Vignette - Awakenings
Yes and Meeritza
Golden eyes stared at the snoring pile. It was well past noon, going on toward evening and she was still sleeping! Yes had been awake for hours, just watching. Snacks had been eaten, drinks had been taken, and a tour of the lair was conducted to make sure everything was in its place. The girl was still sleeping. Yes couldn't understand it. Sleep was great, it was true, but... how could she sleep at a time like this?! They had just successfully acquired more for the hoard! Today shouldn't be spent sleeping, today should be for counting and arranging and recounting and...
Meeritza finally stirred. Her mouth was painfully dry and the light that trickled in was horridly offensive. She groaned and rolled, searching with sticky eyes for anything fluid. A jar found its way into her hand and then to her mouth. Finishing it noisily, she clunked it down onto the stone floor and rolled back to bury her head.
``You're not supposed to be all... gray are you?'' Yes asked with a hint of revulsion, ``like you're covered in dust or something. You look awful is what I'm saying.''
Meeritza groaned and shuffled under the makeshift covers. Minutes later she popped out looking quite disheveled and unhappy. She wiped her hands across her face and her skin returned to its normal ruddy tan color. After this she scrambled over to a pitcher of water in the corner and poured some into a basin, splashing water onto her face and then guzzling down the remainder.
``I don't wake up well,'' Meeritza croaked, wiping her eyes and stretching out her jaw, ``I slept like garbage, and I need breakfast.''
Yes eyed her from several angles, neck twitching back and forth in a serpentine movement. This one was such a strange giant, though admittedly Yes had never actually watched giants sleep and then wake up before. Whenever Yes woke up, every scale and thrips and strand was perfectly immaculate, the only exception ever being shedding days... of which were never spoken.
This was something else though. Meeritza was a small, young giant and while Yes knew about clothing being a thing that they insisted on, nothing could prepare for how rumpled and twisted it got. How such beings could stand it was inconceivable. The sling and bags were handy, true, but all the time?! It couldn't be worth it.
But it was quite a sight as Meeritza seemingly unfolded herself and straightened everything out. Hands dipped in water allowed her to tame her explosion of dirty blonde hair, reducing it from a halo to a single wet ponytail that touched against her waist. More water splashed onto her face again, this time screwing it into her eyes. And just how thirsty could a being like her actually be? Yes mused that so much water would constitute their own bath, certainly.
An incredibly inelegant belch ended Meeritza's ablutions. She turned to Yes to find those golden eyes staring at her.
``Food,'' she stated, ``what do you need to do to get ready?''
Yes considered this and then questioned, ``ready for what? Are you not going to fetch the food for us?''
``Look. The only way I'm fetching anything... no. no. I'm not `fetching' anything. You and I are going to pick out food. Can't you hide yourself? Besides, I want your satchel space for carrying more stuff back here. Just. I will even carry you if you want. Just do your trick so you look like a coil of rope and no one will notice. We'll get so much food we won't have to go back out for a week unless we want to.''
Yes thought about it for a while. Normally breakfast was stolen... acquired... on a daily basis. Fresh baked treats were the best, after all. But the idea did have merit. Besides, a store of food was only sensible. They certainly couldn't burgle every house every day and not draw attention they didn't want and still have time for fresh meals. Could they?
Obro
The time was right. There were people around and the fabrics felt right. The tingle of enchantment was present out there. Now it was dark. Now was the time to make an escape. Slithering between layers felt natural and surprisingly free, but then Obro emerged into the night. First only the head, able to squeeze anywhere the obdurate skull inside would fit between, to peek out and confirm a lack of observation, followed swiftly by the rest.
Darkness was not an obstacle as enough ambient light from around the streets from oil lamps and lanterns reflected in the darkness. A fleeting moment of wonderment that sight was possible with an essentially empty head passed through Obro for just a moment before the distraction evaporated. Finding something to wear was essential.
The alley wasn't empty, but the souls amongst the detritus did not seem much of concern. Some were animals, some were... foreign, and a few were sleeping people. Of these, the people were the only potential problems, but even the carter didn't seem to mind them. The carter wasn't paying any attention, idly using a knife to pick at a block of wood for some purpose Obro couldn't divine. None of these had the right sort of clothes. They could be ignored.
But the streets, there went the interesting people. Obro crawled along the margins of the buildings, and were it not for the finery, would have blended in perfectly. Luckily, no one was looking. The hard part now was to choose without being seen.
People passing wouldn't do. They were too fast, it was too public. Obro needed them to be still and alone if... whatever was going to happen next was going to happen. Away from the bustle, that was the way, but even as Obro made to move away, a target became obvious. A fellow stealthy body, walking amongst the crowd but quickly ducking into the alley. The essence of magic poured from the figure as they avoided being seen and grabbed at handholds on the wall.
This one was worth following. Obro's glove hands were able to creep along up the wall, shadowing the interesting person whose clothing was so attractive, and without any sound. The fabric held on to the brickwork effortlessly, and there was quickly a risk that Obro would overtake the figure. Something insisted that this had to happen with space available. Falling would... ruin everything... for some reason. The dark figure slithered into a window and, moments later, so did Obro.
