tristranthorn | [021] OOM - Wall

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Current Location: Wall

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[021] OOM - Wall - are we there yet?

It goes on for weeks.

In a bone-jarring, rattling sort of way, the caravan continues its path towards Wall, and towards the market fair. Any passersby whom they see -- which occurs very infrequently -- are met with confusing circumstances. While they can see Yvaine, the witch (as she is a witch) calling herself Madame Semele cannot, and shortly it becomes clear to anyone, including the star, that Semele could never perceive Yvaine's presence or even hear anything pertaining to her existence. (Which, really, would explain quite a lot.)

The sun is low in the western sky when they approach the little village of Wall many weeks later. It shines in their eyes, bathing everything in its light, turning the world around them into liquid gold. It is when they find a rather empty lot -- a grassy meadow -- that Madame Semele reins her mules in, and unhitches them.

Already there are others like her setting up their stalls and tents on the grassy area in preparation for the fair that occurs every nine years, hanging draperies from trees and hammering planks of wood together. There is an excitement in the air that seems to reach everyone, even the sour old witch (but it is very fleeting).

She returns to the caravan after hitching her mules to a nearby tree, and unhooks the cage from its chain. Then, carrying it to the meadow, she puts it down on a hillock of grass and opens the door.

"Out you come," she says, picking the sleeping dormouse up with bony fingers. She settles him down to the ground.

Tristran rubs his liquid-black eyes with his forepaws and blinks sleepily. The witch reaches into her apron and pulls out what appears to be a glass daffodil. With it, she touches his head. Where once was a mouse, there is now an 18-year-old man, blinking and yawning with sleep. He runs a hand through his unruly brown hair, then appears to snap back into reality as he stares down at the witch angrily.

"Why, you evil old crone--" he begins, reaching for his sword. But he is sleepy and weak, and he finds his legs too unsteady to support him. He falls to the ground ungraciously.

"Hush your silly mouth," the witch retorts sharply -- and not without the slightest bit of amusement. "I got you here, safely and soundly, and in the same condition I found you. I gave you board and I gave you lodging -- and if neither of them were to your liking or expectation, well, what is it to me? Now, be off with you, before I change you into a wiggling worm and bite off your head, if it is not your tail. Go! Shoo! Shoo!"

With that, she returns to building up her tent.

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Her voice is louder this time, and her fingers press a bit harder.

"Tristran, there is a bath waiting."

When he still doesn't stir, her lips tug down into a frown and her shoulders slump dejectedly. A corpse would probably be more responsive, sadly enough.

"You know, one would begin to think that they should do nothing nice for you at all," she sighs. "As you only pay heed to beds and pastries of various sorts."

And then his name again, once more. Just in case.

No matter how many times Yvaine might shout and cry and call his name as loudly as she can, Tristran will not wake up.

It isn't really any fault of hers, or the fault of anyone (well, except that Madame Semele, perhaps) that he is practically comatose.

In any case, onwards he sleeps, unresponsive to anything around him. Even pretty stars with tempers.

She stands once more with a muttered, "Oh, forget it." and seeing as she is already wet there's no real sense in letting all of her hard work go to waste.

And there is rarely anything wrong with a warm bath.

"I'm getting undressed now," she prattles, mostly to herself, and then snickers - shaking her head and easily slinging her clothing onto the trunk at the foot of the bed and making her way over to the tub.

She lets out a pleased hum as she settles herself carefully into the water and, really, closing her eyes for a little while does sound rather tempting.

It is only mere moments later when Tristran slowly stirs. Whatever side-effects from the spell the old biddy cast on him have now been lifted. He feels more or less like himself again.

Stretching, Tristran lets out a yawn and blinks. He can only vaguely remember some things about being in a caravan ... and eating far too many nuts than he is comfortable with ... being sung to ... protected ... feeling warm ...

Then he sits up abruptly, looking around for signs of the star.

"Yvaine..." he murmurs more to himself. His limbs all feel far too heavy and useless, like they have been stored somewhere for too long. He stumbles to his feet.

There is a closed door which he now opens. It leads to the bathroom.

"Yvaine?"

The star's not quite asleep - just teetering somewhere close to it - eyes closed and head tilted back, hair swept over the edge of the tub and pooling onto the floor as she hums to herself, missing his entrance to the song.

She looks utterly content, the water glinting strangely off of her skin and glittering something spectacular.

And besides, she also looks utterly beautiful from where he is standing (he cannot see anything indecent, just to be sure) -- so much so that for a moment he cannot move or even speak.

His heart pounds loudly in his chest, and he swallows. He cannot stand here like a silly fool any longer.

"Yvaine," he repeats, clearing his throat. "Are you - awake?"

