Dinners on Discs

Log Info

• Title: Dinner on Discs
• Emitter: Ashes
• Characters: Ashes, Jinks
• Place: A02: Goblintown
• Time: Tuesday, February 22, 2022, 4:37 PM
• Summary: Mourner Ashlee Ciaradh is going around Goblintown, visiting residents and delivering soup with occasional healing, although all may not be as it seems. Jinks is surprised to encounter her, and wonders if it is some fortune of Tarien. Ashlee, seemingly an aged crone, invites him to help her with Pamella, an old goblin woman with a large family and an empty house. Over the course of the meal, it becomes apparent why. Jinks entertains her, and the Mourner once more invites the old gobber to come with her to the Temple. Pamella declines, but promises she will, when she's ready, "Tomorrow."

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A02: Goblintown *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

'Goblintown' consists of a dead-end street where a number of poor (and, as the name suggests, goblinoid) residents of the city live. Many of the buildings here have been cobbled together with whatever material was available at the time, often bits of metal and stone stolen from the factories to the north rather than wood. That said, in recent days, many of these temporary structures have been converted to more permanent fixtures, giving the area a less 'shanty' and more 'conventional' appearance, interspersed with the previously impoverished look the place was known for.

The occasional shrine to Reos seems to represent the only 'official' presence in the area, with the City Watch seeming all but invisible here. In their place, there appear to be numerous Arvek and Gobber groups that form a makeshift community watch, giving the sense of wary eyes on every street. From time to time, the symbol of Serriel may be seen as well, though mainly among the Arvek, who oft bear it with pride. Oruch shops sit alongside gobber ones, though the latter far outnumber the former; gobbos' nimble minds make them the natural crafters of the goblinoid world.

At one point there were few shops here, but now the entire area bristles with brisk trade of things ranging from basic necessities to the more esoteric magical and bits of artificery. It is said that one can find everything they need in Goblintown without having to step foot in another section of the city, and this statement, judging by the activity in this area night and day, may very well hold true.

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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ashes        5'11"    177 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face.
Jinks        3'4"     39 Lb      Gnome             Male      A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry.
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The full moon is up, the tide is down and rising. Snow flurries drift silently down from a pale grey sky. It's cold, damp, and there is little wind.

The snow fluffies blanket Goblintown, covering all in a white blanket, with little hats on poles and barrels. The streets are a wet mess of grey slush, with water-filled boot-prints that are half frozen and make the going all the more treacherous.

One being that is going is a hobgoblin crone, stopped over and in threadbare clothes. Trailing behind her like a lost puppy is the hazey outline of a floating disk. Stacked on it is a collection of boxes. Keeping the flurries off is a parasol, floating in the air, held aloft by some unseen servant.

Slumming it, apparently, Jinks is coughed from a smokey, basement den from behind a door and under a ratty, eggplant-colored drape. Reedy music, heat, and haze follow a gnome only to be smothered in the wet chill outside once the drape has fallen back inside and the door closed behind him.

Stumbling up the last step, the impaired dandy catches himself on a wobbly iron railing and issues a muffled snort of self-derision. A grunt joins his last step up from below and he stops to inhale a long, slow breath through his nose. He's in his clothes from the night before and his onyx-black eyes are glassy.

"Twice in one day, mourner. What wicked strands of fate bind us together on the Harpist's tapestry," he calls, throwing his arms wide after spotting the arvek nar. Another amused snort and he's making his way over, dragging his feet.

The Mourner watches as the dandy approaches. Stares. She looks old, very old, wizened and wrinkly, with long fingernails and parchment skin. Her skull face tattoo and other markings obscure the details, but have failed before age and let her expressions through. A smile of sorts.

"You might be dead." Ashlee says in her serious deadpan, one eye angled forward. She scratches around her eye, and mumbles as old women do, words barely caught. A prayer, or a curse. "Feiu of the Tears, take him, hold him."

A boney hand tattoo'd with bones rests on Jink's head, and the shoulder-length hair that he usually wears back in a tight, high ponytail. Normally. It's a mess. With the Mourner's touch the memory of the Grey Halls returns. The snow and surrounds seem faded, washing away.

Although he feels protected, and reinvigorated.

"Mulria's sideways smile, you think?" The gnome wonders, stopping and looking down at his decorated fingers. Glassy eyes narrow as the hands move back and forth, his vision playing tricks. Her touch is light but he still sways, blinking and raising his arms to find his balance.

