Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia turned to thank Torquil for his observation as he said it, though before much movement could occur between them Farren had already made his way up to them--and had a tense interaction with Gerlinde. Ophelia observed it with keen interest, seeing something of herself in Gerlinde as she forgave Farren the way she'd forgiven the Shopkeeper a few hours earlier... and she cemented in her heart that Gerlinde was a part of their little group. Whatever came, the sweet girl had suffered too much for one so young and Ophelia would not permit anyone or anything to take advantage of her again. And Farren... his earlier actions made more sense to her now, and she knew well that Gerlinde's grace was a sign of acceptance of the way things must be in the absence of any ability to change the past... but the fact that he'd felt compelled to confess his part in what happened to her was irrefutable proof that whoever he was then, he was not that person now. She'd done worse than him, truth be told, and none of them had ever displayed a single doubt about her--she could offer him no less than the understanding and grace she'd been offered. Feeling oddly filled with camaraderie, Ophelia waited for the moment between Gerlinde and Farren to pass before she spoke.

"Whatever happened before, we've got nothing but each other now. Nobody else will understand what we've been through, and what we will soon go through together. You... are all I have left, and I will protect you all however I can. Now, sentiment aside, there have been some developments..." Ophelia began, happy to have some shred of belonging with something that survived the Night of the Blood Moon--and she filled Farren in on all of the developments they'd learned while he'd been absent, letting anyone else who wanted to speak do so.

"So... I think we need to learn as much about this false Paleblood as we can. Whatever it is, if it's a risk to you two or the Dream itself, we need to equip ourselves to mitigate it... and the only person we'll learn a thing from is Harold himself. Gerlinde's been kind enough to share a number of Runes with me, and there's one in particular I'd like to brand you with, Farren. It's the same rune we found on those little trinkets in the Industrial Ward--though I know it now as the Deep Sea Rune. It... insulates you from immaterial forms of harm--like the dreadful frenzy of the Pallid one's bell, or... or Ashen Blood. Harold... he will violate your mind, and I wonder if it might help. You'll find this strange compulsion fill you, that'll tell you he's just a nice old man--but he isn't, and you must remember that. I offer it to you as well, Torquil, if you want it--though... I know how the brand bites; if you don't want to endure the pain, I understand."

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia did indeed notice the blades of mercy returned to the wall--and thought it passing strange. She idly stooped down to beckon forth the little ones and scrawled a quick message to Farren: "Blades of Mercy in shop. Write back if you need me to hand them off to little ones."

With that done she turned her attention back to the wide-eyed and frantic Gerlinde, whose excitement could apparently be barely contained. Ophelia nodded gently at her assertion that Farren left, and idly leaned against the podium where the runebrand had once lain. Ophelia's gaze was more more focused than Gerlinde's, still gazing up and down her--she'd felt two distinct emanations of cosmic import upon Gerlinde's person and while she'd gathered that the molted snakeskin was one, she was yet uncertain of the other... but she spoke softly and kindly while she observed.

"He's business with one of the workshops, dear. Firstly, though, I just... want to check in, love--the way you looked at me when I approached you... are you okay? Ever since this happened to you I wonder if anyone's just... asked you how you're doing?" Ophelia began, her face the picture of tender and motherly concern--with Gerlinde's exceptional youth, and Ophelia's renewed but not fully rejuvenated features listing towards the older, it could certainly look to an observer like a mother reaching out to their child.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia, for once, paid little attention to Farren and Torquil--she was both comforted and intrigued by the Holy Moonlight Sword's whispers, and she prayed silently to her Mother Moon in gratitude for its unparalleled guidance. She'd have to ask the Shopkeeper what the Interstice was... she could only make guesses, based upon the name, but the revelation that Gerlinde was 'shifted across realities' interested her greatly--as did the waifish Huntress' greater connection to the Nightmare than hers. She made to follow Gerlinde up the stairs immediately, though her eyes narrowed a little and her wide smile shrank into a hard, thin line. There had been no small amount of fear on Gerlinde's face as she approached, the look of someone who had endured more than one was supposed to, and where (unknown to her) Gerlinde's nature seemed to elicit the darkest and most base impulses in the men of their little group it only coaxed forth a sympathetic and curious concern from Ophelia. She looked at this poor creature, the perfection a porcelain mask hiding something riddled with... something. She wasn't sure what was there--but she reckoned that anyone who tried their hardest to look like that sought the protection within others' infatuation, especially if their reaction when one approached was the reaction that Gerlinde'd had.

