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We Wear the Mask...

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Harlequin
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Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Mon Jul 02, 2012 2:58 pm Post subject: We Wear the Mask... Reply with quote

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

~Paul Laurence Dunbar

~*~


“Dismissed?!”

“Aye, Quinn. For treachery, an’ desertion.” The Countess’ tone was stern, and matter-of-fact.

“Trea—what? What did I do?” Quinn knew her voice was borderline screeching, but she couldn’t seem to help it. This time, she was in the right, and she knew it.

“Ye left th’ huntin’ party this eve. Ye were ordered to mine. And t’ protect. Not on’y did ye desert them, but ye took th’ protectors with ye.”

“I was ordered to leave!” Quinn bounded after Aurelia, who quietly stood and carried a stack of correspondences to a small lockbox and turned the key to open it. “I tried to stay!”

“Quinn. This is not open fer discussion. Did I or did I not tell ye jus’ last night ye were on yer last chance? One step o’er the line—“

“But I didn’t step over any line! He told me to leave! I left alone!”

“Quinn.” Aurelia closed the box with a sigh, and turned to look at the painted girl.

Quinn silenced her protests, instead offering only one quiet plea. “I don’t want to be alone anymore, Aurelia. This is the only place that I could ever even think about calling home. Where will I go?”

The Countess regarded Quinn thoughtfully, seemingly trying to reconcile the pitiful and desperate plea with the ridiculous façade of the mime who uttered it.

“Quinn, that’s nay my concern anymore.”
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Harlequin
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Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Mon Jul 02, 2012 11:48 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

There wasn't an inanimate object in the cabin that was safe. Quinn knew it. Ansel knew it. The pied crow took a sidelong hop as his painted girl's pacing step brought her boot too close to him for comfort. Deftly, he grabbed the scrap of bread she'd offered him in his beak and fluttered from the dusty wood floor to the top of the bedpost.

Ansel's wings flitted nervously with each creak of the wood floor – each precise and measured footfall – as Quinn paced, her fists clenched at her sides. The cabin had fallen into disrepair in the time she'd been away from it. But why would she have cared? She'd found a home. A family. Sort of. Someone who gave himself to her and didn't ask anything in return. Someone who let her love him on her own terms, without complexity or expectation.

Someone who loved her in return.

She waited for the rage to build to a boiling point. Ansel, too, watched and waited. For the tirade – for the volley of breakables smashing against the stone hearth. For the inevitable assault that Quinn would wage upon the little cabin, without mercy or regret. Without any thought at all, beyond “It's not fair...”

It wasn't fair.

She'd finally found something worth having, why now? Why, when she finally learned a bit of temperance, should she lose everything? Quinn turned a silver clockwork arrow over and over in her hands as she paced, then paused, tossing it onto the table.

The clatter caused a fluttery jolt from atop the bedpost as Ansel braced himself for her tantrum. But Quinn only sighed, and she seated herself at the dressing table. It was the only piece of furniture in the room that wasn't layered in dust and cobweb. She had meticulously cleaned it already, and placed her paints and spirits upon their usual places.

Quinn watched as the reflection in the mirror lightly tapped each tube of paint in turn with a fingertip, and she did likewise, as was the ritual. Then she soaked a boll of cotton in bitter spirits and began to remove the paint from her face slowly, and methodically. A calm descended upon her as the ritual progressed, exactly as it had a thousand times before. The spirits stripped every last stitch of paint from her flesh, and left her looking pale, and just as hollow as she had before she wiped away the vacant painted expression.

Silently, she rose and went to the wall, where hung a menagerie of painted masks. She chose a bright purple mask with black satin ribbons, and she tied it into place, watching herself in the mirror. Behind her, the door of the cabin opened, and Quinn turned quickly, her heart leaping into her throat.

Impossibly, he had found her. Gaius watched her with an unreadable gaze as Quinn lowered her hands slowly away from the mask.

“You're not alone, you know.”

