expiationlogs | may catch-all!

[It's been already few weeks since his arrival to this strange land and Richard's arm is hurting. The damaged skin burned in irritation underneath the tight leather that the young duke had wrapped his body with. It wasn't nothing he couldn't handle, of course. After all, he's had much worse injuries in the battlefield. There's no knight that has not stared the death right in the face. But his arm was getting rather bothersome, and he would rather avoid it getting worse.

And as usual, going to the healer was out of question. He is not going to let anyone examine his body. Leaving him with only limited options. But Richard remembers that the witch had also given him a liquid of some sort, to clean his burned flesh with. While he doesn't know exactly what was in the conduction, he could try to find something similar to it.

This all leads him to pay a visit to the local apothecary. Wearing his cloak and hood over his head, out of pure instinct more than anything. After all, as a lord he is not used to deal with these things himself -- most of time either Buckingham or Catesby would see into them.]

[ As Richard enters the apothecary, the cheery chime of a bell signals his arrival, which seems to be all the better; the owner of this particular shop seems quite involved, seated at a table by the back and utterly surrounded by all manner of herbs, a mortar and pestle held in his hands as he goes at the mixture he's working on with a fervent ferocity, evidently dedicated to rendering it into a fine powder. ]

Hey, welcome! Give me a second -- I'll be right with you!

[ Richard will have the opportunity to look around as Claude tidies up a little (just covering his work with a light linen sheet, lest anyone decides to pry; if anyone decided to take a sample, they'd find themselves in quite dire digestive straits the next day). All around the shop there's an assortment of potions and tinctures, strange powders and plants bobbing around in amber coloured liquids, herbs hanging from the rafters and little tin containers of tea, something bubbling away on the roaring fire just behind the counter proper.

Claude doesn't want to be here, but he won't lie; this life suits him just fine, and he's been able to undergo all of the tinkering and experimenting his heart desires. Once he's covered up his work, he hops over the counter and greets Richard with a clap of his hands. ]

Now, my good man, what can I help you with?

[ Odd, that the fellow seems to be hiding his identity. Maybe he's here for a boost in libido. Those sorts of customers are always so terribly shy about that sort of thing. ]

[Richard only briefly looks at the direction where the voice had came from before turning his attention back on the shelves. He idly picks up a jar or two, quietly inspecting their contents against the light, pressing his brows into a frown. The small texts on the labels really don't tell him much, but then again what else could he expect from a witch's shop.

When Claude appears behind the counter Richard gives him a curious look under his hood, the expression softening a little. The man did not really strike him neither a witch or a doctor.]

..I require something for a burn.

A burn, huh? The Clinic's where you really want to go. They can fix up burns in the blink of an eye.

[ But he's not one to shirk business, so he goes rummaging around his shelves anyway, coming up with a couple of bottles that he sets on the counter between them with a loud click. ]

Honey, to prevent it from getting infected. [ Antibacterial, though Claude himself doesn't know that word yet. ] Then this salve to encourage it to heal and to soothe it, with oak bark extract and linseed oil. Make sure you wrap it well too, if it's a bad one. Is this for someone else, or for yourself?

[Claude plz. If he wanted a healer he would have gone seen one, rather than go look solution to his issue from potions and tinctures. Keeping his expression still, Richard approaches the counter to look at the little bottles placed in front of him.

He picks up one, weighting it in his hand.]

It is an old injury. [And that's all he has to say about it for now.] How much for the salve?

[ This guy is cagey -- but Claude can't well pry, not into something as obviously personal as an injury. It would be bad business, for one, and Claude has something of a reputation to maintain if he wants to be able to continue eavesdropping on everyone's conversations as they waltz in and out. He's heard some awfully juicy things, just by standing here and looking sufficiently distracted. ]

Ah. No need for the honey, then. The salve is quite inexpensive. [ He tells him the price, then digs around on a shelf before producing another bottle. ] The one you're holding is to encourage healing. But if it's an old wound that's bothering you, you might be interested in this instead. It'll help numb the pain a bit.

