kanni & sinensys

[kanni]

another hummed response, though this one less of a neutral acknowledgement of words and more a disgruntled agreement. it was an unappealing development to arlow as well, but one he didn't have much reason to fight against. the ice did a good job at extending the lifespan of what meager produce the half-withered harvests had given up, and with low quality diets, pills and potions that melted or expired in heat were high in demand. the sheriff may have preferred to handle illness and famine the old fashioned way, but he would never subject his friends and family to the harder ways he chose for himself.
x
"they haven't been in the past. not much of a choice with everythin' that's happened. no one wants to leave that's still here, so we adapt." a rather bleak sentence, but if conrad was going to be helping the doc, he might as well not beat around the bush. too much.
x
"well," arlow paused in front of the clinic, boot heels crunching gravel as he turned to look at conrad head on. "this is it. if you need directions from here, that's a you problem." and that would have been it, if the hacking cough of a long-time smoker hadn't interrupted arlow's attempt - once again - to turn and go do his job.
x
the screen door smacked soundly against its frame as doctor hector creed shoved his way out onto the porch, arms full of paper bags that attempted to catch against the chicken wire screen and impede his progress. while on the much older side, and skinny as a reed, doc creed was surprisingly strong. especially with the additional health issues that indulging in the very thing he cautioned arlow against brought him. well now, arlow couldn't just up and leave without saying hi to creed. he'd get an earful about it from the man's wife the second she caught on, and the last thing arlow wanted was an unnecessary scolding from betty creed. she still treated him like he was a kid and it all but grated away the sheriff's remaining brain cells. "hey doc." arlow tipped his hat politely, still half turned away from the clinic and towards his companion.

[sinensys]

"no one wants to leave that's still here, so we adapt."

the obscenities contained themselves only thanks to the time spent within the royal gates of the seelie court. and even then it was a struggle --- conrad only had about a hundred years' worth and he wasn't a meek far of deeply-veiled social games, so the micro expressions still slipped through often. he preferred a good verbal sparring, which had sharp and cunning opponents but was very obviously a game nonetheless. even if that game ended in a skirmish or death afterwards. and if he emerged unscathed, that was on them: a good contestant knew when to yield or simply won. the kelpie prided himself on falling into the latter category, bar a few unsavory moments of defeat. there were a select few he would readily accept a draw with, and a good third of them were dead now. a small part of him feared he would never see the rest with the way things in this realm were going currently.

but conrad limited himself to a softly muttered "unlucky" and said nothing more on the matter, clamping down the lid as best he could. thankfully, he was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of yet another man, presumably human.

the kelpie was surprised to find that hector creed was a tall, spindly man who reeked of smoke and pensiveness. even as the sheriff called out to him, the doctor seemed only mostly pulled from his thoughts, the preoccupation still loitering in his working memory. "hey arlow," came the distracted, cigarette-roughened reply. he spared a glance and nod in conrad's direction. "mornin'."

conrad swiftly stepped closer to the man, eager to finally, finally gain the upper hand in his predicament. "you must be doctor hector creed! i'm conrad abernathy, but you probably don't know me. i have some experience in healing and came here to see if there was any way i could help. i'm hearing things are rough with the dust bowl coming on," the words trickled out fluidly, making up for the missed rivers.

the paper bags readjusted in hector's arms, who pressed his lips into a thin line and sent arlow a silent look --- maybe unease, maybe resignation, conrad wasn't too sure. he was sick of these games, sick of secrecy. hector finally sighed, oblivious to the kelpie's inner grievances. "that's... that's very kind of you. and i do appreciate that. i really do. but it ain't gonna do no good with our bigger problem causin' so many damn... well, problems," came the surprisingly soft-spoken tone for a chronic smoker. the irony was not lost on conrad. this time, hector seemed to speak more towards arlow: "bein' able to nip that in the bud would be the best way to prevent it 'n all is all i'm sayin'. not that i'm ungrateful for the help, 'course."

the fae's gaze flitted between the two, catching on. "this is about the water, right? is there any way i can help with that at least? i won't intrude on your space, doctor creed," he tried his luck.

