Some Love (Solo)

[Philomel]

[[Mature]]

"I am afraid you have the wrong end of the stick."

He frowned, looking down at the rather gnarled staff between them. It lay horizontal to the world, perpendicular as to how usually one held such an item, caught between the occupancy of two warm souls. Looking very much like an aged straight branch that had been lobbed off an oak tree at an unfortunately young age it was twisted but still thin, as if it could have had some life left. A thicker head told of the head and a thinner end spoke of the tail, that bit which touched the floor and quite literally he was holding this end.

"Ah," he said, reaching out with his other hand. And he took the head from the sailor opposite.

She was a hardy looking woman, with broad shoulders and a wild mane of hair. Out of the corner of her mouth was stuck a stretch of barley grass, which she played with with her tongue and chewed on with her teeth. She sniffed for a moment, her wide piggy nostrils of her long nose flaring and exposing the ugly inhabitants of the interior, and then she smiled. Right at the man whom she had handed the staff to.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, rather grateful, "Imagine if I had tried to place the other end on the ground!"

The woman tried to laugh, and it came out obviously pressured. But he, being good of spirit, accepted it all the same, and chortled as he placed the actual end of his staff on the ground, then leaned on it with both hands. His short grey hair was still stuck in mad directions after his rambunctuous night on the ship, but he did not seem to care. All he was happy about was the fact he had his staff and could itch his groins without anyone moaning.

[Philomel]

Harriet Starr watched the old man leave, shaking her head.

He was one of the predictable sort - old, starved of action, ditsy. When these ages of people came to the ship she took it upon her self to take care of them, for it was within her experience. Of course her job history spoke purely of ship craft, of sailing the high seas and conquering krakens, however her true past was of taking care of her elderly parents. Last time she had seen them was only two weeks previous, and that had been to do everything from clean their house in her regular manner, order their meals from the local innkeep for the next month and pay the maid who came to dress and wash them. She was due back to go back in another fortnight hence, if oppurtunity allowed, but Harriet severely doubted that because of where they currently were.

Matriarch Philomel was over in the main town of Erstfort, the island where she had first made those connections almost a year ago now. Generally the ship was quiet, although open for business with its red silks fluttering amongst the sails and over the railings in the soft breeze. People, like the old man, had come and gone alone, and reduced rates had invariably been offered. Vaeron, the ever strong-willed 'adviser' to Philomel had said there was no need to open the ship, but Harriet had stood her ground. Why waste time when everyone is bored? she had said, Why not gain more money when you have an unknown length of time to wait?

Therefore the crimson billowing fabric had been laid out. The unsmiling figure of the ship's only male inhabitant could been seen at the forecastle, mulling over his own sorrows. Harriet turned to him now, eyebrows rising as she watched him pour his beer over the edge, and then go fill the tankard with whisky from his hip flask, and she let out a laugh before starting the way over. He was a strange one, but overall she liked him.

Despite his ragged clothes, he had the spirit of a lion.

[vaeron]

Not all people have had a pleasant life.

As he heard the footsteps behind him Rameses Vaeron turned, suspecting who it might be. After all, most of the other members of the crew of the Fiesty Fox were below decks, relaxing and chatting whilst business apparently went on 'as usual'. Why open up the ship for patrons whilst Philomel was away was unwise, in his personal opinion. Though he never took any activity in with the alternative services the ship provided (other than cargo, shipping etc) he did somewhat mind strangers walking around in his home when there was not the Matriarch to be seen. Strong and powerful, Vaeron delighted in her existence, quite firmly noting her in his mind as 'his best friend'. Not only was she completely accepting of his sexual orientation when it had caused so many problems in the past, but she was also accepting of him in his quiet lifestyle, his advise, his personality and his history. The human and faun were an unlikely pairing but they had now known each other close to ten months and rarely did one spend a few days without at least brief company of the other.

His mellow blue eyes, as calm and warm as a south sea under the brightest of summer weathers, looked up and down the battered old sea-woman. Harriet to him was little more than an expert and though they had had their arguments he had a fond respect for her. She crossed her arms as she came to him, raising her chin into the air. When Philomel was gone she was the mean and proper captain of the ship, and she had the stance right now to prove it.

