- Character Biography
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"As the winter months draw near, I'm often reminded of the way that clouds look at sunset. Like all the fire in the world decided enough was enough and it was time to go home, flying up to the sun while it rests. Like a little bit of mercy granted for the beasts below. A reprieve from the harshness of the day, all the destruction and hurt, laid to rest 'til morning. A good sunset cloud is like a cold bath after a hot summer day, or mashed potatoes. You don't have to chew them, but you can. I like to chew them twice and feel them squish all over inside my mouth, and that's the feeling of a sunset cloud.
"Sometimes when I go walking, looking for fires when the clouds have gone dark, because fire doesn't actually leave with the sun - it has no soul, no mercy, no regrets, like the time you took your sister's sweet meats from her special jar under your shared bed and replaced them with dandelions and a caterpillar you found crawling on the windowsill, and she cried because she was saving the last of them to give to you when you were feeling bad, and now you were feeling extra bad for making her cry, but then you tell her it was you that took them because you were feeling bad earlier and thought she might like the caterpillar, and she laughs and tickles you and you pee the bed, that kind of regret.
"Sometimes, I hear little songs playing in the windows, and I think I'd like that. I'd like someone to play a little song for me, a lullaby to help me sleep, to make me forget that fire doesn't sleep. There was one song I liked, it went... mmhm-mmm-hmhm... but it had words, really nice words that made me want to cry. Do you ever hear nice words like that, that make you think about how your mom might hold you and burp you against her shoulder? And rub your little tummy or rub your back, and stroke your tail, or between your ears... if I had someone to stroke me between the ears, that would be really nice, too.
"One time I was trying to comb it and I fell asleep for hours and forgot the comb was in there for days and kept wondering, what's scratching my helmet? But there was nothing in my helmet. I tried again but I got worried about the comb getting stuck again that it didn't work anymore. The worst part of that was that I thought I lost my comb and I had ash in my tail, I was going to buy a new comb, or maybe a brush, but they thought the one stuck in my fur was me trying to steal from the shop, and that's a very serious accusation, stealing is wrong. Of course, what's more wrong is the situations that lead beasts to think they need to steal. That's why I'm offering work. Since I'm taking a day and night off of my own work. I'm a volunteer mostly but I get paid for it, so it's kind of like a job."
"When I get there, I hope the clouds are like the pillows, or is it that the pillows are like the clouds? Morning clouds are somber and gloomy, not like sunset clouds. Morning clouds are like cold mashed potatoes, all icy from the moon and stars, but they're pretty in their own way as the sun warms them up to ready them for a new day, and the last chance at mercy passes. Maybe I'll bring my own pillow, but I think having a new pillow would help. A pillow that doesn't know me or the shape of my face. There's comfort in the unfamiliar that way, when you're far from home, some things remain the same, but different. Its a chance to get to know something that could become your new favourite thing. You never know until you try, and if you cling to the old things, you'll never try. So this is me trying, a new bed, a new pillow, yeah... I think this might just work out. Maybe I'll see a caterpillar on the windowsill again, and we can sing that song together... mmhm-mmm-hmhm....
"So how much will that be?"
The dazed Smelt clerk gazed up at Eskila, pencil still hovering over his pad.
"Er... For the gilders you're offering, we can get you 'round twenny words."
"Oh... ok. Can you trim it down some?"
~ ~ ~
The next day's Smelt paper read, in a little box in the corner of page twelve:
Volunteer Sleep Aide! Rm#5 Bilge I.T.B.
Today Only, Bardic Lullaby/Masseuse, Pay on Wake
BYO pillow & comb, Dawn to Dusk, see Iskilla Ickymay
And Eskila sat on the bed in Room Number Five upstairs in the Bilge in the Bucket. The ruckus downstairs was noisy, but a comforting ocean, a muted roar to drown out thoughts. No graven silence marked by the constant dread of the possibility of a peeling bell. She had put on some purple linen pajamas she rarely got to wear, the single-suit kind with two buttoned windows in the back; one for the tail, one for the head.
