Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 17, 2015 11:46:17 GMT -6
Johanna had finished it. It seemed too good to be true, but the fourth and final serial of The Ostian Patient was done! She’d been in Carahhae for a little over two months now, but as she left the messengers outpost after dropping off the final draft for Hank to send to his publisher, she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. She couldn’t be sure if the final installment would do well – she’d killed off one of the two lovers, who according to the gossip she heard from Hank was the more popular of the two – but at this point she didn’t mind either way. Being done meant she could move to the next big idea. And with the next big idea, came the next travelling adventure too.
Just a few days earlier the woman had posted a few requests for a guide to usher her through the mountains, through Sacae, and into Bern, which was the setting for her next idea. It would be another war romance, of course – after all, Hanne Clark was known for them – but this time, the focus would be on the Bernese rebellion against Ilia’s occupation. The idea she had likely wouldn’t sell well, if at all, with the Ilian courts, but she had a feeling the courts of the Lycian League would love the high-stakes, forbidden romance.
A few offers had come her way, though Johanna had rejected the lot of them, not feeling the person was the right fit for such a long journey. Most of them were well prepared men, more than knowledgeable about the dangers and challenges of the path, but they didn’t seem to be very interested in actual companionship. Johanna had to be able to talk to them along the way, and somehow they all seemed so… blasé.
While there weren’t any inquiries today, Johanna did have a few outlines she needed to prepare for the new serial, so she’d know the kinds of questions she’d need to ask, as well as the people she needed to ask them to. Hanne Clark never wrote a novel without doing his research, of that there was no doubt. A habit born of Johanna’s days in the convent, to be sure, but one that was appreciated by some of her more precocious readers.
For once Johanna decided to take to one of the local taverns to do her work, a small place called the Wailing Wyvern. It wasn’t the quietest of places, but it would work for at least a few hours. One of her ads was also posted there, so maybe she’d be lucky and someone else might come looking for the owner of the ad.
The woman sidled in quietly, pleased to find the circular main room was relatively empty, save for a few lonely men nursing pints of ale. The distinct smell of hops and malt nearly overwhelmed her, causing Johanna to wrinkle her nose. She preferred abstaining from ale unless there was no clean water, but tavern stews were some of the best she’d ever had, which was why she always ended up in one somehow. She frowned momentarily before whisking to a back corner table, pulling a blank leather-bound notebook from her satchel along with a piece of graphite as she sat down.
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Post by Renoir on Jun 17, 2015 12:07:56 GMT -6
"Well, why not take the job, honey? It'll give you something to do. Besides, the troubles of Bern have weighed heavily on you for far too long." Renoir's mother nursed, patting her 25 year old son on the head as if he were twelve again. Renoir sighed, smiled, placing a few fingers on his forehead as if he were frustrated. True, he hadn't had much to do in Bern-- with the rebellion going on, and with the Ilian forces in high number, he couldn't do much for anyone, so he had come home. If the Ilian military even suspected he had been aiding the Bernese citizens, he would be accused of high treason and very likely murdered after a trial. What a curious mess, the young man thought.
He stood, pushing in the chair at the dinner table. "Perhaps it'll take my mind off things," the young man mused, his voice calm and sweet, considerate of his mother's words. He nodded to his father, to his mother, and reached for his cloak on the hanger by the door. "Thanks for letting me stay for a few days, Mother. Father." He smiled at them, and his mother had just finished saying that it was no problem to let the man stay in his own home before he shut the door. Pausing for a moment outside his household doorstep, Renoir took in the snow, the wind, the chilly air, and breathed happily. This was home. It could be desolate at times, but this was home. He loved it that way. But his mother had been right-- he needed to find something else to do. He pulled his cloak over him, neglecting the hood, so that he might enjoy the weather as it whipped his wild, white hair across his face and down his back. His bow and quiver behind him, he set off down the hill towards town. The last posting he'd seen about the offer to transport he had ignored, but perhaps if he went back to the tavern he could pick it up again. He sighed, smiled, and continued on his way.
Finding the tavern with relative ease despite the thick snow, Renoir stepped inside and nodded immediately to the barkeep. They had been longtime friends. He hung his cloak on the peg by the door and looked around. Relatively empty, which he thought was strange for an early-evening encounter. Usually it saw more people than this. The young man stood tall, clearing his throat with enough volume to get the attention of the room, and asked without regard to the privacy of the situation. "Would the person who requested travel through the mountains please stand?" He looked around the room, letting his honey-coated voice permeate the relative silence. It was an awkward way to introduce the issue, sure, but efficient. He was concerned with efficiency-- chitchat about the issue could be made later.
