A Curious Individual

illirica

Well-Known Member
"Ivan!"

The meeting had ended, people had started going home or to work or wherever it was that people went, and by all accounts, Cailet Suibhne should have been doing the same.

To everyone who knew her at all, it would be no surprise whatsoever that she was doing something entirely different. The thing about tending goats was that mostly they tended themselves, except for when the kids came. Occasionally one had to convince them to come down from somewhere, but that was often just a matter of waiting until they had decided that was what they wanted to do. Cailet would check on the goats, as usual, but her father was the one who'd be on the lookout for predators and her mother was the one who would be in the shed working with the milk, and as long as they ended up with the same amount of goats at the end of the day, it tended to work out.

Cailet wasn't too worried about them. She'd put charms on all of them except for the littlest kid, and since that was the one still tucked under her arm so she could keep it out of mischief - it's own mischief, that was, not her mischief, in which it was more an accessory than an accomplice - well, the charms would keep the goats safe, and Cailet very much wanted to find out who the mysterious stranger was.

It wasn't that she was too cautious to go alone, it was just that these things tended to be more fun with someone else along, and Ivan was generally a good target for Cailet's curiosity. He didn't always go along with whatever she'd come up with, but at least he put up with her, and if he decided not to go along, she knew he wouldn't do anything silly like try to stop her or go tell her parents.

"Ivan! Come on, we're going to follow him."

Him, of course, meaning the cloaked newcomer that they'd seen leaving the meeting. Cailet figured Ivan could probably track him - Ivan could track almost anything - and then they were going to find out who he was, and why he was here, and if he knew anyone interesting, and if he did anything exciting, and what his favorite color was, and whether he liked peppermint.

Cailet had all sorts of questions. This, too, was no surprise to anyone who knew her.
 
The cloaked figure moved through the town's streets like a shadow, his presence stirring quiet murmurs wherever he passed. He was massive, a hulking figure that could scarcely go unnoticed no matter how carefully he tread. Beneath his dark hood, his eyes moved slowly, assessing, observing, calculating.

Though he had been pointed toward a nearby inn, he wasn't quite ready to settle in for the night. Instead, he wanted to get a sense of the town—a feel for the hidden currents, the unsaid things that could only be sniffed out in places the good folk tended to avoid. So he slipped into narrow back alleys and wound his way around the backs of buildings, treading paths that saw little foot traffic even in the light of day.

There was a quietness here, broken only by the occasional scurrying rat or the distant clang of metal on metal. As he moved, he kept his senses sharp, alert for any sign of trouble, any hint of the... problems that often required his particular set of skills. And if those problems lurked here, hiding in the cracks and shadows, he was prepared to find them.
 
Ivan had... pointed her in the right direction, at least. He hadn't seemed to interested in meeting the stranger, which Cailet thought was completely ridiculous - why wouldn't you want to meet strangers? They were the only people who hadn't been around here since you were born and didn't know all the stories about you when you were in diapers.

Of course, Ivan wasn't from around here either, so maybe it didn't have the same appeal. Or maybe it was something else. Sometimes, she thought, people would fight a strong looking man just because he looked strong. Cailet, well, she'd given up on growing any further at this point, much to her dismay. People still mistook her for a child, sometimes, which was irksome when they were the ones who'd known her as a child and ought to have known how long it had been.

Mama said it was just because people didn't feel like so long a time had passed, but really, Cailet was almost twenty, and how could you possibly miss that much time? Dada said to stay away from strangers, for... reasons - which he never wanted to spell out, and just assumed Cailet would know. That had been particularly infuriating, when she hadn't known.

But no one had ever bothered her, and she didn't think they were likely to start. She had her charms, after all - and she'd always been good at getting out of trouble.

She had to be, given how good she was at getting in to it.

Her steps quickened, into the alleys, taking note of the passages of the occasional rat. She didn't mind rats. They were kind of cute, and she'd found they were quite smart, if they were allowed to be. There was nothing wrong with a rat, most of the time. Now, half a rat, that was pretty wrong. Sometimes the cat brought them in for a present, all mangled up and leaky, and then Cailet was expected to appreciate them, ewww.

Fortunately, the few scurrying rats here seemed to be all in one piece, just like the stranger. She caught up to him, because she was young enough that she wasn't afraid to run around. There was an age when people got weird about that, she'd noticed, and decided it was more proper to walk everywhere - and maybe it was, but you sure didn't get to see as many places that way.

