2017-09-23: OverKnight Delivery
- Log: OverKnight Delivery
- Cast: Gwen Whitlock, K.K.
- Where: An Oasis in the Desert
- Date: 9/23/2017
- Summary: While Gwen Whitlock has delivered mail to many strange characters in her five years as a courier, this one is definitely one of the most... unique.
</poem>
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
It's just about noon, and the sun has already heated the desert wastelands to nearly unbearable levels; a reckless traveler would quickly find themselves overwhelmed by heat exhaustion, dehydration, or a nasty combination of both. A clever traveler would stay out of the Badlands entirely during this time window, opting instead to travel during the morning and early evening hours, where the sun's slanting would offer some relief. On days when the temperature is particularly nasty, they'd simply hole up in whatever town they're at, even if it happens to be a complete hell hole like Little Twister.
But that clever traveler is probably not going to get paid, if they're in the courier trade.
However, couriers still can get heat exhaustion, so it's up to them to know the tricks of the landscape, as well as hidden gems tucked in the middle of nowhere that could mean everything to a small traveler.
Gems, like this small oasis set into the sheltering shade of a cliff face, a small stream burbling from some deposit of water tucked deep within. Desert plants litter the area in a small radius, some of them flowering, creating a tiny ecosystem of small creatures that dine or coexist with the plants, or on each other. Such a system would make the 5'8" Gwen seem like a giant.
She's still the daughter of a scholar, however, taking this short time off to get over a notebook as Gulliver browses his nose in the resulting pool of water, skimming water off the surface. "Water level's lower, looks like," she comments with a frown. "Could've sworn this was a whole lot bigger last time. Not sure I can depend on this bein' here for much longer if this keeps up." A small lizard flicks around the sand, craning its tiny reptilian head at the redheaded courier, who grins. "No worries, little guy. Just gonna be here for the next few hours. My, you're a pretty lil' thing too, aren't cha? Maybe a male?" She takes notes in her notepad. "Lookin' to impress a fine lady, eh? I probably ain't your type, though."
A courier gets used to talking to animals. Sometimes, it's the only way to keep the monotony from completely breaking your spirit.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
In Western Ignas, the desert is a merciless fact of life. Oppressively hot during the day; bone-chillingly cold at night. It is a study in extremes... and the extreme lengths that man will go to in order to survive within them.
That merciless ocean of sand is growing slowly, day by day, but it's something hard to tell from such a limited perspective. From here, the entire world might as well be sand, stretching far as the eye can see until it dips below the horizon in a limitless span of sun-soaked yellow. The air grizzles with heat, whipping little vapors of heat that distort the air in crinkling patterns. It's a reality that many have had to adjust to. Especially the people who have had to learn to traverse it, day by day. And if there is one absolutely essential thing for any traveler, just as any civilization...
... it's water.
Rarer than the most precious jewel, that stream flows clear as crystal within the entrapment of that oasis. But even it, too, is shrinking. Giving way to the desert beyond. It paints a harrowing sort of portrait if one dwells on it too long. But life survives, even in the little, seemingly inconsequential form of a simple lizard. Life survives --
In part, because even out here, especially out here, it knows when to retreat from the threats to that survival.
So, as Gwen speaks to that reptile, as it listens with an uncomprehending, wide-eyed stare, it starts to pull away with a tentative little scrape of claws on sand... before swiftly spinning about and darting back to its hiding place.
Retreating as a heavy shadow casts itself like a pall over Gwen from nowhere, as if it had always been.
And they are there, if Gwen would but look. Standing in a spot where once was empty air, their stance powerful, unyielding, carrying the subtle threat of its very presence in the uncompromising dignity of its bearing. A knight in heavy armor sculpted in the most pure of white shades, their face covered by an all-concealing, horned helm, white cloth draped upon them wavering only vaguely in the dry, windless heat. They stand there undaunted by the heat, as if they were meant to be there, but they say nothing. They just stand, profile to Gwen, as they watch the flow of that thinning water beneath them.
And wait.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Gwen dotes on the lizard as it haltingly steps towards cover, watching with silent, stilled glee as its minute feet push granules of sand in their wake. So tiny and perfect, the silence of the Badlands dotted with the sound of its approach to the cover of a patch of vegetation.
She's so immersed that it takes the lizard skittering in one flash of movement before she notices the other presence, her own horse having raised his head in curiosity. Where Gulliver retains the sort of calm that comes with ignorance and curiosity overpowering ancient herd intincts, Gwen is not so trusting, her right hand protectively hovering over the sheathe of her knife as she turns around to regard the shadow's presence.
K.K. probably chose the one time the woman would have preferred their presence over someone equally as dangerous, whether due to overconfidence in Kestrel's words or a hasty summation of K.K's intents. Even so, when she sees the knight in white armor, standing in profile, she scoots backwards, on her hands and feet, clearly startled. "Kikk-" The name cuts across Gwen's tongue, halfway formed.
