Salutations! [Sheloe + Kevin]

"Thank you, Mr. Henry!"

He waved the boatman good-bye and allowed himself a good long look towards the ocean.  It wasn't the prettiest of views, no, but there was a distinct lack of mountains.  All was well, then.  He dug through his backpack, the vessel containing his precious few belongings, and pulled out one of his many, many razors, all of them neatly lined up in a jewelery box-sized box.  He needed back-ups for his back-ups.  He turned from the view and began his work swiftly, cringing as the long hairs fell down.  Mr. Henry hadn't said anything, no, but it was still awkward with the choppy waves to not be able to shave for so long.  What was this, two inches?  Three?  Too long, regardless.  He double-checked on the shaving, smoothing out his cheeks and lips precisely before heading out towards the path-- no, wait, wait.  There was still something left to do.

Kevin searched through his backpack once more, a worn but still intact notebook emerging from its depths followed by a mechanical pencil.  With his eyes set on the horizon of the water, he began to write.  It was slow going but nice; the boat before was too shaky for proper writing, and he really wanted to remember this scene, to capture it.  Once flicking his wrist for the last period, Kevin got up from his crouch and headed down what could only be the way to the castle.

He giggled to himself in the excitement.  A new school, a new place-- new people!

These minds weren't like Windor minds; he hadn't decided yet whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.  It was certainly nice that he didn't have to hear what people were exactly thinking, but it was so restraining, too.  He was too used to knowing, too-- might as well say it-- dependent on it.  He sighed at the very thought of conversation.  How did people converse without knowing what topics to avoid?  At least there would be Denskith.  Denskith was reliable like that.

The path was long; the tree were nice, though.  Kevin paused in his trek just minutes away from the shoreline for yet another trim.

The day was sunny -- for a Scottish one -- but in the shadow the trees there was a slight chill, and Sheloe's fur was ruffled against it as she walked through the undergrowth. Her fur had developed a much thicker undercoat since leaving the hot homeland of Africa, but it was still less than ideal protection, and her limbs were soaked from the moisture amongst the plants. If only they made clothes for baboons...

In general, she was less than happy. The trip to look for herbs had ended up with her finding out the local plants were alien to her, and the bag slung over her shoulders didn't contain much of anything. She shouldn't have left the infirmary for so long. What if somebody bled out while she was gone? Her pace hastened at the thought, brow furrowing grumpily as she made her way through back to the dirt road, not even needing to think about the direction it was. Sheloe always knew her way.

But when she stepped out into the path and the light, her resolution to hurry wavered, eyes fell to half-mast and she stopped. She... needed to recharge, just a little bit at least. There would be no use of a frost-bitten physician.

While her wings were closed and tucked in, the fur on them made them blend with her body, making her look more like a hunchback than a winged animal. Now, bathed in the blessed rays of the sun, she spread them wide, letting the thin skin stretched over them drink up as much warmth as they could. The wings were as good at gathering warmth as at losing it. She let out a sigh and sat down, deciding to relax for a moment. It would all be all right.

It was while finishing his trim that he spotted the source of one of the closer voices.  It had sounded rather androgynous, an odd sort of tone low enough to be a man's but high enough to be a woman's, so he didn't know whom to expect-- and was surprised when it was a what.  A hunched, furry figure, spreading what he could only conclude to be wings . . .  At least the voice sounded happier now.  Before, he could tell that it was grumbling, but that "inner voice" of the silhouette just ahead now breathed a sigh of relief.  That brought a smile to Kevin's face; it was always nice to hear a voice at peace.  A rare treat.

He put away the razor in his cargo pocket-- there was really no use to putting it back in his backpack when he would need it again in ten, fifteen minutes-- and continued walking, approaching the figure.  A monkey?  No, that wasn't the proper term for them.  Odd, though, that he could hear its voice when most animals were bits of static.  Were monkeys an exception?  Or, was this monkey just special?  His mind wandered as he nearly walked right past the monkey-- and, he paused, not being able to help himself.