"Hi!" A few more scurrying steps, not entirely unlike the rats', brought her up to pace even with legs much longer than her own. "I haven't seen you before. What's your name? Where are you from? What do you do? Do you like peppermint? I'm Cailet. By the way." The last, as an afterthought, as if barely remembered in between the spaces for all the questions.

Well, that was fair. He was undoubtedly more interesting than she was.
 
The stranger heard her long before she arrived. It wasn’t as though she had tried to conceal herself; her footsteps were light but deliberate, and her presence carried a quiet energy that announced her approach. He didn’t turn to face her, though. Not immediately. Whoever she was, she wasn’t a threat. At least, not in the way that mattered.

He had barely turned his head to acknowledge her when the questions began—a torrent of curiosity spilling forth from the small creature who had dared approach him. Her voice was bright, a stark contrast to the dark gloom of the narrow alleyway.

The stranger let out a low sigh and finally turned to face her fully. Folding his massive arms across his chest, he leaned forward slightly to better inspect the diminutive figure before him. Even hunched, he towered over her, a rugged mountain of a man. His voice, when it came, was deep and gravelly, each word rolling out like thunder echoing across stormy skies.

“‘Ello,” he grunted, his thick brow lifting as he studied her. His eyes flicked down the alley, scanning the shadows with the practiced vigilance of someone accustomed to danger.

Satisfied they were alone, he looked back to her. “Name’s Broch Asvaldr,” he rumbled, the words carrying the weight of an old wound. “The last o’ me name. I hail from the north side o’ these mountains.” He answered.

His gaze softened, if only just, as he took in the childlike boldness of her. “I’m an ‘unter,” he added, his accent thick and unpolished, “of sorts.” His eyes flickered with a glint of warning as he leaned in closer, casting her in his shadow. “But a wee lass such as yourself shouldn’t be wanderin’ ‘round these back streets alone. Especially not followin’ strangers.”

His words came out gruff, but not unkind. They carried an undercurrent of concern.
 
"I'm not alone," Cailet said, quite brightly, "I'm with you." There was a sparkle in her eyes that implied that she did, in fact, know how ridiculous that statement was, almost daring him to call her out on it. He had implied he was dangerous, but she knew he wasn't - not to her, anyway. She also had the distinct feeling that he would be dangerous to the people who might have been dangerous to her, if there were any around. Therefore, perfectly safe.

"Also, I'm not a wee lass." How old did he think she was, she wondered? Of course, perhaps to someone his size, everyone was a wee lass. Still, Cailet's height - or lack thereof - often got her mistaken for someone much younger, and she might have been a bit prickly about it, when she didn't remember not to be. "You don't seem old enough to be the last of your name, Broch Asvaldr. Why not find yourself a nice girl and fix that problem?"
 
The lass had spunk, that much was clear. Broch had to give her credit for it. There was a spark in her eyes, one that hinted at mischief, the kind that likely had her mum pulling her hair out in frustration. She looked young, too young to be asking the kind of questions she was asking, but Broch had learned long ago that appearances were deceptive. He’d also learned, through plenty of trial and even more error, to tread carefully when responding to such questions. It was all too easy to say the wrong thing and find himself on the wrong end of a reprimand—or worse, a paddle.

Her question had caught him off guard though. Broch raised a brow at her. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in a half-smirk as he leaned back against the wall, studying her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Why, are ya volunteerin’, lass?” he teased, his accent thick as the grin on his face grew. He knew it was a cheeky response, but the way her eyes sparked made him think she could handle it.

Broch chuckled, shaking his head. “Ack nae, no lass tha’ ‘as a lick of sense would ‘ave anythin’ to do with me,” he said with a shrug. His grin faded slightly, replaced by a flicker of something else—a somber memory. “I don’t settle down, lass. Ne’er ‘ave, an’ likely ne’er will. I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
 
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Oh, good, he was one of the fun sorts - the ones who didn't get all up in arms about a little bit of good-natured teasing. Cailet loved her town, but some of these people were so regrettably stoic.

"I hardly know you well enough to volunteer," she returned, just as cheekily. He declined to press the issue, though, with perhaps a bit more self-deprecation that she would have liked to see. Something serious.