[ He leans on the counter. ]

I also have some healing magic, as it so happens, but I can see you'd rather keep your burns concealed. Still, if you want a hand, all you need to do is ask. It's not a service I charge for.

[ It's not a service he often offers. But some find coming to him more comforting than going into a formal environment like the Clinic, and he helps when he can, where he can. ]

[Richard's lips stay sealed as he watches the bottles, humming quietly as a sign of affirmation. He has been able to gather some currency of this realm from his hunting, so he's not overly worried about the money. And if the man would decide to try rob him off, then that's fine. He'll just leave and manage as he's done so far.

He places the bottle right back on the counter and is just about to reach for his coin purse when the man makes another offer, stilling Richard for a moment. His eyes widen a bit and he looks up, finally showing his face from underneath the hood.

Now, he's come to understand that this world works differently than his own. He sees things everyday basis now that would be counted as witchcraft, magic and demon worship in his own world. But hearing another man so openly and proudly offer his services still shocks him, making the hair on back of his neck stand up.]

...You do not look like a witch, sir.

That would be because I'm not a witch at all. Which is convenient for me. I hear that black is a prominent component of their wardrobes, and it really isn't my colour.

[ From Richard's stoic demeanor, he can assume that his way of navigating social situations - joking and flirting in equal measures - probably won't land the way he'd like it to, but he's too used to it to be any other way. ]

Everyone has the capacity of casting magic, where I'm from. I've never been particularly good at it, mind, but I can muster a healing spell or two.

[Richard raises his brows at the quip, giving the man slightly amused look as his lips curl up into faint a sardonic smile.]

I did not realize that the witches were organized enough to have a dress-code. [See?! He can be funny too.

But really, having an obvious dress-code or what not would just be like painting a target on their back. The few witches that Richard had met in his life did dress up like any other woman, moving in and out of the cities and what not like any other regular merchant. If anything, they would be desperate to hide the mark of a witch they bore in their bodies.]

Have you used your magic on the potions here?

My concoctions are pure chemistry. No magic has touched them, you have my word. Largely because that's not something I'm even capable of doing -- like I said, magic isn't exactly my strong suit.

[ Richard's reaction is a surprise, no doubt. He's met people around here who have never heard of magic, or who don't have it in their own homes. But to have such a guarded approach at all is a surprise. He doesn't think he's ever met anyone with an aversion to it in his life, both because of the use it poses and because of what it symbolizes, the sort of faith and devotion that Claude himself tends to lack. ]

Not a fan of magic, are you? Mind if I ask why?

[The question does make Richard raise a curious brow and faint parting of lips. Almost as if he couldn't believe that the other man just asked that. Because well.. yes. In Richard's world magic, sorcery, witchcraft and alike are crimes against god, punishable by the worst deaths one could imagine. While he's come to notice that not everyone viewed magic the same way, especially since it seems like this whole damn world is powered by similar forces, but it was still jarring to see and hear other people talk about it with such openness.]

It is a sin.

I -- hold on, it's a sin where you're from?

[ Claude's brows rise in astonishment, lip quirked in something a little like amusement -- he's heard a lot of crazy things since he's been here, but somehow this is the one that's taken him off-guard the most.

It also confirms that this poor fellow is quite religious, which is neither here nor there. So are most of the people Claude knows back home. He just never got on board with it himself. ]

That, my good man, is all a matter of perspective. Where I'm from, magic is the furthest thing you can get from a sin. It's taught at the Monastery in the centre of our land, attended by Kings and Emperors and Dukes alike. It's only possible to perform when you have enough faith, engage in prayer, join in on songs of worship, all the sort of things that good little pious boys and girls get up to.

[There is something very ironic about Richard being perceived religious. As in his own world he has been rumored to be the opposite of that. A heretic that worships the sin and demon rather than the Lord and light. Of course, neither of those claims were true. While he was certainly not a pious or devout man the fear of god had been rooted very deeply within his consciousness that despite looking for always looking for ways to betray the God, he would not be foolish enough to attract the divine attention and punishment by resolving to practice the forbidden arts.