"The sun really is nice."  It was an innocent enough statement, he thought-- after all, the sun seemed to be the only viable reason why the tone of the monkey's voice changed so drastically so suddenly.  And, he was forgetting that Lillegard didn't know yet that he could hear . . .

The footsteps on the dirt weren't loud enough to be audible over the rustle of leaves and birds' chirping, so with her eyes closed, Sheloe didn't realize she wasn't alone until the stranger was pretty close. She blinked and looked up, lips reflexively curling up in an unsure smile at the friendly words. Normally, at the sight of a human... human-looking thing, she would have bolted, but on the Island there was no need to, after all. All those here have seen stranger things than what she was.

It wouldn't take a genius to figure out she was enjoying the sun-basking, so she didn't give the remark a second thought.

"Yes... it is. Rarely so for a place such as this." She spoke lightly and conversationally, as if there was nothing absurd about the situation at all. A redhead boy... He didn't seem familiar, and while she didn't know nearly everybody in the castle, there was somewhat of a newcomer air about him. Well, that, and the backpack was a big hint as well. Sheloe let out a chuckle. "You better find cloudy skies and rain as nice if your life is here, for they aplenty, new friend."

A talking monkey.  While he wasn't not expecting it, for it to actually happen was an entirely other matter.  Kevin didn't suppress his amazement; he continued to stare at the creature and its wings.  A smile took the edge off any awkwardness, he hoped.

He flushed at the chuckle; was him being new really that obvious?  He had never been in somewhere 'new' before, and it was obvious that Denskith was new to Windor when he came, but . . .  Kevin adjusted the straps of his backpack better onto his shoulders.  His chuckled with the monkey, albeit nervously.

"Really, I'm up for any skies.  It's just nice to be here."  He stared up at the sky and took a deep breath in.  Right.  He had to introduce himself.

He turned away from the rather beautiful sight and back towards the winged monkey, back straight and chin high.  A Resistance soldier, though and through.  "My name is Kevin Cocytus . . . sir."  It was a fifty-fifty shot for the right gender.  "I'm a new student here, and I . . .  Well, it's very nice to meet you."  A hand twitched at his side wanting to move for a proper salute, but he held it back. He instead supplied a curt bow.

So, despite the place being what it was, he was still surprised at her speaking. His behavior was not all that unexpected, she supposed -- for all she knew, she was one of a kind, with all the good and the bad that brought. She was used to people gaping in much worse ways than he did... but still, couldn't help but fold her wings self-consciously, as if to shield herself from his gaze. Or, perhaps, it was precisely because of the lack of hostility... She didn't know, and she didn't want to think about it, giving on a little shy smile and a nod as to reassure him. Yes, skies were nice...

The smile faltered slightly at the gender confusion, but she couldn't blame him -- it was her fault -- and the rest of what he was doing was more unusual. So formal a pose so suddenly... Was it something his people did? She didn't know, but she didn't want to unknowingly offend him, so tucking her wings and facing him in she stood up as straight as she could. "I'm Sheloe Yalana Chizoba al-Keah, a cleric always and doctor here now. You may call me what you wish, however. It is also a pleasure, Kevin Cocytus." She took a full bow. Formal is formal. "I would also be pleasured and honored if I could escort you to wherever you're headed. My business here is done."

The monkey's "voice" tensed; Kevin felt bad for the smile now.  Too much?  Most likely.  He couldn't take it back now, though.  He relaxed once the other bowed, smiling; its voice told him that the bow wasn't a usual movement, but he didn't see any hesitation in the action itself. Was it imitating him?  That was . . . kind.  Reminiscent.  He was excited for Lillegard, yeah, but also slightly intimidated by it all.  He'd never been anywhere else but Windor. Having his first greeting being plucked from the town was warming.

"Sheloe's a pretty name," Kevin told the monkey honestly. "And, I would LOVE to be escorted! This is an island, but from the map, it looks pretty big." With practiced and nearly automatic movement, the boy pulled out the razor from his pocket and began to go over the lines of his face, already feeling the hairs peeking out once more. He continued talking as if the action was nothing-- which, it was. "If you're a nurse, that means you're part of the staff here, right? Do you know someone calling himself Denskith Huges?"