He walked towards the barkeep, eyes fixed on the bar, while still addressing the room. "I'll buy you a drink before we set off," he finished, smiling at the barkeep and rapping two fingers against the wooden bar as he sat down. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering what tonight would bring him.
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Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 17, 2015 18:08:07 GMT -6
Well, this would be interesting. Johanna had penned part of the outline for the first serial, and already she was projecting needing to speak with soldiers on both sides of the rebellion conflict, villagers from towns destroyed by the rebellion, and one Rebellion leader. How she would do all of that was still a mystery to her for now, but she'd have plenty of time to send messages ahead and try to arrange some meetings. She'd have to be careful approaching the Bernese, what with being Ilian and all, but she'd make it work. She always did somehow, after all.
Staring at the outline as she began working through the next chapter's structure, Johanna almost didn't respond when she heard the dulcet voice break the relative silence of the tavern. That's me, she thought as she penned another line, but she made no move to stand, didn't look up at all until it clicked. "Oh!" she said, closing the leather journal and jumping to her feet. She hadn't seen exactly who spoke, but she did notice the new man in the room: tall, thin, and long white hair. That must be him. As he sat the bar and offered whoever his employer was a drink before they left, she tilted her head while raising an eyebrow; he acted as if he already had the job.
Shuffling to the bar, Johanna took a seat next to the man and smiled, placing the closed journal on scratched wooden surface in front of her. She didn't speak immediately, noticing the man's eyes were shut, but that couldn't stop the curious woman for long. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass. The ale's too strong for me here," she chuckled.
"You know, it's pretty bold to assume you have, or even want the job before meeting me," Johanna continued, adjusting her small satchel on her shoulder. "What if I'd been a criminal, or a murderer?" Her statement was a open-ended and bit odd, but it wasn't out of place for the odd-looking woman. None of the other men who'd inquired for the job had approached with the assumption that they'd get the job right off the bat. She was curious to know why this man had.
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Post by Renoir on Jun 17, 2015 18:25:45 GMT -6
He let out a light, smooth chuckle as the woman sat down next to him. Opening his eyes, the man didn't turn his head, but swiveled his eyes over to the woman who spoke. No wonder she needed help-- she looked slender, maybe not dainty, but not battle-hardened. Then again, perhaps he didn't either, and yet he assuredly was. He let the chuckle develop into a full laugh as he eventually turned his head to look at her. "The ale is too strong. Barkeep? A water, if you will," he said kindly, sliding the man a few shiny gold coins. "That should be a little lighter on the pallet, no?"
As she asked him about assuming that he had the job, the man was genuinely surprised. He raised his eyebrows, an amused look on his face taking form, and addressed the woman again, flashing his bright smile at her as he did. "My love, if you were a criminal or a murderer, I would already be dead. Criminals don't often advertise their market of killing." He turned away from her, and the smile faded. He looked unamused, which was most often his facial expression. "If you had any other options, you and I wouldn't have met here tonight, would we?" He slowly brought his head back over to hers, appraising her through cold, bright eyes. She had to be Ilian. He hadn't seen her around, but having lived in Bern for so long it didn't surprise him.
Renoir took his glass in his hand, swirling it around gently, watching the liquid and the few ice cubes move around, dancing in the clear mug. "Renoir Monet. For all intents and purposes, I love to travel. You need to travel. Looks like we can both benefit, hm?"
He smirked again, taking a sip of his ale. It was disgusting, but by his face you might never know. He reacted the same to ale both good and weak. He figured this might be a fun encounter. There was always something to be learned in a new soul, he reminded himself.
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Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 17, 2015 19:50:09 GMT -6
"Of course, thank you," Johanna politely replied as the man ordered her a more palatable drink. She watched as the barkeep moved to pour her a small cup of water from a pitcher before bringing it back to them, setting the wooden cup in front of the woman. Curling her lithe fingers around its rounded edges, she lifted the cup to her lips, taking a small sip of the lukewarm liquid before looking back to her potential guide.
