring forth and dribbling down his chin. With it came fermented memories and the only ones to know were lost souls like the storyteller himself.

****

"Late, late, late!" Robes bunched up around his thighs, the young initiate ran like devils were chomping at his heels. All around his weaving course hung tapestries to be dusted; casks of wine from the cellars being tested for appropriate vintage; and high above, suspended by rope and pulley hung the great statue of Dionysus, goblet in hand and beard of grapes flowing into robes of vines. Friars, sisters, and initiates alike all bustled about the entire abbey in preparation for the "busy season' and all that came with it. In the distance rang the noon bell announcing the start of Summer Solstice at the abbey. "Don't rush Hoboken! There's plenty of time to celebrate this evening" the ever-cheerful cry of Father Onassis chimed after him in tune with the bells above, tasting goblet in hand next to the freshly brought up cask of wine. "Now, let's see if the spirits are dancing in this one!" Laughing loudly he tipped the stopper not seeing Hoboken get racked trying to leap over a tether post.

Cupping his injured pride, Hoboken pulled himself up, sucking at air to keep from heaving as the trauma set his stomach fluttering. Dash forced down to a limping crawl he made it to the center courtyard in time to hear the opening oratory of Sister Esprada. Like the other initiates he stared straight, mesmerized as she moved and spoke.

"It pleases my heart to see so many of you here this day. Though I have not been among you overly long, I feel as if we are all a singular family. All brothers and sister in the same sense as those many of you chose to leave behind. I feel this because or our chosen way of life. The way of the Mad God is not for the faint of heart or the bitter of spirit." Delicate hands rise, commanding those seated to stand with her.

"Though he has held many titles, my own land calls him Liber. Liberator. For his way is to liberate ones self of all care and worry, all inhibitions when celebrating life and love. To embrace the joyful ecstasy that comes with celebration." A euphoric smile comes over Sister Esprada's face as her hands lower. "Would you all celebrate with me?" A mountain of innuendo in her voice floats over the crowd as she pulls her frock back and free of her shoulders, gasps rippling through the congregation.

Swaying across the stage in an elaborate covering of purple and gold Sister Esprada's lilting voice played above the soft murmurings of initiate and friar alike as her enchantment began. Hoboken's heart nearly skipped a beat when eyes with the heat of a searing desert locked with his. The crowd about him gasping as she suddenly kicked a leg scandalously high, baring flesh from calf to the smooth curve leading towards her buttock. Only sounds that follow came from the soft tinkling of the charm about her ankle, little silver figures dancing lightly against dark skin. Slowly rolling the seductively beckoning curvature of her ankle, Esprada set her dark eyes across the gathering; delicate painted hands sliding slow between her legs as to draw these rapt attentions to unspoken thoughts.

As though daring the on looking crowd to shift or peak beneath the spangled folds of her colorful dress Esprada arched backwards in a display of perfect grace, waves of raven curls brushing the floor of the stage just moments before her head tapped the strong muscles of her balancing leg. Still she sang on, not in words Hoboken could begin to understand but the cadence remained beautiful all the same. Each crescendo and each whispered chord matched a stirring created by her dance.

A sudden surge of muscle and strength set Esprada cart wheeling forward to the edge of the stage, toes actually curling over the lip where she bent out over them as if about to fall. Still she sang, lip shifting from "A" to "O" in the way she often instructed the choir. The intensity of her song winding down as this was just a tease of the true show to come with the evening bonfire and feast. Bowing to the applause Sister Esprada took her place among the other Order Heads, even managing to blush at some whispered adulations from her peers.

With a great guffaw Father Onassis clapped a hand on Hoboken's shoulder, pulling him away from the crowd. "Why don't you help me and the Brothers of Balfour set up the wine. Work hard we might even let you try some, yeah' This is going to be a Solstice unlike any other!"

