What Remains of Lycia [Jule/Harold C]

[Jule]

[Thread takes place directly after the events of I've Got 20 Acres]

Jule took one step inside. Then another. The girl was light on her feet, wary of any and all sounds. Every crackle, every ashen stomp of her boots, every telltale sign that this house was not as stable as it once was. In one hand she gripped the head of a spear so tight that her muddy knuckles were white underneath the outer layer of dirt. Why did Jule hold the blade so tight? Even she couldn't answer that. From the moment the scarred thief stepped through the shattered door, all of the hairs on her neck stood up on end. She could feel the immense sorrow this building had felt, on some odd level. One day life was normal, and the next? Life was gone. She didn't understand thoughts like that, those crazy existential ideas. But it made her all the more uneasy for feeling upset and not being able to express why.

"Haroooold?" Jule called out into the darkness. Man, she wished more than anything that she had a match right about now. "Are you in here, greybeard? There's no way you could've left without me noticing. Uh, well, I ain't sayin' there wasn't, but... I, I wanna talk to you. Not to pass the time like last time but, for real. For real this time, old man. I've, I've even got a present for ya, Harold! So.. puh-please come out.." Jule put a hand to the water slowly rolling down her mud-caked cheeks. Tears? What was she crying for? It wasn't for the old man wallowing in the dust - so if not Harold, then what? Or who?

Jule sniffed. "If, if you don't wanna come out, I can just. I can go, if you're busy." The young girl didn't know where she would go if he turned her down; definitely somewhere, but she had grown bored of aimlessly wandering. That had gotten her into this whole mess in the first place, hadn't it? Just another bad trip, another reminder of how weak the thief was. If she had just stayed with the dancing troupe, maybe none of this would've happened. It was a depressing thought, but it was a thought she couldn't ignore in her current state.

Jule brushed the ash from the floor, and took to a knee with the spearhead in her palm. Even with only the moon's light shining through the scarred roof, she could see how well the old man took care of his things: the scratches were from when she found it, and the rest was nearly. Even if he had never used it for anything other than scratching his back or leveraging crates, the blade's sheen showed just how Harold treated his things. Ironic, considering the place she was looking at it in was permanently destroyed.

[Harold Fleabottom]

Oh, how he had cared. He liked to keep his things in working order. His spear had not been used on anything living for years on end, not since that day so many years ago, yet it still was sharp to the touch. He had prided his whole family on the same. They all were independent in the end with their own thoughts and worries, but Harold had prided himself as a man who took responsibility of his children and their grandchildren. Artyom with problems with the neighbors kids and how he even managed to get the child promised to the neighbor's daughter... Olivia and her problems with speech, and how they got trough that as well.

It all being taken away hurt. He had loved them all equally in so many ways... And then that love had been taken away suddenly. Honestly, he would have wanted to die before they had. Leave this world surrounded by his family and friends, lying down in his bed and cradling his grandchildren's children, if he would have been lucky enough. Olivia was of the age, and she had been negotiated a good marriage too. She would have born some, and he could have died peacefully.

But the fates hated him, didn't they? It could never truly end, all this pain and suffering. Maybe he had done something when he was a baby. Hah! What a thought. Little baby Harold went on and ruined a shrine to the earthmother and was cursed to die alone an old man, forgotten by all those who he had helped and cared for. Because they were dead.

Humor was not really helping the old man's situation as he kept digging a grave with the only thing he had left, his spear. It was slow, it was hard, and he was sure his spear would be absolutely ruined by the end of this little episode... But he had to bury them all. One grave would do, there was not much left after all.

Her voice was weak. He could barely hear it after all of his thoughts bogging down his mind, but he could still hear her. Not her words, but her general voice mumbling something inside. The wall had come down at the back, allowing him to stare inside for a moment. She had to be near the entrance. Had she been there mayhaps twenty minutes earlier she might have seen him still crying and bawling his eyes out at everything he had lost. Maybe he should not call out on her. Let the child go out alone into the world and face all it's challenges...

"'M outside!"

[Jule]

From out of nowhere, a froggy old voice rocked the house.

"'M outside!"

Jule's head perked up. Old man Fleabottom? Monsters didn't talk, and last she checked, Wolf sounded at least one octave higher than that croak. The grandfather's voice sounded entirely different, like he had gargled gravel for the past hour. No, it was him alright. Jule jumped to her feet and tripped her way out of the once-solid door frame, turning every which way. And as she departed, the hardly audible sound of dirt being scraped away from dirt was like a siren's song to her. He was out behind the house... doing what?

Digging graves, no doubt.

Jule shoved that brief thought into the garbage with the rest of Harold's house. He could've been digging to the other side of Elibe, for all she knew. By this point, it didn't sound unreasonable. And if she had been three years younger and a few inches smaller, being carried away from her mother's burial by her father, Jule would've been more than happy to join Fleabottom on his quest to the bottom of the world.

"Greybeard," she called out, rounding the bend to find a ragged figure hunched over with a pole in its hand. "There you are! I thought you... y'know..." Left? Died? Jule wasn't really sure herself. "But, but look here. I've got somethin' for you." Reaching deep into her pocket she procured a spear, broken off at the top of the shaft. She forced it into the old man's hands. Dirty from the urchen's ashen fingers and its trip into the fields, but none the worse for wear. "I couldn't find my sword, but it was a piece of junk anyway." Junk it was, but it was her first and only weapon - so what if she had fastened it from scrap? "I'll just... use my fists from now on," remarked Jule, choking back a sob.