Though the compliment was nice, 'thank you' got stuck in her throat, so she just inclined her head. She held little love for her names - she didn't choose any of them, and each one was burdened with a load of memories of all sorts. They were like everything else in life - they just were.

She dropped back to all fours, but didn't manage to take as much as one step before it was her turn to stare. He was... shaving. How eccentric. She tried not to show too much confusion, but whether or not it was a successful attempt was questionable, so she decided to just look away.

"Uhm, the island is big, but way to the Academy is fairly straightforward, now." She waved her arm in the general direction of the castle. "Shamefully, I have not yet been here long, and I do not know all..." Sighing, she wrung out her hands and looked to him again. "I mostly spend time at the infirmary, and this Denskith Huges has not visited. Which may be a good or bad thing, depending if he is not your friend or is..." She trailed off, raising her eyebrows inquisitively as to ask him to elaborate.

The monkey's inner voice was meek, then-- confused?  Oh, no.  Kevin froze for a horrid moment, staring down at his criminal razor.  No one knew yet!  He had been given this wonderful opprotunity to start over, to have no one know-- and, he blew it within his first hour on the island.  Great.  He looked away just as Sheloe did, face slightly flushed.  The razor remained, though, evening out the edges of his face out of sheer paranoia.  It was one thing to see him shave; it would be another to see him not and the concequences.

"Friend," he explained to stop the confusion.  "Comrade" would probably work better, but he had already given too many hints of militarism for one day.  "And, not stopping by the infirmary could be a good or bad thing for him-- good if he's not injured, bad if he is but too stubborn-slash-scared to see the medical staff.

"It's not you," Kevin assured without missing a beat; "He's a bit, um, paranoid about white coats."  So was he, but being born in Windor and having a "mild" serum in comparison made the feeling spark more of a cautionary fear than an immediate flight-or-fight responce, as with Denskith and the others.  Sheloe seemed nice, though; "I like you, and I'm sure he would, too.

"Aaaaaaanyways."  Kevin began walking again, looking towards Sheloe to make sure she would become her lead or, at least, follow.  "You can't miss 'im, really: stilt legs, scars all over the right side of his body-- or, was it left?"  He shrunched up his face, thinking it over before finally shrugging the detail off.  "You'll know him when you see him.  Do you know anything about the music department, then?  Like, if the class is really, really good?"

The shaving was weird, certainly, but surely he had a good reason for it, she believed that. It got easier to push it out of her mind when the razor was tucked away again and other subjects to think about were brought up.

Sheloe couldn't help but smile with amusement, sweeping one hand across the opposite shoulder, smoothing out the fur. "Good thing my coat is brown, yes?" With a chuckle, she loped after Kevin, then as she caught up, slowed down to a stroll. This was just too nice: lovely weather, pleasant company. She feared something would go very wrong very soon... but whatever could happen on such a good day?

The picture of Denskith he had painted was a curious one, for sure. Unless he exaggerated, she was sure she would recognize the man -- and remember him, had she met him. She hadn't. Uncomfortably, the wings shifted on her back. "I arrived recently, yes, so summer holidays still in tact. Fairly sure there's still no class yet." She cleared her throat. "Sorry. I sure he does a fine job."

Once the razor was out of Kevin's hand, he felt slightly agitated.  It was a comfort, always having it in his grasp, and Windor encouraged such action with its warfare.  It was a practical weapon, self-defense.  His right hand kept feeling his chin-- was that a hair?  Oh gosh, was it already growing back--? but he restrained himself as best as possible.  Hold back a little.  Don't be weird.

"Ha ha ha!" he forcefully laughed; so not awkward. Kevin managed a nervous, open smile. Yes, it was a funny joke and puns were great, but . . . He needed his razor, and nothing with labcoats was ever really "funny." In the Resistance, there would be a deathly silence about it. Not so here.

