Fang
Active member
When Catian Valor had told Imir that he could help him the boy had been over the moon in his joy and excitement, practically jumping into the stranger’s arms and that empty blackness without any thought as to the danger the man might have posed. It had become clear with a little bit of time and a whole lot of thought that he had been rather foolish to do so, especially seeing a taste of what the Traveler was capable of when they were suddenly in another city, more bustling and busy than the one they had met in and even more foreign to Imir than he would like.
Though Imir had expected to be taken directly to the foundation that Catian spoke of, instead he found himself at the doorstep of a small restaurant in the heart of Beijing. After an introduction in Madarin in which the only word he caught was his own name, Catian left him to “sort everything out” and instructed Imir to help out Ms. Cheng (who apparently owned the restaurant) until someone came for him.
After nearly a week Imir had gone from boundless hope and optimism to a seething cynicism toward the Traveler. Unable to communicate beyond the most basic of things Imir had been tun through a gauntlet of dirty dishes and food prep for days, and as the hours ticked by he kicked himself more and more for trusting some random stranger off the street, even if he did have hair like his and apparent powers beyond this world.
One would think that a child raised on stories around the fickleness and betrayal of deities would be more cautious around someone like Catian, and in truth, in that moment, Imir was glad to be apparently rid of his biggest mistake in the wide world he was so new to. After leaving his village he had initially thought that the greatest threat he would face would be the occasional attempted mugging, but after being faced with something of a storybook character given flesh he realized that the world he walked now, the world that his Awakening had brought him into, held far more dangers than man or beast.
These thoughts swirled around his mind as he washed plate after plate, the circling of his hands reflecting the pensiveness of his expression with every soapy stroke. His thoughts and emotions were like the bubbles, quick to rise to the surface only to pop and disappear as if they were never there. Unlike the menial task he pursued, however, it seemed that the circling in his mind did nothing to clean its stains, instead driving them deeper as he became more paranoid, more suspicious that perhaps he might have been the victim of some mystical prank, or worse that the Traveler might be keeping him for some nefarious plot later.
A heavy sigh passed his lips as he stopped scrubbing, the short, wrinkled from of Ms. Cheng popping up coincidentally at his shoulder and turning the sight to startled yelp. She was always so serious, so severe in her countenance that Imir felt as though she could see into his very soul and wasn’t quite pleased with what she found there.
”Time to break.” Her English was fragmented and broken, edges in her tone as sharp as the gazes she flicked across the kitchen toward Imir throughout the day. It was a small acquiescence that she even attempted the words at all, the first few days filled with nothing but silence and pointing with an occasional grunt thrown in to express her insistence that he clean this, scrub that, or prep this. She was a relentless taskmaster, but even while her countenance spoke of stone and steel her actions were often at odds with that hard packed exterior. The clothes he wore had been left by her, he had no doubt, and while she worked him hard she was as firm about him taking his rest as she was about anything.
He dried his hands with a silent nod, not quite trusting that his tone wouldn’t reflect the melancholy he felt if he spoke his acceptance to her command. There were only a few plates left in the water, and it was the slowest part of their day to boot. It was as good of a time to step away as any, though he only went so far as to scoop up a plate of some noodle dish he couldn’t pronounce the name of. Another of the spun sugar actions that Ms Cheng had employed; it seemed that she thought him too thin, or perhaps she simply enjoyed feeding people that much. Either way he always seemed to have a plate in front of him, whether it was to be cleaned with soap or to be cleared of a meal those plates had become a focal point in his world.
He ate quickly, and took the plate to the sink himself. At first he had been surprised to find the owner of the establishment taking his place and washing the dishes that came in while he rested, but as he stepped up to the sink next to Ms. Cheng he found that he had grown accustomed to it rather quickly. A slight wave of his hand as he slipped his plate into the water caught her attention, and she turned to face him with a hard expression betrayed only by her kind eyes.
”Any word yet?” Imir asked the same question, day in and day out. Each time he asked Ms Cheng would shake her head solemnly, perhaps unequipped to respond verbally or perhaps leaving the motion as a truer communication of her denial. It was a devastating answer sometimes, but the routine helped, somehow.
She didn’t stop with a shake of her head today, however. ”Mr. Valor come when Mr. Valor want. Not before. Always for when he want, for twenty year now. Patient, Imir-láng.” Patience was always easier to preach for the elderly and those who weren’t waiting, and though he knew Ms. Cheng was trying to console him Imir felt the scowl crawl over his expression.
” I’ve been patient! I don’t know what he told you but I don’t have the time to sit around waiting for someone to come rescue me!” Realizing the volume he had reached Imir ran a hand over his face, pruned from its time in the dishwater, and lowered his voice. ”I’m sorry Ms. Cheng. I didn’t mean to yell.”
The older woman pated a calloused hand on Imir’s shoulder and stepped down from the stool she used while washing the dishes. With a small grunt she pointed to the dishwater, soapy bubbles playing tag in the wake of his plate’s entry. Sighing again Imir’s shoulders fell slightly as he positioned himself in front his station. It had been a week since he had come to this place, and longer since he had let the wolf free from its mortal prison. The outbursts were getting harder to control, and already he could feel the strength draining from his bones.
