ruskin

How can she be, when he's given her so little to work with? When she knows so little of him as a person, and of his mysterious pursuer?

Pursuers, plural?

"Hmm."

An immaculately threaded eyebrow arches high, but she lets the moment pass without pressing any harder. Not yet. She just keeps listening; looking for anything she can grasp onto to help her put the picture together.

Pippa had mentioned his use of the word magic, and her theory about it being his term for a mutation, but Asmee isn't entirely certain that the other young woman is right. There's something sorely familiar about his tale that may very well be mutant-coded--something Pippa would immediately latch onto--but there are other beings in the world with overlapping experiences.

Asmee's brother, Ajay, is one of them. Even if its just easier for everyone to group him in with mutants when far fewer of his kind are around. Or known about at all.

"You have my sympathies for your mistreatment," she tells him, though her voice is not particularly soft, nor sweetened. It's matter-of-fact, and not meant to soothe or coddle. "People like Pippa and myself--"

A memory rolls in like a storm front, all grey and roiling and thunderous, and Asmee stills. Pippa had been in such rough shape when she and Tao and brought her in, and she'd been something of a reflection to Asmee's earlier state as well.

"We are not especially loved either. For our own type of magic."

Grounding herself in the here and now, Asmee closes her eyes and reacquaints herself with all the things in her cozy apartment that her mutation can touch. Every bit of glassware in her cupboards; every pane of glass that spills light in to feed her plants; the screen of her phone, the television, the camera lenses and her video editing computer in her little office; the little glass figurines and baubles decorating shelves and dangling from her ceiling; her self-made glass violin and bow displayed proudly over Ruskin's head.

It's an arsenal. A security blanket. A fond collection. Home.

Curious, and with a cool head, Asmee leans elegantly back in her seat and beckons her glass mug to float through the air and into her waiting hands. It moves so steadily that the liquid inside barely sloshes about.

People with magic or similar here are persecuted. Mistreated. Feared. At least that's what she implies. He doesn't know if Asmee is a reliable source or not.

But that's not unusual. People without magic tend to resent the power that they don't have, that they can't have. And people with power are often so ready to abuse it, that those fears are often not unreasonable. Every world has to strike its own balance.

Here and now, he has a different kind of problem to face.

She makes her demands in such a reasonable tone of voice. As if he's the one being difficult here, by not instantly revealing his secrets to her. As if he's in a position to give her information and know that what she gives him in exchange is of equal value.

He smiles again, a half-smile now, and nods slowly.

"Please don't misunderstand me, I am really very grateful for your help today. If you require payment for your hospitality, then be sure I will find a way of paying you back. But I did not ask you for information, so I do not feel obliged to provide you with it in return."

His voice stays soft spoken, even toned. There's absolutely no hint of a threat there, nothing to imply that he could back himself up. ( He has no idea if he could win in a fight here, if he wasn't poisoned, and he has no desire to find out. ) Just a solid, hopeful expectation of good intentions.

He does need information, of course. But he is not limited to finding it through them. It became clear on the way here that this city, at the very least, this strange city of smooth stone and glass, was densely populated. It had been a stroke of luck to run into someone as kind as Pippa when he was so out of it, but she can't be the only kind person in the city. There will be other ways of finding information. He's in no rush.

Tao is filming for Hollywood's next big generic action flick, so when Pippa decides that she needs to bring Ruskin somewhere safe, Asmee is the very next person to come to mind.

"She's--"

Pippa loves Asmee--she is more her sister than her biological sister ever was or would be--but Pippa knows that Asmee can be more than a little abrasive. Especially to men she doesn't know. And she doesn't really know how to phrase that to this stranger who will undoubtedly be on the receiving end of her scrutiny.

"She has an extra room you can stay in. Take a nap in. Do whatever you need to do to shake it off," Pippa goes on. "And she can help keep you safe too." A pause. "She can be a little mean, sometimes? But it's because she's careful. It's not personal until it is personal, you know?"

Soon enough, Asmee is sitting across from this Ruskin fellow in her uncharacteristically cozy apartment, knee over bare knee with a fluffy house slipper hanging loosely from her toes. She considers him sharply as he sinks into her coral colored velvet couch, and as she sips from a double-walled glass mug of hibiscus tea.

She'd given him one as well, not offering him any other type of flavor. He will drink what he is given, or he will go without until she decides to take pity on him.

"There must be something in the air," she states abruptly, breaking the silence that has permeated since Pippa had had to run back out to finish her work. "Something that's gotten into her, and into me, to allow you to stay here."

Another sip. Then she sets the drink aside and leans forward, her chin propped up on the heel of her hand.

Still, he sinks into the seat where she leaves him and stays quiet as the women speak. He gives Pippa a word of thanks as she leaves, and then his attention wanders. This home---- this world speaks of a wealth of resources and industrial advances that he's not seen before. The lack of nature, of arable land or forests is unsettling, but there is a rhythm here all the same.

A drink is offered and he takes it with a smile, fingers curling around the hot ceramic. And he watches Asmee as she watches him.