He swallowed hard; the uncomfort was contagious. "Th-that's okay; I just really want to see him in action. I mean, he's talked about his courses and the theory behind it all, all of his enthusiasm . . . That's okay, though." He nodded in confirmation to himself. "I'm sure he's great. Best singer around, and he's modest about it." His hand fidgeted back to his chin, even while smiling. "Yeah . . . When do classes start?"

With her on the ground, it was hard to inconspicuously observe him as they walked, but even then the fiddling with his jaw was hard to miss. He was obsessed with the state of his facial hair. And she didn't really mind. What right did she have to point fingers at 'freaks', being a talking baboon?

The unconvincing laughter was more of an issue that pressed itself to the front of her mind, but really all she could do is feel bad about it. Was it such a stupid joke? She supposed it wasn't the best, but...

"I'm sure he is," Sheloe said, nodding fervently as if to make up for everything. "I would love to hear him sometime. And, well." She paused, then let out an awkward chuckle. "I don't much stray from the infirmary... I... am just doctor. I have no knowing of classes at all." Well, and there were things going wrong already. "...Sorry."

He felt bad at the nearly screaming insecurity-- really, really bad.  His "inner ears" ached, and he frowned slightly at the noise.  It was loud, but not enough for him to scream back, of course; her voices would have to be much louder before that would be his initial reaction.  Alas, it had happened before. . . .

"Please don't apologize-- or, do, if you really want to."  Kevin forced himself to pause before any more wrong words came out.  What would make Sheloe feel better?  She was really nice, and he didn't want her feeling this way about anything.  She was a nice monkey.  "You don't have to apologize to me, though.  You did nothing wrong; in fact, you're doing something right, right?  You're a doctor; doctors wait diligently for their patients.  You don't have to know about the classes, either."

He shuffled his hands in his pockets, finally giving in and retrieving the shaving razor once more.  How long had he withstood the temptation-- five minutes?  four?  It felt like an hour, and he could feel his face becoming prickly.  Kevin began to shave as they continued to walk, while he continued to talk.

"And, I . . .  I shouldn't have asked.  When the classes come," he concluded, determined, "I'll know.  And, that's really the only time they should concern me."  He brushed off a few small hairs-- were they visible?  He hoped not.  He prayed not.  As much as he loved the company, he ached for the castle to come closer.

Sheloe forced herself to look up at him as he talked, but as he went on, she had to avert her gaze again, blinking hard. Phantom tears. They never fell, or even came to exist in her baboon eyes, but stung her eyes all the same. Kevin was too right, and too kind. She needed to stop doubting herself, because doing that, she doubted her lord's decision to choose her; but no matter how many times she told herself that, it only made her feel guilty about the doubt and the spiral kept wounding itself. Her pendant swung from side to side between her front legs as she walked, and she reached up to give it a quick squeeze for reassurance.

"Thank you," she said when she could find her voice. "You're far too kind. But I should not remain ignorant to what does not concern me, for it may just start, and it is expected of you to want know." If not for a glint of light reflecting off the razor she caught out of the corner of her eye, she wouldn't have looked up - but she did. And if she was not a doctor, she wouldn't have found in herself the courage to pry. It could concern her.

"Forgive me, but... what is the cause of your..." She searched for the right words. "...facial care?"

Those probably weren't the right words.

It sounded like she was crying.  Kevin didn't see any tears, but he could hear them well enough, a soft plip on fur . . .  He had never liked that sound.  Happy tears were nice, a bitter-sweet pitter-patter, but this wasn't it.  He had heard sadness too many times, and it never got any better.

He shifted the weight off his feet awkwardly.  At least his reactions to it were better.

"If that were true . . . you would have to learn everything."  He continued walking, continued shaving.  He could swear he was missing a hair--! "Because there's always a possibility for something to come into our lives, and then, we need to be concerned about it.  Like . . ."  He scrunched up his face for an example, pausing only for a moment in his work.  "Like, monkeys.  I know nothing about your species-- sorry-- but yet, here we are, talking.  Is it my fault for not predicting that we'd meet?"

