Post by Solomon Moon on Jan 27, 2020 5:00:41 GMT -5
Solomon
This was a stupid idea. This was a bad idea. What had he been thinking? What if he got caught? He would be ruined, or at least more ruined than he already was. The risk was already astronomical, and Solomon could be accused of a great deal, but rarely subtlety, and this was a mission requiring the utmost of subtlety.
Sol flattened himself against the ricepaper wall of the dorm's main atrium, averting his gaze to the floor as a pair of giggling girls passed by. His left hand tugged the cowl of the baggy hoody he wore down over his brow. Like most of his clothes the sweater was a deep navy blue. Unlike most of his clothes, it was simple, plain, and free of insignia or embellishment. Sol had actually bought the hoody to serve as a comfortable garment he could wear during the frigid Atlesian winter. It was something meant for private, something he'd never intended to wear in public where people might actually see him. It was the kind of thing a commoner would wear, not the Lord Commander of the Celestial Legion. Which was why it was perfect for this mission of sneaking into Class Green's dorm unnoticed and unrecognized.
That objective posed several challenges. Foremost was that there weren't many one-eyed men attending the school, and thus Sol had left his hair undone to fall across his face like a veil. Not since the rehabilitation center had he worn his hair down, and he noted with some surprise that the locks of straight black hair were nearly long enough to reach past his collar and mid way down his chest by now. Secondly, nearly everything Sol owned featured the crest of his house somewhere on it, to the degree that looking into his wardrobe was like looking at the full moon through a kaleidoscope. Hence the hoody, which was comfy, a bit ratty and free of identifying marks. As an added bonus, it featured long baggy sleeves and a central pouch pocket into which Sol could stuff the majority of his right forearm. Lastly, the dorm was densely populated at this time of day, just as classes were ending, and risk of exposure was high, but it was also the only time when a strange hooded man wandering into the dorm might go unnoticed. This had to be done quickly before he was discovered.
The giggling pair continued on past him, neither sparing the bulky figure a second glance. Either they bought the disguise, or they were cunningly concealing the discovery until they could report him to the appropriate authority. Sol was sweating heavily. The skin beneath his left arm was damp, and there was sweat beading on his brow. Damn hoody was too warm, that had to be it. It couldn't be nerves. He was the One-Eyed Dragon damnit. He'd faced a thousand of death's faces, this was nothing, besides, he was too cunning to be caught. But what if he was?
"Stupid... Stupid... Stupid..." He muttered to himself as he shuffled quickly down another hallway, clutching the precious cargo in his pouch with keen attentiveness.
He averted his gaze from a group of boys coming the other way, and squeezed himself up against the wall, despite having a stature even in disguise that made them swing wide of him anyway. Sol's heart hammered in his chest. He focused on the chill of the metal in his right sleeve, the weight of it, and while that was not comforting in the slightest, it was enough to distract from the sudden flood of stress hormones his body was dumping into his bloodstream. He wasn't going to make it. He was going to start hyperventilating, or screaming, and then the jig would be up and his deception exposed.
"Get a hold of yourself..." He snarled into the collar of his sweater, as if trying to stall his tachycardic heart with intimidation. His chest was clammy and his left hand was slick with sweat.
Up some stairs. Another close call, which he avoided by making a show of studying a potted plant left to brighten up the hallway, causing more than a little concern from passing students for the demented drifter staring intently at a peony from point blank range.
Finally the goal came into sight. A door, near the end of the hall, that lead into one of the rooms to which students were assigned. Sol didn't know it from any other door, but what information he'd been able to gather through the employ of all his subtlety and investigative skill, told him that his objective lay on the other side of that door. Get in. Get out. He was so very close. Then he could go deep into the woods and have a nice long panic attack and pretend that this entire misadventure had just been a horrible dream.
He stole up to the door, the last barrier between himself and success. With a moment of suspense that aged him by at least a dozen years, he reached out and tried the handle. Unlocked! Praise the dead! Sol double checked that the hall was empty. It was. This was it. He cracked the door no wider than it took to permit his passage, which was actually nearly half way open, and then slipped inside.
Sol peered about the room uncertainly for a moment. Not only had he never seen the room before, but he'd never seen a room like it. It looked less the bedroom and more the greenhouse that had somehow snuck indoors. Plants everywhere, the desk overflowed with creepers, and pots of soil populated every surface with every stage of the spectrum between shoot and bloom in evidence in some spot or another. The air was thick, humid, and earthy, with a hundred clashing perfumes of various different plants. It would have been peaceful, comforting, to be surrounded by such verdant life. That is, it would have been if the difference from his own room, which was an immaculately maintained example of Atlesian military precision, with everything in it's assigned spot and not even a speck of dust to be seen, hadn't made him feel all the more like the intruder that he was.