The redhead tries again. "K....K...?" Survival tactics give way to business sense, the courier slowly getting to her feet and looking to the wagon. "W-well." With her left hand, she rubs the back of her head against the sweat-soaked hair there. "This makes things easy, then. I, uh, have a letter for you. But I guess, uh, you're... here for that." She pauses. "Which is good, because I quickly found askin' about your whereabouts was a practice that was gonna get me in trouble."
She'll say nothing of the spare times(?) she finally recollected where she saw or heard K.K. (or their name). "... Let me get that for ya. It's from a nice lady named Kestrel Apricity." She attempts to keep a solid, professional persona, but she can't quite kill off that sense of unease that makes her spine tighten stiffly as she goes to the wagon, opening a drawer and sorting through the envelopes contained within. "... Ah."
The letter is drawn out, unopened and unblemished as the environment will allow, Kestrel's flowing calligraphy spelling the two letters of K.K.'s name. Gwen holds the letter out, carefully, for the knight in white to have. "For you."
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
K....K...? wonders Gwen Whitlock, across a cautious tone.
And her answer is the uneasy air of silence.
If such is the armored figure's name, they do not seem to respond to it. Not in any obvious way. In that intervening quiet it seems almost like someone has just parked some strange statue in front of the oasis and left it behind, hovering as motionlessly as they are in front of that calm stream. Armor glinting with the intensity of the sun's reflected light, the knight simply stands there, even as Gwen gathers herself -- even as she rises to her feet. And yet, that air is tense, as if any moment they might move.
At any moment everything might take a turn for the worse.
That worse never seems to come, though. Not immediately. As Gwen stumbles through her words, as she turns to make her way towards her wagon, the only motion from the knight is the slight, subtle turn of that faceless helm Gulliver's way. It is canted at a curious angle -- almost as if watching him with some measure of fascination that can only be guessed at from that vague, subtle body language. With the courier's back turned, that curious stare ends before she retrieves the letter, terminated with a sign of acknowledgement in the brief, short nod of the knight's head.
But it's only when that letter is drawn out, produced, and offered to the knight, that they finally turn their head Gwen's way. That stare is heavy behind the faceless confines of that helm, reflecting nothing except Gwen's own expression back at her as they watch. For you, she says.
"Gwen Whitlock."
The name comes from a voice that is warped beyond all recognition in a metallic din. But more than that... it is her name. Spoken so easily as if uttered by someone more than passingly familiar with her.
"You find yourself thrust into a world beyond your ken quite often." It is not a question. An observation, made with no less than absolute certainty. "Yet you have clung tenaciously to a life naught envied by many. Even for so simple yet dangerous a job as such." Delivering a letter to a complete unknown, in a world like this. But no hand reaches for that letter. Not yet.
"Tell me, Gwen Whitlock: for what does your heart beat?"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
"You know my name?" Gwen looks at K.K. in astonishment, despite the many times she had hoped her name would precede her in many social circles. Would this count, exactly?
Still, the letter dangles in the air, the hand holding it used to more mundane clients, even in the darkest alleyways and remote villages.
"My heart?" Gwen pauses to consider this question with the amount of seriousness. "The lady who sent this letter asked me questions like that too, kinda. I don't mind em', since I'm too chatty for my own good." Especially when the person is silent and foreboding, like K.K..
But that doesn't mean they're here to harm her.
Gwen takes in a breath and releases it slowly, feeling the beat of her physical heart in her chest, perfectly in tune with her body in a way it never was when she was a child. "Would you, uh, think it's silly that it's because I wanted to see the world and be a part of it? The world has its ugly sides, yeah, but, there's a lot of sides that aren't, sometimes because they exist in that same world. It may be dyin', and I may not have nothing I can do about it besides watch and be a part of it, but isn't bein' a part of it a gift in itself? Instead of bein' locked out of it." She holds up the letter, once more. "I was able to get a message to you, after all. Ms. Apricity may've found someone else to send it, but I was there, and, uh, here you are. One connection made, a moment sooner than if she found someone else later on."
Gwen clears her throat awkwardly. "'Course, my words are gonna sound real hollow if you open it up and it ain't want I thought it was gonna be. But that's if you open it, n' that's... well, that's your choice, ain't it?"
Her eyes focus, with a sharp curiosity. "... What about you, if y'don't mind me askin'?"
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
Would they think it's silly?
"For what would it matter if I did? Would it temper your passions to know they were viewed as somehow ridiculous?" The questions come direct and matter-of-fact, without an ounce of hesitation. Yet with that aloof neutrality that K.K. conjures in both tone and bearing, it's hard to say just what they truly think of that possibility -- or Gwen's words. No -- they just listen, after those pointed questions, their hands falling behind them to clasp at their back, metal scraping metal with the curl of their gleaming-white fingers.