”Please, please let him come soon. In a city like this there is no telling how bad it will be when the wolf breaks free.” The soapy water Imir pleaded to only popped softly as a reply, and he dove his hands into it once more to fish around for his own dirty dishes. If only all messes were so easy to clean.
Though Imir had expected to be taken directly to the foundation that Catian spoke of, instead he found himself at the doorstep of a small restaurant in the heart of Beijing. After an introduction in Madarin in which the only word he caught was his own name, Catian left him to “sort everything out” and instructed Imir to help out Ms. Cheng (who apparently owned the restaurant) until someone came for him.
After nearly a week Imir had gone from boundless hope and optimism to a seething cynicism toward the Traveler. Unable to communicate beyond the most basic of things Imir had been tun through a gauntlet of dirty dishes and food prep for days, and as the hours ticked by he kicked himself more and more for trusting some random stranger off the street, even if he did have hair like his and apparent powers beyond this world.
One would think that a child raised on stories around the fickleness and betrayal of deities would be more cautious around someone like Catian, and in truth, in that moment, Imir was glad to be apparently rid of his biggest mistake in the wide world he was so new to. After leaving his village he had initially thought that the greatest threat he would face would be the occasional attempted mugging, but after being faced with something of a storybook character given flesh he realized that the world he walked now, the world that his Awakening had brought him into, held far more dangers than man or beast.
These thoughts swirled around his mind as he washed plate after plate, the circling of his hands reflecting the pensiveness of his expression with every soapy stroke. His thoughts and emotions were like the bubbles, quick to rise to the surface only to pop and disappear as if they were never there. Unlike the menial task he pursued, however, it seemed that the circling in his mind did nothing to clean its stains, instead driving them deeper as he became more paranoid, more suspicious that perhaps he might have been the victim of some mystical prank, or worse that the Traveler might be keeping him for some nefarious plot later.
A heavy sigh passed his lips as he stopped scrubbing, the short, wrinkled from of Ms. Cheng popping up coincidentally at his shoulder and turning the sight to startled yelp. She was always so serious, so severe in her countenance that Imir felt as though she could see into his very soul and wasn’t quite pleased with what she found there.
”Time to break.” Her English was fragmented and broken, edges in her tone as sharp as the gazes she flicked across the kitchen toward Imir throughout the day. It was a small acquiescence that she even attempted the words at all, the first few days filled with nothing but silence and pointing with an occasional grunt thrown in to express her insistence that he clean this, scrub that, or prep this. She was a relentless taskmaster, but even while her countenance spoke of stone and steel her actions were often at odds with that hard packed exterior. The clothes he wore had been left by her, he had no doubt, and while she worked him hard she was as firm about him taking his rest as she was about anything.
He dried his hands with a silent nod, not quite trusting that his tone wouldn’t reflect the melancholy he felt if he spoke his acceptance to her command. There were only a few plates left in the water, and it was the slowest part of their day to boot. It was as good of a time to step away as any, though he only went so far as to scoop up a plate of some noodle dish he couldn’t pronounce the name of. Another of the spun sugar actions that Ms Cheng had employed; it seemed that she thought him too thin, or perhaps she simply enjoyed feeding people that much. Either way he always seemed to have a plate in front of him, whether it was to be cleaned with soap or to be cleared of a meal those plates had become a focal point in his world.
He ate quickly, and took the plate to the sink himself. At first he had been surprised to find the owner of the establishment taking his place and washing the dishes that came in while he rested, but as he stepped up to the sink next to Ms. Cheng he found that he had grown accustomed to it rather quickly. A slight wave of his hand as he slipped his plate into the water caught her attention, and she turned to face him with a hard expression betrayed only by her kind eyes.
”Any word yet?” Imir asked the same question, day in and day out. Each time he asked Ms Cheng would shake her head solemnly, perhaps unequipped to respond verbally or perhaps leaving the motion as a truer communication of her denial. It was a devastating answer sometimes, but the routine helped, somehow.
She didn’t stop with a shake of her head today, however. ”Mr. Valor come when Mr. Valor want. Not before. Always for when he want, for twenty year now. Patient, Imir-láng.” Patience was always easier to preach for the elderly and those who weren’t waiting, and though he knew Ms. Cheng was trying to console him Imir felt the scowl crawl over his expression.
” I’ve been patient! I don’t know what he told you but I don’t have the time to sit around waiting for someone to come rescue me!” Realizing the volume he had reached Imir ran a hand over his face, pruned from its time in the dishwater, and lowered his voice. ”I’m sorry Ms. Cheng. I didn’t mean to yell.”
The older woman pated a calloused hand on Imir’s shoulder and stepped down from the stool she used while washing the dishes. With a small grunt she pointed to the dishwater, soapy bubbles playing tag in the wake of his plate’s entry. Sighing again Imir’s shoulders fell slightly as he positioned himself in front his station. It had been a week since he had come to this place, and longer since he had let the wolf free from its mortal prison. The outbursts were getting harder to control, and already he could feel the strength draining from his bones.
”Please, please let him come soon. In a city like this there is no telling how bad it will be when the wolf breaks free.” The soapy water Imir pleaded to only popped softly as a reply, and he dove his hands into it once more to fish around for his own dirty dishes. If only all messes were so easy to clean.