Sol swallowed. He didn't have time for this. He had to do what he came to do and get out before he was discovered.
Sol's right hand slipped out of his hoody's central pocket, careful as not to disturb the object held within his metal fingers. The small container was made of polished ceramic, plain but well made, about eight inches tall, cylindrical and tapering towards the base, and open on top; it was a plant pot. It was full nearly to the top with rich black soil taken from the high valleys of northern Mantle, and in the precise center was a trio of green stalks rising up about three inches and diverging at their peaks, sagging beneath the generous weight of bulbous white blooms with yellow stamens and a faint but pleasant smell. Hellebores, or Helleborus in singular, a native plant of the north, often called Winter Roses for both their shape and blooming during the coldest months.
Sol felt a bit of a hitch in his throat as he admired the blossoms, which too he'd taken from the high valleys of Mantle's frozen north, and inspected them for damage from the clandestine transport to this place that would be their new home. He'd carefully transplanted them not more than a fortnight ago, when he'd returned to his family's private military company, to check on his birthright which was currently operating north of Atlas. The northern tribes were resistant to the authority of Atlas, or authority in general, and waged a nearly constant, if quiet insurgency against the Atlesian Republic. It was good work for mercenaries who didn't mind the cold, and in fact many of the soldiers in Sol's employ hailed from the very tribes that they were subjugating, but the culture of the northern barbarians was such that many petty feuds between tribes meant there was little solidarity to be had at the best of times.
For fourteen days now, he'd been caring for the flowers. Sol didn't know much about plants, but luckily hadn't traumatized the Hellebores too much by kidnapping them from their native habitat, and if they hadn't exactly thrived under his protection, they at least hadn't got any worse, which was just about as good as a man whose entire skillset revolved primarily around making things dead could hope.
He could have done this sooner, but it had taken half a week just to build up the nerve to attempt this utterly ridiculous fantasy. Now that the time had come, he hesitated. Caring for the plant for half a month had seen him becoming fond of the little flowers, and now he was surprised to find himself somewhat reluctant to part with them. Sol growled at himself.
"It's for a good cause." He whispered to the little blooms, as if they might be offended to be abandoned by him here, "I hope you'll make Holly happy... She's had a rough time. I hope you'll cheer her up."
Sol had heard what had happened in his absence, and while he was still trying to organize his thoughts and actually comprehend both the attack on the school and the utter disaster that had been Rochdale, his first thought had been shame. Shame that he hadn't been there, hadn't done something. Then it had been worry. Holly was one of the few people to treat Sol with a degree of kindness that he almost certainly didn't deserve, and while no one was willing to part with details, it was common knowledge all over the campus that something had happened, and the pink hair botanist wasn't exactly coping well.
Even before he'd learned of the catastrophe Sol had intended to gift these Winter Roses to her. The only thing he really knew about her interests was an affinity for plants. He'd intended it to be a gesture of gratitude for not telling anyone about the occurrences in the quad woods on a certain night when Sol had not been coping as well himself. He was still stunned that Holly had apparently kept her word and not breathed a sliver of the tale to another soul. The one eyed warrior had been certain that he would be called into Shadecloak's office at any instant for nearly a fortnight afterward.
Now the Hellebores would serve another purpose. Sol should be the last choice of any rational person to provide comfort to anyone, and the last thing he wanted was to further complicate what must be a difficult period for the kind huntress, by wedging his worthless hide into it. But if he could sneak the flowers into Holly's room without anyone noticing, she would return to find an unexpected surprise, and hopefully take some comfort from the fact that someone cared enough to leave the fragile fronds in her possession. At least that's how it was supposed to work. At least that was what Sol told himself, and not that he was too much the coward to face the girl after she'd seen him at was his objective worst.
"I know she'll take good care of you..." He murmured, caressing the largest and healthiest of the hellebores with the tip of his left index finger.
That was enough for sentimentality. Sol chose a place in the very center of the overgrown desk, where a vacancy had been left, likely so that Holly could still have room to study. It seemed like the spot most likely to lead to the plants being discovered promptly as soon as the room's occupant returned home.
Sol reached out to place the plant, exercising as much care as he could and just as he was about to lay the pot on the desk's surface, with not more than a millimeter between clay and wood, a sound came from behind him that froze the maimed mercenary as if his blood had turned to ice all at once. It was a quiet sound, nothing more than a gentle click, and the whispering of rollers as the door slid aside on it's tracks.