"... So you wish not to be separated from the world, even if it means you suffer for it," comes their voice, a tinny reverboration within their helmet as they look towards the oasis stream anew. "And that is for what you take in every breath in this land. To exist."
Their horned helm tilts Gwen's way, reflecting the daylight off polished metal in a sunburst flare as their attention focuses upon that lifted letter.
"How much would you sacrifice, just to have reason to exist? To keep strong the beat of your heart?"
The question seems almost rhetorical; yet, even if it's not, the knight seems disinclined to allow Gwen the time for a kneejerk answer. They pivot, suddenly, upon a heel; the motion so sharp and swift compared to their previous stillness it might be alarming. One hand reaches out for that letter.
... What about you, if y'don't mind me askin'?
And fingers tremble in a subtle, reflexive spasm around that paper before it is taken from Gwen's grasp. What about them?
"My heart beats for the sake of my purpose. For the sake of the flame. For the sake of that which must be. And ever shall it be until it beats its last."
And thus is that letter taken away into that gauntleted grip, a lone, metal-wrapped index finger slipping beneath the seal of the letter to snap it open and take out what lies within. And, even as they do, the knight comments almost off-handedly: "Your steed is peculiar. He bears himself with the presence of an eccentric. I did not think such possible for a horse."
Uttered, through that forboding, metallic twang, like it was the most fascinating thing that could ever be expressed.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
"If you have stoked someone's ire with your passions, there are but two recourses. And naught but one of them is the true death knell."
The response to Gwen's musings comes vague, like a riddle unto itself -- offering nothing in the way of concrete help or support for what seems an obvious dilemma. And yet, if it is meant to be asked after, the tinny tone it is delivered in comes with such an absolute sense of finality it seems to preclude and pursuit. K.K. has said what they will say. Any questing after clarity will be fruitless at best.
Perilous at worst.
It is the same sense that K.K. seems to carry with them in all their actions, both spoken and not: a sense of absolutism that does not even so much as dabble in 'maybes' or middle grounds. When the Trial Knight moves, they move with sense of purpose and without a moment's thought, turning upon one heel sharply even as Gwen speaks of what she would sacrifice, and what she would never give up. It's real easy for me to say that right now. There's probably gona be situations that ain't gonna be clear cut, she says.
And, "One never knows their mettle 'lest they are forced to see it in the cold light of day," is their answer, spoken without the smallest shred of doubt.
And with that, they move. The forward step of metal-wrapped heels digging into sand punctuates Gwen's words as to the knight's purpose. The dare in her gaze. She stoked fires that says the wants to know. Another step. Another.
And the Trial Knight more than a shadow cast over Gwen as they cut that distance, looming in a way that makes them seem so much taller than they are as they reach out with one, gauntleted hand...
... to offer it with confident silence to Gulliver, to let him get the scent of the knight before scratching him, mollifyingly, behind an ear.
It is, perhaps, oddly gentle, oddly pleasant.
"You shall know it, Gwen Whitlock. Soon enough."
Especially when coupled with those words that could not be anything but ominous, even coupled with their matter of fact tone.
Perhaps, especially.
"He is strong. You chose wisely," they finally say once that damning promise has been delivered. That letter, read, is folded against the knight's free palm as they look to step past Gwen and her horse. And just like that, they seem to see fit to move to leave, those quiet foot-falls in the heavy layering of that ocean of sand carrying them behind Gwen, and behind Gulliver, with a strong and dignified gait that almost sees fit to carry them from that oasis entirely...
... until they pause. The sun beating down upon that white armor in a way that rightly ought to be unbearable for a normal human being, light reflects off the polished white in sunburst refractions as the Trial Knight looks back behind their shoulder.
"Tell me, Gwen Whitlock, super courier," and this, they manage to say with a sense of untold gravitas without so much as flinching,
"... without this work to carry you, to connect you... just what are you?"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
K.K.'s advice is distressingly vague, tempting Gwen to ask for clarification with a need as strong as if she had sought the knight's advice in the first place. Instead, she wets her lips, nodding. "I appreciate the words of advice. I suppose I'll deal with that bridge when I get to it."
It's natural for Gwen to want to see K.K.'s actions in an amiable light, in the context of her limited experience with the knight. K.K. isn't hurting her. They aren't even threatening her- at least, directly. They even were nice enough to seek her out for a letter she hadn't been able to contact them for.
Which, in hindsight, is also a little bit frightening.
Also fightening? The way K.K. steps towards her at her vague invitation, the armored feet leaving imprints in the sand. She's already finding herself inching backwards, though the movement makes no real effort at evasion. Her left hand finds Gulliver's back, but gives no hidden signal.
She watches K.K., letting the knight's actions the space to speak for themselves.