Stumbling over his feet and words Hoboken simply gave up with a sigh. He wanted to stay and see the rest of the opening ceremony but Father Onassis wasn't one to take kindly to the refusal of requested help. "Why do you say it'll be unlike any other?" About the only question he dare pose to the burly monk.

?"cause lad, this is the year we open our gates and venture out to the local villages and spread the word of Dionysus. And if we're nice we'll share the wine!" Great hands slapped his even greater girth where Onassis bellowed heartily. "Now let's venture down to the cellar and see about getting into the good barrels."

Back inside, Hoboken glared at the tether post that'd racked him on the way out. It really should have been lower. Moving passed he joined the BoB in hoisting casks for the celebration. "Hope the Solstice goes as everyone hopes."

Hobo Hoboken

Date: 2010-11-07 00:08 EST
Ice like eyes gazed out over the pasture nestled in the wooded vale below, listening to the bells coming from the Abbey of Dionysus. The sound infuriating where it intruded upon the observers solitude. Every day of every year those bells disrupted sleep and peace. And with the coming of summer brought more chimes to slay solitude in her shift. Glowering they turned upward in direction of the lone tower visible for miles around. Hands like gnarled roots curl around a tightly held walking stick, more akin to drift wood than living substance.

"Those bells have rung for long enough?" guttural muttering followed the Observer as he rose from his lean against a youthful Cypress tree and disappeared down a winding path away from the bells. Dead grass marks the trail of his passing into the darker regions where abbey inhabitants are forbidden to venture.

With his fading presence birds dared to make song and take wing from their lofty homes in the dead tree before it fell in a rotted heap, termites whittling away the remnants in only a matter of breaths leaving behind a dead stump.

*** "Wonder how long some of these barrels have been down here?"

Lantern held high, Hoboken followed the quavering voice of Brother Fedor throughout the distillery cellar. Ahead echoed the triple beat of his aged mentor shuffling through walls of spider's silk with his cane. The only other sound breaking the steady drum beat of barrels being that of Fedor coughing up dust and merlot.

"Quick lad, we haven't got all day! Barrels need ta be hoisted and scrubbed before they're tested."

Barely spotting the brother amble around a corner Hoboken caught a faint glimmer from the corner of his eye. A compulsion bringing him to stop and squint through dust and web his eyes barely made out a glistening carafe resting forgotten down the far hall away from Brother Fedor. "What in the name of BoB?"

"Hoboken! Quit dallying and get up here, I need the light!" Gasping, not wanting to give Fedor enough time to consider punishment for falling behind Hoboken whirled and dashed through arachnid barriers to bring the brother his requested lighting.

He found Fedor bending over two tipped over barrels, the markings of Dionysus faded to the point of illegible splashed across their rotund shapes. Holding the lantern above his head cast the chamber into the realm of cryptic. Recesses in the walls covered over in spider silk and long empty sacks of who knows what dead thing. By all thought he guessed this section had not seen the light in nearly fifty years or more, not even animal treads littered the cobbled flooring. In the flickering light, the nearly ancient Order Head seemed ghastly on the verge of death. Wisps of white spiked from his balding palette amid a sea of what Esprada called "liver spots" where they framed a face that had seen more celebrations than eulogies.

"Well look at that! My first barrel," Springing up the suddenly spry Brother Fedor practically giggledsat the prospect of tasting his first brewing. "Bet ol" Onassi-pants'll get a kick out of these. If I'm not losing my wits, this second barrel is his! We brewed our firsts a week apart. Maybe now we'll see who the better disciple is!" From disheveled pockets, aging Fedor removed something yellow and stone like, marking an "X" on both barrels. "Just have to remind Francis and the others to come down this way when we're done. Now help me up"."

Hooking an arm und the brother's pit, Hoboken bent his knees and lifted, careful not to accidentally dislocate the man's shoulder by moving to quickly. "Brother Fedor, can I ask you about something I saw?"

