RP:Cognac and Brandy

From HollowWiki



Riverbank, West Larket

Apart from the wood-lined stone road that leads to the north and back across the bridge, slightly muddy ground is the only terrain here at the river's edge. The Vibrance is a fast flowing river, and so no plants have a chance in it. Most other rivers are sluggish, algae-ridden, but this river is alive! It rushes and roars, creating swirling vortexes at the bases of the supports for the bridge that leads to the east. The only fish capable of living here are the powerful salmon, and even they struggle against the current. The stumps of trees stretch out for two hundred yards to the west, where the forest abruptly resumes.

Sabrina sat along the river’s edge just down the walk from her home. How she got this far from her doorstep in this condition was not clear, but the smell of her blood was rich. She was on the ground. Having managed a scant bit of clothing she remained close enough to dip her legs in the icy cold water. The tunic hung off her pale form, continuously abandoning a favored shoulder that was peeking out and tattle-tailing its recent injury. The shoulder in whole was a dark bruise; the black base color was swirled with purples and a violent red streak that threatened to expose bare bone. The edges of the bruise were green and yellow, indicating the extensive injury was about one day old. Her face was not too much better, the right side anyway, and as bad as it looked now, was phenomenally better than the previous evening. The swelling had gone down and someone was kind enough to cut her brow and cheek bone so it could bleed out the pressure albeit into her hair. She was clean, at least… probably what she was doing so close to the water in the cold night and soaked to the bone. She was never a creature that met company while covered in her own dirt. She moved stiffly, even now when she had resorted to clutching a half filled glass of amber liquid. The drink appeared to be well-earned. She brought the rim to split lip and stared off across to the other bank. Maybe her invitation would be claimed, maybe it wouldn’t, but she needed to get out of that house.

Tristram came along the riverbank from the east, taking his time, making his presence known well before he reached Sabrina, as she seemed to spook easily. He lifted the bottle she'd send him as he approached, and he sat down on the grass, stretching out there before glancing Sabrina's way. "Well, I think by this point I might be entitled to a name, no? Frethwi wouldn't give it to me, the little bugger." His brows knit in concern as he looked her over, marking the bare shoulder, the myriad of bruising there. "And more importantly, how are you feeling? Can I do anything for you?"

Sabrina smiled and exhaled a sharp but friendly laugh, wiping her bottom lip with the back of her hand. “Did you write this down on your way here?” He was very to-the-point on what he wanted to know. It was endearing. “I feel like I got to be the piñata in Valkor’s wedding.” She eyes him sideways and with much deliberation. “ Sabrina, by the way.” She would have took this moment to relax back on one arm if she could have mustered the abdominal strength to do so. “I think it fair to say I don’t know you.” She was surprisingly calm about that point, but then his proximity was not currently an issue.

Tristram shook his head at Sabrina, chuckling lowly, under his breath. "Good booze is enough to make me venture away from home. I'd just intended to send the flowers, after all, until you lured me out." He grinned sidelong at her. "Sabrina. The mysterious lady does have a name. But we've met before. Just never … formally. You are always hurrying off. I was beginning to take it personally." His grin betrayed any seriousness to that statement. He uncapped the bottle of cognac and took a swig, swilled it in his mouth to appreciate the age. "This is nice."

Sabrina chuckled, an action causing her to grip her right side and wince in pain; not so much pain it would take the smile from her lips but enough to remind her that any chest heaving would result in a similar effect. “I have been told I am indeed alluring.” It was a complete jest. She holds up her glass and joins him in his drink, by which she had drained her glass and placed it on the ground between them. “Dear, Sir. If I haven’t written it down, we simply haven’t met. I would be glad to remedy that now if you would be so kind as to indulge me with your name.” The faithful quill was pulled from behind pointed ear as she awaited his response, should he wish to remain mysterious she would appreciate that irony as well.

