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breezeshadow(Prompt from an old Bingo Card: trust)
"Meander?" The word felt familiar on his tongue, but the sailor gave him a confused look.
"And what kind of name is that?"
He squirmed, wondering if perhaps he had remembered it incorrectly, and now the sailor would punish him, or abandon him here, or whatever it was that happened to people who couldn't remember or didn't have names. But the sailor just shrugged and took a swig of his tankard.
"Well, I suppose it suits this adventure. So Meander. Why do you want to go to Welen? You can barely speak this language; what do you know about there?"
The accusation wasn't fair, but Meander said nothing. He could understand what the man said just fine, and he could even read some of the symbols used throughout the city. Sure, the paper at this cafe had been full of strange concepts, but he recognized things like "soup" and "chicken" and "water". And so when he went out into the streets to beg or steal, he found these other symbols and heard the gossip and whispers of dreams.
Welen kept being mentioned. Mostly it was with derision, but lately there was an extra sense of promise, that there was more than it seemed in this mysterious place. As for why it called to him, well, what had this city done for him? He had no family, no adults to watch over him like so many other kids did. He sometimes was given charity to sleep under a lean-to by fellow residents of the beach, but he heard the phrase "overstaying your welcome", and was tired of being told that he was overstaying something he had not realized he had been given.
"It sound better." He took another sip of his precious soup even as the worker took away the sailor's emptied bowl.
"I suppose anything is better than being a beach rat." The stranger waved his hand at the worker, eying Meander's bowl. "Leave him to it. He'll finish it eventually."
The worker stared at him as she walked away, and Meander fought the urge to flee under the table and slip out the doors. He felt a sense of urgency, like he should eat his soup more quickly, that she had a thousand things to do, and the thought that these weird customers would be taking up so much more of her time -- for a brief instant Meander felt all of the woman's emotions, her fatigue and frustration, the soreness in her arms from all of the dishes hauled to and fro, and the knowledge that she would get pennies in return -- and then he had snapped back into his own mind, though his arms felt sore from just a soup bowl.
At least the experience reminded him of the first person who told him he "meandered". That stranger's words floated into his head and then straight out his mouth, in both an eloquence and voice that he lacked: "Meander. To wander around aimlessly, winding like a river. Your mind winds like that, doesn't it? Sometimes you are not you."
No doubt had this been the first time the boy had done this, the sailor would have called for a cold glass of water, or giving him a smack to snap him out of it. Instead, he sighed and rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his tankard. "Tell your imaginary friend thanks for that. So it sounds better, eh? That's it? That's all you're going on?"
Meander took a good gulp of his soup, all the better to burn away the remnants of memories. But the question gave them a defense. He heard many things, especially on the nights when he couldn't sleep, and felt he only need to run and run and he'd be somewhere else. "Welen" was a different word, one that sounded like this language, but only just. At first he thought it referred to an object, but as the talk continued, he realized it was a place. The words were too complex for him, but the emotions were not -- and nearly everyone spoke with a curiosity, an interest, and sometimes even of a hope.
So few spoke with hope about this place.
A young Meander (estimated 12-13 years old) talks with a sailor to be smuggled to the continent of Welen.
Meander was orphaned very young, with no name or identity. I imagine he went through an orphanage or two before living in the streets instead. He understands the Eroqi tongue (not sure which one it is) very well, but cannot speak it as well, and can only read a few words (even then, he's associated that "symbol" with the object, so not "true" reading). What he DOES have is a more-than-photographic memory thanks to untrained telepathy. Hence, when he remembers things, he can cough them back up in the exact same voice, emotion, etc. Ability to do so fades as he forgets, of course, but some memories are strong enough for them to stay vivid... Like the mystery stranger who gave him his name.
Edit - Leaving a note mostly to myself, though you're welcome to ask for details (TW anxiety on those, though):
"My brain is in the feedback loop FROM HELL"
"Meander?" The word felt familiar on his tongue, but the sailor gave him a confused look.
"And what kind of name is that?"
He squirmed, wondering if perhaps he had remembered it incorrectly, and now the sailor would punish him, or abandon him here, or whatever it was that happened to people who couldn't remember or didn't have names. But the sailor just shrugged and took a swig of his tankard.
"Well, I suppose it suits this adventure. So Meander. Why do you want to go to Welen? You can barely speak this language; what do you know about there?"
The accusation wasn't fair, but Meander said nothing. He could understand what the man said just fine, and he could even read some of the symbols used throughout the city. Sure, the paper at this cafe had been full of strange concepts, but he recognized things like "soup" and "chicken" and "water". And so when he went out into the streets to beg or steal, he found these other symbols and heard the gossip and whispers of dreams.
Welen kept being mentioned. Mostly it was with derision, but lately there was an extra sense of promise, that there was more than it seemed in this mysterious place. As for why it called to him, well, what had this city done for him? He had no family, no adults to watch over him like so many other kids did. He sometimes was given charity to sleep under a lean-to by fellow residents of the beach, but he heard the phrase "overstaying your welcome", and was tired of being told that he was overstaying something he had not realized he had been given.
"It sound better." He took another sip of his precious soup even as the worker took away the sailor's emptied bowl.
"I suppose anything is better than being a beach rat." The stranger waved his hand at the worker, eying Meander's bowl. "Leave him to it. He'll finish it eventually."
The worker stared at him as she walked away, and Meander fought the urge to flee under the table and slip out the doors. He felt a sense of urgency, like he should eat his soup more quickly, that she had a thousand things to do, and the thought that these weird customers would be taking up so much more of her time -- for a brief instant Meander felt all of the woman's emotions, her fatigue and frustration, the soreness in her arms from all of the dishes hauled to and fro, and the knowledge that she would get pennies in return -- and then he had snapped back into his own mind, though his arms felt sore from just a soup bowl.
At least the experience reminded him of the first person who told him he "meandered". That stranger's words floated into his head and then straight out his mouth, in both an eloquence and voice that he lacked: "Meander. To wander around aimlessly, winding like a river. Your mind winds like that, doesn't it? Sometimes you are not you."
No doubt had this been the first time the boy had done this, the sailor would have called for a cold glass of water, or giving him a smack to snap him out of it. Instead, he sighed and rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his tankard. "Tell your imaginary friend thanks for that. So it sounds better, eh? That's it? That's all you're going on?"
Meander took a good gulp of his soup, all the better to burn away the remnants of memories. But the question gave them a defense. He heard many things, especially on the nights when he couldn't sleep, and felt he only need to run and run and he'd be somewhere else. "Welen" was a different word, one that sounded like this language, but only just. At first he thought it referred to an object, but as the talk continued, he realized it was a place. The words were too complex for him, but the emotions were not -- and nearly everyone spoke with a curiosity, an interest, and sometimes even of a hope.
So few spoke with hope about this place.
A young Meander (estimated 12-13 years old) talks with a sailor to be smuggled to the continent of Welen.
Meander was orphaned very young, with no name or identity. I imagine he went through an orphanage or two before living in the streets instead. He understands the Eroqi tongue (not sure which one it is) very well, but cannot speak it as well, and can only read a few words (even then, he's associated that "symbol" with the object, so not "true" reading). What he DOES have is a more-than-photographic memory thanks to untrained telepathy. Hence, when he remembers things, he can cough them back up in the exact same voice, emotion, etc. Ability to do so fades as he forgets, of course, but some memories are strong enough for them to stay vivid... Like the mystery stranger who gave him his name.
Edit - Leaving a note mostly to myself, though you're welcome to ask for details (TW anxiety on those, though):
"My brain is in the feedback loop FROM HELL"