"Certainly Hoboken, you know that. What's on your mind" Or should I say who' Caught the way you watched Sister Esprada. Perfectly natural, mind. You're about that age and she's a delectable sight for eyes of all ages." Leering in good nature the older man patted his pupil's arm. "But truly, what have you seen?"

"It's what made me fall behind, down the other hallway I saw a strange carafe, it seemed newer than everything else. What is it?" Hesitant, he pulled free of Fedor, eyes shifting to look passed him and back the way they had come.

"Newer ye say' Well then, let's head that way and see what we can see. Maybe ye found a vintage I forgot was down here!" Clapping Hoboken on the shoulder, Brother Fedor turned and began leading the way to the other end. "Now where was it ye said?"

"Just ahead Brother Fedor, it was straight down this hall?" Craning, Hoboken barely saw over the taller monk's shoulders, thought he couldn't see that glinting object from before he knew it couldn't have been a trick of the light.

"Well, nothin" jumped out at us yet and the end of the hall's less than a stone's throw away. Ye sure lad?" Brother Fedor turned his one blind eye back towards the initiate in an eerily scrutinizing air.

"Yes, Brother Fedor, I'm positive. It was silver, like light reflected off of it." Suddenly feeling like an idjit, the lad ducked his head in humility. However, he knew it hadn't been a trick of light or his own nerves about the Solstice. There had been a carafe down this pathway.

"Nothin's here now, who knows, maybe one of the others came down this way and snagged it. Let's just head back up, not good to stay down here too long, wicked spirits get into the air this deep and can make ye sick." Ushering Hoboken back towards the main portion of the distillery, Brother Fedor cast a lingering look around the empty shelves as if daring whatever the young initiate had seen to peek out at their turned backs.

****

Hobo Hoboken

Date: 2010-11-07 00:09 EST
"Youse was verries sneakies dens bottle-bottle, oh yesh youse was! But me's understands." Lifty-ifty of bottle-bottle for to drinky-drink. Hoboken burpy-urped. "Ahh dat hitsa spot, yesh it doos. Youse takes cares of mes, bottle-bottle." Bleary, blood-shot eyes stare off to da fires once again. "Scuse me, your name is Hoboken?" One of the three listeners leaned forward, closer to the fire.

"Dats what I's said saints its?" Huffy-uffy wit a shiky-shake of bottle-bottle.

"Well, yes, you did. But, you were a monk" Where did you get the suit?"

Flaily-ailing Hoboken splish-splashed the contents of bottle-bottle over da fires makings it roar into blue iridescence. "Dats comes laters! Gah! Always somes wisen-alzheimers wantings to skips aheads!"

The three others fell over one another backing away from the fire, their eyes wide and uncertain in the light of this drunken outburst. Each looked to the other and then back to their strange companion and his clearly mystical bottle-bottle. Regaining a semblance of composure they dared move back to the renewed fire and listened as Hoboken returned to the past.

" Now wheres was me's" OH yes! Da celery!"

****

Hoboken squints away the darkness from the cellar handing his lantern off to another initiate roped into helping the Brothers of Balfour. The time spent with Brother Fedor in the cellar only seemed a matter of minutes, but in the heart of the Abbey, nearly a full day's work began winding down. Great streamers hung from beams he never saw anyone clean off, which explains the initiates in here mopping the floors a fifth time.

Wanting time to reflect on the vanishing carafe Hoboken didn't wait to be told his next task. Grabbing up a bucket and mop, he went to get in line with the others for the well. The founding Fathers of the Abbey skewed matters when they built the Abbey around the well; placing it just off the main path not to impede foot traffic through the courtyard. The line was a little long, but he knew this was the closest well, as did the others who didn't want to lug water farther than they had to. Eyes closing, he drew in a deep breath, glad to be out of the cellars away from the stale, musty air.