"You seem determined," Vaeron said, leaning back against the side of the forecastle. "One might call it 'threatening,' that look."

Harriet Starr nodded at the tankard in his hand. "You should't be drinking when we have guests."

He deliberately swigged back a mouthful.

"They're not my guests."

"You should do as the captain says," she said, "Orders, even when we are open for business."

He gestured at her with the round rim of his drinking vessel. "You know, officially you aren't the Captain when Philomel is gone. Technically its-"

"You really think Lacey is capable of running a ship?" Harriet challenged him, speaking the name of Philomel's mother, "She's drunk half the time, and the other half she's asleep!"

"... She's better than some of the other girls here."

[Philomel]

"I hope you are not talking about my mother."

Quite literally, she appeared from the decking. All at once a seeming void opened up in the wood work, a round pit of darkness that stretched to nothing but a beyond. The dirt that was previously lodged between the slats of wood rose up somewhat with the energy. Magical energy that was, for there was a definite thrum in the air that Vaeron felt, awakened as he was to such things by his affinity with his Raiaeran god. As the pit formed a being stepped through, or rather appeared, as if she had been there all along. In her hands was a sheaf of papers held together with a spring and wooden clip, and by her feet was curled the form of a very dozy fox.

Philomel looked up from the papers as she came out from the earthly portal, having transported herself to there from the dockside. Her grey eyes glanced from the woman to the man, from salty sailor to magnificent mage, and a small smile came to her face.

"Were you two arguing again?" she asked.

Harriet opened her mouth and began protesting immediately. Vaeron just looked straight back at Philomel and shrugged in a way that meant, 'yeah, so what?' It was a language at least that Philomel understood.

"You know my mother does deserve respect," she continued, from her previous statement, and Harriet changed her complaining tones to a scoff and a flip of her hand.

"Look, I do respect your mother as I respect you, Matriarch but really ..."

"Really ...?" Philomel encouraged her to finish, sliding her papers under her arm.

Harriet was struck dumb for a moment, having cast herself into a pit. A very deep dark pit from which there was possibly no escape.

"Really ... she is very nice?"

[vaeron]

The sound that rumbled out from Vaeron's chest was a cacophony of low-beat grumbling mixed with chortled coughing. With the fact that his facial muscles could not form a smile it came to pass that his laughter always sounded more dry and somewhat sarcastic because of the straight form of his mouth. His eyes were full of a delighted mirth, and he held a hand to his chest as he wheezed a form of laughter quite unlike anything else that existed.

Harriet immediately threw a dark look at him - clearly he was mocking her idea of rescuing a mistake. With Philomel in the eaves just waiting with an eyebrow raised, she started to panic. Flustering with her hands she forgot her usual becoming, professional practises and began to splutter words of little real meaning.

"I - I - grumphen - I - fahh - gah ..."

Vaeron thundered another few tones of his unique laughter, before gaining himself and pointing a finger at her. "My, who is the fool now?" he said.

He felt the pierce of her glare, as stabbing as pointed thin-bladed rapiers. For a few seconds her eyes danced over the tiny scars on either cheek which was where the brigand had cut Vaeron when he was very young, severing the ability to smile from his heart (the muscle in twain), and he felt somewhat persecuted. Eyes switching in their expression from glee to irritation in one movement, he condemned her similarly, joining in the crude and blossoming angst; before Philomel stepped in.

She let out a commanding bark in faunish, and her fox companion growled in his vulpine tongue. The ship captain and the mage's feud ended as swiftly as it had begun, admonished by their lord and both turned their backs to one another.

[Philomel]

Philomel ended the brief, but provoking, argument between the man and woman, and then took her leave. Once either back was turned she turned hers also. Aiming for the stairs that led to the lower deck, she was accompanied by the fair russet fox who was ever in readiness to receive her, and swiftly behind that Vaeron himself came, once realising that all previous conversation was over.

"Princess," he yelled, his leather steel-capped boots clattering on the decking.