Some of the vigor returns to his features and his skin certainly looks healthier but he's still glassy-eyed and wobbly; like a sailor fresh off a boat. "Hm. That was something," he reaches out and pat-pats the witch.

"Out shopping?" Wonders the minstrel, then, as he looks back at the floating goods. "Hope you're not looking for a smoke. They're rather full tonight and you're..." he raises his hand, palm down and high into the air, stretching up onto his tippy-toes.

"No." Ashlee shakes her head. 'WhooOooooOooo', her owlet warbles, disturbed, and focusing golden eyes on the gnome. She gestures as the boxes on the disc, each a uniform size, "Bringing soup."

What every family must desire, a visit from a Mourner at supper, or dinner, or lunch.

She gestures at a nearby door, "do you want to help?"

"... soup?" Jinks blinks, glancing between the mourner and her payload. "Soup? Soup. Supe. Soooop." He's hit that point where a word has become a sound and lost its meaning. There's a look of muddled frustration and then he's rattling something off in his gnative gnomsh; what seems to be a rhyme. "Ah, yes. Soup."

Black eyes twinkle up at the aged arvek and he smiles wide, "Yes, let's deliver soup. It sounds much better than being dead."

The Mourner nods, turns and climbs a set of stairs. She moves with age and creaks, and knocks on the door. She gestures at the disc, and one of the boxes is lifted up and floats to the edge where Jinks can take it.

The door is opened by an even older woman, a goblin that looks like a her parents were a raisen and a prune. She makes a happy noise, lifting her arms in greeting to the hobgoblin that is bent nearly double, and then both go inside.

The dwelling is small, and tight, sized for a goblin and filled with a lifetime of memories, and boxes. There's a table in the kitchen at the far end of a hall. A clean and bare kitchen, except for a box on the table, with a few chairs surrounding it.

Goblin and hobgoblin take seats, and look down the hall, watching Jinks make the delivery.

The indicated parcel is taken after a moment to squint down at it. The box may as well contain heirloom porcelain for the way Jinks handles it, almost comical in the way he creeps inside. Thankfully, the build of the house isn't a problem for the gnome and he's able to make it through without having to crouch down low.

The bard is humming when he arrives in the kitchen. Something with the steady rhythm of a working tune. The box is given to the mourner instead of being sat on the table and then he's turning around, unabashedly inspecting the home's interior. "Mmm... do you know all the gobbers if Gobberton, Ashlee?" He stops humming to wonder alloud. His pronunciation of the district off: 'tun' instead of 'town.'

Ashlee takes the box and sets it on the table. Opening the lid releases some steam. Inside is a bowl, a simple grey affair with a heavy lid, and a plate with raised edges and its own cover. She takes both of them out and sets them on the table in front of the old gobber. "A little bit. This is Pamella."

She takes out a spoon and sets it in the bowl, turning it towards the other woman. Pamella reaches for the implement, her hand shaking, clenched like a claw. Thumb and forefinger will not close. "Oh Ashlee, my arthritis is very bad today. Could you be a dear?"

"Yes," The Mourner says in her typical monotone, looking almost as frail as the other goblin. She takes the spoon, a bit of soup, blows on it and holds it up to Pamella's mouth.

"I know the ones that need help." Ashes elaborates.

"Coyote laughs, Pamella," greets the dandy, turning to smile and offer an exaggerated salute. He leaves the curio cabinet at his back and hops back over, rubbing forcefully at his face. There's another moment taken to forcefully pat his cheek and he forces his eyes open. "Sorry your hands are bothering you."

The gnome's gobbertalk is book-learned and a bit rusty. He's only recently picked up a few turns of phrase and sounds more like a tallman member of the watch stepping around to look in on mischief.

Offering a bit of a smirk, he twirls the coyote ring on his finger and looks between the two very, very distant cousins. "I like your home, Pamella. Pamella? Pamella. It feels like a home," he leans on the 'feels' for emphasis but the intonation almost makes the word lose its meaning. "It's not..." a hand waves, trying to conjure the word. Fingers snap in revelation. "Empty. Sad." <goblin-talk>

"Oh thank you young sir!" Pamella says cheerfully, squinting in the dandy's direction. "Oh you're quite an unusual colour and all those jewels. You must be very successful. Are you involved with that new fangled... what is it, Dragon Burper?"