She gazed at the open doorway with an expression of blank expectation, hugging a morning-cool pillow freshly stuffed with newly-shed fox fur.
Hopes and dreams... well, hopes, anyway.
"Sometimes when I go walking, looking for fires when the clouds have gone dark, because fire doesn't actually leave with the sun - it has no soul, no mercy, no regrets, like the time you took your sister's sweet meats from her special jar under your shared bed and replaced them with dandelions and a caterpillar you found crawling on the windowsill, and she cried because she was saving the last of them to give to you when you were feeling bad, and now you were feeling extra bad for making her cry, but then you tell her it was you that took them because you were feeling bad earlier and thought she might like the caterpillar, and she laughs and tickles you and you pee the bed, that kind of regret.
"Sometimes, I hear little songs playing in the windows, and I think I'd like that. I'd like someone to play a little song for me, a lullaby to help me sleep, to make me forget that fire doesn't sleep. There was one song I liked, it went... mmhm-mmm-hmhm... but it had words, really nice words that made me want to cry. Do you ever hear nice words like that, that make you think about how your mom might hold you and burp you against her shoulder? And rub your little tummy or rub your back, and stroke your tail, or between your ears... if I had someone to stroke me between the ears, that would be really nice, too.
"One time I was trying to comb it and I fell asleep for hours and forgot the comb was in there for days and kept wondering, what's scratching my helmet? But there was nothing in my helmet. I tried again but I got worried about the comb getting stuck again that it didn't work anymore. The worst part of that was that I thought I lost my comb and I had ash in my tail, I was going to buy a new comb, or maybe a brush, but they thought the one stuck in my fur was me trying to steal from the shop, and that's a very serious accusation, stealing is wrong. Of course, what's more wrong is the situations that lead beasts to think they need to steal. That's why I'm offering work. Since I'm taking a day and night off of my own work. I'm a volunteer mostly but I get paid for it, so it's kind of like a job."
"When I get there, I hope the clouds are like the pillows, or is it that the pillows are like the clouds? Morning clouds are somber and gloomy, not like sunset clouds. Morning clouds are like cold mashed potatoes, all icy from the moon and stars, but they're pretty in their own way as the sun warms them up to ready them for a new day, and the last chance at mercy passes. Maybe I'll bring my own pillow, but I think having a new pillow would help. A pillow that doesn't know me or the shape of my face. There's comfort in the unfamiliar that way, when you're far from home, some things remain the same, but different. Its a chance to get to know something that could become your new favourite thing. You never know until you try, and if you cling to the old things, you'll never try. So this is me trying, a new bed, a new pillow, yeah... I think this might just work out. Maybe I'll see a caterpillar on the windowsill again, and we can sing that song together... mmhm-mmm-hmhm....
"So how much will that be?"
The dazed Smelt clerk gazed up at Eskila, pencil still hovering over his pad.
"Er... For the gilders you're offering, we can get you 'round twenny words."
"Oh... ok. Can you trim it down some?"
~ ~ ~
The next day's Smelt paper read, in a little box in the corner of page twelve:
Volunteer Sleep Aide! Rm#5 Bilge I.T.B.
Today Only, Bardic Lullaby/Masseuse, Pay on Wake
BYO pillow & comb, Dawn to Dusk, see Iskilla Ickymay
And Eskila sat on the bed in Room Number Five upstairs in the Bilge in the Bucket. The ruckus downstairs was noisy, but a comforting ocean, a muted roar to drown out thoughts. No graven silence marked by the constant dread of the possibility of a peeling bell. She had put on some purple linen pajamas she rarely got to wear, the single-suit kind with two buttoned windows in the back; one for the tail, one for the head.
She gazed at the open doorway with an expression of blank expectation, hugging a morning-cool pillow freshly stuffed with newly-shed fox fur.
Hopes and dreams... well, hopes, anyway.