Someone was coming into the room.
Sol flattened himself against the ricepaper wall of the dorm's main atrium, averting his gaze to the floor as a pair of giggling girls passed by. His left hand tugged the cowl of the baggy hoody he wore down over his brow. Like most of his clothes the sweater was a deep navy blue. Unlike most of his clothes, it was simple, plain, and free of insignia or embellishment. Sol had actually bought the hoody to serve as a comfortable garment he could wear during the frigid Atlesian winter. It was something meant for private, something he'd never intended to wear in public where people might actually see him. It was the kind of thing a commoner would wear, not the Lord Commander of the Celestial Legion. Which was why it was perfect for this mission of sneaking into Class Green's dorm unnoticed and unrecognized.
That objective posed several challenges. Foremost was that there weren't many one-eyed men attending the school, and thus Sol had left his hair undone to fall across his face like a veil. Not since the rehabilitation center had he worn his hair down, and he noted with some surprise that the locks of straight black hair were nearly long enough to reach past his collar and mid way down his chest by now. Secondly, nearly everything Sol owned featured the crest of his house somewhere on it, to the degree that looking into his wardrobe was like looking at the full moon through a kaleidoscope. Hence the hoody, which was comfy, a bit ratty and free of identifying marks. As an added bonus, it featured long baggy sleeves and a central pouch pocket into which Sol could stuff the majority of his right forearm. Lastly, the dorm was densely populated at this time of day, just as classes were ending, and risk of exposure was high, but it was also the only time when a strange hooded man wandering into the dorm might go unnoticed. This had to be done quickly before he was discovered.
The giggling pair continued on past him, neither sparing the bulky figure a second glance. Either they bought the disguise, or they were cunningly concealing the discovery until they could report him to the appropriate authority. Sol was sweating heavily. The skin beneath his left arm was damp, and there was sweat beading on his brow. Damn hoody was too warm, that had to be it. It couldn't be nerves. He was the One-Eyed Dragon damnit. He'd faced a thousand of death's faces, this was nothing, besides, he was too cunning to be caught. But what if he was?
"Stupid... Stupid... Stupid..." He muttered to himself as he shuffled quickly down another hallway, clutching the precious cargo in his pouch with keen attentiveness.
He averted his gaze from a group of boys coming the other way, and squeezed himself up against the wall, despite having a stature even in disguise that made them swing wide of him anyway. Sol's heart hammered in his chest. He focused on the chill of the metal in his right sleeve, the weight of it, and while that was not comforting in the slightest, it was enough to distract from the sudden flood of stress hormones his body was dumping into his bloodstream. He wasn't going to make it. He was going to start hyperventilating, or screaming, and then the jig would be up and his deception exposed.
"Get a hold of yourself..." He snarled into the collar of his sweater, as if trying to stall his tachycardic heart with intimidation. His chest was clammy and his left hand was slick with sweat.
Up some stairs. Another close call, which he avoided by making a show of studying a potted plant left to brighten up the hallway, causing more than a little concern from passing students for the demented drifter staring intently at a peony from point blank range.
Finally the goal came into sight. A door, near the end of the hall, that lead into one of the rooms to which students were assigned. Sol didn't know it from any other door, but what information he'd been able to gather through the employ of all his subtlety and investigative skill, told him that his objective lay on the other side of that door. Get in. Get out. He was so very close. Then he could go deep into the woods and have a nice long panic attack and pretend that this entire misadventure had just been a horrible dream.
He stole up to the door, the last barrier between himself and success. With a moment of suspense that aged him by at least a dozen years, he reached out and tried the handle. Unlocked! Praise the dead! Sol double checked that the hall was empty. It was. This was it. He cracked the door no wider than it took to permit his passage, which was actually nearly half way open, and then slipped inside.
Sol peered about the room uncertainly for a moment. Not only had he never seen the room before, but he'd never seen a room like it. It looked less the bedroom and more the greenhouse that had somehow snuck indoors. Plants everywhere, the desk overflowed with creepers, and pots of soil populated every surface with every stage of the spectrum between shoot and bloom in evidence in some spot or another. The air was thick, humid, and earthy, with a hundred clashing perfumes of various different plants. It would have been peaceful, comforting, to be surrounded by such verdant life. That is, it would have been if the difference from his own room, which was an immaculately maintained example of Atlesian military precision, with everything in it's assigned spot and not even a speck of dust to be seen, hadn't made him feel all the more like the intruder that he was.