The woman couldn't help but laugh as the man addressed her question, though her eyes slipped from focus and mind drifted away from the actual topic of conversation as she mused about an advertising criminal. Sure, not advertising actual crimes or murders, but it wasn't all that unreasonable to think someone with ill intent might try to coax out potential victims with a travelling ad like hers. They'd be travelling through uninhabited land already, and if the ads were in different cities it could be hard to be tracked. Johanna shook her head. Ack, she didn't like the idea of that. There was a reason she didn't write horror or mystery.
Eyes focusing on the man again as he introduced himself, Johanna beamed despite the man's relatively stoic expression. He was already much more interesting than the other men she'd met with. From his answer it seemed like he might have a bit of spunk and confidence in him, which was exactly what everyone else had been lacking. Yes, he would be perfect as her guide, she just knew it.
"Yes it does," Johanna laughed as the man smirked into his drink, taking another sip of her own "I'll admit, I'm not much of a fighter, so as long as you're okay with that, I think you're just the right fit." She was not hard to convince once she made a decision about something, and something just felt right about the man being her traveling guide. That, and she was still curious about him. Much like she'd assumed about Synkkis in the tea shop, a man who looked as interesting as him had to have a story worth telling. He might hate her by the end of all this because of it, but she'd find a way to draw it out. She always did.
"Do you think now is the right time to leave, or should we wait until morning?" The young woman wasn't entirely sure how far from the mountains they were - likely at least a day of travel - but she did know the roads around town had been plagued by all sort of highwaymen and robbers. That was the unfortunate side effect of most of the military guard being moved down to help with the Bern conflict.
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Post by Renoir on Jun 17, 2015 20:11:59 GMT -6
"You know," he said, glancing back at her as if he were looking at a small child who was excited about something, "they say water renews the soul and revitalizes the spirit. Legends say it was originally created not to sustain us, necessarily, but to give us life in a different sense," he swirled his glass again, deciding he was done with the drink for the night. "to bring us out into the light of the world and the liquid spirit of what the sweet earth can offer us. A luxury, if you will." He smiled at her slightly, still facing forward with his eyes trained on her. "Perhaps that's why it comes from the earth, and not from man. You see?"
He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and appraised the woman. The same stoic look from before on his face, he studied her entire figure. She wasn't a fighter. The way she was dressed suggested either traveler, tourist, or unassuming mage. She could have been a lady of the church. Unlikely she knew how to wield weapons. Probably five-eight in height, or thereabout. Under her clothes she probably looked pretty great, but the clothes hid it well. He turned away from her after his five second appraisal, half-impressed, half-excited. He wondered what she did for a living as he looked into his half-empty glass.
With an air of confidence, but not arrogance, he addressed her again. "I knew I was the right fit quite as soon as I saw your poster, my dear," he smiled a toothy smile, looking over to her, turning his head to face her this time. "I just wasn't ready to accept it. Fate, you know. Wouldn't have worked out if I had come any sooner. But anyhow..." he trailed off a moment, looking around the bar. There was an inn upstairs. Usually there always were, and this one was particularly okay. Not great, not terrible. That was most inns, in Renoir's experience.
"We'll wait until morn." He nodded at the barkeep; a signal that the two had perhaps exchanged before, from the way he understood it. "Your room is paid for. 106. I'm 107. However," he stopped, a slight upward inflection in his tone. "It's proper to introduce yourself to a stranger." He finished sweetly, looking at her differently than he had before. His personality shined through his deep blue eyes. He put the key in her hand and folded her fingers around it.
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Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 18, 2015 12:23:27 GMT -6
Johanna stared inquisitively as the man mused aloud. If she were any other person, she might think the thought was superfluous, unnecessary in their conversation and out of place. But Johanna simply sat in amazement, almost not believing he’d even spoken. She wished she could have plucked the words from the air and written them on a page the exact way he’d spoken them. Who was this man, with his insightful, honeyed words?
Her focus had slipped again, which was apparent the moment she shook her head with her eyes squeezed shut before opening them again quickly with a blushed smile. “Ah, but what of the celestial drops that bless us from the sky? It isn’t of the earth or man, but the heavens above. Surely a common luxury, one not appreciated until it’s taken from you.”
She could have continued in her musing aloud and drifted off but she stopped, listening as the man responded to her previous question. Maybe their meeting had been meant to be as he said; it certainly felt like it, the way he spoke of Fate having him take the job. Whoever or whatever had a hand in their meeting, Johanna was glad to be done with searching for a travelling partner, as she wanted to make it to Bern as soon as possible. Considering how many different people she wanted to talk to, Johanna had her work cut out for her on this project.
