The naturally and usually soft turf of the moors is turned to unforgiving tundra. The rain and sleet storm has calmed to the occasional sputtering of sleet and rain. Still blowing sideways, though the sharp wind is somewhat softened from its earlier gall. Nightfall. And all the world is dark.
     ...But for strange light in the distance. Muted. Did you think it a mirage, this beacon. Like the grail light, it led you did it not...
     Difficult to make out, the old keep of Strathfayr sits on something of a makeshift island, a bridge crossing the floodplains of the moors and moat work. Few lights, but there are some. Someone... lives out here...
     The house was bolted down and braced for the storm. The security staff in the outer perimeter were brought coffee once the wind let up. There is life stirring once more.

     Desperation has driven men mad in the past. I wonder if I am desperate enough to be mad, or if this hallucination is brought on merely by the slow sinking slough of illness and despondency.
     Thus muses Valmiki, as he trudges towards that gently beckoning light, holding his hands out in front of him as if to warm them already - or perhaps keep him from walking into a tree. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. The poet is nonetheless amused by his own dilemma, even as the mortal shell is wearied - past the point of alarm, no point nor time for alarms by this stage.
     Ah, well, Valmiki the poet, Valmiki the fool, it's all the same in the end, isn't it? And I might yet make it, after all. I could call upon Krishna, Rama, my ancestor both god and mortal, and perhaps he would listen, or perhaps ... well, gods are fickle. Best to just keep walking.
     Hands lowered, Valmiki stumbles, tripping over his own feet, and winces. Oh, this will hurt, when he hits the ground... except the ground isn't where it ought to be, and instead, his forehead catches against a door, producing a hollow clonk, paired by a muttered oath. "Vishnu's balls!"
     He sits down, rather heavily. Well. Maybe I won't call on Vishnu, at any rate.

     Lioslaith MacKenzie hates this time of year. Well, actually he loves it, but shite, does it bring the strangest things. And often to find the interesting gem, he, or someone on his staff have to brave the weather to check it out. That's the difficult part.
     Lioslaith isn't working the outer towers tonight. That's someone else's job. This night, he sits near the warmth of the kitchens, in the inside security building. Coordination central. But with all things winter, the call from the South Courtyards that something is happening doesn't shock him. He simply rises, puts on his coat, and attaches the headphones to his head. "Thanks, Cait," he says, walking through the kitchen pantry to the south doors to meet the others.

     You picked a good place to go unconscious. Within the perimeter of the keep, the south courtyard, where people actually work and tend to be around. Otherwise, you could have fallen and like the tree in the proverbial unoccupied forest, you might not have made a sound...
     Astor Campbell is one of the bright young lads of the service and kitchen staff. Crisp young Scot in his mid-twenties, looking to make a career here in Strathfayr, wanting to be chef or maybe steward. Maybe even head kitchen staff if the chef thing doesn't pan out. He has plans, this young man. But right about now, he's standing half in and half out smoking a fag on the landing.
     Surprised out of his evening break by the appearance and then biffing of a ... tourist? He crushes his cigarette beneath his foot, shoves his hands in his pockets and steps out into the southern courtyard. Miss? Sir? What? Who? How did he or she get past security? Wankers...

     Two others rush from the near barracks by the stables. They heard the call from the last tower and came rushing. The light from the semi-open door is now a beacon, and Lioslaith comes up behind Astor, with the other two gingerly dancing across the icy courtyard in massive coats.
     "What the -- " Lioslaith begins, pushing Astor aside. "Get 'em in," he says, the other two arriving in a slip and slide fashion. The security and grounds head steps back into the kitchens to make room.

     Valmiki is not quite dead, but not quite alive, at this particular moment in time, with the beginnings of a lovely bruise on his temple, his dark bangs matted and wet against his cheeks and everywhere else. Tea-coloured skin marks his ancestors, no matter where he himself is from, as being from a considerably sunnier place than this, and he's covered with the mingled efforts of nature - rain, sleet, snow, producing a half-frozen Indian.
     He groans faintly, but speech, at least in English, is a little too difficult, with his tongue feeling slightly thick and numb. In Hindi, he mutters, "Vishnu, I knew you had a rotten sense of humour, forgive me.... ahh." People. All is forgiven. Aquamarine eyes blink up, then shut again, but Valmiki's smiling blissfully. A poetic ending. Living or dying is besides the point.

     Shite. Astor slips and nearly falls on his own rear, manages to save it and heads back for the kitchens, in time to hold upon the doors. "There's someone walked up the keep, Betsy," that'd be little Betsy Cooper. Betsy Cooper is twenty-one, blonde curls and grey eyes. "Put a kettle on, heat some water besides..." he kicks a stopper under the door to hold it open for the now. "I'll check on a fire..."