Quinn felt hot tears spill over her cheeks behind the mask, and she was never so thankful to be hidden behind the porcelain facade. Gaius held her and swayed until the dance became her own, and she gave herself to it as he faded away. The dance, at least, was hers. And no one could take that away.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Harlequin
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Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Thu Jul 05, 2012 7:23 am Post subject: Reply with quote

Ansel was gone, when she arrived home again. Hunting, she thought. Or off awander. But how did he get out while I was gone? No matter...

Quinn let her pack slip off her shoulder, and it crashed to the floor with a solid thud. She stood just inside the doorway, swishing the skirts of the dress she wore. The skirts shimmered in alternating hues of purple, and pale blue. It was something Quinn had never expected – a love for colour. The skirt reminded her of the river flowing at twilight, its eddies painted in the hues of a dying summer sky.

Quinn smiled, running her hands over the fabric. It was soft, and yielding. Things that she longed to become. She closed her eyes as her hand slid down over the bodice, and she paused in her swaying as Gaius' strong arms encircled her from behind, replacing her exploring hands with his own.

“You beat me home, Handsome.” Quinn smiled and inclined her head to rest beneath his chin.

“I missed you while you were alone.” He kissed the top of her head, then the side of her neck.

“I always miss you when I'm alone.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head further to allow his affections. “Did you let Ansel outside?”

“I must have.” He whispered against her flesh between kisses and unwound his arms from her waist. He reached to the bedpost and took the purple mask she wore to sleep the night before. Wordlessly, he tied it into place with a warm smile. “Like this?”

Quinn watched him from behind the mask, grey eyes lost in his gaze. She could only nod, as he led her to the bed and laid back, sinking back into the bedlinens. They were fresh and clean, and smelled of meadowgrass and wildflowers. Gaius watched her intently as he guided her down beside him.

Her heart raced. His expression was intent, and his exploring touch gentle. Why, then, had she ever hesitated? He belonged to her, and she to him. Delicately entwined, they became one. And when they were only one, sleep claimed her.

And when the morning rays painted her with fire, she would awaken with the fire inside her as well. Alone, but for Ansel, who dozed upon his bedpost perch. Her dress still pristine, she arose from the lavender-scented bed, removing the mask, but not the painted face beneath.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Harlequin
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Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 7:05 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Voices. There were voices in her house. Perhaps Gaius was talking to Ansel? But no…the second voice did not sound like Ansel. It was decidedly feminine, and not like Ansel’s at all…

Hastily, Quinn clambered from her deep featherbed, and out from beneath the meadowgrass-scented bed linens. She smoothed her dress, and lifted the purple mask that covered her face, to check her reflection in the window. But there was no reflection. Perhaps her spirit had grown so thin that she no longer cast a reflection in glass. Quinn reached out with longing fingertips to touch the windowpane, but the voices drifted into her bedroom again. This time, they were talking about her. She lowered the iridescent purple mask again to cover her painted features, then stepped out of her bedroom door. There were four of them in all. Standing in her house.

“Haven’t you people ever heard of knocking?” Quinn’s voice was muffled from behind the mask.

“I have.” Judas quipped. “But I just spent the last hour looking for a door to knock on.”

Quinn narrowed her eyes and pushed the mask up atop her head. “The door is in the front, of course.”

Striker leaned in to Alisiea, speaking softly. “Which one’s the front?”

So. This is what it had come to. It wasn’t bad enough she’d been forced from her home – ripped from those she called family. Now the “family” had come to her, to issue still more slings, and arrows. But she would not show them her pain. They’d destroy her. That’s what animals do, destroy the weaker among them. Tear them down for showing pain. Quinn would never bleed in front of them.

“We came to see you because you’re our friend. We like you.” But Judas bared his teeth, in stark contrast to the words he spoke. “We want to make sure you’re happy.”

“I’m quite happy, Judas.” Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the table. “A roof over my head, plenty of food. And Gaius comes to visit me, whenever I’m the most lonely.”

“Eh…” Judas scratched the back of his neck, looking up at the ceiling.

“That’s very nice of him.” Alisiea bared her teeth too, now, and spoke in a placating tone.

