Home is Where The Heart Is [Miette]

[Anonymous]

Quiet looked in amazement at the subtle change in tone, and what a difference it could make. He wasn't sure how he felt about makeup, but he wasn't about to complain. He worried about accidentally wiping the stuff off, but he figured he'd just have to deal with that when it happened.

As for the 'empty' jar held in front of him, he was surprised to hear that there was some kind of mystical smoke inside. He had never smelled or heard of blueberry tart, but from the context he imagined it to be a foul terrible thing. Since, it was smoke they were talking about. Despite this, with out hesitation he leaned forward and inhaled a small amount, as to not waste too much of the magical substance on this trail run.

To his surprise, the smell wasn't bad at all. It actually made his body pang with hunger pains. He wasn't exactly sure what would happen, but he wasn't too excited. He had no money or objects of value to trade for these services or magical goods. But Miette surely knew from his appearances that he had no money. Did she plan to give him these things for free? Quiet couldn't fathom such kindness. What could she possibly gain from this? What was the point of this kindness?

[Anonymous]

As soon as he had inhaled, Miette corked the bottle to encourage the rest of the strange smoke back inside. There were at least ten uses in the surprisingly small receptacle, since the mixture was what the girl might describe as 'sticky' or dense. Flipping open her satchel once more, she shuffled amongst the clinking objects for a moment before emerging with a hand held mirror no larger than her palm and backed by a bone shell of sorts.

She raised her gaze slowly to meet his, giving the smoke time to work. She always liked to imagine that the subject of its minor magic had their head filled up like a balloon before it reached their eyes - it made watching the haze spread over their irises more interesting by mental association. What little magic she utilized always worked so quietly. After all, she was no great wielder of the stuff. She got by, was all. She looked a little strange, she acted a little strange. Perhaps if she had grown in the company of other fae, things might have been different. However, Miette personally never bothered with re-imagining the past.

She watched as the vibrant hue of each of his eyes was muddied by a veil of brown, not so thick as to completely obscure the difference between the original colors but heavy enough to turn each into a separate shade of the same.

Holding up the mirror so that he could see the change, she remembered aloud a few conditions on the concoction, apparently making a gift of the bottle:

"When you use this, be careful not to stand too close to concentrated light like candles and fireplaces. The reflection of the flames will reveal your true colors in flickers - just long enough to catch some one's attention, really."

Miette made a note of the peculiar expression washing over his features, something mild and creeping like confusion. She took up one of his hands and cradled the tiny bottle in his palm, closing his fingers over it with hers.

"Keep it. There's plenty more where it came from. I think I can trust you better than most anyone to keep this place and these things a secret." After all, he was mute as far as she knew. At any rate, Miette doubted, due to the way he practically curled up and hid himself in the dark or at times wore his apprehensions on his face, that he fully understood the small magic at work in her tricks or what magic she suspected was at work on his appearance. Perhaps it went beyond the surface, but she had no business guessing wildly as such. She saw some one who needed help without knowing how to ask for it, and it reminded her of days gone by.

[Anonymous]

It was a bit scary to see the slow change in his eyes, but it didn't hurt, and he trusted her. Really, having her stare so intently into his eyes made him more nervous. He brushed aside a few locks of hair that had fallen back into place in front of his face with his hand, and stared intently as his eyes completed their transformation. He dared not get too excited. From what Miette had said before, it wouldn't last too long, but it was better than growing out you're hair to hide one eye.

He was surprised when she took his hand, and placed the bottle in it. He looked to her, and listened to her as she confirmed it as a gift. He was bewildered for a second, filled with so many new emotions. Gratitude, joy, admiration, and even guilt. Guilt was strangest to him, he could steal bread to eat, with no problems, but when someone gave him something for the first time, he felt guilt. In the end, all he could do was manage to nod another yes to her, unable to refuse her generosity. He didn't say 'thank you,' like he probably should have. Instead, he decided to himself he would prove to her his gratitude, some day. He'd make it up to her, somehow.

For now, though, he sat patiently. With his emotions running high, he dared to dream that somewhere in this shop there'd be a way to hide his horn.

[Anonymous]

Miette straightened up and breathed a long, airy sigh as she turned her head about the four corners of the room, as if there were invisible shelves to peruse at the far ends or she were expecting something to fall out of the sky onto her head. Their thoughts were synchronized in those few minutes to a degree. After all, the taking care of the horn seemed the next logical step. The girl was hesitant to announce her intent, though, being that she had never encountered such a problem herself and therefore had no previous knowledge of a fix for it.

Running through the possibilities in her mind, she circled around the central counter and tapped with her heel on the floorboards beneath. they appeared entirely whole, though as she rattled the boards with her knocking, lined breaks in the wood seemed to appear and then disappear, barely noticed, like the fleeting capture of light on a strand of hair. She listened, dipping her head a bit expectantly.

"BUSY!" There came the muted bellow from below, projective and preoccupied but not angry. Miette pursed her lips in response. Looking back to the chair where Quiet sat, a pained look briefly crossed her features. Suppose there was nothing to do about it. Her mind rushed her to action lest the pause be given significance.

Miette waltzed back over to the boy and took up his arm, attempting to pull him gently from his seat.

"Would you like to stay here for now? Tomorrow my friend can take a look around here, and at you. I mean, he knows more than I do and he might come up with ideas for...everything else." Miette wasn't sure how the Quiet would take to anyone else, but she wasn't going anywhere fast. She wondered herself how much the boy knew of the Mordecai or how long he'd been surviving like this in Connlaoth, and was reluctant to let him back on the street.

[Anonymous]

The Quiet stood as he was pulled from his seat. He was not too heart broken that a magic cure all for his horn, wasn't demonstrated for him. It was a far fetched dream to have the answer just fall into his lap like this. Not only that, from what she said there was still hope for tomorrow. He could easily be patient enough to wait one more day.

But, when she asked him if he'd like to stay, he froze for a moment. It didn't help that she was clinging to him so closely. He already owed her so much, how could he accept this offer? He nodded yes, after only a moment's hesitation. He could have mulled over it for much longer, but he realized that there was no real reason to refuse her generosity. Other than pride, and he was already beginning to become accustomed to throwing that away.

He began to think about the market, and how he still needed to steal a proper meal. The few strawberries he had had, wasn't enough to silence his stomach's suffering, but then he thought that Miette might share her food with him. If she shared her roof with him for free, it was likely she'd share a meal. It was painful to expect more from her, but he had no choice. It was either accept this charity or steal, which wouldn't have been something he could be proud of either. He still had the strong desire to make this all up to her, but he didn't really have any idea how he'd do that.