Glad to hear they would depart in the morning, Johanna laughed as he asked for an introduction. She hadn’t told him her name, had she? “Ah, apologies, I’m Johanna,” she smiled airily, her skin tingling as the man closed the key to her room in her palm, reminding her of how she had held Synkkis’s hand in the tea shop. Oh, what an interesting interaction that had been, and how she hoped this man would prove as intriguing. In a way, he already had.
Johanna lifted the key that had been placed in her hand, examining it between her thumb and forefinger. While the sun had just begun to set outside, retiring to a room for the night sounded like a fine idea, even if it was just to continue working on her outline. A bit of privacy was sounding like a fine idea before they set off together, which would afford neither of them privacy until they at least reached another inn. Even then, private rooms could be expensive, and while Johanna had a decent amount of coin for the trip, her coin pouch was not overflowing.
“Since you were so gracious to rent me a room, Renoir, I think I’ll retire until morning,” Johanna said as she rose, her mind again drifting to her outlines and trying to remember Renoir’s words. “The earlier we can set off, the better I say. The daylight is a precious thing, not to be wasted, especially here,” she laughed; from what she’d heard from travelers, the days seemed shorter and nights longer in Ilia.
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Post by Renoir on Jun 18, 2015 12:39:13 GMT -6
"Johanna," he breathed the name, almost as a sigh, but more fluid, more constructed, with more intention. He smiled at her through closed, happy eyes. "Charmed."
He laughed as he stood from his seat, sliding the barkeep another few coins and winking at the man. They'd been friends for some time; he deserved more than his regular cut for always knowing what Renoir wanted to drink, and for always putting up with whatever antics he had. Still, years later, neither knew the other's name. How quaint, the man thought.
Turning back to his new friend, he rested his hand on his chin, covering his mouth while he thought. She was right. "Precious indeed," he went on, facing away from her again, studying the rack of pristine glasses that adorned the back wall of the establishment. He wondered if he would ever see anything quite as beautiful as Ilian sunsets and sunrises. They were one of his favorite things to imagine, and far and away his favorite things to experience. Perhaps this woman was like that. He couldn't be sure until he got to know her better, and for some reason, that prospect, for once, seemed quite worthwhile. He almost smiled to himself, but stopped it just short. Standing, he walked slightly past the woman and placed his hands deep in the pockets of his tunic. He looked toward the stairs, towards his room.
"The way the sun peeks over the horizon of the snow-capped mountains is like the first eye-opening gaze of a lover visually reuniting with the love next to her in bed the following morning. It is magical. Short-lived, beautiful, and incomparable to anything else. It's not something I wish to take for granted, much like I do the rain," he flashed her a smile and his eyes met her again, referencing her previous comment, as he began to climb the stairs. He was gone as quickly as he'd come.
Finding his room, the same room he always picked, was a pleasure. Stepping inside, the man removed his gear from his waist and back and set it next to him, on the other side of the end table. Through the other wall, Johanna would soon be doing the same. As the man laid down to go to sleep, he thought about her words. The rain. Sure, the water from the earth had its legends... But the sky? Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he did take it for granted. He smiled gently as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
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He had slept well, but Renoir was always an early riser. He bothered very little to fix the wild, white mane on his head. He donned his clothes, his gear, and quietly slipped down the stairs. The bar, of course, was empty now. It was no earlier and no later than five or six hours past midnight from the following day. Perfect, he thought to himself.
He stepped outside and placed himself firmly in one of the wooden rockers outside the inn. He had a wonderful view of the sunrise. Folding his arms, the man sat and waited for Johanna, watching as the sun kissed the top of the horizon, wishing he had some way to capture the moment.
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Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 18, 2015 21:14:56 GMT -6
The quirky-looking brunette had tried to sleep through the night, but her mind was racing, filled to the brim with ideas and musings she had to put to paper. For every thirty or so minutes Johanna slept, she’d spent another hour and a half furiously filling her blank journal and thinking about the journey ahead of them. Oh, how could she be idle with such a road in front of her! How could she waste the night sleeping when there was so much to be done, so much to be said?
With each passing moment the woman was more and more wakeful, so much so that she could barely contain her excitement as she paced the room, still contemplating the myriad of thoughts bouncing about in her restless mind as she waited for the sun to peek over the horizon. Johanna hoped Renoir hadn’t heard her incessant pacing, only because she didn’t want him to delay their travels. The cold and excitement for the trip ahead would do plenty to keep her alert.