That’s it. Patronize me. Alisiea was the last person in the world she’d ever have expected to behave this way.

On the couch beside Judas, Jolicia had clearly grown tired of their game. She rolled her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. Quinn took careful note of where her head rested. It was enough that they were all touching her things. But she would not allow her walls to wear their filth, too. She would scour the spot, the moment they were gone.

Without preamble, a wolf wandered through the great room, within mere feet of Ansel. Quinn jumped up and stepped between the wolf and her precious pied crow. “Which one of you let in the wolf? Shoo! Out you go…Out, out, out!” The wolf slunk out the front door, and Quinn shut it behind him.

“Why wouldn’t you want to return to Ashencrosse?” Judas changed his approach, and Quinn felt the anxiety beginning to well up inside her.

“I should think that, of all people, you would understand that, Judas. You chose to leave. If you had been kicked out, do you think you’d be in a hurry to go right back in?”

“But what did you do to get banished?” Judas looked at her inquisitively.

Quinn faltered. Her hands had begun to shake. And she couldn’t even remember anymore why she was cast out. “Trea…son? Treason. Yes.” She nodded once, attempting to end the conversation. She hoped he didn’t ask her to elaborate. She couldn’t even concentrate anymore. She was used to being able to walk away when she was finished with a conversation. But here, there was no escape. Her face flushed hot beneath her paint, and she sat down, growing dizzy.

Judas shifted too, and glanced at Jolicia, who still feigned sleep to keep from having to join the conversation. “We just want to make sure you’re happy, Quinn.”

Quinn pounded her fist on the table, startling Striker and Alisiea, now sitting on either side of her. “I TOLD YOU I’M HAPPY HERE!” Jolicia jolted awake next to Judas.

“If you’re happy, why do you wear the mask?” Alisiea asked with faked innocence. “You feel safe behind that mask, don’t you?” Her tone was as sharp as the mocking glint in her eye.

“I…” Quinn faltered again, rising to pace uneasily. Why don’t they just all go away?

One by one, they rose and approached her. They closed in around her, forcing her back into a corner. They offered quiet explanations, or pleas. Feigned heartfelt declarations, and smiled to see her so cornered, despite efforts to hide her fear. The desperation in her eyes was undeniable.

And one by one, they retreated, and left her home. Striker was the last to leave, and Quinn urged him out. But he was not swayed so easily. His questions were too bold. And he asked too much. Quinn tried barbs to dissuade him. She tried to force him to leave, but he would not be moved.

“Gaius will be along shortly, I’m sure…”

Striker nodded. “I’ll just stay till he arrives, then.”

Quinn frowned, unsure why the notion unsettled her so. Surely Gaius would not be long in arriving. She pulled the mask down over her face again. “Bretane will never trust me alone with you.”

“She doesn’t have to.” Striker smiled again. “She trusts me.”

Quinn nodded and lingered only a moment before she disappeared into her bedroom and crawled into her delicately scented bed. Outside, in the great room, Striker crossed his arms on the table, and nestled his head into them to rest.

“G’night Quinn.” Striker’s voice was muffled by the position of his face in his arms.

Quinn never answered. Instead, she simply lay in bed, listening to his slow and steady breath, and the unbridled racing of her own heart in the darkness of her refuge behind the mask.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Harlequin
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Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Sat Jul 07, 2012 9:07 am Post subject: Reply with quote

“It's that Judas fellow.”

Quinn flew to the window to look out, and pushed her mask up on top of her head. “Are you sure?”

“I'd know that ankh anywhere. It's so sparkly...” Ansel trailed off with a lopsided, childish grin and gave a couple of sideways hops in the windowsill, trying excitedly to get a better look at the visitor before he approached the cabin door.

With a sigh, Quinn went to the door and opened it just as Judas lifted a hand to knock. “What do you want, Judas?”

“Love you, too!” The bard just smiled, looking her over. “I like the dress. It's a good change for you, Quinn.” She watched him incredulously as his gaze consumed her, and she could feel herself blushing beneath her paint.

“May I?” He gestured toward the open door, and brushed past her, far closer than she'd have liked. “I like what you've done with the place.”