The Matriarch did not stop, she only slowed. Neither did she turn her head. Instead Veridian did, and behind his eyes Philomel's direct intelligence and presence was ever present as usual. His golden eyes pulsated with both personalities, scanning into the human's soul until Vaeron was forced to tear his eyes away out of unease.

"Princess," he repeated, "Please can we get out of this hell hole, finally."

Philomel began her way down the wooden steps, each hoof-beat a note of thunder. For those who were hearing this sound, who were seeing the figure of the head-held-high, proud queenly faun for their first time, it was a terror. But for Vaeron, who had seen her at her lowest, yay, had brought her to her lowest, it was merely nothing. Rare was it in normal public company that Philomel properly had the world revolving around her, it was mostly just here on this ship. Yet still, to see that face of condemning fury, to hear those powerful hoof-falls, even a remote hermit stranger would know what sort of danger could be coming.

"It's not a hell hole, Vaeron," she breathed, irritated, "It's the centre of our world. Deal with it. We are here for another two days."

She continued to walk as he stopped in his. Staring at her back, with an unfathomable expression - something mixed with anger and frustration and his ever-present calm - he watched her go, and then saw Veridian go, thus he was completely out of her sight.

[vaeron]

Vaeron watched her back for some time, even after she was gone. His pale blue eyes, as pale as the seas he sailed upon and indirectly worshipped, focused on the wooden stairs, the decking and the bannister as she disappeared to some room beyond where he could notice. Or where she could notice him. His hand folded into a fist, then flattened it back out, and after this repeated the action. Once he had been watching for a full minute, going over motions of flexing and un-flexing continuously, Vaeron felt less tension in his body and found it a right time to turn away, walk back to the forecastle.

Harriet was gone by the time he returned, and Vaeron, now at peace, found it ripe to continue his watching of the sea.

Today the scene was glorious. The brightest sun shone in a mellowly cloudy sky and albatross glided in parallel with the horizon. With wings encompassing more than two metres of diameter the great bird, biggest of all birds, longest flying of all birds, was king of all birds. At least in Vaeron's heart. Its steadiness, its elegance, its prominence in a harbour sky made it his favourite animal in all the world. He even favoured it above the mammoth basking whale, which he had often seen and marvelled at. For him the albatross was a totem, a talisman, a guide for living a purposeful and fulfilling life. He watched the wondrous traveller as it chased the clouds many miles away, and sank down to lean against the back of the figurehead, where it met the forecastle.

Slowing his breaths to calm himself, feeling the tension rise up again - tension of being told that he would have to endure this terrible place for some more - Vaeron sucked in the salty cold air and began to think pleasant thoughts. He thought of his own personal paradise, of an island chain complete with temple to his god and all the company he wanted, not what anyone else demanded. He dreamed of the ability to smile once more, to be able to feel his cheeks pinch with uplifted joy. He imagined having a lover that he wanted, the company of a man and of Philomel, not while she was working constantly away, but rather with her spending every moment with him. Not being stuck on this island whilst she, his best friend (that was as clear to him as pure water) was out visiting and thus he had to endure the terror of Lacey and Harriet by himself.

He thought of better times and tried to calm his spirits. For a while it worked, for a while it calmed him - the sea and his imagination. But then the ship became lively with the impact of more customers and the mage knew he had to go below decks. He excused himself, went away to his room, leaving all others behind.

[Philomel]

"Mehn kanan onn garra s'naken.
Pt g'm langa chom te n'naken
E g'm m'mo'val nen'naken."

Philomel's eyebrow raised as she read the piece.

It was in perfect rhyme, which was nice. The syllables of the actual poem were somewhat uneven, but else it was solid and bold. At least in faunish. However, when translated, the poem was not sweet at all, but rather bawdy and silly.

She had received it along with papers and letters detailing Erstfort and the Gilded Lily's new alliance. What it detailed was more power and ability to the Gilded Lily in the waters around the island, but also a lot more free reign to the Baron (Baron Marmaduke). He would receive more money from the Gilded Lily for his support, and his willingness to let the Lily use Erstfort as their Skara Brae base. He would also be able to call upon the power group twice a year for any services he might require, excluding war with other nations and including sexual favours. He and his people had further reduced rates whenever the Fiesty Fox was in dock at their harbour and he would grant them complete brothel control in his town and villages, so long as the matron of each agreed.