At multiple points in the night, Johanna had broken from her own reveries to contemplate Renoir’s few strangely entrancing musings. No simple guide spoke or even thought in phrases like that, at least not in her experience. They were usually creatures of habit, their minds set on paths that had been carved into Elibe’s breast for what seemed like ages. But this man, he spoke of what most Ilians saw as ‘there,’ and brought beauty to them. It was as if when he spoke, Hank or Harriet spoke through him. His words were those of an artist, an aesthete, not a simple traveller’s companion. Which made him all the more interesting, and warranting of Johanna’s usual barrage of questioning. Well, at some point at least. She didn’t need him abandoning her in the night.
As soon as the morning sun greeted the horizon, Johanna packed her small bag and donned her heavy fur coat, stepping from her room and leaving the key inside the door handle. She paused for a moment, laying her hand flat on the surface of the wood with her eyes closed as she silently thanked whatever powers might be for the blessing of a new day.
As soon as she finished, Johanna rushed down the stairs, eyes wide and brilliantly beaming as she burst out of the entrance. Her vivaciousness was something an onlooker might scoff, especially native northmen, but with a new day and the road to bern ahead of them, how could she contain her excitement? She was leaving Ilia for the first time, after all!
Spotting the wild-looking man rocking to and fro on the porch, Johanna approached, though her eyes were focused on the orange and blue hued skies; some how, it was as if her whole body was smiling, not just her lips. “‘Let every dawn be to you as the beginning of life, and every setting be to you as its close.’” An old saying her mother used to say to her and her siblings, but Johanna tried to take the meaning to heart. The woman breathed in the crisp, cool morning air, the breath of a new day.
"Ready to go?"
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Post by Renoir on Jun 18, 2015 21:36:34 GMT -6
Renoir turned, raising an eyebrow and cracking a slight smile as the woman burst through the threshold. How quaint, he thought. She was so excited to leave, and the happiness was a bit contagious, though Renoir made no special effort to let her know. He smiled at her dimly, as if to express that he thought her amusement was cute, and turned back out to the sunrise. He chuckled a bit, helpless to stifle it, as she spoke. "How beautifully morbid," he said half-heartedly. Every day was supposed to be a new beginning, and yet Renoir often felt the weight of his mistakes upon his shoulders with every sunrise, and the addition of more with every sunset. His sins were great, both in magnitude and in number. Yet, with this woman, he was able to rest a little easier than his normal days allowed him to. He wasn't unhappy, necessarily, but he was self-aware.
He addressed her again. The morning suited this woman so well; he was enticed by it. "I'd say that if I treated every sunset--" he turned back out to the sun as it peaked over the mountains now "--as the last one I might ever see, I might become too sad at the thought of missing the next earth-shattering sunrise." He smiled, standing up now, and brushed his shoulders off. "To think I might never see this again is perhaps the saddest thought to have ever crossed my mind." He spoke as if he might've been speaking to himself, or else speaking to someone not there. They were inner musings, to be sure, but the woman made him think about the prospect of losing sight of this.
Changing subjects without necessarily thinking about it, Renoir turned to the woman as he walked down the wooden steps in front of the inn. "You shall be completely blown away by the beauty of the Sacaean nighttime sky, chèrie," he said happily. "Yes, let's go. No sense in delaying an adventure, I don't think."
He thought about her words as he walked. He wondered if she was a painter, or perhaps a writer, or a sculptor. She didn't look the type to be average, he knew that much. Whether it was her implacable beauty that defied the average stereotype or her bright personality, he wasn't sure. But he did sense something off-- in a good way-- about this woman. Now wasn't the time to ask, he didn't think. Not yet. Perhaps later.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, and without looking back to her to address her face to face, Renoir couldn't stay his curiosity. "You know normally I wouldn't ask this, I might only do it and expect nothing, but," he paused for a moment, but didn't stop walking. "why Bern, of all places? It's quite dangerous." He played the role of an uninvolved stranger quite well-- this woman didn't need to know what he had seen, or that he lived in Bern under the nose of all the action, but he was genuinely curious as to why someone would want to be there now. Everyone knew about the rebellion, especially Ilians.
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Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 19, 2015 6:52:41 GMT -6
Morbid wouldn’t have been the word she used to describe the old words, but Johanna knew the idea of living every day as if you wouldn’t wake the next day wasn’t the most appealing thought for most. But if there was anything living in the convent had taught her, it was that life was a fleeting thing, something to be protected and revered. If every day was meant to be her lifetime, then, those days were even more sacred, and they demanded the respect and attention they deserved. It was an idyllic thought, to be sure, but Johanna was a woman of sentimentalist attitudes, after all.