"Uh... um, I know how you feel right now, old man. But I just wanted to let you know that... things are gonna be alright from now on, okay? No matter where you go, there... there will always be someone that cares for you, no matter how awful things get." Jule flipped back a page to that creepy priest from Etruria. She may have been weird, but at least she felt genuine concern for a lying little wretch like Jule. Or the performers, that made space in their close-knit family for her. "And, and I wanted to say that I'm sorry. F-for everything."

Even if Harold didn't share her sentiments, at least she had said her piece.

[Harold Fleabottom]

"Sorry?" He blinked, holding the spearhead in his hand like it was a lifeline of sorts... A lifeline to the past that he had lost during the fire. He was at the very least thankful that she had gone out of her way to find something so important to him. Or maybe she had been trying to raid his house for all it had been of worth and regretted it at the last second. Maybe she was holding something in her robes. A memento so important to him. He could just...

What the hell was he thinking. A cold sweat went down his brow as he just wiped it with his free hand and smiled a tiny bit. She was a dirty urchin, and he was an old gruff farmer. What right did he have in the end about doubting her? She'd have stabbed him in the back already if she wanted to steal from him. While he was imposing and big and still muscular, his old bones and heart would fail under him after such a surprise. One strike to the neck with that spearhead from her and he would be out to join the rest of his family.

So he took down to a knee, did his best smile he could... And gave her a good pat on the shoulder. "Lil' Jule, sometim's things just aren' gonna be alright, yeah?" He chuckled sadly, almost on the verge of tears again. But he'd keep strong for the little girl. Gods, someone had to be the mature one and he wished to be the one, instead of the small girl who had been abandoned by the troupe. "Ain' got no one to care, yeah? They all down there, in'th pit. They're dead, m'wife, m'son, m' grandchildren and m'whole damn past life."

He rose up back to a standing position, hand resting against his chin. "So." He began to dump in the remains of his family and into the grave. He would have wanted for it to be a bit deeper. Deep enough to completely forget about them forever... But no depth was deep enough for such a wish. He'd have to make do with this. It didn't take that long to kick down all the dirt to cover the unfortunate remains that had been burned and twisted by the fire. He then spat on the grave and looked back to her.

"We need t' move before the sun comes up. I've got one more job t' do." He looked down and shook his head. "An' tha's getting ya back to ya family o' sorts. Or ya troupe, whichever ya prefer. 'Ll take us a while, but they should be headin' for a town near here. From there we jus' ask for directions and follow the trail. They have t' stop for a few days at all places, while at most we'll have a day's stop at 'em all. Once I get ya there, I'll..." What would he do? What could he say?

He knew he was going to die.

[Jule]

The little wisp shook her head, matted blue hair flying every which way. "No."

"No, no no. You... you're not allowed to give up like that, old man," sobbed Jule. Though admittedly, lying to him about her family probably wouldn't have done anything for her instead of "my mom's dead and my dad's an alcoholic". Perhaps Fleabottom hadn't even believed her original story; he wasn't a teething old geezer despite his claims. Transients like her had a penchant for lying. Double-crossing. Theft. She was a thief, and she was a liar, but she wasn't a double crosser.

"I've known too many people that gave up. Ma couldn't handle living, and, even i-if he's still alive, neither could Pa. Beggars in the streets, and refugees in the roads... I've seen them all, and I gave up too. But I...I gave up "the old Jule", y'know? The old past life. Ma died lookin' at the face of a kid. Eheheh, I bet she wouldn't even know who I was now." Was she still deeply upset? Yes. Would she keep being upset? Probably. Was she about to cry? She was crying right now. Big globby tears had been streaming down her face. But Jule refused to wipe them away as they rolled across her cheeks and dripped from her shirt. It was dark anyway, and she was in good company. If there was ever a better time to cry, it would be now.

"D-Don't put your hand on me," she spat. "You ain't my fam'ly, and I... I don't need someone like you tryin' ta make me feel bad for not lettin' myself be a failure no more! My new family's gone! My old family's gone! Your family's gone! So what? Make a new one, keep moving forward! You don't give up! THAT'S HOW WE MOVE FORWARD, YOU OLD DOPE!" Jule feebly shoved Harold away. The young swordswoman stumbled over to the side of the wall that wasn't caved in, lowered herself to the floor, and started sobbing deeply, uncontrollably into her shirt. She had come here expecting worlds, yet here the girl was, bawling her eyes out. All she wanted was to do something for Old man Harold, anything. Even if it was just to put a coat on his shoulders, to let him know the world hadn't ended yet.

What would her father from years past - the very man who had taught her not to lose faith, not to lose hope - say to her?

[Harold Fleabottom]

He retracted his hand back like it had been poison upon the girl's shoulders, staring onto his palm. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it. No sharp thorns, nothing that could hurt her in such a way. Was he a monster for wanting to move on and try to be useful in some form, like getting her to her family and group? He didn't see the connection, but then again... He was just a farming simpleton, the type to not understand the bigger picture too well until it was showed into his face like a huge damn mistake it was.

Eventually he gathered the courage to walk back up to her, a rather sorry look upon his face. "Jule, lissen' to me. I ain't giving up on livin', I'm jus'... Ya know. I don' have many chances in this world anymore. M' family's in that there grave, and all my other family is dead too, see. I don't plan on offin' myself or anythin' either if ya think of it in that light either." He shrugged his shoulders. Maybe he had been thinking of such things, but for now his mission would be to try and calm her first and foremost.

"'m too old to make a new family. Too, too old... But I wan' try and help ya. It's the least I can do to ya after I roped ya into such a big mess outta the blue, yeah? At the very leas' let me get you to the nearest town with some supplies. I jus'... I jus' wanna help ya." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, a cold sweat still running down it. He had not done a good job with this speech and he knew it, but he had to try and say something to her.