"Visiting the Herbalist" Log Date: 2/16, 2/17/2001 Log Cast: Julian, Momus (NPC emitted by Julian), Acantha Log Intro: Out of all the stations he now occupies in life, it seems to Julian that guardian of his dead older brother's son is the one he least expected to ever hold. His Mongrel wards Roki and Elette are in his care by bonds of love for his old partner Jacob and Jacob's wife Dorcas; his daughter Moirae, by bonds of blood and fast-grown affection for a girl very, very much like himself. Young Momus, though, has been hardest for Julian to think of as one of his family. He can see much of his brother in the boy--and reminders of the man who took his original wings are never welcome to the Rook. But Momus is also the son of Dulcinea, and for all that Cea was the cause of his original downfall from House Nemea, Julian is not cruel. Part of him, too, laments what he'd lost with her. And so he's taken in Cea's son along with the other children he now protects, with some small hope that if he's raised right, Momus can grow up as something besides a second edition of his brutish, bullying father. For now, though, Momus is simply a small boy. And sometimes that means that his uncle must deal with the problem of a small boy's ailments.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Saturday, November 13, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Gibbous Season: Fall Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* Interior Shop - Acantha's Herbs - Haven "Acantha's Herbs" reads the wooden sign swinging merrily over the doorway. A large green leaf has been painted below the letters for those unable to read. The heavy wooden door of the shop is designed to hit a small golden bell suspended from the ceiling to signal that a someone has entered. The room is rectangular; the window to the street and a long counter running all the way to the rear of the store are on the left. The counter is hinged at the near end, allowing passage between the common area and the rear of the store. Most of the herbalist's wares are on the shelves behind this counter, neatly arranged according to type: tea, tonic, lotion, cosmetic. On the right-hand side of the room, a couple of tables with chairs line the wall atop a woven maroon rug. The sharp, pungent scent of herbs permeates the room; heady, yet refreshing. Contents: Acantha Obvious exits: Out Acantha's Backroom His entrance into the shop is not particularly abrupt. To be sure, Julian's tread is no heavier than any other man's as he sets foot into the place. Nor does he call out any imperious order or announcement of his presence; indeed, all that velvet tenor occupies itself with at the moment is a soothing murmur to the fretful small boy he cradles against his chest, a litany of comfort pitched only loud enough for Momus' senses and no one else's. Still, though... Julian arrives. And perhaps if the eye is not immediately drawn to him upon his entrance, it might go back for a second look. Should any glances come his way, though, the man has shunted them down for a moment as less worthy of his attention than the boy. "But it hurts, Uncle," pipes the plaintive voice of the child, a thin little wail half-muffled by Julian's chest. "I know, lad. Hang on, we'll see if someone here can help, eh?" As the bell sounds, a red-haired Empyrean woman comes through the curtained opening at the back of the main room. She has classical features, her fair skin very lightly freckled and her eyes the color of stormy skies. She smiles in welcome, her wings fluttering slightly, "Ave to you both, Dominus and Dominus," she says, pausing across the counter from you, and laying her hands on top. She casts a gentle look at the small form clutching you for dear life. "What can I do for you today? Have you a hurt that needs tending?" Julian Empyrean. This is proclaimed in no uncertain terms, for when the eye is drawn to this man, it cannot help but stop first upon his most obvious feature: the wings that sweep up and back from his shoulderblades. But what may command a second glance even from those accustomed to the pinions of the Children of Air is not their existence... or even their size, for they could well reach a good thirty feet if fully extended. Rather, it is their color, for where most Empyreans bear pinions of snowy white, the wings of this Son of Air are a pure raven black too natural for any dye to create, gleaming with highlights of deep blue and purple. Wings that proclaim him not only Empyrean, but also darkling. If one glances past or around those dark wings, one might then register the rest of their owner. At just over six feet in height, he is tall but slim, leanly muscled, finely boned. The hue of his skin is certainly as pale as any Empyrean could wish, but his short and often rakishly tousled hair matches his wings, and for all that his eyes are still blue, they are the blue of deep twilight rather than the lighter hue of morning. Darkling he may be, but he comports himself like a lord. His manners and accent are impeccable, his