“It’s all a matter of perspective, Renoir,” Johanna replied to his doleful thought, her own cheery smile adopting a hint of sadness, as if his words had absorbed into her, filling her with sympathy for the man. Someone who spoke like had known hardship in his time on this Earth, at least in Johanna’s experience, more than most men had. To cling to the Earth was to cling to something ever-changing, fleeting, and ultimately impermanent.
As he stood, Johanna looked up to him for a moment, before motioning out to the glorious sight. “See, every morning, on this morning, that is the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen in my life. Tonight, the sunset will be the same. There’s no use in fretting over what you might miss when the beauty you seek is already there for you to see. You just have to be open to looking at it in a different way.”
And with that, the adventure began! Johanna beamed gaily as the two walked, her mind momentarily calm as she looked over the quiet, sleepy town which would soon be filled to the brim with all kinds of interesting people. She was sad to leave Carahhae, but also happy to have known it for the time she had. She would fondly remember who she’d met here, but it was time for her to see more of the world she was so desperate to learn about.
After a little while of walking, Johanna began to wonder about her companion again, but just as she began to think of what she might ask him, the man posed a question of his own to her. She could have laughed - she thought this man to be an Ilian, what with his stoic disposition, but northmen were never inquisitive, at least in her experience. It was the same thought she’d had when she spoke with Synkkis in Gam’s little tea-shop. Oh, how she’d miss that intoxicating aroma.
But why Bern? Johanna didn’t like to lie, but she didn’t exactly want to tell the truth either. She tried to find the best way to describe her interest in the country without showing her hand. “I know, right? The rebellion still rages on, but here I am, making the troubled land my destination.” Drawing her coat a bit closer around her, she smiled contentedly. “I must admit, I’ve never been outside of these borders, and as I start to grow older I don’t have time to wait for the time to be ‘right.’ I want to see Elibe and all its beauty. Bern is not the most visually beautiful of places, but can you blame me for wanting to try and see what might have once been, what could be once the rebellion is over?” She hadn’t even touched on how she wanted to speak with everyone she could about the rebellion and living in Bern, but he would know that soon enough. For now, she believed that answer would suffice.
“But what of you?” Johanna asked in reply, “You know it’s a dangerous place, yet you’re still willing to guide me into the lion’s den. Do you have reason to go to Bern?”
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Post by Renoir on Jun 19, 2015 7:37:13 GMT -6
As he walked, he couldn't push her words out of his head. Perspective? How romantic, the man thought with an inner scoff. Her words were, by no means, weightless, and yet his first instinct was to push them aside, assuming she didn't know what she was talking about. But perhaps she did. In his line of work, and for most of his life, he believed that if one lived life expecting that the current day could be the last, one became careless, weak, and finished. Time was finite, but life was not. That was what Renoir had decided. He looked down at his feet as he walked down the mountain pass, watching to sun crest in the sky, indicating that it was a touch past noon by this point.
Perspective. Hm, interesting. The man mused to himself.
Lost in his thoughts, he had almost missed the woman's response and then her question back to him. He kept walking, but narrowed his eyes, flashing them to the side where he couldn't seen her were she not a touch closer to his side. He didn't believe her. His first reaction was, typically, to wait for proof before believing someone's words-- he'd been lied to many a time, and was fairly accustomed to hiding his own tracks as well, but he didn't expect such behavior from someone so jolly. Wanting to see Bern as a means of traveling the world was fishy enough, but for an Ilian... It would be as a terrorist walking into a hostage camp to paint portraits. They would shun her. Bern wasn't even that pretty, save tor the mountains on its border that looked powerful and stood strong over the test of time. Was that it? Was she genuine? He kept walking, trying to connect dots, but finding no starting point from which to connect. Her answer seemed too premeditated, too stock, too common. There was more here, Renoir was sure of it. His analytical mind pieced apart her answer in silence, wondering if she was really who she said she was. Perhaps she was on the run from something.
Renoir stopped moving for a moment, turning back to her with a hand on his hip and a raised eyebrow, curious, and stunned. He was going to let it go, but now he couldn't. He stared her down, his blue eyes narrowing a bit, almost angrily if not for the wild tinge of curiosity in them. Perhaps she wasn't lying. She was about the same age as he, by his estimation, and she... had never left the country? Ever?