[kanni]

arlow gave a low grunt of agreement at doc's words, rocking back on his heels with a sigh. it truly did not matter how many doctors or herbalists or even wacko faerie wannabies that came to the town, they wouldn't be able to revive it to its former glory, or as close to glory as they could get, without replenishing the life-giving liquid all creatures that walked the earth needed. nip it in the bud indeed.
x
"some relative or friend or somethin' of his told him 'bout the water, doc. no need to dance around it. he's a yapper, though, i'm not sure how much good that'll do your ear." arlow jutted his chin in conrad's direction before stepping forward, moving to take on some of the load creed was bearing. the old man wasn't one to let on when he was struggling, but the subtle shake of his wrists clamped tight against the unmistakable curve of medicine bottles within the paper bags gave it away. doc sighed into the familiar dance that he and arlow had done time and time again, not even bothering to put up a fight as he allowed the sherrif to take half the bags.
x
"these are headed to the workers at the construction site, son," creed brushed dust off his fraying physician's coat with the hand arlow had freed up, tucking a wayward red handkerchief back into one of the deep pockets. those same pockets held candy for the kids, and needles for those unlucky to be behind on their vaccines, as arlow very well knew. "they're doin' worse than the last batch did, and i'm hoping some of the good juice will perk them back up for a while."
x
arlow nodded, following the doctor back down the stairs. the old man was quick for his age and physical condition, and he needed not slow his steps to keep pace. creed paused in front of conrad, sharp green eyes giving the man a quick once over.
x
"like i said, i don't know how much good it'll do to have you, since i doubt you have magic god powers to bring us rain, but an extra set of hands can't hurt. why don't you come with us to do a check in on the construction workers and i'll see if you're worth keeping." the man turned on his heel, white coat swelling out behind him like a knight's cape. doc had never been one to waste time where there wasn't time to waste, arlow knew this, and what better way to decide if conrad was worth keeping than see if he could do the basics without prep? It worked out for the sheriff as well, the added benefit of taking doc with him to the site was keeping conrad out of his hair after all. the joys of pleasentries. occasionally, being polite got arlow something he wanted.

[sinensys]

the kelpie side eyed the sheriff at being called a 'yapper' --- yapper, of all things --- but kept his attention firmly on hector creed. as much as he wanted to snark back at the sheriff, the plan drew closer to fruition, and conrad could not let it slip now that it was inching ever-nearer. the same unimaginable, invisible hand of fate that had struck him down into this destitute, human-infested land could be bitten, and he could feel his tension wrap into loose coils. even defanged and unable to harm mankind, he could move forward with his plan to rid his land of them and restore his well's waters, revitalizing that ancient spring below. all he-

arlow had hurried up the stairs, moving to aid the doctor with his bags of what conrad presumed to be bottles. tinctures, perhaps? the fae wasn't well-versed in human medicine enough to guess what else it could be. but why the construction workers needed them was also interesting to him, leaving him to wonder just how many hid among the humans on the crew. although, in his newfound zeal, conrad wasn't sure it mattered --- even as a kelpie without an affinity for mending, he could still heal somewhat. he hoped it would be enough to wow the humans. to convince them that fighting for survival here was in vain.

as fast as arlow ascended, he and the doctor came back down from the front porch. "things would be a lot different if i had god powers," came the polite chuckle paired with his continued small smile. "but i'm more than happy to help where i can, doctor." beyond simply glad the plan seems to be working, i'm also annoyed, tired, enraged, and ready for this nightmare to end.