every word uttered in a lilting velvet tenor, though it is every so often punctuated by a sardonic drawl and a glint of irony in his eyes. He conveys to the world an aura of unspoken assurance and vitality, befitting a man who appears somewhere in his mid-thirties. He is clad for the moment, at least from the waist down, in attire that one could easily find on a nobleman of any other race: sleek black breeches, tucked into soft leathern calf-high boots, also black. From the waist up, his garb is a strange mix of Empyrean and other races in cut and design, a short chiton of dark blue beneath an outer long-sleeved tunic of storm-cloud gray, both wrapping snugly about to lace beneath his wings at the small of his back. Acantha Acantha holds an erect and graceful posture. Her red hair varies between the nearly gold color of a lit candle and the darker shades of sunset. The effect is striking against her sleekly feathered wings, particularly since her hair hangs long down her back; a cascade of flames. Her blue-gray eyes are like the sky, varying from stormy to cloudless depending on her mood. She wears a linen chiton, decorated at the hem and neckline in abstract scrolling. Her himation is a muted dark blue and clasped over her left shoulder with a delicate silver fibula. She uses her earthy green palla as another colorful layer aganst her himation, or as a veil of modesty when appropriate. Acantha is a voluptuous, but not overly rounded woman. Her skin is lightly freckled and when prompted, dimples can be found in both cheeks. Carrying: Leather Bag The darkling looks up, and even as his twilight gaze moves unerringly to the shopmistress who addresses him, the boy he holds feebly stirs as well. Though both man and boy are pale of complexion, the former is ebon-haired and ebon-winged, while the latter sports a head of tousled straw-colored hair... but nevertheless, if the boy's murmur was any sign, they must be related. "Ave, domina" is Julian's steady reply, tinged with a hint of worry. "My nephew has, I fear, eaten something that disagrees with him. His head is warm, and he tells me his stomach aches--" "It _hurts_," mumbles the child. "--Thus, I was hoping you could perchance prescribe something to soothe him?" "Why don't you sit on the counter for me moment then," she says, addressign the child, "and let me see." She looks into the boys eyes, and tests the temperature of his forehead with her hand, "What is your name then? My name is Acantha and this is my shop." She cups the child's flushed cheeks with her long-fingered hands, "Do you remember what the last thing you ate was?" Apparently loathe to surrender his grip on the neck of the darkling who holds him, the little boy whimpers a bit before Julian sets him down for Acantha's inspection. Only then does the child mumble listlessly, "My name is Momus and Uncle Julian got me a meat pie in the Rialto..." His eyes are blue as any Empyrean's, though of a weaker and watery hue than the dark twilight ones of the man who's brought him in. And the man in question adds softly, "I had one as well, but the boy's has evidently turned against him, domina." Acantha smiles her best reassuring smile. "Did you have anything else, Dominus Mamus?" She leans down to eye-level with the boy. "I know this will sound odd, but would you let me smell your breath? It may be that I can tell what it is that is diagreeing with you by just a sniff." This stance of hers leaves you looking down at top of her head where coil after coil of braided red hair sits in an elaborate configuration. It must be very long indeed. Momus' brow crinkles up a bit; it seems to take the boy a slight amount of effort to fathom what this stranger with the bright hair wants of him. Perhaps it's because of his obviously tender years -- if he is truly Empyrean, this child, he's young enough that his wings have not yet grown in. Or perhaps it's because of his current state... or perhaps it's just because there's a certain stolid dullness about him in general? Or perhaps all three. Regardless, the lad opens his mouth, after his uncle inclines his head assuredly. "The nice domina will do her best to help you, lad," comes the velvet murmur, pitched matter-of-factly... but just softened enough to provide assurance to a child's ears. Apparently this man doesn't resort to baby-talk, but is sensitive enough to speak gently to an ailing little one nevertheless. He stands with arms slightly crossed now, gaze studying the woman intently even as he holds himself very deliberately out of the way of her wings; his own are a wall of solid black just behind him, held in close and low along the back of his lean frame. Acantha sniffs carefully, knowing it odd, but also knowing that certain things, plants, et cetera, can leave a strange odor on the breath. "Ah," she says, straightening up, her wings following suit behind her. "I think I have just the thing to fix you up, Dominus." She directs her gaze up to you, "If you'll just find a seat with your nephew... I won't be a minute." She bustles