Luckily all the matrons of the town had done. There were only the outlying villages to ensure the co-operation of, hence the further two days of docking for the ship. Philomel knew that for complete control of this place she needed dominance, needed to make her mark, hence her wanting all agreement. Those brothels which decided not to come under the guidance of the Gilded Lily would be of course allowed to do so, but in all honesty it would only be fools who would refuse a Matriarch who came to visit them personally and offered them more money and power than they could ever desire. All they had to do was turn their brothel into a house of secrets, to have an alliance with the Fiesty Fox and in return they would be part of the greatest organisation that the seas and shores had ever seen.

Still, it did not excuse this letter. The potential of the island certainly did not allow for the writing of some man who had obviously found a faunish poem in an old journal or other and decided to hand it to Philomel amongst all the papers. He thought he was funny, but indeed, he was about to see that the Matriarch herself could be a whirling wind of fury.

[Philomel]

The translation read thus:

"My love (lover) has a big penis,
It is as long as a tree branch,
And is a wriggly snake."

Philomel had no idea where this might have come from. She could not think of any one ancient text in which such a piece of rude and bawdy faunish existed. Some ancient documents did have faunish - such as historical records from the early days of Corone including land agreements and comments on Radasanth culture. It was strange furthermore to find them beyond the shores of Corone, for fauns were very rarely seen beyond those borders. A few, such as Philomel's mother, had left the protection of Paradisia or were born outside of it, such as Philomel, but this was not enough for such verses to find themselves to the archives of Skara Brae, especially a backwater island like Erstfort.

She wondered who had slipped the paper to her. Perhaps the person had not known what the poem meant in any way, and just thought it amusing to give the visiting Matriarch something that seemed like her language. Or perhaps the place where he had gotten it from had in fact included a translation and he gave it to her as some form of flirting technique. Either way she was not amused. Her mouth formed a frown after her eyebrow rose as she read the piece in the quiet of her cabin.

Huffing, she pushed the papers from her meeting with Baron Marmaduke aside, and stood, not wanting to bother with them in any way. She went over to her huge hammock, threw herself down on it, faceplanting. Veridian purred in a cat-like way before leaping on to join her. He curled up at her hooves and the two of them, tired from a long day's work, snoozed in the afternoon heat.

[vaeron]

A couple of days later the Fiesty Fox left the harbour. Vaeron was more than satisfied. Yesterday, in his opinion, had been a disaster.

To get away from the ship and the unnecessary company of Harriet Starr he had decided to go with Philomel to the brothels in the outlying villages. Accompanied by her usual entourage of her (self-proclaimed) "bodyguard" Maverik and her secretary Gosling, they had left at early dawn, riding astride their mighty steeds. Philomel had a great mammoth-like beast known as a tera'k by her people, a creature similar to a musk oxen but with more caprine features, and Vaeron was on his mighty shire horse, by the name of Megladon. Named for an ancient sea creature of formidable stride and brutality, the horse was a champion of ferocity.

Maverik and Gosling had followed on smaller stallions, meek and gentle in spirit when in company of the two fierce mounts. They had thence and thus gone to a total of eight brothels in various outlying villages and two outposts, one even in a peaceful small fishing hamlet. At each they had had a meeting with the matron of the brothel. In the first one Vaeron had gone in with Philomel and the other women. There had been much talking, many sour faces, and then many happy faces. Hands were shaken, much bullshitting was spoken, and Vaeron was surprised that a compromise or an agreement was even reached.

Following that he had stayed outside. As the day had worn on there had been lengthier and lengthier talks. When Philomel had come out of each one she looked worse for the weather, and when Vaeron had asked about the success she had grimaced.

"The people here are welcome to change, but want compromise," she had said, "They want power over what secrets to keep and what ones to give."

Vaeron had frowned, and grown more and more grumpy as the day had worn on. In his mind, definitely a failure of a mission.