"Ya and Fedor were down in the cellars a long time, couldn't find any barrels or were you holding a private testing"

A grin blew onto his face like a cat getting alone time with an overflowing fishbowl as Hoboken turns to see Desmont. "I wish! But no, he was dragging me all over the place. One moldy corner to another for the oldest barrels we could find. We even found his first barrel! Can you believe that one" The Order Heads just might not make it through this Solstice."

"Just means there'll be more for us, eh?" ribbing Hoboken with an outlandish wink, Desmont placed his empty bucket on the end of the mop in his left hand and set the linked tools over his shoulder. The older initiate stood a head and shoulders taller than Hoboken with fiery red hair to match his normally volatile humors. Stains blotch the hem and elbows of his frock hinting where the friars stationed Desmont for his mopping. "Ye see Esprada's display' I hear at the end of Solstice celebration she'll be doing summin" almost indecent!"

Eyes roll with laughter as Hoboken moved forward in line. "You say that every year, and every year she does the same dance, only the song changes. Could almost say you've a crush on her!" Sensing movement in the air, he tossed up the bucket and whirled the mop end over end, twisting to catch Desmont's swing just under the offending bucket.

"Getting better Hobs. But have ye really practiced?" Grinning, Desmont snapped his foot forward and down, missing Hoboken's foot by a hair as the other initiate sprang away. "Have you learned to look up?" Wearing a smug smile, he held his mop like just another staff. Body turned to minimize striking surfaces, Hoboken gripped his improvised weapon lightly with the right over the top so Desmont couldn't knock it up and out of his hand while the left merely kept a thumb hooked around the rear length. The majority of his weight remained on his hind-foot, bracing to stop a rush but at the same time allowing him to spring away much like the last time.

"Do what now?" Not comprehending what Hoboken was getting at, the older initiate started to take a defensive step back. Eyes only widen as the bucket tossed up by his opponent came crashing down shy of taking off his nose. Growling he chambered his calf, kicking the bucket at the clever initiate where it bounced after hitting the ground, rushing in the wake of its flight.

Hoboken kept his smug look, or started to. Ducking quickly, feeling the bucket skim across the top of his head, he gasped as Desmont's knee came in a collision course with the side of his head. Only Onassis" training saved his face. One arm thrown backwards over the opposing shoulder like heaving a sack of grain set him in a reverse somersault, twisting to the side and away from the more threatening mop. Mop end held across his chest, he reeled; barely dodging Desmont's extending leg where the older boy hoped to compensate for the side-swiping knees wasted energy.

"Come on Hobs. I coulda cracked ya wit me mop before ye came out of that! What's Onassis been teachin" ye?" hands move end over end along his mop, carefully circling for position while keeping his own bucket anchored through centrifugal force.

Meeting the taunt for what it was, Hoboken laughed, eyes not on Desmont's face, but the center of his chest, watching for the little tell Onassis told him all give away, even others in their order. Dragging his rear foot along the ground, Hoboken kicked up a wall of dirt shielding his next movement. Rushing forward, he jabbed the mop-head at Desmont's chest while snapping a foot down for his toes to pin them to the ground.

Gasping, Desmont began to twist, his pinned foot forcing the decision, feeling the mop-head glance off his shoulder. If not for his mop turning the incoming strike wide as it did, the hit would have ended matters unpleasantly. Fist balled, he lanced out three times in succession, feeling knuckles connect against Hoboken's ribs seconds ahead of Hoboken's elbow snapping in. Catching movement from the corner of his eye Desmont brought the butt of his mop around to keep his head from getting cracked opened.

With a wince, Hoboken backed off not daring to show how much his ribs hurt by touching where the strikes connected. Breath taken he offered a nod, mop spinning to set up his next series. "More than Agrippa has taught you I'd wager"."

"Did someone say wager, Brother Onassis?"

"I think he did Brother."

Bowels suddenly filled with ice both initiates turned, backs going ramrod straight at the sound of the Fathers. Eyes larger than cream saucers, neither dare to look anywhere but at their teachers with absolute horror. Talk about the worst possible outcome! Dispute cast aside, the initiates moved to stand side-by-side, mops held in a ready state, but rested at the same time.