The woman seems entirely uninterested in her food, conversation sustains her, yet Ashes diligently brings a spoonful up for her to slurp, and then gets another. She watches the other woman's mouth, waiting for an opportunity.

Pamella continues, smiling, "It's been a full house, noisy, I've been blessed. It is Pamella, you got it right. The grandkids and great grandkids are out. They'll be back soon. There's pictures on the wall." She gestures.

There are, paintings and experimental alchemical efforts involving silver gelatine, showing gobbers and more gobbers. There's a mirror by the entrance with a few pictures tucked in the frame, although it is covered by a shroud.

There's movement in the hallway, Ash's parasol drifts up and into the room. The Mourner looks at it, then gestures at the counters and cabinets. The parasol leans in a corner, and then a few moments later a wash cloth starts wiping the countertop.

"Oh is that your duppy my dearie Ashlee?" Pamella asks.

"It's my duppy," Ashes responds flatly, bringing up another spoonful. <goblin-talk>

"I gamble, mostly." Jinks answers, turning to wander over to the pictures. "I also work for the... 'mission consortium?'" He means Adventurer's Guild. "And I perform. Sing."

One hand braces flat against the wall and he leans close, occasionally tracing a line on a picture or feature in a photo with a finger. His glassy eyes narrowing to slits.

They close entirely and his forehead rests against the wall as sleep comes but he's back when a frame clatters and threatens to fall. The gnome inhales sharply and stands back up. "No dragons, no. Well, not dragon-dragons." He walks back over to the table.

At the topic of spirits he reaches in to his coat for his flask. A quick shake reveals it to be empty and he's shoving it away again. <goblin-talk>

The pictures show many snippets of a large and happy family, posing and smiles. The gelatin ones a bit more candid than the paintings, but all have the forced postures necessary for the development. There's a thin layer of dust, hardly any accumulation, but enough to leave a line after an exploratory finger.

"Oh gambling with dragons, that sounds exciting. Or, not with dragons." Pamella rambles on cheerfully, as Ashes waits for an opening to offer another spoonful. "I've heard wonderful things about the mission consortium. Why, they've employed so many of my grandgobs. They like the loud noises, of course. I'm sure you're an expert with explosives too."

Ashlee glances at Jinks as he brings out his flask, and then looks back at the other woman. There's a creak and a crack as she leans closer. "Is that your Arthritis Ashlee? Oh you shouldn't push yourself. You work so hard and you're nearly my age."

The washcloth moves across the counter. The kitchen is clean, the sink dry, until the unseen servant runs the tap. Everything seems neatly in its place, an unusual state, goblin households don't often have places for things.

"When you finish eating, will you come with me to the temple?" Ashlee asks. <goblin-talk>

Jinks snorts, amused. "No explosions for me," he answers in the common tongue. "My mother was the engineer. Is. Her specialties involved the stuff that keeps airships up in the air." He points up, following his own finger and tilting his head back. The gnome starts to tilt backwards and he has to snatch out and grab the back of Ashes' chair to keep from falling over.

Stabilized and realizing he issued a surprised little squawk, the bard can't help but laugh. "Sorry, ladies: busy week." He eases himself down into a sitting position and pushes the heel of his palm into an eye roughly, talking as he does: "You should go, Pamella. I'll give my devotions to the Harpist. I'm really quite good."

"Oh, ooo that sounds lovely. You must have a beautiful singing voice if you're so handsome. Could you sing for me?" Pamella asks, with a hint of hesitation, followed by excuses, "It's such a cold and miserable day, and so far. I'd like to go.. to go... when it's sunny."

The old goblin woman smiles, staring wistfully at the dark windows.

Ashlee dips the full spoon in the soup, refilling it, and holds it up to the woman's mouth. She nods once, intoning, "Whenever you're ready."

"Oh yes, today wouldn't work, my children will be visiting me later. They'll be so upset if they came home and I wasn't here. They might imagine all sorts of horrid things. That I..."

Pamella interrupts herself to slurp at the spoon, "Tomorrow will be a much nicer day. Yes, tomorrow. Do you know, 'She'll be coming 'round the slag-pile when she comes?' Mr... oh how terrible of me. I've forgotten your name."