Sol swallowed. He didn't have time for this. He had to do what he came to do and get out before he was discovered.
Sol's right hand slipped out of his hoody's central pocket, careful as not to disturb the object held within his metal fingers. The small container was made of polished ceramic, plain but well made, about eight inches tall, cylindrical and tapering towards the base, and open on top; it was a plant pot. It was full nearly to the top with rich black soil taken from the high valleys of northern Mantle, and in the precise center was a trio of green stalks rising up about three inches and diverging at their peaks, sagging beneath the generous weight of bulbous white blooms with yellow stamens and a faint but pleasant smell. Hellebores, or Helleborus in singular, a native plant of the north, often called Winter Roses for both their shape and blooming during the coldest months.
Sol felt a bit of a hitch in his throat as he admired the blossoms, which too he'd taken from the high valleys of Mantle's frozen north, and inspected them for damage from the clandestine transport to this place that would be their new home. He'd carefully transplanted them not more than a fortnight ago, when he'd returned to his family's private military company, to check on his birthright which was currently operating north of Atlas. The northern tribes were resistant to the authority of Atlas, or authority in general, and waged a nearly constant, if quiet insurgency against the Atlesian Republic. It was good work for mercenaries who didn't mind the cold, and in fact many of the soldiers in Sol's employ hailed from the very tribes that they were subjugating, but the culture of the northern barbarians was such that many petty feuds between tribes meant there was little solidarity to be had at the best of times.
For fourteen days now, he'd been caring for the flowers. Sol didn't know much about plants, but luckily hadn't traumatized the Hellebores too much by kidnapping them from their native habitat, and if they hadn't exactly thrived under his protection, they at least hadn't got any worse, which was just about as good as a man whose entire skillset revolved primarily around making things dead could hope.
He could have done this sooner, but it had taken half a week just to build up the nerve to attempt this utterly ridiculous fantasy. Now that the time had come, he hesitated. Caring for the plant for half a month had seen him becoming fond of the little flowers, and now he was surprised to find himself somewhat reluctant to part with them. Sol growled at himself.
"It's for a good cause." He whispered to the little blooms, as if they might be offended to be abandoned by him here, "I hope you'll make Holly happy... She's had a rough time. I hope you'll cheer her up."
Sol had heard what had happened in his absence, and while he was still trying to organize his thoughts and actually comprehend both the attack on the school and the utter disaster that had been Rochdale, his first thought had been shame. Shame that he hadn't been there, hadn't done something. Then it had been worry. Holly was one of the few people to treat Sol with a degree of kindness that he almost certainly didn't deserve, and while no one was willing to part with details, it was common knowledge all over the campus that something had happened, and the pink hair botanist wasn't exactly coping well.
Even before he'd learned of the catastrophe Sol had intended to gift these Winter Roses to her. The only thing he really knew about her interests was an affinity for plants. He'd intended it to be a gesture of gratitude for not telling anyone about the occurrences in the quad woods on a certain night when Sol had not been coping as well himself. He was still stunned that Holly had apparently kept her word and not breathed a sliver of the tale to another soul. The one eyed warrior had been certain that he would be called into Shadecloak's office at any instant for nearly a fortnight afterward.
Now the Hellebores would serve another purpose. Sol should be the last choice of any rational person to provide comfort to anyone, and the last thing he wanted was to further complicate what must be a difficult period for the kind huntress, by wedging his worthless hide into it. But if he could sneak the flowers into Holly's room without anyone noticing, she would return to find an unexpected surprise, and hopefully take some comfort from the fact that someone cared enough to leave the fragile fronds in her possession. At least that's how it was supposed to work. At least that was what Sol told himself, and not that he was too much the coward to face the girl after she'd seen him at was his objective worst.
"I know she'll take good care of you..." He murmured, caressing the largest and healthiest of the hellebores with the tip of his left index finger.
That was enough for sentimentality. Sol chose a place in the very center of the overgrown desk, where a vacancy had been left, likely so that Holly could still have room to study. It seemed like the spot most likely to lead to the plants being discovered promptly as soon as the room's occupant returned home.
Sol reached out to place the plant, exercising as much care as he could and just as he was about to lay the pot on the desk's surface, with not more than a millimeter between clay and wood, a sound came from behind him that froze the maimed mercenary as if his blood had turned to ice all at once. It was a quiet sound, nothing more than a gentle click, and the whispering of rollers as the door slid aside on it's tracks.
Someone was coming into the room.
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Velvet of WW