"I find out who snitched, there be a blanket party verrah soon.? Desmont whispered darkly when the Fathers turned away in a conspiratorial manner. Looking at Father Agrippa, the older of the two did his best to appear ready for any punishments that may come. He knew his Master's temper better, than most where it came to frivolity and pointless competition.

Hobo Hoboken

Date: 2010-11-07 00:10 EST
Fidgeting with uncertainty, Hoboken's eyes moved from Onassis to Agrippa, not liking the smiles they suddenly wore with the knowledge of their students horsing and now discussing a wager. Though he admits to himself, the blanket party was definitely in order. "Save a few for me"."

"What do you think, Aggy' Should we see about how the lads stack up?" Father Onassis stroked his shaven chin, weighing the initiates thoughtfully.

"Be setting a bad example." The younger monk reminded his former teacher. Where Father Onassis was a man of girth and volatile mirth, Father Agrippa was thin and wiry, almost dour in his demeanor. Wheat-blonde hair hung in thin strands as they framed a face that could not have seen more than thirty winters. His brown, almost black eyes, drifted from Hoboken to Desmont in too close a fashion to Onassis" than could be good.

"However, I think letting them finish could be good. But not out here." Nodding to himself Father Agrippa looked to his peer. "It's the start of the Solstice; they can have this friendly bout at the training grounds. If they've got this much energy to waste on trying to hurt each other, well then, they can entertain the other students while they're at it."

"That, I like, Brother. However, what about that wager Hoboken started to relate?" smiling broadly, Onassis clasped his hands across his stomach, waiting patiently. "After all, one is mine, the other yours. Don't know where Desmont stacks among your other students, but Hoboken is one of my more promising pupils."

"Desmont is the best student in his group. So one of my best students against your most promising pupils" Sounds like a fair stacking to me. As to the wager, well"whoever loses, their mentor has to give up a cask of his best vintage. The initiate studies with the winning mentor for a month." Grinning like a fox, Agrippa turned to Father Onassis" sputtering and flailing with a keen eye.

"You've been after my Laurelian wine since ye tasted it fifteen years ago, ye cheeky devil!" Outraged at his begrudgingly opportunistic bastard of a peer, Father Onassis gave forced himself to nod after a moment. "As much as I'd hate to part with the vintage, I think this'll be good for the lads. See if they've learned anything."

"So we've an accord then?" Agrippa looked entirely too pleased with himself as a hand was extended.

"Unfortunately!" Gripping the other Father's hand, Onassis turned to Hoboken and Desmont. "Training grounds in an hour. Wear what clothes ye'll be most comfortable in to spar and until then, Des you are helping Fedor mark barrels. Hoboken, you are with Sister Esprada." Releasing Agrippa's hand, he turned and strode away through the sea of students, smiling at some idea suddenly filtering through his mind.

"Well then, you both heard him, get moving!" The friendly demeanor shown to Father Onassis vanished as the remaining Father looked at the initiates. His laughter rang after them watching twin dust trails fade with the wind before feeling as if Onassis" smiling departure should worry him.

Hobo Hoboken

Date: 2010-11-07 00:11 EST
"I heard the Father's say Dionysus put women on a pedestal but didn't think they'd be so literal"." Moment to stop taken, Hoboken eyed the spiraling stair to Sister Esprada's chambers. Being the only woman in residence at the Abbey, Fathers Arnesto and Bardova, the only living members who remembered the founding of the Abbey, decided she would get the most privacy within the tower. Leaning over the lone banister, Hoboken looked straight up the winding staircase with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"No wonder she never has to join morning exercises, she gets a days worth going too and from up here!" Hands clasped above his head he took several deep breaths in through his mouth, held, and then exhaled through his nose as Onassis had taught during martial training. Exhaling from the mouth increased the odds of vomit in extreme cases of exertion. Safe to say this may count as a case of extreme exertion if he hoped to reach the top with the muscles of his legs in tact.