"Ah, I don't have a name," Jinks says, lowering his hand and offering a mischievous smile to the ancient gobber. He nods at her request, crossing his legs and holding his ankles as he rocks back and forth, trying to remember the words. Leaning back, eyes closed, he mumbles and hums until he's found the melody.

The gnome falls silent for a spell and one might think he's asleep... but then he opens his mouth and holds the "Oooooooooooh," for a teasingly-long time before setting into the first verse. His mastery of the melody is obvious but he struggles with the words beyond the first verse. What comes after 'coming 'round the slag-pile?' He improvises with 'She'll be riding six clockwork worgs when she comes' after an initial volley of 'she'll be riding hm hm hm-hm when she comes.' But it's still a good and proper performance.

GAME: Jinks rolls Perform/Sing: (15)+25: 40

Pamella listens with wide ears and a big grin, "Oh my soul you've got the pipes of a celestial!" She taps her feet to the rhythm and rocks in her chair, joining in for parts of the chorus. Ad-libbing seems appropriate.

Ashes is almost a statue, waiting with spoon in hand, arm outstretched. Her friends make up for it, her owlet bobbing his head up and down, Carbuncle appearing to do lizard press-ups and Chippen circling her throat like a choker and slowly rotating to the beat.

"You are skilled in the classics, oh my, oh my." The elderly goblin says as the performance winds down, "such a wonderful friend you brought along, Ms Ashlee. Wonderful, wonderful."

She smiles happily and waves at the spoon, unslurped, "Oh I couldn't manage any more. And you're a dearie to stay so long when I know you've got other people to visit. Leave it, leave it, dear Ashlee, I'll finish it tomorrow."

The Mourner nods, "Ok." She sets the spoon down in the bowl, and takes out the covered plate, uncovers and sets it beside the bowl. Standing, she picks up the other box that was there when when she arrived. "I'll be back tomorrow."

She moves down the hallway. The washcloth puts itself away, and her parasol lifts into the air, the duppy following her out. She looks back when she reaches the door, "Bye."

Jinks nods twice in place of bowing (seeing as he's seated), his ring-laden fingers resting lightly over his heart. Then he's struggling to stand until he uses the chair Ashlee just vacated to help through the process. The gnome actually settles on the chair for a moment and leans forward towards the gobber. "The Halls are very nice and the mourners are honest people... but stay in your home as long as you can. The Harpist can wait."

The minstrel stands with a wink and drops a short stack of coins behind the soup box to be found later. "Hug your kin for me, Pamella, and tell them to never sit across the gambling table from a black-eyed gnome. It's sound advice." He turns, making to follow the arvek nar out and bumping off the corner of a wall in the process. He stumbles and braces himself against the tattooed witch's back, laughing out an apology.

The old gobber gives some genuine fare-wells and then the house is silent once the door closes. Ashes takes the box she's carrying and sets it on a different section of the floating disc. Her parasol and its invisible porter climb on board as well.

She's as solid as can be when Jinks runs into her. Her eyes meeting his. The Mourner makes a brief gesture and the years drop away until she is her normal, aspiring-to-be-a-crone, self. They keep dropping away until she appears to be a young adult, a teenager hobgoblin, lanky and awkward with limbs that are a titch too long for a human aesthetic.

Her Skull and bones tattoos remain unchanged.

"The next house has children." She says, turning and walking through the slush without looking back. "They're sick, but it's not serious."

Now she glances back, "they would enjoy a laugh."

"Wouldn't we all?" Smirks the gnome.

<OOC> Jinks says, "This was amazing! I'm so sorry I kept getting distracted. :\"
<OOC> Ashes hugs, "Thanks! You enjoyed?"
<OOC> Jinks says, "Yeah. I'm just annoyed I kept slowing us down."
<OOC> Jinks says, "I'ma head into Poop's room. Thank you very much for running this."
<OOC> Ashes nods, "It worked out, interruptions happen. I was getting more emotions than I was expecting."
<OOC> Jinks says, "I have to imagine some of the parallels with looking after your mom could be rough. :("
<OOC> Ashes says, "No worries, I'll upload it. I think you were great"
<OOC> Ashes nods, and nods, "That was kind of the inspiration.
<OOC> Ashes says, "and it reminded me of doing 'Meals on Wheels' when I was in Catholic High School"
<OOC> Ashes says, "Which I had kind of forgotten about"
<OOC> Jinks nods!