Quinn narrowed her eyes. “Is that some sort of joke?”

Judas laughed. “Of course not! It's lovely.” He picked up a trinket here and there, examining it, then replacing it exactly as it had been sitting before. He gave a small sculpture a quarter turn, as he set it down, making sure it was facing the center of the room perfectly.

“Are you sure you're happy here, Quinn?” Judas stopped at the window and looked outside, speaking with his back to her.

She didn't know how to answer. Something inside her wanted to spill the hurt that she harboured there. Who could be happy here? Alone, constantly....Who could live such a life of isolation and say that she was fulfilled? Who could smile through this and hide herself away behind a mask of laughter?

Quinn could. That's who. And she would, too.


But Judas turned from the window too quickly. Quinn wiped away a tear, nonchalantly, smudging the black flourishes around one eye.

“Quinn...” Judas began, and came to her. “Don't cry...” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.

The tears came in a hot torrent that painted flesh-tinged trails down over her cheeks. “Why, Judas? It's what I feel. Is it not all right just to let myself feel, sometimes? I don't want to be alone anymore...Why can't I cry?”

“Because, Quinn. We will destroy you, if you show weakness. That's what animals do.” His grin broadened cruelly and he slammed her back against the stone wall of the cabin, his hand grasping her throat to hold her there.

Dazed by the flash of pain in her head from striking the rocks, Quinn struggled to pull his hand away with both of her own, but the fight was futile. He was larger and stronger than she. He pressed his body against her, using his weight to pin her.

“Don't forget.” He grinned, growling and feigning a snap at her throat with his teeth. He released her, allowing her to crumple to the floor at his feet. Then, Judas strode out the front door and shut it behind him. Quinn rubbed her neck, where his hands had bit into her flesh.

“So shiny...Maybe he'd let me play with it, just for a minute. Just to see what it tastes like.” Ansel was hopping to and fro in the windowsill, watching Judas go. Then, as the bard disappeared into the woods, Ansel fluttered down off the windowsill with a disappointed sigh, and hopped over to where Quinn sat, still dazed, and unable to organize her thoughts.

Ansel tilted his head, watching her a moment and asked the question that he'd always wanted to ask, but could never until now find tongue to give it voice.

“Why do you scare them all away, Painted Girl?”
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Ansel
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Location: Wherever Quinn Is...

PostPosted: Fri Jul 13, 2012 12:00 am Post subject: Reply with quote

She hadn't brought home food in weeks. His painted, flightless bird had fallen ill, and it seemed she could not feed herself anymore. Ansel pecked through the fruit bowl on the table for a bite of anything edible. It contained both apples and skulls, but the apples were rotten beyond salvage, and there had never been scraps of flesh on the skulls. He didn't know why she bothered to put them in the basket. They'd outlived their usefulness as food long before she'd found them.

The two had returned to the place where once stood the cabin where the two had sheltered for a few cold seasons in the past. But the cabin had long since been lost to the elements. All that remained now were a few piles of stone here and there. A suggestion of where it had stood, years ago, but now as useless as the fleshless skulls in the fruit bowl. Yet still she treated it as if nothing had changed. A cool shower of morning rain settled the dust that the painted girl had been sweeping relentlessly out the empty doorway for weeks.

In the corner of the stone ruins, on a bed of meadowgrass and lavender, lay his stricken companion. She had taken to adorning herself with items – masks and new feathers, items so colourful that he thought perhaps she tried to attract a mate. But she no longer sought flightless birds like herself. She hid away here and busied herself with confusing chores, and ran the wildlife from the place she clearly still saw as her own. Even if the wilderness had long ago reclaimed it.

And in the mornings, sometimes she sang.

The rain slowly soaked her cloak of bright purple feathers and the mask that covered her face. Oh, how he missed the crisp lines of black and white. When she had been like him. When they had run the forests together, and she was the other half of his flock.

No, she was still a part of his flock. She was just ill. And she needed his help. How many times had she done the same for Ansel? From the corner, he heard the soft strains of her voice as the rain faded her paint and soaked her to the bone.