the construction site truly wasn't much farther from the infirmary, as it turned out. the trio moved along, with conrad taking care to be just a few steps behind, to maintain the charade of not knowing where things were. the crew was beginning to gather around the icehouse in its half-assembled state, a skeleton whose spaces were beginning to be filled with tendons and ligaments. the building, if conrad were to guess based on the overall shape, was not supposed to be very large ---- he wondered briefly if the limited size was more money or material acquisition related before he reminded himself that he didn't care.

with a loud whistle and a wave, hector creed called over the construction crew. the fae braced internally, rummaging through his mind for any seelie niceties he could find; he had the feeling he would need all the pre-built responses he could prepare. the bags were set onto a small table, their contents quickly revealed as creed began briefly instructing conrad. the tasks weren't as simple as he'd hoped they'd be, and so he truly did find himself thoroughly engrossed in aiding the doctor while attempting to pass off the actions as more natural and familiar. who knew rationing a variety of poorly-labelled liquids and salves, maintaining smalltalk while masking your fae nature, and discreetly increasing the medicinal effectiveness via spellworking could be so consuming? not conrad. but he was proud that he still managed to keep up with creed. or at least he thought he was --- it was hard for him to tell.

and if, occasionally, his lips twitched in a silent murmur as he exhaled inaudible incantations, that was only for him to know.

[kanni]

arlow was more than happy to surrender his portion of doc's tinctures to the table the elderly man led him and conrad to. it was a bit of a stretch to call the collection of unused stone, wayward wooden boards and leftover crates a functioning platform, but it would do in a pinch. while the clinic was basically the neighbor of the storage-unit-in-progress, morrison wanted all hands on deck at all times, and so creed came to them. it was toeing a line that arlow did not intend to see crossed, but despite his several-month tenure in a real position of authority, the sheriff was still relatively low in the pecking order. there wasn't much he could do until something was actually done. it ate at a part of him to be forced to stay relatively passive, but arlow needed that authority to grow over time so that he, if not the rest of these rich and mighty folk, could keep making dusthaven a better place.
x
"alright doc, i gotta talk to the guys. if you need anythin', i'll be with jedd." arlow waved a hand in the general direction of the man, a stout fellow with skin close in shade to tree bark and wild hair that reminded one of intertwining branches. jedd was considered head of the workers, though there was no one with that real title. jedd just happened to be the only one that could really make sense of whatever rambling nonsense came out of randy morrison's mouth on any given day. ducking his chin in acknowledgement to both doc creed and conrad - who appeared to be scrambling a touch to keep up (not a terrific sign) - arlow turned and made his way to the center of the build.
x
so far, the exoskeleton of the fridgerated storage unit really was just an exoskeleton. exposed beams and patches of cobbled together stone gave the vague impression of a shape that would eventually come together, but it had to do more than that. they'd spent so long working around permits and laws to knock down the previous structures that they were several years in and just now building. arlow believed it used to be a well and some old residential buildings that had been argued over - historical value and all that.
x
"hey jedd," arlow called in greeting, strolling up to the taller man. arlow was by no means short, but jedd towered over him and just about everyone else in town. "i've got instructions for yah."

[sinensys]

on his twelfth day here in this desolate, arid wasteland --- this miserable, human-infested dustbowl --- conrad was struck by the profound weight of his predicament.

the small, cheap mirror before him reflected nothing new: a tired fae with indigo fields loitering beneath his lashes and skin that flaked ever-so-slightly in protest of the sun's uncaring gaze and the dry air's persistent strikes. and so, like always, the morning began with the effortless erasure of these nuisances by simply running his hands over his face and wherever else required such touch ups. ordinarily, this would do the trick, and he'd go about his day as usual. ordinarily, his skin would not remain as coarse and dry as it was now. he moved closer to the mirror, inspecting the creature within more dutifully. conrad spent the next few minutes in absolute panic attempting to magically wipe away the imperfections, in a literal sense, to no avail. the implication of his newfound inconvenience slowly crept in, the impending doom beginning to weigh on him. true, water was important to all the creatures in this forsaken town, but it had more dire consequences for the kelpie. he had felt so confident in his plan before, that he had so much more time to lay out the groundwork for a scheme unseen by the disconsolate residents here. but conrad had an unknown amount of time left, with no way to learn but to keep living without water.

