Annie had tried to sleep the night before, but the time she'd spent with Darvan around his fire stayed with her through most of it. The hours she did manage to sleep were full of faces flashing by, almost as if her brain were attempting to compare them all to the one that practically filled it. The drawing hovered over everything that happened in her dreams, and the reporter tossed and turned in anticipation. She was going to find her family the next day, she just knew it! Or part o' them, anyway.

When dawn came, Annie had been awake for an hour, lost in her thoughts. Do I have any brothers er sisters? Will they be able to tell who the picture is? Do they even remember back that far? What's my real name? She doubted November was a true wick name, but she'd had it for the better part of 25 years now and rather liked it. Maybe they'll let me hold it fer a while longer.

Annie may have been anxious to get to the Crow camp, but she delayed herself for another three hours after dawn, just in case. Better to not look too excited fer information, she reminded herself, lest they try t'use it t'their advantage. Not that she was expecting that kind of action from anyone else, but she knew herself; it was something she'd do when on the trail of a good tip, and Nata had always said she took after her pap.

Finally, with a semi-reserved, calm-on-the-outside appearance, Annie made her way to the Crow camp. It was weird, almost like a strange case of deja vu: standing just outside the camp was a man and a boy, their resemblance enough to suggest familial relations. Annie chuckled a little and shook her head before approaching.

"Hesta!" she called with a wave, feeling far less nervous than the night before, but still slightly atwitter. "I was wonderin', could ye point me in th'direction of ye're elders? I'm doin' a bit o' research an' was wonderin' if'n they couldn't help me out on a few details here'n'there."

The young man and the boy, brothers had they been asked, both looked startled at the question. It was the younger who spoke first, hooking his thumbs in one of his many brightly colored belts, "Hesta, chip. We gots more'n'a pina 'mount'o'elders. Sounds like ye want'em who tells good stories, by the likes'o'yer question."

He grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. He couldn't have been older than eight or ten, tan and willowy with bright green eyes and dark brown hair that couldn't seem to stay out of his freckled face.

The older boy, also with green eyes, brown hair, and even more freckles peeking through his tan, laughed and rest a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Oes, I think she does, Fael. I s'pose we could send th'chip tae Guaril, eh?"

"O'har. I'd say yer right, Fynn." The younger laughed and pointed, "Ye can't miss 'is kint. It's got lotsa swords'n'stuff."

"Don'worry, chip, 'e's a nice ol'man. 'E'll tell ya lotsa stories, too." Fynn winked happily.

Annie couldn't help but laugh at the two boys. They were just so laid back, it made talking easier. Aye, this be much better'n last night. Far less creepy.

"Storytellin' sounds t'be right up my alley, boys." Funny how that works out, she thought. A storyteller seekin' a storyteller. "Ye say his, um, kint's full o' swords'n'stuff? I'm sure I won't miss it." She laughed. "Thankee much fer the help!"

Annie walked into the camp, a smile splayed happily across her features. She'd only really talked to a couple of people belonging to the Crow, but already she felt at home. If'n this is where my family's from, I think I could get used to it. A few people waved at the reporter from various wagons and tents, kids ran around playing games, food was being cooked over fires...it was a comfortable feeling.

She found Guaril's kint, sure enough right where the boys had indicated. "Corks an' screws!" Annie whispered to herself. "When they said it'd be full o' swords'n'stuff, I weren't figgerin' on the whole thing bein' covered!" Granted, the boys hadn't told Annie Guaril was a swordmaster, but then again you didn't see a lot of swords in Vienda. A butcher knife here and there, or perhaps a handful of paring knives, but nothing compared to the number of weapons hanging from, propped on, leaning against, or sitting around the kint. The 'Ten would have a field day 'round here, she thought as she approached the door. Annie paused--only for a moment--before shaking off her timidness and knocking.



*(For my own clarification purposes, is it Guaril as in 'La Guardia Airport', or is it Guaril as in 'guard'? I'm saying it one way in my head, but there's no telling if it's right.)*

((Guar-el, like guard minus the d plus el))

There were a few moments of silence, and for a moment it seemed as though perhaps Annie had come at the wrong time. Then, someone cleared their throat from behind her.

"'Esta, chip. Lookin' for me?" The older wick behind her was still an ox of a man, leaning on a wooden sword, shirtless and sweaty. He'd apparently been off sparring somewhere, and it looked as though he hardly cared as to whether or not he'd won or lost. He offered Annie a grin that revealed a few missing teeth. He must have been in his sixties, and yet his burliness belied his age. Messy, short gray hair and frosty, sparkling blue eyes gave him a hint of mischievous youthfulness. Weathered and wrinkled, the man did not even closely resemble the sketch the reporter still carried with her.

Assuming his visitor was a potential customer, Guaril wiped some sweat from his brow and straightened, nodding at his kint, "I know I ent 'ad m'booth up in th'market for a few days, but if'n someone told ye tae come'n shop for a blade, I'll 'onor their word for ye."