Her back stiffens immediately, and within a split second she lets out a hiccuping sort of yelp as she pinwheels around to face him (perhaps not the most well thought out plan, but her hands each catch at the opposite shoulder instinctively - so we're still good).

"I tried to - it was - Avert your eyes!"

The next moment occurs in flurry motion, with the sound of water being sploshed around in a panic, and Tristran turning on his heel so that he has his back to her before spotting the towel hanging by the door.

"I'm not looking!" he assures her, one hand on his eyes, "I'm not looking!"

He passes the towel to her.

She snatches it quickly and levers herself out of the tub, hands shaking and nearly slipping an ungodly amount of times for such a tiny motion.

And then, very terribly quietly, "Very well. You may open them now."

Slowly, he does. And that whole bowled over by her being so beautiful thing tugs violently in his chest once more, so that he actually grimaces for a split second.

"I -" he starts, "I'm sorry. I should have knocked."

She blinks back at him cautiously and the grimace makes her wince in return, chin ducking self-consciously and hands curling up and over her shoulders once more.

"I thought that I told you not to apologize."

She chances a quick smile.

"It was yours anyway - though it is entirely your fault that you sleep like the dead."

He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh.

"You should know I don't usually sleep like that," he tells her gently. "That witch's spell, it did something to me."

Shaking his head, he lets his arm down. "You're refreshed, now?"

The star snorts a bit skeptically, arcing an eyebrow and looking a bit more comfortable in her skin.

"I should know exactly how you sleep, Tristran Thorn," she replies. "Often. And with great enjoyment in the doing so."

He looks extraordinarily lovely while doing it too. She's watched often enough.

A laugh, "Well, I am awake now - that much is certain."

He gives her a sheepish smile and a laugh in return.

"If you want to rest a little more while I have my bath, you are welcome to," he tells her, smile lingering. Just in case she was still tired.

"And then," he takes a breath. "Then we can set off to my village."

Her cheeks flush rather abruptly, as if the last couple of minutes have finally caught up to her all at once. Or perhaps it's just the fact that he's going to be - to be -

Oh.

A set of fingers rises to rub absently at her cheek and then falls to her side once more as he continues to speak.

The smile twitches, a bit more forced into place.

"Yes - yes, of course."

He begins to set the water to pour into the bath tub, when something occurs to him.

It isn't very clear, of course, but ...
he remembers bits of something he's certain he can ask the star (without sounding like he dreamed the whole thing up).

"By the way," Tristran starts, turning back to face her. "I ... remember something. Something like a song...that perhaps you sang to me while we were traveling with that old witch?"

And a warmth. He definitely remembers warmth.

If anything, the flush across her cheeks manages to somehow grow brighter and her eyes fly wide - a bit nervously, one might notice. Because, after all, if he remembers that there's no telling what other things he may remember and - dear gods she needs to learn how to shut up.

Drowning herself is quickly becoming a preferable option.

"To sleep," she squeaks guiltily. "I sang sometimes to help you sleep? Not that you particularly needed help just - it was quiet anyhow and -"

"Thank you," he interrupts, his voice coming out odd to his ears. "It was nice."

He smiles at her, then ... and perhaps its a slightly different smile from the ones she might be used to.

"You have a beautiful voice."

Her heart thumps almost painfully and she presses a hand there (Wait please - I still need that.) almost unable to look away.

"You're welcome, I -" she stammers, stepping backward with a bit less care than she probably should and knocking her back into the door with a solid thunk. She quickly fumbles for the doorknob - nearly losing grip on the top of her towel in the process. "I should let you get in if you still want the water to be warm."

And if she wants to have any hope of not making any more of an ass of herself.

Tristran nods slowly, watching her for a moment.

"Right," he says, snapping out of his own little ... whatever that was.

What is wrong with him, anyway? He shouldn't be doing this, not when they are only steps away from his village, and he is almost finished with his quest.

Of course, he doesn't think he can give Yvaine over to Victoria any longer. The idea of passing her like some object seems more and more inconceivable. She is not a thing to be passed from hand to hand, but a person.

"I won't be long."

She lets the door click shut behind her quietly before she slides right down to the floor, legs sprawled out in front of her and head tipped back.

Lovely, Yvaine.

Just lovely.

Tristran waits by the edge of the tub for the water to finish filling it up, and lets out a sigh.

That...he doesn't know if he can keep it up any longer, truth be told. This confusion, this odd feeling in his chest, every time he sees her. It doesn't make any sense, and yet it does.

He begins to take his shirt off. Never mind that. He is finally home (well, he will be very soon) and soon everything will make perfectly clear sense.

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[021] OOM - Wall - are we there yet?

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