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The Smell of Bread (Mimsy)

Posted: Mon Aug 01, 2022 11:34 am
by Franky
Image



Searing 36, shortly after Sunrise

Franky's eyes snapped open as he was gasping. He'd just been ripped apart, atom by atom, by what felt like the claws of a million demons, each taking a piece of him, as he fell from the heavens that the Gods called their home. This was many magnitudes worse than the pain he went through on his final campaign, but the man steeled his will, focusing on his singular goal of fulfilling his agreement to save his people. His people.

He coughed and sputtered, steam rippling from his younger, crimson haired form, as it began to melt into his chair, his eyes burning as realized he was in his office. He could smell fresh baked bread now, and that reminded him of just who, and where, he was. He was not Major Frankorg any longer. The Knob had changed him for the better. That warm scent triggered memories of him opening the kitchen in the Gobbler, of his father making campfire cast iron breads, of so many happy nights with the community in the Gobbler.

Franky's eyes opened, and his scarred, wizened visage was there. But it was different now. While he maintained the appearance that most people knew him as, there had been changes even to this. His eyes, having deteriorated from the Imperium's gas bombs, were returned to their better eyesight. His muscles, tightened from scarring of having his flesh melted away just over a year prior, were whole and healed. His scars, his white skin, his distinct lack of hair all remained, but Franky, for the first time since he left the Imperium, was whole.

Upon his chest, directly over his heart, a Goblet with a break in it, or perhaps a rift, a tattoo in motion as mists poured out over the brim. A reminder of what he was now, and why. Franky looked around his office, seeing that it was still braced and barricaded from the preparation of the storm. He nodded to himself, palms slapping the surface of his desk as he stood up.

It was time to get to work. The beginning of Ash was quickly approaching and Franky needed to formulate and execute many plans to help save whatever survivors were left. He walked over to his office window, looking out into the street below. There were no monsters directly outside, but the mists were wafting through. With Rickter gone to... wherever he'd ended up, there were no shields in place. And as Lyra had explained to him, the sigils she'd made would only prevent magic in and around the Gobbler. Franky's hand rested against the window frame and he felt the purring in his mind intensify.

A strange look crossed Franky's face and he rubbed the wood a bit more, and he felt the Gobbler was pleased. The Gobbler was alive, and Franky could feel a connection with it. "You did good, ol' girl. You've brought me so much happiness. I'm not abandoning you. Not now, not ever." Franky felt the mental equivalent of the Gobbler leaning into him.

There was a clinking noise behind him.

Franky turned, seeing a typical coin purse there, as though it had just dropped from nowhere. It was leather, and on it, a twisted, wretched face. One that Franky inherently knew to be his own. He opened it up, reaching inside, finding coins with the same face upon it. That was... interesting. He wasn't quite sure what that meant yet, but it was important. He tied it into his belt loop, pocketing the pouch, the same way he always carried his pouch.

A waft of heavenly scented bread came back through once more and Franky took in a deep breath of it. Then his head cocked to the side. Weston couldn't bake. The man couldn't even heat up beans without burning them terribly. Who was here? Franky's footsteps sounded off the purposeful march as he made his way from his office to the door downstairs. As he reached for the knob, the Gobbler unlocked it for him. Franky smiled and pulled open the door that led to the stairwell that went down directly to the kitchen.

Franky stuck his head into the stairwell as a bullet almost took off his nose, embedding in the wall. Franky felt the Gobbler bristle at the attack.

"FUCK!"

"WESTON IT'S ME! FRANKY!"


"Franky? You're back?"

"Yes! Don't shoot me, I'm coming down!"

Franky eased out into the stairwell, starting down, curious as to who was baking and what else he'd missed. He didn't even know when it was right now, but it was not the same time as he'd left. He'd left shortly after midday, and the glance out the window suggested it was early morning.

Re: The Smell of Bread (Mimsy)

Posted: Mon Aug 01, 2022 12:32 pm
by Mimsy


There now, easy does it.” Gently she tipped a warm cup of her special breakfast tea into the mouth of a weary looking soldier. He clung to it for dear life. She took a moment to glance over the bandages she had applied to some of his lacerations. He was recovering well. With just a little more rest and some help, he would recover physically. She could not do much for the mental trauma that likely everyone suffered from this catastrophe but she would try. It would just take time. She smiled at the soldier as he finished gulping down the last bit of the tea. She had infused it with calming herbs in order to help him.

Lay back. There now. Just rest.” She helped him lay back onto the makeshift cot that had been propped up in the main room of the Gobbler. Over the past two days, she had been tending to as many people as she could. She knew medicine. She knew how to mix herbs. She had some skills with alchemy and she had been putting everything she knew to use. It had been quite the argument with the tavern’s watchman, Weston, when she had pleaded with him to allow her to take in those seeking shelter. After choosing to stay behind when the ship came to evacuate, she had taken it upon herself to usher as many people as she could into the walls of one of the only buildings that was still safe. He had grumbled but ultimately, Weston had relented and helped her.

She did not know much magic but what little she did, she had put to use helping to keep the building protected. After studying the various symbols and protections put in place, she had been forced to step beyond the radius of its guardianship and erect her own barriers and shields. At least twice a day she had to replenish them and though she got stares, none complained about the fact that the small gnomish woman was creating a space for people to be safe. Over the past two days, some people got enough rest and strength to start helping her. Most did not have any skills in medicine but she supervised them enough to give them basic instructions in what she knew. She cooked the meals with help from those who had the strength to lend a hand. She ordered the kitchen and made sure there were warm, filling goods available for both the people on the mend and those who eventually worked up enough courage to help Weston stand watch.

She was in the middle of getting to her feet when the sound of gunfire made her jump. Some of the people in the room screamed. Those few who were able bodied enough to help stand watch stiffened and readied themselves to spring into action. But when they saw who it was and when Weston signaled everyone to calm, she felt some of her hackles lessen.

Oh bother…” Mimsy blinked as she beheld the Hobgoblin as he entered the main room. She recognized him, both from talk with Weston and from two days ago. Franky, the owner of the establishment. A trill of nervousness went through her. She hoped he would not be too angry with Weston for helping her. She hoped he would not be angry with her. Forcing her shoulders to relax, Mimsy picked up her tray of fresh honey bread rolls and breakfast egg-muffins along with a carafe of coffee. On her hip was her trusty belt of tin mugs. She shuffled up to the hobgoblin and offered her kindest smile.

Well, if the excitement is over? Here.” She tugged a stool from out beneath a table and climbed atop it so that she could reach the nearby table surface. Setting the carafe and her tray atop the table she unhooked a clean mug from her belt and poured a cup of roasted coffee.

Weston, cream and honey, please?” She looked up from pouring and smiled at the man who nodded and complied. He returned with the requested items along with three saucers. Mimsy placed a honey bread roll and a breakfast egg-muffin on one and slid it toward Franky. She then fixed some for Weston and then herself. Plopping down onto her stool, she picked up a mug of coffee for herself and took a sip, closing her eyes in pleasure at the taste. After a moment of silence she set the cup down and looked up at Franky.

Mimsy.” She offered simply. “I apologize. I seem to have commandeered your common room as a makeshift shelter. Mr. Weston has been very kind.

She smiled softly at Weston who was already scarfing down one of her muffins.

Now you mustn’t be cross with him. I was very…um…stern.” A flush of embarrassment crossed her cheeks. “I would be interested in discussing the continued use of your spaces for the good of the community.

Mimsy put on her most businesslike face, well, the best one she could do.