he supposed the cosmic fascination with threes came back to reward him in malicious faith. conrad bleakly wondered which imminent multiple resulted in his ruin.

thankfully, he learned something that did help with the strange skin affliction: water, unsurprisingly. the water ration at the inn made things considerably more difficult, but conrad made do that morning. he cupped some of the water from the reserve and cycled through a variety of different spells, attempting to find one just strong enough to calm the ailment before focusing on the whole supply. the fae could feel himself weakening. frustration surged as he applied the water to his skin topically. the feeling soured into desperation as he finished, the necessity of full aquatic submersion making itself known once more. he was grateful it was only uncomfortable skin, and yet. and yet. he hated this. he hated them for doing this to him.

conrad vacated the room in a hurry, heading downstairs.

for the last seven days, he'd been shadowing doctor hector creed, taking care to utilize every ounce of pleasantry he possessed as he was subjected to the nonstop socialization with those wretched creatures who trapped him here. it was agony. for nearly every hour of every day, conrad's face remained frozen in a mildly musing expression, polite and kind --- all to continue the charade of a doctor who returned to his roots in their time of trouble, not his. while ordinarily the fae was not the silent and asocial type, these pretenses irritated him and bored him. nothing was changing. nothing was happening. people came in with their troubles, creed and conrad would help them, and they would be on their way --- ad nauseam. this vicious, seemingly endless cycle was only briefly interrupted by worthless conversations about things conrad either did not care about, did not know about, or really did not want to discuss, leaving him to scramble for ways to gently lead the conversation topic astray, a discreet left towards civilization instead of a right to a secret lakeside. it worked, but at a great cost. conrad had no qualms with deceit, like any other fae, but this simply wasn't fun. and he would have to keep going until creed finally changed his mind and sent him to fetch water.

...except maybe i don't.

the saloon doors shut behind him and he stopped in his tracks. lifting his left hand, he found he'd picked at the thumb again, tearing a little scab once more. he rolled his eyes, but he left it alone, dropping his hand instead. conrad liked to believe that he was reasonable --- that he could be calculating and cunning and cold. but at the end of the day, whether he admitted it or not, conrad was a creature of emotion and impulse, first and foremost, driven by whatever chemical rush dominated within. he could pretend that temperamental nature was truly an intentional fake out or simply lucky instinct. perhaps his greatest feat lied in his ability to convince his very self of things like this --- not that he'd admit it.

something indeterminate thrummed in his chest and hands as he suddenly made up his mind. the kelpie swung around unsteadily and marched up to the sheriff's office instead, rapping loudly on that door, agitated.

i will fix this. i won't be killed like this.

[kanni]