Her question caught him off-guard, though, causing him to nick himself with the razor.

"Oww--!"  He let out a loud whimper and began stroking the cut as if such movement had magical healing properties.  It was only smearing the blood.  "Owie, owie!"  Tears formed at the rim of his eyes.  Those probably weren't the "right" words, no.

Normally, she would have perked up at the conversation taking a step into the more theoretical - but now, before she could begin to think of a response, Kevin's yelp brought her back to reality. Her head snapped in his direction. Oh, no.

Before she knew it, the bag she was carrying was laying on the ground and Sheloe was up in the air, aiming a light slap on the top of Kevin's hand. "No rubbing-in dirty finger," she said reproachfully. "Now let me see." Keeping afloat with sparse wing-beats, she leaned in to inspect the wound. As with all facial injuries, it was bleeding a lot and, apparently, hurt a lot as well - but, unless infected, was harmless.

She tutted sympathetically. "Poor thing. But no severe thing." She gave him a stern look and dragged a finger across her neck in a slicing notion. "Walking-shaver should be glad his throat unsmiling."

"It's not dirty," he told her with a whimper, holding still as best as he could while Sheloe got a closer look. It hurt, it hurt--! All dignity was gone, but he didn't care. Make the pain go away already!

He sniffled when the diagnosis came-- that was good, at least-- but managed to hold up his head a little with the visual discipline. He knew how to handle repercussions, at least-- not physical ones, but scolding and the like. It also helped that Sheloe used such wonderful language. "Throat unsmiling"-- he had to write that down! Later, of course. If he remembered.

"Walking-shaver has his reasons," he told her, the bloodied razor (in action, not appearance) still in his hand. Despite everything, he wasn't going to let it go. Something in the back of his head told him that he needed to shave again soon, now-- but, Sheloe was genially concerned about him, and he didn't want to ruin that-- but, he needed to, he just needed to . . . The boy thus began to squirm.

She shook her head. "Every finger dirty in a wound." She did not expect a cut of this sort to get easily infected, but she had seen - and had to deal with - enough pus to know it was better to play it safe.

Sheloe was not the type to whom being stern came naturally, but here, in this kind of situation, it was pretty easy. This was more important than her insecurity. She pinned him down with her gaze as she put her hands on her hips, bobbing slightly up and down with every wing beat that kept her afloat. "Don't need to tell me reasons," she said, "but tell yourself if they worth dying before your time. Before even reaching castle." She quirked a brow. "They have be pretty good reasons to."

She had a fairly good idea of what the reasons may have been, but while she felt obliged to scold him a little, she didn't feel like she had a right to pry.

"Is not," he persisted, but he knew she was right.  What was one finger going to do, though?  Just one little finger.  One little, tiiiiiiiny edge of the index finger.  It was easier to argue about that, though, than his reasons.  Again, she was right, and he knew that she was right, but . . .

"They're really good reasons.  Really."  He continued to squirm, continued to battle against the extreme urge to hoist his razor up once more and continue the eternal battle.  Damn it, he had to write all these good lines down.  Kevin couldn't avoid her gaze, though; he stared up at her and her flying.  Flying.  One of the few wonders Windor didn't have!  The scientists had tried, yes, plenty of times, but there was never any success.  Never anyone who could use the wings to their full intent.  Such a reminder of the town and her scolding calmed the boy down.  Such a sight soothed him almost to the point of forgetting about shaving.

"W-walking shaver," he began, liking the phrase to the point of using it as a crutch, "needs to shave often."  His face was still towards her but was quickly turning beet red.  "Because walking-shaver doesn't like hair on his face.  At all."  He could feel the strands coming up, one by one--!  Or, was it paranoia?  He never knew.

Sheloe let out a hum, watching him with her bright eyes shaded by her furry brow. An obsession with having a smooth face... Well, it was strange, but he surely had his reasons. It was hardly her intention to fight others' issues, but if he did cut himself seriously, it would be her problem. And her fault. Although, to be honest, as a doctor, her job was to patch people up after the damage was done, not preventing it from happening in the first place. And she had no power to stop him anyway.