After having ascended the path to the cottage Ophelia turned around, to survey the condition of her erstwhile companions whose footsteps she didn't sense behind her. Farren was already gone by that point--which surprised Ophelia somewhat, having missed most of his reactions to Gerlinde--though she was mostly unconcerned. He'd send a message if he needed her--and it seemed to have gone well when she'd gone off to gather information the last time and left him and Torquil to their more... combative desires. Neither Farren or Torquil were particularly subtle... nor Gerlinde, it appeared--Ophelia was grateful that at least one of their group thought about these things, and also that it was her. She couldn't deny enjoying the mysteries, and Gerlinde would no doubt present even more of them to her.

Ophelia shrugged and turned around again, continuing to follow Gerlinde into the little workshop and giving the Doll a customary curtsey on the way.

"Would you come and let me know if Farren returns here before we're done, love?" she asked with a soft smile, and moved inside with Gerlinde.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia looked at Gerlinde with her mouth hanging open just a little--not out of attraction for this elfin and ethereal being (who, despite that, was still perhaps the single most beautiful creature Ophelia had laid eyes upon), but for sheer shock. She almost didn't seem real - and Ophelia instinctively whispered to the Holy Moonlight Sword while Farren got his gruff and awkward interaction out of the way.

"... Is... is she even human? Do her veins sing with Glory too?" she asked it, cradling it to her cheek for a brief moment, before she finally regained enough of her wits and wherewithal to step forward and actually participate in the conversation. She barely even noticed the clouds changing, being so focused on Gerlinde, but as soon as the warm and wet spatters--warm?--fell from the sky and filled the Dream with that hematic and heady scent. She blinked once, looked up, and then blinked again before returning her gaze to Gerlinde. She hopped over to Gerlinde with jubilance in her steps and on her face, and she immediately moved to give Gerlinde a hug if she accepted--though she'd only let it last for a couple of seconds, unless Gerlinde desired more. The full glory of the Holy Moonlight Sword cradled against her chest would be slightly uncomfortable, but she also wondered if letting the blade touch her might give it some more insights into her that could be passed on.

"That's me--my, my, love, look at you! Aren't you just the most splendid thing I've ever seen? Ah, it's so nice to meet you, dear--I think we four are the only ones currently bound to this Dream, and so... we're sort of stuck together, aren't we? I hope we'll come to think of each other as friends and allies, once we know more about each other!" Ophelia beamed in return, giving Gerlinde much of the energy that she projected back.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia & Farren & Torquil

"Walk? To the workshop? Don't be daft, love--I'm just having a little natter with the Shopkeeper and Gerlinde. Why don't you and Torquil hop over to the workshop through the Dream, pick up this experimental weapon, and then go off on your Hunt? Then you can take as much time as you like, and not stray too far from a lantern--remember, when the echoes flow into you, you will only keep them if you return to the Dream through one." Ophelia replied in turn, bemused at Farren's suggestion and voice resonating with the telltale warbling of gentle confusion.

Farren's eyes narrowed slightly and he frowned as she replied, not even mentioning the vials. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of discomfort as he looked away. “...I'd rather not...” he replied, for once seeming rather...cagey.

"... Do you have a particular reason? You're just... normally all about being efficient and practical, and this... why, it's almost sentimental! If you need to take some time for yourself I've no objection there, love, do what you must--but we'll want to be together before we head out into the woods. I'll wait in the Dream after I'm done chatting, just keep me apprised, mm?" Ophelia retorted, walking up to Farren and putting her free right hand on his shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. She let it remain there only for a second or so before awkwardly retreating, her gaze lingering on him for a few seconds before she turned away.

Though he didn't shrug off her touch, Farren almost winced at the contact, as if it was the weight of guilt made manifest as it settled on his shoulders. He swallowed, stiffened and as she withdrew squared his shoulders and seemed to stand a bit taller with a certain deliberateness. Taking a deep breath, Farren closed his eyes and then let out a long sigh. “Gerlinde...we may have some...history,” he said, leaving vague what he meant for a pregnant moment, punctuated by him almost unwillingly meeting Ophelia's gaze. “...if she recognizes me, it could get...ugly. Might sour relations,” he said, grimacing at his own words. Really he knew he was still underselling the reality of things. With the clarity of his current perspective, it was somehow even more clear to him that what he'd done back then had been...deeply wrong. It was much harder to justify, especially with the event existing mostly out of context, without the other memories and experiences of his former life.

Awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally shuffling a bit forward, back or sideways just to get the sense that he was moving, Torquil did what he usually did: watched and listened. Only after Farren had admitted to why he was trying to avoid the Hunter's Dream - or rather Gerlinde, as it turned out - did he take a firmer step toward them and spoke up:

"We stick together, right?" he asserted, echoing the compliment Farren had given him earlier. "So we'll figure it out. Right?"

Ophelia nodded along with Torquil's statement, having stopped moving away from the group and turned back.

"Not like we can avoid it forever, is it, love? Whatever will be will be--best to find that out now where we have some control over the circumstances."

Their words washed over him and with even Torquil saying they ought to stick together and figure things out...well, it was hard not to see the logic of it. “Pain now, or pain later...” Farren muttered to himself, seeming to recite the beginning of some old adage. After a moment, his head tilting back as if to regard the skies above, but with his eyes closed, he nodded slightly and then looked to Ophelia briefly. However, rather than speak, he pulled his gaze away and then strode past her in the direction of the lantern.

“Let's get this over with,” he said gruffly, teeth slightly gritted, his guard up once more. She was right. He'd have to face her sometime, and running away would make him no better than Victor running from a fight.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia felt the creaks and tremors in the timeworn wood of this ancient ladder before she heard the almost-shriek of the wood splitting. The world exploded into a flurry of motion: Farren's reflexes kicked in, and he assessed the situation quickly. He chose to simply ride the falling ladder down, and Ophelia quickly made her way far enough back to get out of the arc of his fall. She looked at him with her usual smile, not a single feature of her expression changed after the little incident.

After Farren's near-fall and angry outburst, a chorus of crows started cawing raucously out in the midst. If you did not know better, it would sound almost as though they were laughing.

Ophelia cracked a slight chuckle at that, and instinctively went to offer Farren a hand up but caught herself before he could lash out at her. She supposed it was quite embarrassing, if one felt the capacity to be embarrassed, and that the sting on his pride would best be ameliorated by a victory of some kind.

"... Well, looks like we're leaving the roof alone. I think we got more than enough information out of our little exchange, though--this path leads on toward the mountains, and to a crow-garbed Hunter. I've... a different plan in mind: see, Moira's going to take her time and pursue this to wherever it leads... why should we hasten that along? Let's investigate a little more of the lay of the land, hmm? I'd quite like to go back to the Woods, via the Dream. I... I remember a path, clear as day, that we would walk to leave offerings to... something like this Crowmother, I suppose, in that they were what kept the beasts away from Hemwick, back in the day. Fancy it?" Ophelia asked, shifting her gaze between Farren and Torquil. She knew Torquil didn't really want to make the decisions, but... she just didn't feel like it was fair to leave him out.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Mm, you've done very well for yourselves, love. I'm glad. It's a bit of a queer request, but... would you mind teaching me how to make those little talismans? I'd like to offer the Crowmother the proper respect: if she's protecting you, she's a darling in my books."

"I guess. 'Tis pretty simple, you just takes the skull of a crow and paint that li'l squiggly on its forehead, and then you hang it where you don't want monsters to get in."

"That simple? What a boon! Well, love, I'd hate to take up too much of your time when you have work to be doing. By way of apology for the lock and how frightfully rude we were upon entering, might you all accept a blood vial to share between you as suitable recompense?"

"Oh, uh, no thanks," he chuckled awkwardly. "We's all human here. Blood's no use to us."

"Ah, my apologies, love. In that case... I feel that we owe you a boon in kind, at least: is there a service we could perhaps do for you?"

"Just leave soon, I think," Gregory shrugged. "Crowmother don't like strange Hunters here. She's scared o' ya."

Ophelia curtseyed in response and nodded gracefully. As she ascended from the curtsey she brought her right hand up along the length of the Holy Moonlight Sword once more, beckoning forth its gentle radiance, and promptly made her way towards the exit, gaze expectantly trained upon Farren as she awaited him. A thoroughly useful line of questioning, she reckoned, that had given them much information about the context in which this Crowmother existed. She found herself somewhat torn: would she have permitted Moira to slaughter that which she had once revered as holy, had offered its protection to her and her kin in return for friendly gifts? She thought not, as much as she felt that well of roiling rancour lash out inside her at the thought of sparing any mercy to any beast. Something about her expression shifted into seeming unsettled, and she rested her head against the Holy Moonlight Sword gently and let its guidance cleave the doubt and confusion from her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"A little dirt never hurt anyone, love, don't you worry about that." Ophelia smiled in return, before peering over at Farren as he unceremoniously made his way over to the far side of the factory to fetch their quarry.