the morning had brought a swift end to the cool relief of the night, drying arlow's tongue against his lips and cracking the skin on his hands. though calloused and thick from years of the never ending hard labor upon the family farm, even those sun-dried fingers couldn't resist the cruel gaze of the sun for long. the days had been getting hotter the last week, as if dusthaven were being punished for accepting visitors during such a dire time. a slap against the wrist, do you know who i am? a sneer of the sun's glaring rays.
x
inside the office, made from dark hunks of metal and stone, arlow was being baked alive. the prairie heat was not something he was unfamiliar with, and had even thrived in in his youth, but the sheriff had not been the sheriff all his life. there was a different level of cold necessary to make the oversized oven feel mildly tepid, and it was nowhere to be found. the heat lifted the scent of leather, drying ink, human musk and the ash of a long-dead cigar, sending the odd mix swirling in the slight breeze that wafted through the sheriff's windows. while the air movement brought little comfort, it was comfort none the less, even with the crust of dust it carried alongside. where arlow's old rocker sat, dragged in from the saloon's front porch after one too many beers several months ago, the man was fortunate enough to receive consistent facefuls of the dust. it was fine dirt, the grit not too unlike gertie's terrible attempt at a flatbread. he had suffered and would suffer worse fates, and this prize was worth the mild inconvenience.
x
the sharp rap at the door cracked an umber eye open, a slight doze disturbed by someone's presence. arlow had been lost in the routine of it all: the same faces, the same complaints, the same frustrations that didn’t seem to get any better. the construction on the refrigeration unit was dragging. the permits and regulations — all the politics that kept everything in limbo — kept pushing the work slower. he had hoped for a brief respite in his favored chair, notes scattered to the floor and legs splayed like an overly comfortable house cat. to hope for anything in dusthaven was foolish.
x
the sheriff withdrew his limbs back to himself, pushing off with a slight forward momentum from the rocker. he left the window open, and even pushed the sill higher as he passed. besides the decent-sized cell across the back of the office, the sheriff's department was rather snug, and arlow made it from one side of the room to the other in few strides. he couldn't say he was surprised that it was conrad abernathy at the door, but his brows still lifted slightly at the state of the other man. arlow hadn't been avoiding conrad, but the pair's paths had really only crossed briefly since settling the doctor's new assistant into town. arlow had been focused on, well, everything, and conrad had his hands full with the various ailments creed was faced with on a near daily basis. regardless, the man had always had a rather arrogant, put-together and above-it-all air about him, albeit shrouded in a thin veil of polite bemusement.
x
now, stood upon arlow's door step, fist still raised in the empty space the door had stood, conrad looked rather unlike himself. his clothes were still as put together, face and hair still oddly clean for the town's standard, but his attractive features were screwed in something that could almost be a scowl. it must have been a slip of the mask, an unconscious display of the man's frustration at something. there was a bitter spark to his eye, and arlow felt himself lean forwards infinitesimally so, curiosity scritching at the corners of his brain.
x
"can i help you with somethin', conrad?" arlow's voice was gravel, his catnap removing what looseness had remained in his vocal chords from a meeting early that morning. he cleared his throat, batting away the top of his bandana from the corner of his lips. he had left the rag tucked around his neck as a weak attempt at combatting the floating irritants, feeling awfully like the bandits the youngin's dressed up as for plays and samhain.

[sinensys]

the kelpie, too scattered in his own agitation, failed to notice the door beginning to open and lurched forward ever-so-slightly when it did. he caught himself with a huff, realigning himself and hesitating, and tried to collect his thoughts, attempting to harness the disrupting wake to quell the maddening ripples. what he meant to say was something along the lines of "yes, please let me help find the water we desperately need" with a much more professional expression. or maybe an earnest-looking "your people are suffering and creed's right, no amount of healing will help as much as just bringing back the water" to tug at his heartstrings. and the like.

instead, the floodgates opened, and conrad could not close them.

"nothing is changing, nothing is happening, this- this- water issue is out of control, and no one is doing a single useful thing," the pressured speech poured out, a grim reminder of what was lacking. the seething thrumming still overtook him, keeping his hands by his sides, occasionally closing into loose fists or thrown open outwards, and keeping his gaze from settling on any one point for too long. his huff morphed slowly into hiss: "this whole icebox thing? asinine!"

conrad raised his brows, tipping his head down slightly to peer upwards at arlow knowingly. a shaky breathe in helped settle the urge to throw something, but still didn't quiet the thrumming inside. the fae wasn't sure if that was magic or simply the early morning's panic recycled into rage. his speech slowed and settled into a low but forceful tone: "a waste of time and resources that could be better spent on a myriad of things. and..."

where before he'd accidentally leaned forward, not expecting the door to open when it had, this time conrad stepped closer, invading the sheriff's space purposefully. "and i'm willing to bet you think this too, sheriff," he continued, desperately attempting to wrangle both his flickering gaze and his unstable magic in attempt to optimally sway him. only the former seemed to somewhat comply; the latter continued to misbehave. had he been in a better mental state, the kelpie would have hoped it wasn't noticeable to the human. right now wasn't that state.