     Betsy nods, screaming as she runs off towards the kitchen proper. All English is she, her voice thick with the Scottish side of the fence. "Cait, Mary! Come quick! There's someone outside in the snow! They want blankets and tea! They're frozen..." her voice trails off.

     Astor's now running around like the rest of them. There's a fire in the great hall, but... that's the master's residence. Staff quarters! Why not, more comfortable than the kitchens. He dashes in there, dodging one of the young valets heading out with an evening cart. Scotch and brandy and fruit and cheese for the masters.
     "Jesus, Astor..."
     "They've found someone out front...stay out of the..."
     "I've got to go through the kitchens, Astor --" But Astor's already gone...

     The two security lads slip their way in, but hold the young...person firmly but gently, looking for guidance as soon as they enter. Where do we put 'em? They kick the exterior door, to close it. Likely Lioslaith will take care of the rest.
     Astor pops out, waving, "Fire in here... blankets and hot water and tea on the way...anything else I can do..."

     Androgynous though Valmiki might be, it's men's clothing he's wearing, and there's a wallet in the front of his jacket, along with passport - both claiming that this is a Mister Valmiki Rama-Jambavan. The backpack is light, but solid, as is its owner, who's starting to look around somewhat dazedly before closing his eyes again. "Mmf. Krishna?"

     "That way," he points, to the staff housing opposite the keep. Lioslaith pushes the door the rest of the way. "Be careful, he may have frostbite," Lioslaith warns. "And yeah, Astor, see if you can get the doctor over here."
     "Yeah, we got 'em," Lioslaith suddenly says, talking to his mike. "And I hate to say it, but you lads know." Gotta walk the perimeters. "I'll see you all after the doc shows."

     They grimace at the thought. Doing The Walk. On a night like this. "Aye, sir," the one says, the other nods toward Astor and the open door to the staff housing. They're gentle, but they're quick. Astor directs them to the fire, he's laid out cushions from the sofa. It'll do for the now. He darts off to get Dr. Dyce.
     She's on-site and always on-call. And she's used to be called upon heavily in the winter, with the colds and the flu and the croup. But not this sort of thing. This is most unusual...

     ...Upstairs...
     Dark eyebrows quirk up at the sound of the activity. Paint pools in a jar of solvent. Deep indigo, turning cobalt, then blue, then sky, then nothing. The brush cleaned. Deep indigo -- his eyes -- are distracted from the canvas and the painting stretched out on the floor beneath his feet. A large exploration of masculine flesh. Halted. William stops. Listening.
     He has been practicing...
     He can tell something is going on...

     The other had noticed it too, but left it to the staff to handle. But with William's awareness, his own becomes piqued. Ian's head lifts from his folded hands where it rested. He cannot move so much, with the paint drying upon him, but it is enough to give an ear to the sounds. Blonde-white hair sweeps around his neck where he's placed it to avoid the colors.

     Instinctively, at the mention of a doctor, Valmiki reluctantly begins to be roused from cold-induced slumbers. "No, no doctor," he insists. "Doctors take away your trousers and expose you to diseases. The only thing worse than a doctor is a hospital, because that's the plural of doctor." Well, at least this time it came out in English, even if rather slurred.

     Betsy returns with another girl and an armful of blankets. "Here," she says, not really knowing what to do. They're offered to Lioslaith, who unfolds them each to place over the visitor. He puts the wallet into his pocket for now.
     "Please, sir, y'need to stay there, you may be injured," Lioslaith says firmly, opening another blanket to lay on the arrival.

     The tea comes from Mary, who arrives with a tray. Lucky for her she has a reason to be here, otherwise, she'd be in the kitchen, dying of curiosity. One potential death is enough.
     She slows as she sets the tray down on the table near the sofa, staring at the arrival far, far more than she should. The tray rattles as she drops it the last inch onto the table, prompting Lioslaith to say, "Thank you, Mary, that's all." You can go.

     "Shh, stay still..." William smiles downward to his subject, his love. In blues and cyans and aquamarines and the color of sunlight. Now, for the purples. The smile spreads smoothly, warmly. With love and admiration so plain, it needs no canvas. But... still... he lets his work speak for him. To say the things he cannot, even after eight centuries, articulate...
     He shrugs it off, the sounds and the commotion. Now that he is learning how to 'hear', he must also now learn how to 'tune out'.
     Purple paint is smoothed, rich, deep color on masculine fingers. And he crouches, those fingers moving along Ian's shoulder...

     Doctor Elspeth comes walking quickly, with Astor quick behind her. "Right over here, staff quarters, Doctor..."