Tristram arched an eyebrow at Sabrina, sure he'd given his name before, almost certain of it. Hadn't he spoken it at the table that night in Craughmoyle? Had she fled before then? Not to his recollection. "Tristram?" He answered her, at last, almost in question, as though quizzing her. "Of Gualon?" No, he was sure they'd met. "You made arrangements for me at the Venturil stables -- a horse of my choosing. It was very generous, almost as generous as it was mysterious. We met again at the bar in Craughmoyle. I believe we have a mutual friend, one Ms. Muse."

Sabrina didn’t seem surprised by his reaction, it was common given her ongoing issues. “I don’t believe I know a Ms. Muse… but then I don’t remember a lot of things if I don’t write them down.” She pressed the tip of the quill into the inside crease of her left wrist, a flurry of opal and gold script flooded the epidermal layer as a small rivet of blood snuck over the edge and fell in secret silence from the tip of pointed bone. It was his name, and an elegant bout of gloriously impeccable Elvish things just beneath it. She mentions something about a remembering enchantment she is currently performing but her words are interrupted by an oddly cute expression of childish concentration. She stops, taking a better look at the continuously moving images and text. She recalls his query of the Stables and even with the quill parted from her wrist the flurry of lettering flourishes upon her pale skin.“Oh… Frethwi delivered you a mare.” She blinks up at him, the glowing inks disappearing from the surface of her arm as they did every time she had succeeded in recalling something. “How is she?”

Tristram knew that was bullsh-t. She did know a Ms. Muse. She was cozy with a Ms. Muse. A Ms. Muse was cozy with her. Everyone was very cozy except him. Was she putting him on? Was she one of those mental patients? He was distracted from trying to figure out what was going on when she poked her quill into her arm, like it was an inkwell … and then transfixed when lettering appeared on her arm, familiar in that he knew it to be elvish in nature, but unfamiliar in that he didn't speak or write that beautiful tongue. "Frethwi delivered me a mare," he repeated absently, watching the lettering seemingly dissolve into her skin. He looked up at her. "How is who? Oh. Um. She is lovely, good and strong. What … how are you doing that?" He pointed to her arm before reaching for his bottle, because he probably needed to drink a bit more to understand the ensuing explanation.

Sabrina tapped the quill on her arm and calmly explained her lack of ability to create new memories as well as the enchantment on the quill to help her remember. “It is more like a catalogue, really.” She explained it like she wasn’t even sure of what was wrong with her. “Elders use this method more commonly in remembering wells, but seeing as I can’t very well carry a well with me everywhere I go…” she holds out her arm, palm up “Pretty sure this stays attached. It is a very minor tinker to a very old magic.” She was convinced it was no big deal and she believed she conveyed it rather clearly. She replaces the quill back where she found it and resorts to drinking out of the bottle since Tristram did it. If he did it, it could be argued that this manner was socially acceptable in this case. She can’t shake the feeling though, she had done something wrong. She did finally lean back, easing herself to lay flat on the ground, very slowly, (like grandma slow) to look at the night sky.

Tristram repeated slowly, "Very old magic." Very old magic made him uncomfortable. He wondered if it could interfere with the very old magic stitching this form together for him. He watched Sabrina lie back after taking a drink, and his eyebrows furrowed in concern again. "You need to rest." He flashed her an easy grin, casual, friendly. "I'll come back in a day or two to see you. You can show me the writing trick again." He stood and brushed off his trousers before bending to grab his bottle of cognac. "Thanks again for the liquor. Next time, it's my treat."

Sabrina did need rest, even this tiny interlude took its toll and she decided she would lay here for awhile until she could muster the want to get up. She waved at him… surely he would understand with all the effort she took to get down here she was not just gonna pop right back up. She pointed ‘up’ to a path leading away from the River. “You know where to find me, Tristram.” She sounded tired, very tired, but not at all unpleasant. “Next time I will try to hold you to that.” She smiled, resting her arm over her eyes and letting the bottle hang deftly from her fingers.

Tristram offered Sabrina a neat two-fingered salute before making his way back down the riverbank, drinking steadily from his