Ophelia listened to the man's talking about the Crowmother eagerly, nodding along approvingly as he spoke of how gentle she was with them and how she offered them her protection. She'd lived most of her life beneath the protection of something similar, she supposed, though the Witches had always referred to it as a God of some kind, or... was it Great One? She truly did not know, the memory fuzzy and cloudy--but she did remember the sensations, the unseen intimations of Yharnam's forbidden woods, and the particular mix of vulnerability and pride as she strode towards a shrine with offerings in hand.

"She seems a benevolent sort, looking after her flock. Does she demand any offerings of you, love?" she asked, head tilting very gently to the right as she kept one eye on Farren and his situation and another on Gregory. Her mind's eye almost drifted back to the carved skulls of corvids outside--partly curious as to why such a being as this enigmatic Crowmother would hate for her children to be harmed, but approve of their skulls being used to fashion wards. Such things had power, that she did not deny, but there was a loose thread here that she intended to tug 'til the whole warp and weft became known to her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia nodded along with the man's story, paying him rapt attention. She didn't turn to look at Farren when he interjected his own question, though she did wince almost imperceptibly at his gravelly tone. The gears turned in her mind, though, before she remembered just what a gift this sort of thing could be: with people, it was all about context--the Night seemed bad, a Hunter visiting seemed worse, and nearly getting assailed by a Beast felt worse still... but that could all be quite neatly juxtaposed by the positives: faith in the wards renewed, the sense of safety stronger after a brush with danger, and her soft affability compared to Farren's harsh questioning. She remembered the way Moira had looked at her, at her little collection of eyes, and she saw with perfect clarity that the little touches of madness within her had been understood and registered--that she had the potential to be dangerous. If that was the case for arguably the most powerful Hunter in the city, what little this common man could read of her would likely scream danger--but next to Farren, in context, she looked like the better option.

Ophelia ran her free right hand down the length of the Holy Moonlight Sword, tenderly whisking away its full glory to be revealed in front of eyes more worthy, and returned her right hand to her side. She gave the blacksmith a gentle smile and looked up at the roof to quickly assess what real damage there was--but also to get them some more information about the lesser beast. It wasn't quite as juicy as the larger one--presumably the Crowmother--but Ophelia didn't like to leave any stone unturned. The simplest clues could lead to the greatest revelations.

"You've all been very brave, tonight, dears. I wonder, if it isn't too much trouble, is there a way up to the roof that we might use...?" Ophelia began, pausing at the end slightly,"... ah, I never asked your name! How rude of me, love, I'm Ophelia--might I know yours?"

Upon receipt of the name--or not, as it were--Ophelia continued:

"We'd like to make sure everything is safe for you up there. I'd also like to inquire about this Crowmother, if you've got a spare moment and the inclination to tell me about her? I noticed the wards outside; I'm full glad they work, dear." Ophelia continued, her tone and body language both shifting to something projecting concern rather than anything actively threatening--she wanted these folks to feel like they could trust her, that she was not a threat to them... but she did not do anything about Farren, letting him make his own statement.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia offered a final friendly wave to the disassembling group, focusing primarily on the novice Hunters Moira had brought with her, and padded alongside Farren beneath the as-yet undrawn canvas of night. They returned swiftly to their earlier haunt and Farren began fiddling around with his blades as some sort of ersatz lockpick. Ophelia raised an eyebrow at this, wondering why he didn't simply knock given the clamouring of folks clearly audible inside, but she supposed that Farren--based on his attitude--was not someone who ever mingled with the common folk like this.

After he gained ingress the disgruntled inhabitants of the building met his aggression in kind, before recalculating and offering a more humble greeting. Ophelia responded to that in turn, unclipping the jar of eyes from her belt and kneeling down to hand it off to the little ones for safe keeping, and then following inside the building.

"We're sorry for the intrusion, love, we're just tracking those beasts that went at it earlier. I don't suppose any of you heard anything, did you?" Ophelia offered, letting her natural Yharnam accent become just a little broader and more common--there were few true Yharnamites left, it was true, but they'd been an insular bunch at the best of times before recent history. She figured perhaps letting the touch of it she still possessed take on a little extra vigour would endear them to her... their fear would probably prevent them taking it too badly.