As much as he hated the physiology studies, Hoboken appreciated the knowledge of how every part of his body connected to something else equally important. A sword slash across his back may heal with minimal scarring, but just moving his leg below the knee pulled on the injured area to make him scream like a newborn babe fresh from the womb. Hiking up his robes, Hoboken took a calming breath before tearing off once more. Sandaled feet rise and fall to an even cadence rushing the stair not daring to skip more than one step where allowed, two or more risked too much pull upon his abdominal muscles which in turn would push at his lungs decreasing breath.

Breath in, count to three, breath out. Breath in, count to three, breath out. Repeatedly Hoboken reminded himself using the passing windows as markers. The arcing sun appeared to have barely moved from when Father Onassis sent him this way, though at the rate he was going this would be a short hour. At this point, it was not on running that his mind wandered over to break the monotony but the odd carafe he saw with Brother Fedor. What if Desmont found it' That reality positively chilled him to the core, his rival and friend getting credit for something he found first! Oh, there would be Zeus to pay! I should have grabbed the stupid thing and then gone to Brother Fedor. I'm such an idiot!

"Hoboken" Where are you going in such a hurry"," So focused was Hoboken on Desmont finding the strange carafe ran run right past Sister Esprada coming down the stairs! Pitching over in a sudden stop the young initiate actually fell up the stairs. Laid out and dazed, Hoboken shook away the kegs dancing around his head before feeling a cool hand touching his cheek softly. Eyes slowly clear as the scent of cinnamon brushed through his nostrils to find Sister Esprada kneeling over him, dark eyes filled with concern as she moved to help him sit up.

Groaning, Hoboken lay frozen with her face only inches from his own. The soft lines at the corner of her dark eyes curving up hint at years filled with laughter more than worry. Her dark, almost brown skin, so foreign to anything he'd seen in his life spent at the Abbey as to inspire him to see the world beyond its walls.

"You initiates, always in a rush. Really, I must speak with the Fathers about giving you all a day to yourself. Take in the natural beauty about you." Drawn in by her soft, silken drawl, Hoboken barely noticed her arm about his shoulder as his senses overloaded with the feel of his cheek against the source of that sweet smell. A small spiraling locket nestled, carelessly, between a bosom he heard some of the older Initiates speak of wanting to touch like this. Urged by the soft stroke of her delicate hands through his hair, he started to drift all over again before snapping out of it.

Eyes suddenly wide, Hoboken flushed like an ember. Up and away from the Sister bowing profusely for embarrassing himself in front of her, he smoothed out his robes to something presentable. Words babbling from his mouth in such a jumble it sounded like so much chattering of teeth.

"That's quite enough. Don't be embarrassed for enjoying comfort. It is truly all right." Lifting a hand to forestall any further flustering, Sister Esprada smiled gently and lifted his chin with the barest of touches. "Now then, what brings you rushing up my tower as though Father Agrippa were after you with a switch?"

Coughing, Hoboken clasped his hands before his sternum, fingers curled into each other. "Initiate Desmont and I got into a fight, Fathers Onassis and Agrippa broke it up, told us to meet in an hour at the training grounds. Til then I am to help you as needed while Desmont works with Brother Fedor in the distillery getting barrels." Another deep bow nearly set him tumbling down the stairs if not for Sister Esprada's hands rushing to catch his leaning shoulders.

"I can tell right now you wouldn't be much use to me with how you keep falling over. Come, I'll make some tea and you can tell me why the two of you were figh-" Laughing the sister crooked a ring clad finger upwards. "My face is a bit higher Hoboken"I think you've been around Father Onassis too much."

Complexion crimsoned where his eyes widened in utter shame. "I'm so sorry Sister Esprada, I"I"I?" he didn't have any excuses and knew it. It was as if Dionysus held his tongue in a set of smithy forks the way it knotted up unable to produce anything coherent.