Hush-a-bye my little owlet, in thy mossy, swaying nest.
With thy little woodland brothers, close thine eyes and take thy rest.
Too-hoo...Too-hoo...


She was fading away, as surely as her paint did in the rain. And he would not let her go without a fight. Ansel gave a murderous cry and took flight, leaving the ruins, and the rotten apples, and the fleshless skulls behind. He would find food for his painted, flightless bird. Maybe she just needed to eat. As he cleared the treetops and soared toward the north, he could still hear the soft song of his painted girl as it spilled into the morning mist.

Sleep, oh, sleep, my little owlet, many voices sing to thee
"Hush-a-bye," the waters whisper, "Hush," replies the tall pine tree.
Too-Hoo...Too-Hoo...
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Harlequin
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PostPosted: Fri Jul 13, 2012 7:06 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

**NOTE: Cross-Posted from the Ashencrosse Forum with the explicit permission of the author - Player of Gaius Atius Tria**


******


Gaius heard all the rumors and stories of Quinn and her “illness,” his heart sank. He knew something had to be done, but what?

He gathered up supplies and loaded a pack horse and headed down the road to Umbra. His thoughts turned to his childhood and how his siblings use to torment and torture him, how he was abused in the mines of Minoc. As he passes the brigands camp two of them came up to challenge him and he slayed both, quickly leaving their bodies in the road as a warning:
“today is not a good day to mess with me!”


Upon entry into Umbra, he went to the moongate and traveled to Tokuno, then to the house just north of the main city Zento, known as “Goodman’s.” There he searched the many book lining the walls until he came across the one he was looking for.

Using the book, he and the packy traveled to the entrance of Shame. Upon arrival he was met by an ogre who attacked his packy immediately. Using sword and shield, Gaius attacked carving up the ogre into smaller bits. Wiping the blade off, he took the packy in tow, heading off towards where he was told the “cabin” was.

Upon finding the cabin, he tied the packy outside and entered quietly, looking in dismay at the conditions of the place. He found a bowl full of rotten apples and skulls, which he picked up and tossed outside into the woods. He continued his search when until he came across a form lying on the ground in what appeared to be a bedroom at one time. He looked down at it and knew at once he had found her. She seemed weak and fragile, he checked to see if she was still alive, she was.

He slipped out of the room and went the packy. From it he pulled out a large section of leather and fastened ropes to it. He laid it on the ground and tossed the ropes over the frame of the cabin. He then maneuvered the packy to the other side and affixed the ropes to it. Using the packy he pulled the leather over the back side of the house to give the so called bedroom shelter from the elements.

He secured the ropes so if a heavy wind or rain came, it would not sag or blow away the canvas. He then unloaded a small keg of drinking water and a crate of food and placed it in the room with Quinn.

He then sat and watches her sleep, as he did so he composed a letter;

My Darling Quinn;

I know that you have and are going through hard times. It pains me to see you suffer. This place you stay is not real, the thoughts you have about it are not real, and I’m guessing that you are having thoughts that in themselves are not real. Your mind is broken. There is nothing I or those who love and care for you can do to mend it. You are the only one who can solve this internal fight.

It will not be an easy fight with you alone out here in the middle of nowhere. You must come home, home to Ashencrosse, home to those who care and love you. With the support of others and your own internal strength that I know you have. We together can heal you. But it is you that must choose. No one can choose for you.

You are missed deeply. Please, find the strength within and fight back, back to Ashencrosse, back to us, back to me.

Always caring

*signed*
Gaius


I place the note atop the crate, placing a rock upon it. I then lean over and placing a gentle kiss upon her head, whispering; “come back, come back my love!”

I depart with the packy, wiping tears from my eyes and head back home to Ashencrosse.
_______________________________________________
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Harlequin
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PostPosted: Fri Jul 13, 2012 7:10 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Peck...peck, peck.....peck. PECK, PECK, PECK!