off to the back room for a few moments, returning with a tray, heavily laden with a steaming pot, cups, a cork-stoppered bottle, and a covered plate. Momus, upon the woman's return, is making a distinct face of unhappiness, small features screwed up tightly and his little arms wrapped about his belly. His uncle has not, in fact, sat down; instead, he lingers on his feet near the boy, one hand ruffling his fair hair, velvet tenor once more murmuring assurances. But the darkling looks up alertly once more at the woman's return, and takes that opportunity to console his nephew, "See there, then, lad? She'll make you something to drink that'll make you feel better, I promise you." As if dubious, the boy peeks in Acantha's direction once the sound of her bustling about penetrates his overall queasiness. Acantha sets her tray down on the counter, lifting the lid of the teapot to reveal a thick cloud of steam. "See this? We're going to make you a cup of tea here that will make everything better." She unstoppers a bottle. "This is dried mint." She lets Momus sniff it. "It smells a bit like mint candy, right?" She shakes a healthy spoonful into the teapot and plunks the lid back on. "I'm going to make three cups of this tea, alright? And we will all have some, your uncle, you, and I." She pours out the tea, giving the child a mug half full, for sake of spilling. Handing a cup to you, she seems to actually see you for the first time, and staring a bit, she blushes. "Won't you sit down, Dominus?" The odor of the mint does seem to assure the boy, at least a little, enough to make him admit, "I like candy...!" Pale blue eyes peek a bit closer at the young woman, as if perhaps Momus hopes she might produce some. That he is given a mug instead provokes an outward jutting of his lower lip-- --Which in turn provokes a quiet, firm admonition from the darkling. "Momus, it does not become you to sulk. Drink the tea, you'll feel better afterwards." The child sullenly peeks up at his uncle, then mumbles an assent. With small hands wrapped about that mug, he starts drinking down the concoction; only then does Julian look up again, to the herbalist. If he notes her blushing, or suspects the likely cause or causes of it, he gives no sign of it; his fine-boned countenance holds nothing but a slightly more comfortable expression, possibly in reaction to the swift remedy provided. "Thank you, domina," he says, quite politely. And one corner of his mouth turns up ever so slightly, a touch self-deprecatingly. "Though if you don't mind... I am more comfortable on my feet." Acantha gets a bit flustered, but returns her attention to the child. She wonders if she would still be caught off gaurd now if she had truly noticed tha man when he first came in, instead of her regard going directly to the child. She takes a large sip of her tea, expelling an "Ah..." after she swallows. The red-haired woman smiles encouragingsly at Momus, the dimples in her cheeks popping out. "It might not be a sweet as candy, but it will make your stomach better." She watches the child, waiting for the tea to take effect. He can't be more than five, surely, but at least the youngster drinks thirstily enough -- and goes round-eyed as, shortly thereafter, a vociferous burp escapes him. "Excuse me," he can be heard to murmur, biting the same lip he'd just jutted out, and then he casts a bemused glance down at himself. As for his uncle, the black-winged fellow takes up the tea he himself has been offered, drinking with rather more grace and patience than the boy; his eyes gleam for a moment, and then he observes wryly, "That sounded promising." The herbalist grins, whispering in a conspiratorial tone of voice, "I bet you have another one or two of those hidden inside of you, right? Just go ahead and let them out--- it will ease your stomach." She continues to sip her tea, watching Momus, and encouraging him. Evidently competent, friendly to children -- and she not only hasn't thrown him out of her shop, she has even seemed pleased to have him linger. Julian smiles faintly to himself, glad his instincts have held true for the impulse that brought him in here to get Momus attended. Twilight eyes survey the young herbalist discreetly over the top of his tea mug, veiled and masked in contrast to the guileless surprise in the countenance of the child. Another burp wells up out of Momus, and then he stares round-eyedly at Acantha. "How did you know, domina?" he pipes. A little laugh spills out of the red-haired lady, "I know because it is my job to know, Dominus. Mint leaves are good for upset stomachs." She regards the child with her blue-grey eyes, "Tell me; How does your stomach feel now? Do you need to burp again?" She sips her own tea along with him. Momus considers this, that half-perplexed look still firmly set into his small stolid features, though at this point something in his visage appears to be easing. Perhaps he IS starting to feel better, or perhaps he likes the tea? One second... two... and then a third vociferous burp manifests