Gulliver, true to his nature, sniffs the hand with some trepidation, his curiosity seeping through his watered down instincts of fear. A velvety muzzle dips into the offered hand, taking time to sniff in the smell of the white knight before coyly bowing his head to K.K.'s ear scratching with a soft huff of air. The courier looks on with a level of veiled astonishment, a grin easing back on her dry lips. Perhaps it shouldn't a surprise that a person in a knight's armor is used to horses, in a way many civilians may not.
The ease in Gwen body ebbs at K.K.'s choice of words. "Ah-ha, well. Mm." She rubs at her neck, the grin now plastered on her face. "It was, uh, pretty nice to see this side of you, before that, then. Though, if I get another letter before then, I won't hesitate to deliver it." Her nervousness softens to a small degree at the white knight's compliment. She dips her head in acknowledgement, her fondness for the horse flowing into her words. "Thank you. He's certainly one of a kind."
And then, the matter of the letter dealt with, K.K. departs. The courier watches, her hand tracing a path along the short hair of Gulliver's coat.
Except, the knight doesn't entirely depart, just yet. Gwen hesitates, giving the question some thought.
"I suppose that'll be somethin' special the future me'll get to decide when I get to that point." She raises her hand. "Until we meet again, M... M..." She tries to stumble through the appropriate title, then simply goes with, "... K.K."
Then, lowering her voice for Gulliver's ears, Gwen adds, "Let's just hope that purpose is somethin' nice, okay, Gulliver?"
The deepening pit in her stomach disagrees.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
K.K.'s advice is distressingly vague, tempting Gwen to ask for clarification with a need as strong as if she had sought the knight's advice in the first place. Instead, she wets her lips, nodding. "I appreciate the words of advice. I suppose I'll deal with that bridge when I get to it."
It's natural for Gwen to want to see K.K.'s actions in an amiable light, in the context of her limited experience with the knight. K.K. isn't hurting her. They aren't even threatening her- at least, directly. They even were nice enough to seek her out for a letter she hadn't been able to contact them for.
Which, in hindsight, is also a little bit frightening.
Also fightening? The way K.K. steps towards her at her vague invitation, the armored feet leaving imprints in the sand. She's already finding herself inching backwards, though the movement makes no real effort at evasion. Her left hand finds Gulliver's back, but gives no hidden signal.
She watches K.K., letting the knight's actions the space to speak for themselves.
Gulliver, true to his nature, sniffs the hand with some trepidation, his curiosity seeping through his watered down instincts of fear. A velvety muzzle dips into the offered hand, taking time to sniff in the smell of the white knight before coyly bowing his head to K.K.'s ear scratching with a soft huff of air. The courier looks on with a level of veiled astonishment, a grin easing back on her dry lips. Perhaps it shouldn't a surprise that a person in a knight's armor is used to horses, in a way many civilians may not.
The ease in Gwen body ebbs at K.K.'s choice of words. "Ah-ha, well. Mm." She rubs at her neck, the grin now plastered on her face. "It was, uh, pretty nice to see this side of you, before that, then. Though, if I get another letter before then, I won't hesitate to deliver it." Her nervousness softens to a small degree at the white knight's compliment. She dips her head in acknowledgement, her fondness for the horse flowing into her words. "Thank you. He's certainly one of a kind."
And then, the matter of the letter dealt with, K.K. departs. The courier watches, her hand tracing a path along the short hair of Gulliver's coat.
Except, the knight doesn't entirely depart, just yet. Gwen hesitates, giving the question some thought.
"I suppose that'll be somethin' special the future me'll get to decide when I get to that point. Same as anybody, really." She raises her hand. "Until we meet again, M... M..." She tries to stumble through the appropriate title, then simply goes with, "... K.K."
Then, lowering her voice for Gulliver's ears, Gwen adds, "Let's just hope that purpose is somethin' nice, okay, Gulliver?"
The deepening pit in her stomach disagrees.
<Pose Tracker> K.K. has posed.
<poem> I suppose that'll be somethin' special the future me'll get to decide when I get to that point.
A moment of silence passes in the aftermath of those words. K.K. looks down, briefly, towards the letter nestled against their palm and the grip of their thumb.
"Yes. It shall. As shall all."
And so, like that, the Trial Knight begins to walk once more, boots sinking into the sandy earth as the reflections of the suns intensity seem to grow ever-brighter upon their white armored hide.
"Oft when they they least wish for it."
And away they look from that letter, from the wonderingly relevant words scribbled, hidden, against their palm.
"Fare-you-well until then, Gwen Whitlock."
The brightness of the light's reflections on that armor seems to grow ever-more searing as they walk. And it is as it reaches a blinding apex, as if, somehow, that distant star was consuming everything in its illumination...
... that it all suddenly fades, and the Trial Knight is gone.
Leaving nothing but empty air and a deepening pit of worry where once they stood.