Vino Tinto/Blanco: Project Previews

You wake up frantically in a stranger's bed. You immediately pat around for your weapon.

???: Awake?

A voice you've never heard before, a dog with long messy hair and white fur slowly making her way to your bedside.

Bucket: Where are my belongings? Why am I here?

???: You can relax, your sword is by the door. Took the time to wipe off the blood before it left any rust. As for the rest? Left it on the side table for you. Figure its the least anyone can do for you, takes a lot of guts to pick a fight with a sentryman.

You give the room a good look around, confirming what she said. It was a small little cabin, but one that was well loved.

Bucket: You carried me inside?

???: Mmhmm! Better me than most of the townfolks, they're not exactly the most trusting when someone like you shows up.

Bucket: Like me?

???: Nobody here's convinced you're just a cute dog after the show you put on. Punching far above your weightclass, good show really. Have to wonder what you're deal is...

Bucket: So in other words I've gone and frightened them. Would figure as much.

???: Maybe, but people tend to forgive a pretty face.

Bucket: I'm already quite accounted for.

She pokes her tongue at you.

???: You're assuming a lot there, its the truth of things. Give your hair a good brush and smile just right and they'll be quick to drop their suspicions. People are simple like that.

She slides you a drink, seemingly hot chocolate.

???: A good knight like yourself shouldn't have to walk out of town with nothing to show for your work anyway

Bucket: Knight? You're assuming a lot there.

???: I think I'm on the mark actually. The stature, the way you carry yourself your weapon of choice, the hardened pads..

Bucket: The pads-

???: Knights are couriers, no? The pads show how much you've traveled.

Bucket: That still doesn't mean anything-

She shuffles through her pockets and pulls out a letter.

???: There's also this. It's addressed to a Vergil Judgment. Sounds like you're one of the old couriers. Was looking to see if I could contact a relative but... the question now becomes which one. That's a pretty old school guild from what I looked up.

You make a face.

She's caught you and she knows it.

???: Right on the mark?

Bucket: I'm a descendant, yes.

???: I mean obviously, must be pretty new though aye? Got quite the young face.. but then again those teeth say you've been at this for awhile.

You couldn't help but laugh with a bitter undertone.

???: What's so funny then?

Bucket: You're very so observant, have to know what this means all to you.

???: What do you mean?

Bucket: People tend to sleuth most when there is aspect of personal interest and value. You may contest me on this but-

???: What's your favorite stageplay?

Bucket: Pardon?

???: Pin me as the observer, nosey to the last shed and yet it's clearly projection. Nothing more than the natural magnetism of theatrics.

Alright, you want to play this game.

Bucket: Give me verse.

???: Thy have plenty already.

Bucket: And I choose to pass initiate.

???: Under roof of another you play by the host's rules... but if a sweetener be needed then you are granted that and nothing more.

A little courtesy under messy hair.

???: Francesca Ottos, the Outskirt Witch.

Wing it.

Bucket: Vergil Judgment, the Wandering Knight.

A bow in return.

Francesca: Et si tu devais mourir?

Bucket: C'est la vie. Terrible.

Her tail swished around.

Francesca:: So cultured... where are you from?

Bucket: Overseas, grew up in town not far unlike this one.

Francesca: Then you understand how boring a place like this is. Nothing changes.

Bucket: Mm, for better and for worse.

Francesca: Mostly for worse. Since you made today a little more exciting though you're welcome to stay while you get back on your feet. Nice to have someone who gets it.

Bucket: And what is it that you want in return?

Francesca: Officially you don't owe me anything, but I can't deny I want to know more. What are you exactly? Strong, soft spoken, prosed as a poet... and yet there's something in your eye. Makes me wonder if we have something else in common...

She reaches for your covered up arm.

You pull it away.

Bucket: You will get sick.

Francesca: I'm already sick.

Bucket: Consider this a mercy then, keep a certain distance.

Francesca: Suppose that's fair.. what do you want for now then?

Bucket: Access to a phone, my sword-

Francesca: You are not bringing that hell slab into town right after a fight like that, people can feel the pulse.

Bucket: And what do you mean by that?

Francesca: You can't play dumb, it's alive. Something living and organic is rooted inside, people here got a good eye for that and whatever's in there isn't happy.

You raise a brow at her.

Bucket: And these people can gauge it how?

Francesca: Bit of a local craft, plenty of people who work wood and metal tend to be specialists on this sort of thing. Common to find parasites having made home of them and a lot of the older crowd considers them a bit culturally important.

Bucket: Sounds dangerous.

She grabs your palm.

Francesca: For many but not for you. You're not to different yourself, stronger even. That's how you keep its voice at bay.

Bucket: And what makes you so confident in that?

Francesca: I'm in the same boat! If you're going to be here for a bit, I've got a blade that's needed a hand like yours for a long time. Interested?

Bucket: Sounds dreadful but.. if you insist this much I should at least take a look for myself.