Pippa called her mean, but he does not feel threatened by Asmee, even if he thinks perhaps she might want him to be. Mostly he feels trapped, and that's probably a worse feeling, for him. That's why he stays silent until spoken to, fierce curiosity dulled by his discomfort. The remnants of poison in his system don't help much with that.

But whether with honest intent or not, there is still symbolism in the giving of the cup of tea that soothes his soul in the same way the heat drawn from the hot drink soothes tense and aching muscles.

He sips at the drink, the flavour similar to the cold drinks made from the heartblossom flowers in the hot months in Puil. And then he speaks.

"If they could have followed me here then they would have been upon us before Pippa could bring me here," he says with confidence. "As for what I was running from--- well, it's never uncommon for those with magic to be run out of town, now and then. It happens."

It's true, but it's not the whole truth. The curses and the ambush and the chase had more to do with Ruskin exposing the local Lord who had forbidden magic for his own purposes, than his own inherent skills. But he would prefer not to say too much about himself unnecessarily, not until he knows more of this world and these people.

The last time she'd been home, her parents had accused her of practicing witchcraft; dark and destructive magic. And she's heard many more mutants speak of similar experiences. She even knows a few who speak of themselves as cursed by their mutations. Could that be what he means?

Could he just be without the proper terminology?

"I don't really call it magic." She has been one of the few to view it as a curse in the past, however. "But I know people who can do-- magical things."

Tao Song appears like a walking magic trick with his ability to split into four identical men; Marshall Tucker can rewind time to pull of any card trick imaginable; Asmee Gill can telekinetically shatter glass and rain it down with pinpoint accuracy on a target; and she, Penelope Higgins, puts on a morbidly beautiful display as she makes things disappear.

Her eyes slip past Ruskin, scanning their surroundings. Hoping that no one is listening too intently to their discussion.

"Can I take you somewhere? Somewhere safe? So you can relax and it can wear off."

But, he thinks, gaze wandering past Pippa unintentionally as he tries to refocus his vision, he thinks he doesn't have much choice. A car drives past---- a strange vehicle to Ruskin, drawn by neither animal or magic. He has travelled through worlds where industry made the air thick with smoke before, but there is a tang to air here that is different from that. The streets and buildings around them are so big, so busy---- so stark and grey with very little nature to be seen.

And there's something in the way she says 'magic' that doesn't sound right. In this state he can't put his finger on why that is---- is she skeptical of its existence? Perhaps here the term magic has become primitive and outdated. Outcast, maybe.

He needs more information. He needs to be able to THINK.

Little nervous tics flutter airily and impermanently about her form: wetted lips quickly turn to tapping toes, to wringing hands and then shifting weight. Ultimately, she steps back, and she--briefly--thinks about putting a few more steps in between them on top of that.

"I'm glad we can rule out a head injury, then."

Fever? Poison? Infection?

There's some sort of language barrier between them, Pippa thinks, and it's unfortunately adding to the confusion of the situation. Something is not translating as directly as he seems to want it to.

What does he mean by curses? Or doorways? She wants to ask, but she wants to be sure he's going to be all right first. That's the good and proper thing to do, she thinks.

"Is this something that... happens often?"

Wheels are beginning to turn in her head, and she glances down at the many scars that bleed into one another and obfuscate her fingerprints. She thinks about her colleagues, and the mannerisms of people her boss aims to help.

Right now, with his ability to think so cloudy, he can't do any of that.

But he thinks there's something of uncertainty in the lady's tone. Something that makes him doubt that magic is commonplace and accepted, here.

And with his thought processes so muddled, his ability to formulate a clever lie or distraction is, well. Limited. Perhaps if he's honest he will get some useful information in return.

He doesn't want to fight her.

Sighing, Pippa wonders if she should call for medics, or find a way to cart the stranger to a clinic or hospital herself to save him a costly ambulance ride. His clear confusion and the way his body language indicates some degree of pain in his head says yes, he needs professional medical attention, but something about him gives her pause.

"I didn't hit my head. This is... this is fighting off a fever. Poison? Infection." He's trying to find the right words, but it's harder when he can't think. "I gave the headache to myself. Not on purpose, you understand, but, a side-effect of too much, hmm. Effort. Finding doorways is hard, sometimes." No, that's too much already, he's said too much.

Pippa chews at her lip. This community could be safer than wherever he'd come from, certainly, but she'd not sure she'd consider anywhere where she is to be wholly safe. Not when she's on the clock for her employer, at least.

"Hermosa Beach," Pippa answers after a slight pause, all the more concerned about this stranger. From his legs giving out from under him to this disorientation, he doesn't seem to be well. "California," she adds for good measure.

"I am Ruskin," he adds, because that's the only one of their questions that he knows the answer to. His memory of places he's been is not perfect, but California doesn't ring a bell. No, that's right. He hasn't been here before. He's lost. He... he needs to be lost. Did he lose them?

In his distracted state, the knife knicks his hand before it ever gets to his dinner, and when he reflexively recoils, he loses his grip. Watching the hare bound away with his luck, its fur stained with his blood, Efren crouches low to the ground and wraps a few clean strips of cloth around his new wound.