So, it is more than just little jarring to hear a man describe a culture where things seemed to be exact opposite. The frown on Richard's face deepens and lips curl into firm but thoughtful line, holding back any expression that might show the other man sign of weakness or fear.]

Magic and miracles are power only reserved to The Divine. It is a man's place to pray and follow the order of the almighty. I do not understand why would your God welcome a mere mortal, a creature that is so foolish and born with a sin, wield such might that could potentially grow and disturb the order of the world.

Interesting perspective.

[ If Claude had been asked what he thought he'd talk about with the strange cloaked man puttering through his store a few minutes ago, theology would rank very low on that list. Unfortunately for them both, Claude is absolutely fascinated by matters of religion and will talk about it ad nauseum with the cheerful vigor of a polytheist bumping into an endless array of monotheists. ]

According to our Archbishop, pious devotion is rewarded by the divine with the capacity to channel her will. Her followers heed her call and act in her stead, healing the innocent and striking down the wicked.

[ He leans on the counter, clearly engaged with the conversation. ]

And if one is to forsake the Goddess, I'm given to believe that she would simply remove her blessings. I have to say, her control of the order of the world didn't seem to wane much for lending her followers her power. Quite the opposite, in fact.

[ Devotion is one thing. Devotion when it can give you magical powers? Now that's a god that people seem to really get behind. ]

'She'?

[It might be a small detail, but it is significant and fundamental one. This is first time Richard has heard of such praise towards a woman that she is called divine. Even those who worship Mary would never dare to speak of her as equal to God.

Honestly, it makes it all seem so absurd, like everything is upside down, that he can't help but laugh out loud.]

Hah. I fear that our faiths are as different as they could be, my good sir. In my world you would not only be arrested for speaking out such blasphemy but also tortured before burned at the stake for witchcraft. [Richard would know. He had done similar arrests in his life.]

But we are not there, are we? I'll gladly buy your medicine. Magic or no magic.

And that would be a damn shame, to be tortured and sentenced to death by immolation for a witchcraft I can barely even use! If I lived in such a world, I'd simply abstain. But I'm afraid your own religious leaders would have a rough time of it here, [ he says, winking at Richard. ] There's someone able to use magic around every corner, just about. In comparison, I'm a man of science.

[ He slides the ointment across the table. ]

Distinctly non-magical science, at that. No magic here. You'll have to visit our healers brigade for that one. [ He tilts his head, curious. ] You're not a devout believer yourself, then?

[ The idea doesn't bother him either way. It's not as though he's devout. ]

I shall think on it. [ No, Richard wouldn't. He might not be able to escape the influences of magic, but he will not be allowing it to touch his body so carelessly.

With a wry smile decorating his lips Richard reaches across the table to place a stack of coins next to ointment before grabbing the medicine, finalizing the transaction between them. He pockets the small bottle on the leather pouch strapped on his belt, chuckling in amusement at the question.

If the man only knew.]

It depends on who you ask, good sir. To my subjects I'm as devout and pious as is expected of the duke and the lord protector. To my enemies I might as well be worshipping the devil himself, drinking the blood of the innocent.

Edited 2024-07-18 10:43 (UTC)

My, my. For all our differences, we have so much in common!

[ Claude leans on the counter, chin cradled in his palm, mouth curved in a coquettish grin as he sweeps the coins into his own pouch behind the counter. ]

Duke von Riegan, at your service. Though around here, you can call me Claude. Everyone else does.

[ Most of his peers do at home, too. There's not a lot of standing on status around him, for better or for worse; he knows most have a difficult time accepting his social standing, considering how new he is to his role. ]

One's enemies will always exaggerate in the most outlandish ways possible. Without much credibility, but there's no better way to discredit someone than to spread rumour after rumour, Your Grace. Or shall I call you something else, now that we've all been disavowed of our titles?