"Hmm. Well. I think I'm quite sensible. My da says that I have so much sense that it's come round the circle and ended up on the other side. I think it's just that I notice things that others don't notice." Cailet shrugged, a motion of one shoulder rather than both, on account of the goat she was still holding. "You know, I always thought there were two ways to look at trouble. There's the kind that you get into, and there's the kind that comes to you. Now, me, I get into trouble all the time. Nothing's wrong with that. Trouble's how you learn things, so long as you can get out of it again. But you? I don't think that's you. I think... I think you're the other sort. So, I wonder if trouble's coming to you, or if you're the trouble who's coming to someone else?"

That was, she was aware, a lot of questions, and a lot of them probably didn't have answers. Those were the best questions, Cailet had always thought. The ones that had the easy answers didn't keep you occupied for too long, unless they were a certain subset of those questions like should I eat this mushroom when the answer was a very solid no. Although, she supposed for some mushrooms the question could occupy you for the rest of your life, so perhaps that example was still a good one, after all.

She looked back over, undaunted by his solemnity and still bright in the face of - well, not adversity, but trouble, certainly. "How much trouble are we talking, exactly?"
 
The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, his gaze distant, as if weighing his words against some unseen force. He had learned, over the years, that most people didn’t want his truths. They preferred their world neatly wrapped in ignorance, where the boogeymen were nothing more than childhood tales whispered to keep restless children in bed. They didn’t want to believe that the monsters lurking in the dark were real, that the nightmares they had long outgrown could reach out and hurt them.

And then there was him—a mountain of a man who not only acknowledged their existence but hunted them. On purpose. That was when the fear set in. Not just of the creatures he spoke of, but of him. Was he a protector or something far worse? Had he lost his mind long ago, chasing shadows and legends, or was he the only one who truly saw the world for what it was?

Both answers were sufficient.

He exhaled, rolling his broad shoulders before finally speaking.

“Tha’ trouble’s the kind where ya end up bein’ someone else’s, or they become yers when ye got yer pants ‘round yer ankles. That’s no give nor take there.” He grumbled. He cast her a knowing glance, his brows drawing together in a gruff expression. “If I tell ye that, lass, then I know yer gonna find a way to get yerself right in the thick of it.” He muttered, his voice carrying in the dark.

Then, after a beat, he huffed a sigh and relented, “Tell ya what—‘elp me find a good place to stay. Someplace with a warm meal, a strong ale, and a proper bed. Do that, and I’ll tell ya a few tales.”
 
Oh, a story - or, rather, part of a story. Cailet found that frustrating, because of course she wanted to know the rest of it, and of course he'd stopped just before things got interesting. She dismissed his comments about getting into the thick of it immediately - obviously he didn't know her yet. If he had, he certainly would have known she was already going to find a way to get in the thick of it, whether or not he told her anything.

Cailet had learned that informing people of this fact did not tend to make the conversations go any more smoothly.

At least his proposed bargain was something actionable. Cailet made a thoughtful little "Hmm-mm" sound, thinking about the town and what was around and what the options were. She supposed it depended quite a lot on what he was looking for, and the only way to find that out was to ask - and if the answers slipped into little parts of the story that he wasn't telling her, well, all the better.

"Well. I suppose it depends on if you're looking for a bed for a night, for a week, or for a while - and how much and what you're willing to pay for it." Not a lot of money, she doubted, or he wouldn't have been in Dubhcarrick in the first place. There were plenty of places where favors could be traded, though, and he looked strong. If it was just for a night, well, there was always someone who'd trade a bed and a meal for a day's hard labor - wood chopped or stumps pulled or post-holes dug. For longer propositions, it got harder, but not impossible.

Cailet looked at him slightly sideways, gauging, because how he answered the next question was going to be more in what he didn't say than what he did, usually. "An' how you feel about Other Folks."

The capital letters were obvious, as was, undoubtedly, the meaning. There were plenty of shifters in Dubhcarrick, too, and how he got on with them would affect who might be able to take him in. Cailet's parents had always kept neutral about it - not minded them too much, as long as they didn't cause trouble. Cailet solved the problem there by causing thrice as much trouble all on her own. She'd never minded the Others - though plenty of them minded her. She wasn't one of them, she supposed. Nothing much she could do about that, not that she wanted to. Cailet was perfectly fine with who she was and what she was - it was just everything else she was still trying to figure out.
 