"Yes," he joked, a smile on his face as he turned back around, continuing to walk steadily, slowly. "I can blame you. I'd say it's no place for a girl like you," he hadn't placed any audible significance on the phrase, but it was there. He knew it was there. A girl like her truly didn't need to be in Bern... Surely she had other motives. Renoir considered the idea that he could be a hired killer, and not yet know it. That would be preposterous, but still possible. He weighed his options. He could turn back now to avoid whatever he was getting into, but he was having far too much fun. A wry smile that Johanna wouldn't have seen drew itself across his slender lips.
"Though I must say," he said definitely, amusement heavy in his voice. "If it's the world you're after, it is my honor to be your guide. She's a rare, unrefined, powerful beauty, the earth. Majesty knows no bounds, even among her edges." He looked out to the horizon as he walked, taking in the blue hue of the sky. There were only a few clouds out today. "She was made in perfect beauty."
At first, the man simply ignored the woman's question for a few seconds, but decided that she wasn't the type to give up easily, especially considering her increasingly-apparent inquisitive nature. He sighed quietly, waiting for her to catch up to him so the two could walk side by side. "What can I say?" he said, cocking his head to the side, his eyes happy. "I live for life's dangerous, bright moments."
He didn't like lying. But omitting the truth, by his estimation, was different than lying. Perhaps this woman shared that sentiment.
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Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 26, 2015 22:06:14 GMT -6
A girl? Why, Johanna couldn’t remember the last time someone had called used that particular word to describe her. Though the man clearly meant his words as a chiding warning, Johanna couldn’t help but break into a childish grin. Okay, so maybe she did act a bit more carefree and untroubled than other women of her age, but it didn’t make her a ‘girl’ in the sense that Renoir had meant. How was it his place to tell her it was no place for her, when there were women and children who called Bern their home? They didn’t belong in the war-torn country, but they also didn’t have any choice but to remain.
The woman smiled as the man spoke of the earth, and she had no doubt what he said was anything but true. All her life, all Johanna wanted to do was see what the world had to offer, past the never-ending Ilian ranges. Ilia was beautiful in so many respects, but there was an entire world that begged to be experienced. Maybe the man couldn’t understand, but she could find beauty in anything - thankfully something that her time in convent had instilled in her. Even the most broken of places had a tale to tell, even if it was a sad one. And Johanna wanted to be the one to tell the world.
A frown spun curled her lips downward as he gave a vague, evasive answer to her inquiry, though she quickly pushed it away as she quickly shuffled up beside him. Johanna looked up at the man, but his expression was still stoic, still guarded. She wondered what the man could be hiding behind those azure eyes, wondered what type of prodding she’d need to do to get the man to be a bit more open with her. It would take time, no doubt, but lucky for them they had plenty of that to spare for now.
Still, Johanna was a curious sort, and she couldn’t let his answer slide. “Oh, come now, didn’t you say this had been Fate? Besides, a man like you doesn’t seem like a simple thrill-seeker.” The brunette smiled up at her guide; maybe he’d begun to pick up on it if he hadn’t already, but Johanna wasn’t the type to let something that piqued her interest go very easily.
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Post by Renoir on Jun 27, 2015 14:43:52 GMT -6
Renoir studied the woman for a moment as a frown drew itself upon her. It was unbecoming of her, Renoir thought, to frown. As they walked, he ignored her for a few moments again, studying the sky instead. He wondered why she cared so much-- after all, she had hired a guide, not a therapist or a friend. Turning his head back away from the woman so she couldn't see, he smiled once more. He was relatively nonplussed by her comments, but something about them seemed uncannily powerful in their ability to make him think and wonder about what comprised this woman. He was curious about what made her tick, but as he was not one to pry-- or at least not often-- he let it go, deciding that if indeed fate had ordained their meeting, he would come to know in time. And time, fortunately, had no limits, at least as far as the archer was concerned. He was a man of simple pleasures, of simple living, of simple understanding. Or so he thought. Perhaps he wasn't.
Before he finally addressed her, the two had made it to a small cliff clearing on the mountainside that gave way to the forest below and the plains beyond it. They were getting close to the end of their day's journey, and Renoir knew they would need to make camp before dark, lest they get caught in a rushed attempt to set things up and be attacked by the wild creatures of the mountain. He knew them well-- had hunted them all his life, and knew that without proper preparation, it was easy for unsuspecting travelers to deal with unwanted guests.