The sound was maddening, and weaving itself through her dream. Somehow the pecking had become pickaxe on stone as she mined in Minoc. Quinn awoke with a start, utterly exhausted from the dream. She lifted her head and looked around. The room was darker than she remembered. Beside the indention where her head had lain, was a small pile of cherries. Some were bird-pecked or beak-scarred, and she looked around to find Ansel sitting on a crate, pecking at a knothole in the wood in a futile attempt to get at what was inside.

Darker, yes. And cooler.

Quinn approached the crate and opened it. There was food inside. More than she'd seen in a month. And a keg of water. She cupped her hand and filled it with water, lifting it to her lips. And she found that she was thirstier than she'd ever been in her life. Over and over she filled her hand and drank from it while Ansel watched.

“It's from Gaius. Here's a note!” Ansel hopped sideways and flipped the note toward her.

Quinn read it as she shoved half a muffin in her mouth without a second thought for who else had touched it, and she chewed it hastily. “Ah ha' to fin heem.” She spoke to Ansel with her mouth full, once she'd read the letter. She couldn't imagine anything more delicious than this muffin, at this moment in time. Except perhaps his kiss. But even that might be too close to call. Never underestimate a starving mime's love of baked goods. She'd always said that.

******

Hours later, she arrived in Minoc, refreshed and strengthened. Gaius came here often to help with the rioters. She hoped to find him here, because she certainly couldn't go back to Ashencrosse. But hours of searching the streets, and she still came up empty. There was only fire in Minoc. She would have to sneak into Ashencrosse to find him.

Then, she stopped in her tracks. There, on the streets of Minoc, stood one she knew from Ashencrosse. Arahim shifted his weight, looking a little confused. Quinn pulled her purple mask down over her face, and approached him, speaking quietly. “I know you.”

Arahim smiled, looking her over, and he rifled in his pack. He pulled out a blue mask and put it on, speaking in an equally lost and quiet tone. “I know you.”

The two wandered the streets, sharing halves of stories and memories and dreams, as only two with the same madness could do. And their masks matched them equally as well, but his was blue, and hers was purple.

They settled into the shelter of a gypsy tent, and he shuffled a deck of cards, dealing them each a hand before setting it in the center of the table. He took up his hand, and the shadow of a secretive smile creased his eyes as he hid his hand from her and perused his cards.

Quinn did likewise, feeling sneaky, then held up one of her cards. “What's the Jester do?”

“Shh!” He admonished.

She cringed, and whispered. “Sorry. What's the Jester do?”

He ignored her question and posed his own. “Do you have any Eights?”

“No, but I have a Nine. Would a Nine help?” She held out the card to him.

Arahim shook his head. “No. Tell me to go fish.” Quinn looked at him incredulously, and he repeated. “Tell me.”

“Go fish.”

He took two cards from the deck and laid down a Queen on the table between them. “Your go.”

“All right,” Quinn began. “Do you have any Eights?” Without hesitation, Arahim handed her two Eights, and she grinned triumphantly behind her mask, laying them down atop the Queen.

He looked at her with confusion in his eyes, but continued. “Do you have any Jacks?”

“Is the Jester's name Jack?”

Arahim shrugged. “I don't know, ask him.”

Quinn furrowed her brow. “Are you mad?”

“No, I'm quite happy, why?”

“Must be the mask. You look a little pissed-off.” Quinn shrugged now, and lifted the Jester to whisper to it. “He says his name is Dennis. So I don't have any Jacks, unless the Queen's name is Jack, but I think that's a different kind of queen.”

“Then say it.”

Quinn looked at him blankly.

“Say it!”

Quinn sang softly. “Too-hoo...Too-hoo...”

Arahim drew more cards. “Ah-ha!”

“Let me see!” Quinn leaned across the table to look

“Your go.” He hid his cards from her, wearing a childlike grin behind his mask.

“Do you have any Dennises?”

“Yes, but they're mine!” Arahim shoved his cards in his pocket and ran out the door of the tent, with Quinn in close pursuit.

And the two ran amok through the smoke and flames of Minoc, laughing like mad children. Matched closely, madness for madness.