     "Don't take away my trousers, and I'll stay put, I'll stay in any position you want, but no doctors, please, no doctors," gabbles Valmiki. He's largely unaware of exactly how many people are about. "I'm - I'm allergic to them. See, they make me sneeze." He sneezes, but it's a pitiful 'k'chew' that would embarrass a kitten.
     Give it twenty-four hours, maybe, and he'll manage fine real sneezes, and the misery to go with them...

     Finally. Lioslaith's got security problems and is eager to go. "She won't take your trousers," he says exasperatedly, laying another blanket on the guest. A flick of his hand and the arrival's name is shown to the doctor. "Indian, I think," he says. Very strange. "He'll want this," and Lioslaith offers it to Dr. Dyce for safekeeping and potential return. "I got all I need." Name, face. Now time for some computer work.
     "I'll inform the lords," he says, stepping away to let Dr. Dyce have more room. "And, he may have some religious thing with doctors..." Lioslaith notes for the record. Now, his work here is done. Security takes another path.

     The blonde settles down again when he's touched. Fingers tipped in something moisturizing swirls on his skin, and it's enough to make him relax once more. Ian sighs, cheek coming to rest once more on his folded hands. He takes his companion's advice, closing his eyes.

     Valmiki relaxes once it's plain his clothing isn't going to be taken away, but one aquamarine eye opens in the direction of Lioslaith. "Parvati bless you," he mumbles, "And if there's doctors to take my clothes, Kali may have my blessings of you." Then the Indian poet promptly closes his eyes, tilting back in a bit of a faint.

     Mary nods, turning to head off as Dr. Dyce begins to sit on the other side of the sofa from Valmiki. "Hello, Mr. Rama-Jambavan, I am Dr. Dyce. Please call me Elspeth." She takes quick assessment of things, setting the wallet aside. "I'm here to see about you. We're all worried. You are a long way from home and we didn't expect you. How do you feel?" she asks, looking at Valmiki's face.
     Lioslaith takes his cue and heads out, pushing a dawdling Mary in front of him. He leaves Astor to help the doctor, just in case.

     Astor looks to the doctor, "Tea and blankets are here... anything else I can do?" Such a good lad. He falls quiet as the doctor gets to it. But he lingers in the doorway, arms folded at his chest.

     Lioslaith doesn't seem too worried on the thanks and latent threat. He manages a smile as he disappears, already speaking again into his headset.

     "No, just hold Astor, thank you," Elspeth says, looking back to Valmiki for response.

     ...Upstairs...
     Purple blends sea and sky. For that is what the painting is. Sea and sky upon living flesh -- hyper-living, as it were -- the sea and sky holding everything in their balance. Between them, Meaning. Deep purple becomes muted, warm, living, rocks and horizon, cliffs of Scotland. Fingers wander the middle of the blonde's back, dipping toward the terminal point.

     "Aye, ma'am," Astor says and he holds firm in the doorway. Just in case.

     It takes him a few minutes, but Valmiki does manage to open his eyes to answer the doctor. Well. One eye. The other's got a bruise forming on the temple next to it, and it hurts, damn it.
     "I feel?" He mulls this one over. "I feel as though someone stuck the nozzle of a hose somewhere it had no right to be, and turned on the seas connected to the other end. That aside, you've got lovely eyes, and this fire is wonderful." Valmiki can be gallant, even now. It's inbred.

     The brunette smiles, nodding. "Will you mind if I touch you, Mr. Rama-Jambavan? I need to see your hands and feet. How long have you been outside? How did you get here?" Fingers move the blankets up top as she goes to find fingers. Dr. Dyce moves in slow motion, so that Valmiki can tell that she is following through on her plan. "You have a bruise by your temple...do you know how you got that?" she asks, not aware of what's happened.

     Valmiki murmurs, "My hands and feet? Be my guest. I dimly recall being dropped off of a bus about... I've no idea when, in truth. The driver said something along the lines of he was terribly sorry, but that was as far as he could take me, and while I'd paid through to ... somewhere or other, he'd have to let me off, no doubt I could find a ride."
     He grimaces slightly. "I didn't find a ride, but then the weather changed on me - p'rhaps I should've not played my flute, they say sometimes the music can draw ill winds as well as good." The Indian shifts slightly, then settles back. "You have a very nice home," he adds politely. "And a very stout front door. I'm afraid I tripped and rung the bell."

     Astor hangs by. Most unusual bloke, wouldn't you say. "Aye, weather changes swift on the moors," he sighs. Then clears his throat and goes silent. No one asked for my opinion...