His stomach growls in protest, urging him to press on and ignore the snapping of twigs and the distinctly human sounding footfalls. But he knows better than to do so.

Efren prefers to hunt in the handful of hours that flank pre- and post- twilight. He finds that–usually–he’s less likely to stumble upon humans when he hunts during these hours, as their lack of appropriate night vision usually keeps them away. But every so often, well.

His luck really had run out, hadn’t it?

A fire is lit, giving away the stranger’s exact position in the near distance, and when he calls out into the trees, Efren knows he’s been heard as well. Staring into the torchlight, he has a decision to make.

Pulling his reptilian wings in close against his back and securing his bulky cloak in a way that covers them completely

“Yes. I did not mean to frighten you.” He’s not spoken conversationally in years, and despite his desire to sound casual, or even friendly, his voice sounds gruff and garbled from the disuse. Efren does not move any close to the light, or the man’s impromptu campsite. “I am just passing through.”

He does not want to give away the fact that he lives nearby, in a small wooden structure he’d built into a half hidden, rocky outcropping. Better to look transient; to have no ties to this land than to raise questions about it.

It's hard to make out the other's features in the flicker of torchlight, nothing more than light skin and dark hair.

"Of course not," Ruskin answers easily, even if something deep inside him responds to the other's wariness, sitting up on alert. A hindbrain response, one that has his fingers twitching just slightly on his staff. He tries not to let old paranoia make him jump at shadows. It rarely serves him well, these days.

Instead, he smiles. "Would you like to share a meal, friend? I don't have much, but you are welcome." He knows magicks to make the food he has more filling, more nutritious than it would otherwise be----- although never quite as satisfying as a full hearty meal, it's something of a necessity in war and winter.

Ruskin's lived in many worlds where generous hospitality to strangers is the unspoken law of the land. He's been in enough others where wealth is hoarded and famine is rife. Whether the other needs it or not, he'll offer to share his meal.

And maybe they can share a few stories, too. He wonders if they have heard tale of a dragon too, or if they're just passing through. Perhaps a local, out late on their way home.

"You're not alright," Pippa decides as her arms shake a bit with the sudden, unexpected effort required of them as she helps to lower the man to the ground.

Squatting beside him, she lets her maternal instincts shine through in the way her palm moves automatically to gauge the stranger's temperature.

He is out of reach of the danger that was chasing him. Other dangers, perhaps not so much. It's hard to draw breath, hard to focus. Hard to THINK.

“Open your heart to me.”

“Isn’t something missing?“

“So, why can’t you speak?“

“Please, please forgive me.”

“That’s too much guilt to pay.”

“You dare tell me you love me?”

“Don’t leave me here, by myself.“

“I will stay forever here with you.”

“You’re just so pretty in your pain.”

“I can’t love you anymore than I do.”

“But, I can’t save you from yourself.”

“You won’t cry for my absence, I know.”

“Whenever you’re around, I can’t fight it.”

“I took their smiles and I made them mine.“

“I know I’ll have to watch them pass away.”

“I would like to live the lie that I will survive.”

“Never thought that I’d be leaving you today.”

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me.”

“Give me a reason to believe that you’re gone.”

“Please, forgive me, but I won’t be home again.”

“I would love to slip away and leave it all behind.”

“I’m not so sure that you’re not just faking something.”

“Who would have dreamed the secrets we would find?”

“How much longer are you going to give in to the fear?“

“But no bonds can hold me from your side, oh, my love.”

“I’ve played this game before, and I can’t take anymore.”

“Maybe, this time, we can leave our broken world behind.”

“ Honey, you know… you know I’d never hurt you that way.”

“And now I see what I really am… thief, a whore, and a liar.”

“They took you away from me, but now I’m taking you home.”

“But you held me down and screamed you wanted me to die.”

“If you think you’re strong enough to let me in… then come on.”

“Crying isn’t like you.”

“I hope that you burn…“

“Nothing could be finer!”

“No, I got nothing to say.”

“You better be true to me.”

“You have torn it all apart.”

“You have ruined our lives.”

“I love you and I don’t want to.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I know that I’d die without you.”

“I’m here, nothing can harm you.”

“You have made my life complete.”

“You didn’t mean to say ‘I love you’.”

“But we’ll defy the rules until we die.”

“I try to speak, but nobody can hear.”

“Our hearts are too ruthless to break.”

“It’s not true… Tell me I’ve been lied to.”

“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”

“Will I ever be more than I’ve always been?“

“For my darling, I love you, and I always will.”

“You showed me feelings I’ve never felt before.”

“But they’re the ones that we’ll look down upon.”

“I can’t help but love you, even though I try not to.”

“I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time.”

“You taught me the courage of stars before you left.”

“And if we’re sinners, then it feels like heaven to me.”

“You’re safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you.”

“And, now, how you’ve repaid me… denied me and betrayed me.”

“Be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive.”

For breaking the ice in the worst possible way, featuring themes including: kidnapping, murder, stalking, injury, monsters, and just general meanness. [Brackets] indicate spaces to include your own words to personalize your ask!

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