"If walking-shaver must," she said, inclining her head, "then he should become a stopping-shaver, at least. Unless he hates whole skin as much as the hair." With that, she turned away and landed on the ground to pick up her bag, physically ending the subject. Once she had slung her baggage over her back, she looked up to him again, silently asking if they could continue on their way.

He struggled with her logic.  He struggled with authority in general, really.  Sheloe was a medical professional, though, and doctors and nurses were more than just authority: they were generally scary.  Sheloe wasn't scary; she was nice.  He took her silent look head on and asked as politely as he could if she could wait a moment.  Kevin shaved briefly, the hairs not nearly as long as he had before feared, and retracted the razor back into a cargo pocket.  His hands ran over his face, just to make sure.  Smooth.

"I'll stop to shave," he told her, voice clear despite it being hard to say, "but only if you wait for me." Sheloe was nice; he didn't want to lose sight of her and have to walk the rest of this long road alone. And, just to confirm her agreement, he held out a pinky for the proper swears.

Patiently and peacefully, she waited as he did his thing. Her head was turned way to watch the sun spots dance across the ground as the rays filtered through the ever-shifting canopy of leaves overhead. Soon, the leaves would die their colorful deaths, then shrivel up and fall... and winter would come. Sheloe shivered at the thought.

Kevin's words came at a right time to drag her away from the subject. "Certainly." She gave a warm smile, readjusting her bag. "I am no hurry at right now." His gesture was eyed briefly, but from her expression it was not hard to tell she didn't know it or its meaning. She dismissed it as a quirk of his... and one much less strange than others. Turning around in the direction of the Castle again, she started at a strolling pace again.

The slight, overhanging depression cleared once Sheloe spoke; he didn't know now, though, whether it had come from him or her.  Sometimes, it was confusing-- but, it no longer mattered.

"Thank you!" he cheerily told her. After a few more moments, he retracted the pinky with an embarrassed chuckle, guessing that monkeys don't pinky swear, and mimicked her readjustment of the bag's strap with his own backpack.  Kevin walked alongside with a wide grin.

"So . . ."  He wasn't used to silence, and although it was nice sometimes, it was awkward when with someone else.  He didn't know what she was thinking!  How else was he supposed to learn about someone if they didn't talk?  "Can you fly far with your wings?  How'd you get them?  Are they annoying or just really awesome?"

At their mention, the wings twitched, making the bag tucked in between them almost fall. Sheloe turned her head to look up at Kevin and a small laugh escaped her.

"Well... you could as well ask of my legs. Born with me, and they do what they were given for me to do. Good to have, but not annoying or awesome. Just are." Shrugging, she glanced down. It was a strange thing how for every person, being what they were -- in her case, a talking, flying monkey -- was just everyday reality that they didn't often stop to question. The wonder of her existence was something she had accepted as a mystery that would not be solved, its origin divine and not to be delved into, just contemplated in humility.

With a sudden thought, she looked up again and smiled. "And earlier, you confessed to knowing nothing of monkeys. That is not issue, at all. You're not any worse off for not."

Her logic was sound, but it was so . . . logical.  All the mystisim of the wings was simply shrugged off.  He didn't understand how she could do that.  They were wings!  They were wings, and if anyone in Windor saw them--

Kevin stopped suddenly and pulled out his razor.  Quickly now, quickly-- how could he forget such a simple thing?  He shaved with lightning speed, not wanting to hold Sheloe up for too long.  Not a minute later, he was walking once more, running to catch up with his monkey friend if she had continued walking even slightly.

"I agree with what you're saying about me not knowing about monkeys being okay-- but, that doesn't mean I don't want to lean about monkeys now."  The subject was becoming curiouser and curiouser.  "And, you aren't a MONKEY-monkey, are you?"  He had forgotten the exact word for it, and it was really annoying him.  If he could read her mind, the answer would probably come RIGHT to him-- but, no.  That was wrong, too.  He shouldn't even begin to think that wish.  His face went from contemplative to rather solemn.