itself, with enough force that it even startles the boy, though he manages not to drop his mug. "I think," drawls his darkling uncle, "that you've done the trick, domina. My thanks. I daresay he'll be much more at ease for the rest of the day." Acantha looks over and up to the man, startled again out of her consideration of the child. "It is no problem at all," she stammers, her cheekbones tinting pink. "That is, it is why I am here, Dominus." She seems to find it easier to turn back to Momus. "How are you feeling now? Do you think you could manage some bread?" She lifts the cover on the plate she brought out to reveal a few slices of warm bread, plain and ungarnished. She collects the now-empty mugs and returns them to the tray. "Go on, lad, it'll help," Julian assures the youngster -- and that's apparently all the encouragement Momus needs, for the smell of the bread perks his interest up considerably. There could be a bit more grace and finesse in the way Momus grabs a piece of the bread, but then again he _is_ a small boy, and he does seem at least initially conscious of the propriety of manners... enough that he does remember to swallow down his first large mouthful of bread before he says in a considerably happier tone, "My tummy's feeling better now!" His own features now entirely at ease, Julian inclines his head to his nephew and then says affably to Acantha, "A simple remedy, but one which I fear I hadn't thought of, and it was easier to step in here than take him all the way home. Do you sell that tea, domina?" Seeing that Momus is occupied, Acantha rises from her seat, moving to the pass-through in the counter. "Yes, Dominus." She reaches up to a shelf on tip-toe, her wings keeping balance behind her. Removing a medium-sized pottery container, she turns back to you. "Would this size suit you?" The jar has the impression of a large leaf upon it. Written in ink on the absorbent clay is a label of the ingredient, and instructions for use. Though his dark wings loom over his back like stormclouds gathered heavily at his shoulderblades, Julian's hands are light and agile in their motions, and with one of them he deftly accepts the container brought him. Just as deftly, he skims a glance over the labelling before looking up again. "Indeed," he succintly replies, one corner of his mouth once more turning upward. "And again I thank you. Momus is not the only child under my care, and it'll behoove me to have a small supply of this on hand at home, I believe." With business at hand, Acantha is able to smile, "A cup of mint tea is good for a great many little things, and it is something that I always keep in stock." She glances past those dark feathers to twinkle at Momus. "Your children would be welcome in the shop, Dominus. I often have quite a selection of pastries along with my tea." The Herbalist does her best not to stare at the handsome man in front of her, darkling or no. "I like pastries," proclaims Momus, sitting up a bit more straight and tall upon the counter now. A larger smile wings up into being upon the darkling's face as he wryly observes, "You may have to stock up on a great number of them, however, if I came back with my wards as well as my nephew. But I shall remember your establishment, domina, for future reference." Acantha grins, "I can certainly do that." She wraps up your package in a peice of cloth, tying a square knot at the top. "The shop is open from the morning hours to mid afternoon, and then again in the evening." Evidently in an indulgent enough mood to permit Momus to sate himself on the bread -- if it'll settle his stomach down, Julian can live with the boy's ruining his appetite for a little while -- the darkling nods again and inquires smoothly, "What do I owe you, domina, for the tea and the bread?" The man carries no obvious pouch, but if the look of his garb is any indication, he's certainly prepared to pay for the attention his nephew has received. "Three soldi, Dominus. Two for the tea, one for the bread." She discretely handles the exchange. "It has been a pleasure to serve you, Dominus Momus; I hope you have a wonderful day!" She winks at the five year old. Discretion, indeed, seems to be this darkling's watchword. One moment his hand is empty; the next, he's dipped it somewhere beneath his clothing and come up with the requisite amount of coinage for the herbalist's fee. And with that, Julian turns to help the child down from the counter, bidding him, "Thank the domina for her assistance, lad." "Thank you, domina," the little boy pipes, brow screwed up for a moment in concentration as he thinks hard, and then manages to execute what might be a bow if he keeps practicing it as he gets older. Julian's own version of this is a graceful inclination of his ebon head and that velvet tenor of his saying easily, "Indeed... thank you, domina. It has been a pleasure." "Anytime!" the Herbalist chirps, then flushes as that might have been too informal. "That is, Vale, Domini. Please have a good day!" She waves as you exit. [End log.]