Broch turned back toward the darker end of the alley, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit passage. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find—if there was anything to be found at all about monsters in this place—but something felt... off. An unease settled deep in his chest, coiling like a snake. Was it the way the townsfolk acted, their own anger quick to start? The way the town itself seemed to hum with something unspoken beneath the surface? Or was it simply the chill in the air, a biting cold that seemed to sink straight through his bones?

He let out a low grunt, exhaling the tension with a sigh.

"Think I'm gonna be 'ere for a few days at least. I got coin, that ain't an issue," he said, his voice gruff but certain.

Still, something about what the girl had said gave him pause. Other folks? He raised a brow but dismissed the thought with a shrug.

"I dunnae care about other people, 's long as they dun start a brawl with me," he muttered, turning back to the short girl. She had been right of course. Trouble had a way of finding him, whether he wanted it or not.

And something told him—this town was going to prove to be no exception.
 
"Hm. A few days isn't too long." Cailet seemed to be taking this as the answer she had been looking for - perhaps it had been more of a question of are you staying the week, or are you staying forever? It was hard to imagine why anyone would want to move to Dubhcarrick, but she supposed that people did. The town kept getting larger, after all. Or, at least, there were more people in it. She wasn't actually sure if it was getting any bigger. Maybe it was just that it got more tightly packed, everyone on top of one another, like too many goats in a pen.

"Maybe talk to Saoirse at the tavern," Cailet suggested, "If you have the coin. If you don't, well, you could probably make an arrangement with someone for a bed, if you're willing to work for it. There's always something that needs doing." And there were always the mines, she supposed, but if he was only planning on staying a little while, then he wouldn't be working there. Plus, they were dangerous. Even Cailet knew that. Her dad told her to stay away from the mines - and the miners. She wasn't sure which he was more worried about.

She did peer up at Broch once more, curiously, at his pronouncement. "Do people? Start a brawl with you, I mean?" It seemed ot her like if you were going to start a brawl with someone, you would pick someone... well, smaller, but then again, she was rather small and no one had ever tried to start a brawl with her, unless you counted the goats, which Cailet didn't think counted. So, perhaps size didn't have anything to do with it.

"Where are you going next?"
 
"More often than I'd like to admit... Goes back to that whole thing about finding trouble, or trouble finding you," he muttered, rubbing his beard in thought.

The mountain of a man considered his options. From what he’d gathered, Saoirse was the other badger shifter in town—a fact that carried its own complications. While he had no doubt she’d keep the place safe, there was bound to be tension. Their kind was territorial by nature.

"I've got coin," he finally said. "Suppose I can talk to the lass. Mind showin’ me the way?"

Then, almost as an afterthought, he exhaled sharply and glanced around, brow furrowed.

"Dunno," he admitted. "Might stick around a while longer. Something in me gut's tellin’ me I ought to take a closer look at this place." His voice dropped slightly, thoughtful. "If I don’t find anything, I’ll chase the next bit o’ rumors that come my way and chart my course from there."
 
"Sure, I can walk you down there," Cailet offered, "We just go to the end of this alley, then climb the fence up onto the woodshed and-" Abruptly, she broke off, as if realizing that perhaps discussing how she usually got around town was not too likely to resonate particularly well with humans. It resonated well enough with the goats, but humans seemed to have different views about clambering over things. She sighed, regretfully, "-Or, we turn left at the alley, take the passage into the street and - it takes twice as long, but - oh, don't worry about it, I'll get you there."

There, and properly, without any fence hopping that her mother would have words about.

"You know, if you want to find something, you'll have better luck if you tell people what it is you're looking for," Cailet pointed out, she thought rather astutely. He'd been rather cagey, after all, about what exactly he was doing here. Of course, he had offered to get her in trouble, sort of, so maybe this all tied in. "Be strange if you were looking for something and I had six at home in a drawer collecting dust, wouldn't it?"

She doubted what he was looking for was the sort of thing that sat in drawers collecting dust. That seemed to be reserved for dishes that weren't allowed to be used and those inimitable doilies that her grandmother had crocheted about a thousand of before she'd passed. No one wanted to throw them away, but how many doilies did a person need, really?

Did Broch need any doilies? She supposed she could offer him one when he went on his way, but it seemed an odd sort of parting gift. Perhaps not. And perhaps he'd stay a while. If he stayed long enough, maybe she'd figure it out.

"You've not had anyone to talk with in a while, have you?"
 
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