But his was blue, and hers was purple.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Harlequin
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PostPosted: Sat Jul 14, 2012 9:01 am Post subject: Reply with quote

“It's time to choose,” Gaius stated quietly, evenly. “The mask, or me.”

Quinn was stricken. “I...I can't do that, Gaius. Please don't do this. It's what I am. It's who I am...”

Gaius nodded, his brow furrowed, and gathered his things as she spoke. The others in the theatre watched, almost abashedly, as if witnessing something never meant for their eyes. Gaius turned to them. “Goodnight, all...” And he moved toward the door.

Quinn felt the last strings that tethered her to her humanity being snipped one by one, without preamble. She crumpled, crushed, to the floor, and lifted a hand toward him. “Gaius, don't do this...” The tears spilled recklessly, now, and she didn't care anymore. Her cheeks were the colour of pale flesh. She wept unheeded, as Gaius shut the door behind him.

******

There was a new constellation tonight. Quinn watched it quietly from the cliffs overhanging the beach. The nebulae surrounding the infant stars painted the picture, and connected the spaces between. A gypsy girl, with long tresses, draped in the garb of the natives, gave a fearful backward glance. The constellation behind her was the Wolf. He loped easily toward her, and she held out a hand as she fled, a futile attempt to hold him at bay.

The Gypsy was new. But the Wolf was ancient. His wanderings across the night sky had been the stuff of tales for as long as there had been tongues to tell them. Quinn pushed her mask up atop her head, and gazed in wonder at the new constellation. She had almost forgotten why she was here.

Almost. But this world was for the living.

Quinn swallowed and peered over the edge of the cliff, to the rocks below. She pulled down her mask again to cover her face, and took a deep breath.

“Painted One?” The voice behind her was unmistakeable.

“Go away, Johann...”

“If you jump, I'm jumping after you.” He trounced up next to her, the bells on his hat jingling, then he peered over the edge. “And I really don't want to. I'm allergic to pain.”

She sighed. I can't even kill myself in a sane manner...

“That's because you don't need to kill yourself. You just need to cast it off.” Johann lifted his hand to touch her mask. She didn't pull away.

“But I didn't say any--”

“Please, Longstocking. Cast it off.” His pale eyes were pleading. “I don't want to die.”

Quinn turned to look over the edge again. The waves crashed powerfully on the rocks below. She sighed. “Fine...but if you turn out to be imaginary, I'm going to be so pissed...”
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Harlequin
Journeyman
Journeyman


Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Tue Jul 17, 2012 7:49 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Quinn was so pissed. The tantrum that had welled up within her for the past few weeks had finally reached its boiling point. A harlequin figurine smashed against the fireplace as Quinn screeched with rage through gritted teeth. Ansel took shelter on her bedpost, well out of range of anything his painted girl might throw. He flitted with a jolt every time something shattered, but when she screamed, so did he, with a terrible CAW!

“Stupid....not there...Johann. Who's done this to me? Who has taken my....” she trailed off her tirade a moment to look for something else to throw. Quinn picked up a skull and threw it at the hearth as well. It bounced off, without even the courtesy of a satisfying crunch, and rolled across the room.

“Who has taken my mind?! Who has ripped out my heart? Who?! Who has that RIGHT?” She pushed up the mask and looked around, finding a glass pitcher on the counter, and threw it at the fireplace. It shattered into a thousand pieces with a loud SMASH!

Quinn screamed, feeling whatever was left of her sanity slipping away. There was nothing left. Nothing for her but emptiness and alone. And she was tired of being alone. She was tired of wondering when someone spoke to her whether they were real. And she didn't want to fear the dark of night the way the gypsy girl in the sky now did. Alone, with the wolves closing in.

She halted her attack on her few remaining possessions. Her breath was ragged, enraged, and bestial. What if they were right? What if Gaius was right? And Johann? What if she only needed to cast it off?

Quinn removed the mask from atop her head, untying the black satin ribbons and examining the purple porcelain. Here was one item she should never miss, if it shattered. But the very thought of letting it go struck fear into the empty shell she had become.

But what if it was just...that...easy?