     Elspeth looks a little dismayed at the idea that this person was dropped off and left to fend for himself. "They are not to do that," she says, exposing Valmiki's hands finally. "We'll talk to someone about that. I am sorry for that. You play the flute?" she asks, then looks over to Astor, "Can you make him a tea, please?"
     "Here," she says softly, fingers gently lifting Valmiki's as she inspects. "Do you know how long ago you were dropped off? It is now," she glances at her watch, "...approaching eleven pm." She squeezes Valmiki's hand gently. "And Astor is right. That is why no one should be dropped off by the coach."

     Astor heads into the room, tending suddenly to the tea. The scent of good English tea wafts warmth, a touch of sweetness. He pours a cuppa. Even adds a touch of the fresh cream. He takes the cup and approaches the stranger.
     "Here y' go," Astor gently offers. "And I'll see to the call," he says to the doctor. He won't do it himself necessarily, but he'll make sure it's done.

     "When? It had been dark for a while already, that I do recall. But," and Valmiki smiles, holding up one hand, "I do not wear a watch, you see, so I have little way of marking the hours. Is that tea?"
     How to perk up an Englishman, or an Indian... offer tea. Valmiki does his damnedest to sit up, smiling widely despite being tired. "My thanks, good sir, many thanks indeed. I've much appreciation for this."

     "Our pleasure, sir," Astor says easily. Such hospitality.

     "Do your fingers or toes hurt? Arms or legs?" Elspeth asks, bending now to remove Valmiki's shoes. She watches him take the tea and smirks. Guess the hands are alright. "Thanks, Astor," the doctor says, inhaling as she removes one of the shoes from her awkward position.

     "I'm a little sore," Valmiki admits, "but mainly thanks to the weather, I think. Have you ever had a massage with ten-stone needles? If not, I don't recommend it, though it no doubt will be invigorating if I were just used to it."
     The shoes are simple enough leather boots - similar in design to moccasins, with a fleece lining that's long soaked through by now. Valmiki's feet are neither blue nor black, though perhaps slightly paler than they ought to be - it was a long walk in cold weather, after all - and rather wet as well. "Mostly, my dear lady, I am bathing in this warmth and companionability as though I have been raised to the right hand of the king of gods himself. Take whatever debt I owe from my wallet, for it will not be one-tenth recompense enough, I do vow."

     "Astor, can you get a towel please? His feet need to be dried," Elspeth says, pushing the skin a little and watching it return to its previous form. "And some fresh clothes, please. Something simple."
     "We shall do no such thing, Mr. Rama-Jambavan. You are welcome here and we don't take payment. I think...a few cups of tea, some sleep...and you shall be fine. But you need to get out of the clothing you are in, have dry, fresh garb, and let your hands and feet warm up gradually. Maybe Astor could bring you something to eat as well..."

     "No!" Valmiki sits up so suddenly he nearly spills the tea. "I beg your pardon, fair lady, I do not mean to bring you distress, but my clothing remains upon me, and none shall aid me or witness my disrobing. It is ... it is not something I may swerve from." The aquamarine eyes both open fully, filled with fierce determination as he struggles to be fully upright, looking as though he might even try to stand.

     There's nothing said about payment, or repaying hospitality. That is the nature of true hospitality. It needs no repayment. Astor makes sure the pass off on the tea goes well, then he rises and moves out of the way. Standing by, in case anything else is needed.

     Raised to the right hand of the king of gods is strangely appropriate, being in the house of Dunross and Plantagenet...

     Astor snaps to attention, "Aye, ma'am," and he zooms off. Handsome AND efficient. How the masters must love him. He'll be gone for a bit. He'll have to search the staff supply. He heads not back to the kitchens but down the hall to the individual rooms.

     "Calm, Mr. Rama-Jambavan," Elspeth says, exhaling as she takes her seat again. "You may dress yourself. We will leave you clothing and a room, but you can do the rest yourself." Goodness. "Regardless, you have to change from the clothing you are in and make sure you are dry. Can I trust you to do that, if we give you a room to sleep and a fresh set of clothes?"

     "..." A pause, as the words sink in, and Valmiki nods readily. "Of course, my lady fair, of course." He attempts to draw himself up to bow gallantly, but thinks better of it. "I would not dream of abusing your faith."

     "Thank you," Elspeth says, hands on her lap. "As soon as Astor comes back, we'll get you a room, the clothes, and some warm food, if you are hungry. Then, I suggest sleep. We can figure out the rest in the morning, hmm?"

     "By all means, madam." The aquamarine eyes droop closed, then reopen with a fixity that indicates willpower, more than actual alertness, at this point. Valmiki is stubborn and crazy and possibly stupid - but he is a gentleman. "It shall be as you command."

Posted by rowan at June 19, 2003 10:49 PM