"...because otherwise this is getting absurd."

[kanni]

arlow's lips pressed together into a tight line at the unexpected forcefulness of conrad's presence and words. the sheriff wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation, but the unexpectedness of this whirlwind had rattled him still. while conrad's heated words were plenty familiar—the drought, the water, the icebox, the economy—the desperation with which this man who was but a stranger in a town of deeply rooted families was approached it was off putting.
x
the misfortunae of arlow's debilitating emotional constipation made for an awkward silence following conrad's outburst. the poor man stood there in the weak attempt at shade the covered porch alloted, chest all but quivering with barely controlled emotion, and the sheriff could do litle more but clear his throat and step to the side.
x
"i hear you," arlow stepped towards his desk, tugging the rocker with him to reposition on the other side of the dark oak. he didn't invite conrad in, but didn't shoe him away either, hoping he wouldn't need city-standard niceities for the doctor's assistant to get the hint. having the old desk between him and that anger made it a little easier to think, a little easier to process not just the blaze in conrad's eyes but also his words.
x
"but this ain't somethin' that i have much say in." arlow sat heavily, thumbing at the faded corner of his checkered bandana. he didn't like to admit it, didn't like to show his lack of strength despite supposedly being a pillar of it for dusthaven. how could he help make the right decisions for his people when he didn't get to make any at all?
x
"i told you before, i think, that if it were up to me we wouldn't have none of this goin' on. we'd be diggin' for a new well-source or somethin' instead. but the mayor wants us to modernize, and we ain't the only place that relies on water deliveries believe it or not. just is worse for us since we depend on farmin' and the like." arlow leaned down to sweep up the notes that been previously scattered across the floor of the office, duties abandoned in lieu of a late-morning nap.
x
"i guess it is...erm, asanine, as you put it." the sheriff cleared his throat again, sleep not quite slackening its clutches on his vocal chords. he shuffled the papers proper and lay them upon the desk. "i'm sorry to say it but i don't know what you want me to do about it."

[sinensys]

in the strange silence between them, conrad swallowed thickly. standing face to face, quietly, with a human being was certainly not an experience the kelpie had ever hoped to achieve, yet here he stood. quietly. face to face with a human being. he briefly recalled an interaction with another fae in the seelie courts several years ago, who'd gushed over her human partner, fawning over their similarities despite their much more drastic, clearly delineated differences. conrad had had lovers before and had stood before them exactly as he stood before arlow, but they were never human. it felt belittling, and cruel this time. he wondered what alexandria would say to his current circumstance, and if she would see some sickening beginnings to something from this.

the acreage confined by the cosmic barbed wire had shrunk. an infinitesimal percent of his temper mellowed, withering.

arlow retreated, but conrad followed him, not ready to back down. his arms finally crossed, the thrumming settling a little now that he had his metaphorical foot in the door. he was closer to fixing things. he was closer to averting his death. arlow sat in his desk and the fae loomed over it. his next plan was to swat away the crooked hand of fate, and this plan currently comprised of cornering arlow into getting... something useful. when arlow asked him what he wanted, conrad had to stop and think for a moment, genuinely stumped. then his irritation took the helm once more.

"i don't know," he hissed with a sneer, leaning forward. "maybe consider looking around for natural sources? stop sitting around and waiting for some- some- divine intervention? or permission to seek the lifeblood of every damn creature here in this desolate town?" a huff and a pause, before he started making his way around the desk to lean on it sideways, standing beside the sheriff. "if i have to go out on horseback and find it myself because you won't, then i will," conrad continued, throwing him a pointed look. he hesitated before tacking on an almost accusatory punctuation: "...arlow. because from where i'm standing, it looks like you gave up."

he was going to push his luck, and today his luck was named arlow.