The dark room was a bedroom and the figure was at the bedside. In their hand was a knife that glowed in Obro's sight with powerful enchantment, but while it was stronger than the clothing, it wasn't what was needed. Two other people lay in the bed, asleep, breathing, as the figure prepared to strike. Regardless, Obro was not prepared to hesitate. This happened now!
Whipcrack fast, Obro's form unraveled and flew through the air. The dark figure reacted on instinct, incredibly quickly, darting backwards and nearly avoiding the attack altogether. Clattering awoke the sleepers as Obro lunged at the target, who was making for the door. A thrust of the knife caused a tear in Obro's fabric, but that reactive strike was the target's undoing. Folds of cloth ensnared the hand and touched the magical glove that covered it.
A surge, a jolt, what glory it was! Obro could feel the power woven into the supple leather, pulling it in and adding it to their form. Even as it became one, it turned upon its wearer and clamped down upon the wrist. Still fighting on instinct, the target yanked their arm back, but Obro, now quicker and surprisingly lighter, flew through the air right onto their target! Every touch sent that wonderful, life-affirming glory of adding to themself! Screams and frantic jostling of the doors were meaningless. This was everything!
Obro felt the target's clothing become one, and as the enwrapment completed a new sense awakened. A sense of self and identity, something that Obro had not known was missing, blossomed in their mind... his mind. HE was Obro... and he was... this person that he had... captured?
The room fell silent as the struggling of the assassin stopped and the occupants of the room fled, calling for help and raising such a clamor. Obro took a moment and raised a hand before his face. It was his hand, his glove rather, and somehow tucked inside it was the glove and the hand of the assassin he had just successfully captured. The man's name was Erenthal, he was a member of a clandestine organization who eliminated troublesome political adversaries for money. He actually had made a great deal of money this way, and this target would have granted him a satchel of diamonds upon success.
Shouts were coming up the stairs. No more time to think. He had to go!
Dashing back to the window, Obro's boots kicked through hard things upon the floor, causing a dry clatter that nearly made him stumble. Luckily, Erenthal's body was finely honed and the gloves granted a boost to nimbleness, but as Obro passed through and looked back before vaulting out the window, he couldn't help notice the crusty and now disjointed bones that lay on the carpets.
That had been `him' a lifetime ago.
Roonaga
She barked out her orders and her minions followed. They had better, if they wanted their turn at the trough. She marched down the line, seeing that all was done to her specifications. If they didn?t want a swat on the tail or worse they needed to be on the ball. They were good, she knew, but she would never let them know that. One compliment, one show of favor, and the next thing she knew complacency would run rampant.
``Whisk faster, even strokes, if that separates you?ll be wearing it! I said dice not mince! If that burns I?ll be burning you! Get the butter and cream in that now! We have hungry folk waiting! Now, now, now!''
No responses came back at her. Her party of cooks did not move. She didn't care. This was her playtime. The real meal was in the huge black pots bubbling on the fire range. Chopped vegetables and grains, boiled in a broth she had made herself, seasoned with whatever could be scrounged. She was fairly proud of this batch. It even had mushrooms in, ones that she had cooked down with salt and good oil til they were tiny, brown, and chewy.
The stew needed to cook down. That meant waiting time. Waiting time meant preparing for the next meal. But when there was nothing left to prepare, Roonaga liked to pretend that she was one of those kitchen bosses that the bigger folk had in their bigger kitchens. They had workers who did as they were told and got paid for it too.
None of her kind or the other smaller peoples were keen on aping the big ones. Her operation?s growth was stymied by a lack of ambition. The ones she had found were excellent scroungers, and she was a well known face among the urchins, domestics, and underlings of Telvin's Nest. Mainly because of how she fed them.
There were other cooks and bakers in Telvin's Nest, certainly, and she was hardly unique in her position, but Telvin's Nest had territories. In this territory, she was the underchef, she was the big boss, she was the warren matron. But the cast of characters, minions mostly, who knew and respected her weren't professionals. Most of them weren't even gainfully employed. But they knew that she knew and what she said was what would go.
Next, she went to the hidden niche in the wall which housed her secret treasures. These were the rare, precious things that her kind weren't always allowed to be near. Obtained at great risk and outright theft, this was her spice cabinet. Some were from far off lands, always available in the crossroads town, and some from deep underground where the tall people didn't go. Secrets of the swamp, the meadow, the first flowers of spring, and even the roadside weeds that only the cognoscente realized were valuable, all of these had their place in her little trove. And best of all, they were her secret ingredients that had made her a success.
Noise from the upstairs. Someone was coming.
Roonaga re-hid her treasures and grabbed her rolling pin. Better safe than sorry. Just because she was respected by the undercommunity did not mean she was safe in her domain. There were always those who thought they could steal... and food critics of course. Whoever it was, they weren't expected.
Today, it was thieves.
``Where ya at scaley-blob?'' came a voice followed by snickering, ``We're here for lunch. Rithik said you had it for us.''
Hiding under a table, Roonaga waited to see how bad this was going to be. Rithik was just another scummy bastard on the streets, hustling every angle he could. His collection of bruisers and lackeys held a modest territory, but tended to run afoul of gremlins and the domestics were known to stay well clear of the area.
This was probably going to get ugly, she thought with a grin, grabbing a handful of salt and getting ready to spring.