"So cute when you're flustered, get you out of this Abbey and you'll be quite the flatterer in your Journeyman days I do believe." The sudden amusement dancing in her dark eyes calmed him a bit, while making his flush spread head to toe all at once. Gently, but firmly, she turned Hoboken round and led him up the last leg of the tower stairs to the large double doors marking the start of her living quarters. Much like the rest of the Abbey the arching portal was made of solid oak with cast-iron hinges and bracing.

Hobo Hoboken

Date: 2010-11-07 00:11 EST
"Not often I get visitors up here anyway; the Fathers seem to prefer sending me messages to come to them. Personally, I think they are afraid to see how I live away from the main throng." Giggling, she fished her key from the loop around her left wrist and undid the lock, pushing it open. "Youth before beauty?" gently ushering him inside.

Where Sister Esprada always dressed in bright colorful raiments and even brighter jewelry her room was rather subdued. Where the rest of the Abbey floors were only bare stone, the sister had covered hers with an elaborate carpeting of shifting colors from pale yellow to summer wheat with splashes of blue that looked oddly like sparrows.

Tapestries clung to the walls, swaying gently with the draft from the few open windows, each showed different women, all in bright colors either dancing or soothing savage beasts with song, though he couldn't see the one obscured by the canopy around the sister's large bed, he gauged around twelve in all.

Her furniture seemed of the same stock as what initiates were given. One decent writing desk stood facing the eastern window, a rolled up carpet of some sort no wider than his shoulders propped by its legs. Two boudoirs stood on opposing walls, the painting on their doors, while meant to reflect upon the design in the carpet, just made Hoboken think of two Monarch butterflies having a staring contest. The only furnishing of true elaborate design to catch his eye came in the form of a silver chest pushed against the footboard of her bed. Its lid embossed with strange scrolling symbols the nature of which he'd never seen in any texts throughout the Abbey save in the few diagrams shown at martial practice. Chicken scratch, Father Onassis had once called such Eastern writing.

"So Fathers Onassis and Agrippa found you and another boy fighting and you were sent to me as punishment?" Not quite understanding the logic, Sister Esprada tapped a decorative nail against her chin. Her words drew Hoboken from nosing too deeply into her special designs. "Erm"I think making us fight in front of the whole Abbey is to be the punishment. I am to help you and Desmont is assisting Father Fedor in the cellars, guess it's to make sure we stay separated until then." Quickly bowing Hoboken held his hands in the resting position of Father Onassis" teaching with fingers interlocked and palms together. "I could not tell you of Father Onassis's, siz" Ses?" Not certain of the proper syntax or contractual form, he stumbled over the proper enunciation. "I could not tell you what the Father's plan may be." "So we're to distract you? Well, I had not thought the venerable Onassis the sort to use women as distractions. There may be hope for him yet!" Spinning away, Sister Esprada moved to her writing desk and lifted the top plate. Rummaging he removed three sealed envelopes, each one no larger than his spread palm. "I had meant to dispatch these later on, but since you are here, I think delivering these will be enough of a task for you. Watching me practice for the end of the Solstice would bore you to tears I'm sure." Breath catches in a dwarfed gasp at the prospect of seeing Esprada dance before any one else. Eyes light up with the life of candles on a Yule tree. "It would be an honor to see you dance!" Shock registers at what he just said, hands clamp over his mouth, face reddening all over again. Face practically on fire, Hoboken turned away from her positive his head would go up in flames.

"Well now! I hadn't thought you such an admirer of dance, young Hoboken," Esprada laughed with a gentle shaking of her head. "I will make you a deal then. Considering time is wasting. You deliver these letters for me, and I'll know when you have"and I will let you watch my performance before anyone else! Now what do you think of that?"

Partially entranced by that lilting drawl, Hoboken slowly turns with vacant, almost distant eyes. Snapping out of it realizing she stopped talking he stares at her awkwardly. "Huh??