Difference between revisions of "Talk:Czcibor Kowal/Temp"

Revision as of 03:16, 26 November 2017

MT07 - Wayhouse - Nov 25

It's a couple days after Thanksgiving, and it's only chilly instead of outright cold, tonight. No snow, just grey skies not even bothering to loom threateningly-- maybe the clouds are tired or cranky or just not into it. Either way, it means the night's not pitch black, because the moon's lit the clouds up from behind, and in that strange light, everything outside is dark grey.

In contrast, the inside of the Wayhouse is warm and warmly lit, as welcoming and community-oriented as it ever is, and there's a man present who's recently taken to holing up there with various manual projects, at the dining room table, when he wants to be ostensibly social but doesn't want to go to the effort of seeking out company or subjecting himself to crowds.

Czcibor Kowal's in jeans and a nondescript zip-up maroon hoodie with hiking boots, a newspaper spread out on the table in front of him, and he's idly reading it as he carves into a split stick he's already stripped of bark. It doesn't look like it's something he's very good at, at all. But you don't get good at anything without practice, right?

Dielle comes into the Wayhouse. She's wearing that godawful sweater of hers, the one that's purple and green and scary shades of both. She doesn't have anywhere in particular she needs to be or any reason to be in the Wayhouse, she's just there because going to poke the bears in a different place doesn't sound like fun tonight. She sees Czcibor and calls out a hearty "Hey, there," to him.

The tin man looks up and grins. "Hey, Moon Princess," he says, setting the stick and the pen knife down, then reaching for his coffee as he looks her over-- and tries really hard not to look at her sweater. He sips his coffee, then sets it down as he tilts his head. "Captain Moon Princess, I mean. Are you okay?"

Dielle chuckles. "I'm just fine, Czcibor. Had to do some shopping today. I can trek in the Hedge for hours, but one trip through Costco just drains me. And on the weekend of Black Friday, too. This was after talkin' to a new girl, Peggy, and givin' a personal training session to an athlete" She gives a bit of a yawn and says, "How's your day been?"

"Eh," the Elemental says, wobbling his free hand and shrugging. "Quiet, which is good, I like quiet. Too much social drama and emotional friction the past few days. Really glad to just... not." He pauses, then reaches up to rub the back of his head. "I should have mentioned this before, but I-- I don't think I can go on the Ashen Hunt. I mean, if you need me there as a healer if any of our people get hurt, I can do that. I'll go as air. I don't know how they get organized around these parts, but the way they've been run in other freeholds I've been in..." He shakes his head. "Being terrifying and mob-chasing someone, or a group of someones-- mortals in this case... I just... I understand they need to die. But my brother was chased by the Wild Hunt. I can't... be the monsters that hunted him."

Dielle says, "You don't have to, Kowal. It's entirely voluntary. If you want, we can both go and sit on the sidelines and heal our people if they need it. Well, you can, I can just heal bruises and concussions and shit. I'm all for going and talking to these guys, or getting into a nasty brawl kinda thing, but...well, I ain't Autumn and it's not my scene, precisely." She sits down, and leans on the table and looks vaguely relieved that someone else shares her sentiments. "It's not even that I feel bad for these fuckers. They're murderers. But this ain't clean."

If Dielle looks relieved, Czcibor looks like her admission just took the world off his shoulders. All the hesitation drops away and he laughs, shoulders sagging, back thumping against the back of his chair. "Dzieki Bogu--! I thought it might be a requirement or something. It's-- there is a lot of Autumn that I admire fiercely. I am glad they are there to keep our lore and our magic; I am glad they are there to find ways to use the Gentry's magic against them-- but fear... fear is a blade with no hilt and no sheath. It's even easy for me to use-- and that's why it is so very important to me that I don't become it." Then he slouches down a little further and holds his mug in both hands, looking rueful. "And also, yes, it isn't clean."

Dielle smiles at Czcibor and it's a slow smile with as much relief as he has. "Don't know if it's because I'm me or because I was a unicorn. Or maybe it's the guy I'm with, and he just makes me want to be better than I am. But I prefer a clean fight and I'm not real happy that we're not gonna get to go back and have a chat with those guys. Shooting them in the head when they refuse to change is at least giving them a chance. They can fight back. This? Yeah, I really, really don't much like it."

There's a little tilt of his head again, and Czci's smiling a small, fond, lopsided little thing at Dielle. "I think it's probably because of who you are, if it's got you on a gut level like this." Then the smile fades and he looks into his coffee, which may or may not be laced with alcohol. "A clean fight is always preferable to assassination, and assassination preferable to murdering someone who's terrified and running from you because hell is literally on their heels. Because I'm me, I prefer-- when possible-- alternatives to death. A second chance with a sword of Damocles hanging above it, perhaps. Terror used as an educational tool rather than as cruelty in and of itself, and balanced with hope and knowledge. 'This is what could be done to you, but it won't be. You won't die if you never come after us again, if you leave. Or if you help us instead.' Rehabilitation. Pledge-binding. It's worked before-- but this isn't where I come from; I'm new here. This isn't my season. None of this is my call, and it shouldn't be." Then he looks up at Dielle again. "But if there's no other choice, then yes, let them at least go down fighting."