[Oh? Well, wasn't this interesting turn of events. Claude is the second one he's met in this world that has claimed to be part of nobility, with the other one being the young king Saralegui. While, the revelation sure did explain some of Claude's behavior, making him seem like rather relaxed son of a noble, one that was still spared from the responsibilities of a ruler and given the privilege to enjoy life. A prodigial son, as one would say.

But the humble decor of the shop did interest Richard. How did a duke out of all people find himself from a place like this? Well, not that he had any place to judge. After all, he had taken role of a hunter for time being to support his living in this strange city.]

Richard Plantagenet. The Duke of Gloucester. [He offers, extending his hand out across the counter as formal introduction.] It does appear that God, whoever He or She might be, has decided to teach both of us a lesson in humility by bringing us here out of our realms.

The Duke of Gloucester?! [ Claude sputters, practically choking on his own words. ] What are the chances?

[ He hasn't thought about Lorenz -- no, that's a lie. He thinks about his friends back home all the time. But he certainly hasn't thought about Gloucester as a territory in quite some time, and the fact that some foreign land would share its name is one of the strangest coincidences he's ever encountered.

Once he recovers from his surprise, he reaches one hand out to shake Richard's, still looking faintly bewildered. ]

Good to meet you, Richard. Your territory just so happens to share the name of one of my territories. Count Gloucester and I work quite closely, back home.

[ That's putting it politely. They fight like mad. ]

I'd ask if you could possibly be related to them, but your hair isn't nearly so... striking.

[An amused brow quirks up in when the realization flashes on Claude's face. Oh ho? Well, this sure did just get interesting. So, there is someone out there in the other duke's world that carries Richard's name. What are the chances, indeed?

But yes, color him interested now. Richard would like find out more about this other dukedom. The one that was his in other lifetime, in a parallel world. Does it, too, stand in north and what kind of power does it hold? Do they serve the King as he does, or maybe a Queen when you take into consideration their religion.

However, just as he parts his lips Claude makes an off-hand comment about his appearance. Perfectly normal and harmless one, really. But the sharp crux of it hits Richard hard, like an arrow point digging on his flesh. His pupils widen as he stares at the man, seemingly stumped. It all happens in a blink of an eye, as if someone flipped the light switch off and on. Because all of the sudden all colors in the room turn much brighter and distorted, the straight lines curling up into a small, dizzying spirals.

But what truly held Richard's attention was the ever so familiar white figure sitting on the counter next to Claude. Joan of Arc, the damned witch.

"Tell him why is that, Richard. Tell him why you look nothing like anyone in your family. Maybe you really are changeling from this strange world! Ah.. but then again, didn't he just say you do not look like them either!"

The witch lets out her usual mocking laughter, sneering her torments at Richard.]

I-- [Richard begins, tearing his eyes away from the nightmarish vision back to Claude.] I am like no one else. Least of all those who you know, carrying my title.

Well, no. You're not. I believe that's precisely what I was pointing out. Besides, we already know we're from very different worlds, considering our differences vis a vis religion and magic and the holiness thereof, [ Claude says, all smooth voice and chipper smile, speaking as casually as though he's having a conversation with an old and trusted friend. ] There are no more similarities than the name, though you have to admit that's a funny coincidence.

[ It sounds like for the life of him that he didn't notice anything awry at all. It's a social nicety. It's a kindness, in fact; he noticed Richard's lapse in attention easily, the way he stared unblinkingly at the spot beside him, the way he'd gone rigid and uncertain, breathless and defensive.

It's not altogether unfamiliar. Claude spends much of his time with soldiers, these days. The younger soldiers around Richard's age are by and large fine, but the older ones? It's not so unusual for them to space out like that. ]

I meant no offense, of course. I myself am nothing like any Duke of Leicester there's ever been, and I can't imagine there will ever be one like me again.

may catch-all!

sticks leggy out

hello hello!!!

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