He stopped, just short of the edge of the cliff, watching the sun as its bottom curve just barely began to grace the horizon line, turning the green fields orange, the sky a brilliant amber that reminded him much of Bern. "Fate is a fickle lady," he said, grinning at his new companion, his arms at his hips. He reached one hand up, examining his nails through what seemed to be uncaring eyes. "Perhaps she lead me to you because you are my dangerous, bright moment waiting to happen." He turned back to her, his wild blue eyes meeting hers as if he were studying an animal at work in its natural habitat, as if he had some scientific understanding to be gained from watching her simply exist.
He turned away and sat at the edge, letting one of his legs hand over the drop that would most certainly kill him, should he fall. "But if not, maybe it is suffice to say that you're wrong, and I am a simple thrill-seeker. Are we so uncommon, lady Johanna?" He offered a genuine laugh, amused with himself. She knew nothing about him. He could be whatever he wanted, he could be whatever she wanted-- and neither would ever know the truth, were it not for the demons weighing down on his slender shoulders. He could play the fool, the daredevil, the mercenary, the acrobat, the noble-- he could do anything. But what of her? What could she play? He wondered, more curious than he knew he should be.
"It might be time to set up camp soon, love of mine."
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Johanna
Acolyte
The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Posts: 26
Profession: Hopelessly Romantic Novelist
Affinity: Light
Profile: Click Here
OoC Alias: Charlie
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Post by Johanna on Jun 27, 2015 23:09:05 GMT -6
The strong and silent type, huh? Johanna sighed as Renoir seemingly ignored her question, leading them on their hike quietly instead of answering. Well, they’d only met a few hours earlier, so the woman supposed she could let it pass for now. Her eyes slipped to the vegetation that had started to spring up now that they’d started moving along the path up the mountain’s base. The lowland layer had been virtually clear of any tree-cover, but now breaking into the foothills, conifers had begun to spring up around them, staining the air with a lovely evergreen scent. Johanna had only ever looked at these mountains from afar before, so knowing she was scaling one now was an exhilarating thought.
As they walked, Johanna’s hands occasionally outstretched, delicate fingers brushing through the needles on the pine trees, enjoying the way they felt against her skin. If she could have, the woman would have taken her boots from her feet so she could feel the cool ground underneath, if only for a few moments. There was no real reason for her actions, only that she wanted to know and remember what the moments felt like. When she wrote, describing what she saw only said so much; finding a way to describe how it felt to have crisp, cool air with a hint of evergreen fill their lungs, though, created an experience, one that she wished to immortalize in her own way.
The cliff emerging in front of them, the brunette wondered what life might be like for the men and women who made the mountains their home. Life in the expansive range had to be a cruel and unforgiving one, even Johanna count acknowledge that, but to be subject to such beautiful sights and sounds every way the looked - how could it not be overwhelming to the senses? Perhaps a lifetime dulled the amazement and wonder that Johanna brimmed with; it was the only way to describe why so many in Ilia looked at their mountains and forest with dead eyes.
Stopping next to her guide, a lazy smile warmed Johanna as she looked over the horizon. Her mind had wandered so, she almost hadn’t realized the snow-haired man had answered her question from earlier - well, as much as it seemed he was willing. Focusing her gaze on her companion, she wondered how one man could appear so aloof, so detached from what he spoke. His words were not rehearsed, no, but they were evasive, fleeting, as if picked from the breeze around them, only meant to last a little while.
Her lazy smile grew a bit wider as he laughed - men as stoic as Renoir seemed to always have infectious ones. Was she wrong? It was entirely possible, sure, but she didn’t think she was. She had a hunch there was more than just a debauchee standing in front of her. “Certainly not in Ilia,” Johanna admitted, though her eyes broke from his, looking out over the edge of the cliff towards the sun that had begun to disappear behind the horizon. Had the day passed so quickly? What a wonderful one it had been.
A blush warmed her cool cheeks as the man affectionately suggested it was time to stop for the day, his tone of course unflappable. She, though, was unused to such friendly terms. “That sounds like a fine idea,” Johanna managed to stammer out, adjusting the pack she carried that had been put together by another man she’d met in Carrahae. The woman had never taken a trek like this before, so half of what he’d packed for her was foreign.
“Is this here alright, or should we find somewhere else nearby?” Johanna asked honestly; these were details she wasn’t sure of in the slightest.
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