Quinn reared back to throw the mask, but she heard laughter. A woman's form materialized before her. Tall and thin, with green hair and eyes that sparkled when she laughed. Another not there person. Just what she needed. Quinn threw the mask with all her strength at the stone chimney. It should have shattered to dust with that kind of force. And she should know, she'd thrown plenty of porcelain masks in her day. But the mask didn't shatter. It didn't even break.

As it teetered on the floor before the hearth, however, something far more disturbing began to take place. The walls of her cabin began to rot away. The floor, as well, allowing vines and overgrown underbrush to take it over. The windows and door of her cabin shattered into oblivion. Nothing remained. Nothing. Only stone ruins. And a curious pile of misshapen rocks cast about around what used to be the fireplace. No broken figurines. No shards of shattered glass. Only stones, and grass, and earth.

A genuine fear began to sink into the pit of her. The fear one feels when she knows her mind has truly left her. She had to leave here. Had to escape it, whatever it was that was destroying her cabin, before it destroyed her as well. If it hadn't already. The mask still teetered gently on the ground at her feet among the cast stones. The woman, however remained. She watched Quinn with eyes that glittered and shone, and she laughed a terrifying and horrible laugh – and Quinn feared,as she touched the runestone labeled “Home,” that the sound would haunt her for the rest of her life.

****

Home. Silence. Quinn had willed it so. She would never recall, never remember that laugh again. If she had any control whatsoever over her mind, she would never hear it echo in her ears and resonate through her body.

She had told her story, to any who would listen. They had returned, and confirmed that her cabin was gone. As was the mask.

“You can never return there again, Quinn.” Gaius held her close and stroked her hair, even as she still struggled to focus, and find thoughts that were her own.

She looked up, seeking his gaze, and she found it. Concerned, protective – but accepting.

“I've spoken to the Countess, and she's allowed you to stay.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a small parcel, handing it to her. “But there's one condition.”

Quinn looked, bewildered at the folded cloth he gave her. “This is oilcloth...”

He nodded. “That's her condition. No paint. No masks.”

There was a calm that descended upon her. Unexpected. Unbidden. Gaius watched closely, as if expecting her to panic – to flee.

“All right...” She tore the cloth into two pieces and returned one to him. "Help me?"

He smiled, looking utterly relieved. “Of course, Quinn.”

Years of running. A hundred masks. Paint enough to fill the canyon where she hid inside. And it all culminated in this single moment, of trust, and relief, and hope.

She didn't have to hide, anymore.
______________________________________

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Harlequin
Journeyman
Journeyman


Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Wed Jul 25, 2012 6:52 am Post subject: Reply with quote

She heard laughter like falling water. It trickled into her being and soaked her soul, and covered her face. She feared that she would drown.

Quinn sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. But the laughter didn't stop. And something was different – something was better, in horrifying ways. She lifted a hand to touch the mask that covered her face. Where had it come from? The last thing she remembered, she had thrown it. Thrown it and run. Chosen him over the mask. How now did she wear it, tied securely with black satin ribbons?

He left you, Quinn. Why would you choose him over the mask?

“He didn't leave me, he had to...” Quinn trailed off, trying to remember. Why had Gaius left? Why was she alone again?

He left you alone. After you begged not to be abandoned.


“I don't beg for anything. I'm fine....” Quinn squinted and pushed up the purple mask, trying to remember where she was, even as she argued. The room looked perfectly normal. Her bed was where it should be. The walls, the windows, the floor...everything had been restored. Had she not seen it dissolve into ruins with her own eyes?

The mask is the only thing that keeps you sane, Quinn. I'm giving you a second chance. Do not throw it away again, it's the only thing that will keep you alive now. You're nothing but an annoyance to the others. You saw how they looked on you. Would you want to return to that?

“Why would I?” Quinn pulled the mask down over her face again. “I'm fine, I'm fine.....I'm fine...” She whispered the words to herself and pulled her knees to her chest, rocking herself comfortingly, even as the tears spilled over her cheeks behind the mask.

“I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine....”
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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