Fresh Starts

Description:

Delsie Hawthorne

    Yellow Descent
  • witch
  • Played By: Jones

    Dena Nehele Terreille
    2 Posts    50 marks
Fresh Starts
« on: January 07, 2019, 09:18:09 PM »
Tongue troubling the inside of her teeth Delise put her bags down on the doorstep. Eyes turned down the lane as if she were judging the distance. A giddy sort of uncertainty twisted at the root of her stomach. This was the right place. There could be no doubt. Furry headed cows peered at her from the fence line as proof. But was this the right place for her?

Keen seemed of the opinion it should work fine. His friend needed housekeeping help, his sister wanted housekeeping work. Why not? She hadn’t had an answer. And felt foolish saying it made her nervous. They were only a hard run from the tent-town. You couldn’t see it from the farmhouse. It was on the other side of sloping hill. But she had walked herself there without growing tired.

”Hello?” She tapped at the door frame because the door was slightly ajar. A quaint house that reminded her of home. If it were hers she would have painted the front door yellow. It was such a happy color. Half the scarves that bubbled up out of her baggage were splashed with vibrant shades of the same. Clothes carried because her cabinet was not large enough to hold them, and her favorite cooking pans, and her sewing table, all at once.

Behind her a hearty ‘moo’ answered. She giggled at them over her shoulder, a small group of them gathered as if watching. The rest distance spots of rudy brown on crisp green grass. Land that felt so different from home. Healthy, in a way she hadn’t known Dena Nehele lacked. ”Hello, Lord Isay?” That was the name, she was pretty sure.

Denholme Islay

    Rose to Purple Dusk
  • Warlord
  • Played By: dergon

    Dena Nehele Terreille
    8 Posts    66 marks
Re: Fresh Starts
« Reply #1 on: January 09, 2019, 10:22:50 AM »

He wasn’t sure who had put the chimney together, but Denholme was very sure they’d had little to no idea what they were doing. Smoke seeped through cracks in the mortar and drifted around the roof beams. He thought there might already be a swallows nest inside of it too. He would have to climb the roof to be sure. For now he just needed the inside cracks to he filled properly before he suffocated.

That was what he was doing, currently. Bucket of thick cement between his feet and trowel in hand. Eyes squinting against the smoke, he stroked in new, smooth patches of mortar between coughing and cursing. He’d dampened the fire but he needed the smoke to find the holes. Not enough time to remortar the whole damn chimney.

”Islay.” He corrected. Wafting the smoke away with craft, Denholme wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Trowel sinking onto the mortar bucket, he turned over it carefully to see who was poking around in his... house. It was house of sorts. Not quite home yet. But his cows were here, and so was he. ”Its Islay. Who’re you?” Other than a half grown witch with a basket of... scarves.

Denholme was about to protest that he didn’t want any. Who had spare marks for scarves any how? No one he knew. The whole lot of them suddenly homeless or barely homed in a strange new territory. Bunch of winged people fluttering about issues orders in the guise of help. He didn’t like it. But then he remembered. He was supposed to be getting a hearth witch for his smokey hearth. So he didn’t kick her straight out, though he wanted to.

”You Hawthorne’s sister?” He had said she was grown. A woman. Denholme thought he must have been lying. What was he going to do with a girl in his house? Rather an old woman who didn’t weep when he kicked the door open and stormed through the house. Mother Night.

Delsie Hawthorne

    Yellow Descent
  • witch
  • Played By: Jones

    Dena Nehele Terreille
    2 Posts    50 marks
Re: Fresh Starts
« Reply #2 on: January 09, 2019, 01:57:46 PM »
”Lord Islay, then.” Delsie lifted her eyebrows at the warlord. Head cocking just a little to keep her eyes from rolling. Peering through the doorway she stood on tiptoe for a better view. Picking his figure out from the swirls of smoke. His question only made her eyebrows rise a little higher.

Was he forgetful or was Keen an absolute shit? Probably both. She wouldn’t put it passed her brother to send her along without warning his friend. Or acquaintance. Or whatever they were. ”Delsie.” She answered, hoping it would jog his memory. Instead he looked over her and her bags as if she had committed some offense.

It made her arms cross defensively over her chest. Standing there waiting on his judgement. Keen had said this fellow was a grump. Apparently he had not been exaggerating. On that bit. He had not been completely accurate with the rest... ”I am. He said you were old and impolite. Surprised, really, he was half right.”

Since he didn’t seem in a hurry to invite her inside Delsie did it herself. A bag in each hand, laid on the other side of the door. Just in case she had to grab them quickly on her way out. The house needed work. It still looked very empty. Far better, however, than the tent she was sharing with her mother and their old neighbor woman. Turning from the man to the mess he was making she tapped his bucket with the side of her foot.

”Chimney leaking?” She asked after puzzling the assortment of tools and the smoke overhead together. ”Why not shield your face instead of crying all over the place?” Bottom lip caught between her teeth and eyebrows knitted together she looked him over while waiting on his answer. Yellow twist the air in the room until it circulation enough to push the smoke out of the door. Easier than dissipating the lot when more would just replace it. The whole house would smell like smoke and wet cement. And she’d be on her knees picking the grit drops off the floor forever probably.

Denholme Islay

    Rose to Purple Dusk
  • Warlord
  • Played By: dergon

    Dena Nehele Terreille
    8 Posts    66 marks
Re: Fresh Starts
« Reply #3 on: February 14, 2019, 06:21:50 AM »

What the hell was he going to do with a girl in his house, Denholme wondered. Full grown, Keen had said. Den wasn’t so sure. She looked half grown, standing in his doorway like that. The basket of scarves still a puzzle. What did she need so many for? It was not supposed to be as cold as home in Askavi. He heard the lowlands rarely got snow. The would find out for certain this coming winter, which wasn’t far off. Not even the chance at an actual harvest before then.

”He doesn’t seem to be the most truthful.” He agreed, eyebrows furrowing at her crossed arms and implied insult. She would have to be Keen’s sister with a mouth like that and not even the Jewels to back it up. He did not like women in his house! There never had been a young one in it at all, not even the old one back home. Just the old woman who had come to cook and clean for him. Ladies occasionally passing on the road by or stopping by the gate.

Den shook his head and turned back to his work, wet eyes wiped in his shoulder as he tried to fill the gape the smoke came in through. It was hard when all it took a crack smaller than he could see. The girl, Delsie, let herself in the rest of the way. Denholme figured he probably should have done the inviting but visitors were not his strong suit. Or women of any sort that actually expected talked to.

”What?” He snapped, annoyed he hadn’t thought of the idea himself. ”I’m not crying.” It wasn’t emotion that made his eyes run like a milk less babe, of which there seemed to be plenty of lately! Den scowled, the tips of his ears pink, one had the beginnings of a curl curving over its edge. He scratched it away. ”I’ve got better things to do with my Jewels.” He defended lamely. He didn’t, really, but she didn’t need to know that.

He smoothed more mortar into the stones, and found the smoke completely absent from his eyes. One last curl drifting away to be swept out the door by the girl’s craft. Nodding to himself, Den stepped away from the bricks and looked the place over. And Delsie, though he did that from the corner of his eye rather than straight on. ”There is a bedroom behind the kitchen.” He pointed with the trowel, boot kicking out to catch the dripping mortar on his toe.

”You can have that one.” It was small, but so was she, Den figured it was the best place for her. The only place, really, since he’d already taken the larger room for himself. Besides, he figured she’d like to be near the kitchen. ”You cook, right?” Because he was getting wholly sick of potatoes and stew.

 

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