Annie whirled around, startled by the sudden voice behind her. Her eyes took in the large man leaning against the sparring sword, and a thought flickered through her mind: please don't be him, I don't wanna haveta hug you. A quick glance at the drawing in her hand calmed her fears, as the faces didn't match. Even at as young as the drawing portrayed, Annie could tell there was no resemblance.

Annie shook her head, a smile quickly placing itself squarely below her nose. "Erm, no. I, uh, I ain' here fer a blade. Yer Guaril, then? I was tol' ye'd be the man t'talk to if'n a story was needin' tellin'." Her eyes shifted down to the drawing in her hand. She wasn't sure she was in the mood for any drawn out history lessons that ended with unwanted or useless information. Annie's brow knitted in thought before she quickly came to a conclusion.

"More specific'ly, mayhap ye'd have a story t'tell about this," she said resolutely, holding the drawing up for Guaril to see. "Does this face look familiar to ye?"

Guaril was a man who enjoyed friendly faces and introductions and tea, despite his appearances otherwise. He told stories to the tribe's bochi and taught more than a few of them how to fight, but, really, he just cared about his people. The older wick tried not to look ruffled at the witch's lack of a greeting, taking the sketch as it was handed to him with a rather neutral expression.

"Oes," he grunted, "Guaril's me."

He studied the drawing, raising a very bushy, old-man eyebrow, and caught a few drips of sweat from his sun-beaten brow before they landed on the charcoal outlines. Glancing up, Guaril shifted his weight a little, eying his fire, "Look, rosh, if y'want a story, let's take a load off. Lemme go an' splash somethin' cool'n'refreshin' on m'face. Make y'self comfy o'er there an' I'll be right back. Mayhaps y'can 'member your name while I'm gone."

He winked then, playfully, and handed the paper back to her before brushing past towards his kint, "Won't be long, rosh. I think ya'll enjoy th'story, too."

Annie laughed. "Haha, corks, I got so caught up in things I fergot me manners. The name's Annie November, native o' Vienda." She cast Guaril a sheepish look. "Sorry, mate, sometimes me mind thinks it know folks what it ain't met yet."

"Aye, take yer time. I been waitin' nigh on 25 years, what's a few minutes more, eh?" As Guaril went inside to clean up a bit, Annie took a seat near the fire (which wasn't necesarily needed, as it was warming up outside) and waited.

Guaril was really only gone a few moments. The old wick returned dryer, mostly, still shirtless with the aged, stylized tattoo of some artist's rendition of Anhau glistening a little on his burly back. In his large, calloused hands was a delicate clay teapot and some mugs. He grinned his gap-toothed smile and sat down with a sigh near Annie, revealing he was grateful to be taking a load off.

"Fore I go tellin' y'stories ... can I ask 'ow'd y'get a 'old 'o'that drawin'? I'ma gonna venture an' say y'know th'man in th'drawin', oes? Y'must be kin." The older wick said nonchalantly, unaware of the witch's history.

"Then again, if yer kin, ye'd be a Crow, an' I can't say I 'member yer face 'sides it's 'semblance t'ol'Mihai."

The site of the burly older man carrying anything as delicate as the teapot in his hands made Annie chuckle, but she stiffled it before he sat down.

Annie's chuckle turned into a cough at Guaril's comment. "Haha, erm, aye. Um. Hrrm. Drawin', aye. Well, I, er, it were a gift from a friend, in return fer lettin' him draw me own portrait." She looked down at the drawing, slightly frowning as her brow creased. "I don' act'ully know, erm, Mihai ye said his name was? I'm...I'm jus'..." the reporter grew silent in thought.

With a sudden intake of breath, Annie looked up at Guaril. Here was the man who could tell her everything she needed to know about who she was. If he was right, and she was a Crow, then he was practically family. An' family talks t'each other, right?

"I'm a reporter fer a rag paper in Vienda, the Kingsway Post. Dunno if'n ye've ever had a chance t'read it er not, but I've been workin' there since I were seventeen. Afore that, I lived with an ol' seer lady outside o' Dorhaven--Nata, I called her. Been there ever since I could amember. Nata'd never tell me about me family when I were a youngun, 'til the day I left. She said me mam were a golly at Brunhol', an' me da were a wick. She only ever met me mam twice: once when she came fer a readin', an again when she came wit' me. She ne'er met me pap." Annie looked back at the drawing. "I came here to the festival t'see what it were like bein' a wick, an' somethin' tol' me t'see what kinda wick I were." She looked back at Guaril with deadset determination in her eyes.

"I'm lookin' fer me family, Guaril, an' I hope ye can help me."





*(SFML, lol)*

"Er." Guaril sort of blinked at the sudden rush of information, reaching a hand that was probably the size of Annie's face up to rub the fuzzy, unkempt gray hair at the back of his neck, "I ent seen Mihai in a long time. 'E ent never were one for sittin' still, ye chen? An' it wouldn't surprise me if y'ad yerself some other family elsewhere, but I ent meanin' that inna way tae make ye feel sorry for yerself or nothin'. It's just th'way some folks are."

The older wick glanced at the drawing again and smiled broadly, "That drawin' musta been 'fore ye were e'en born. Mihai an' I were bochi together, but I ent sure if 'e were family'r'not. Cousin maybe, but since I've gotten a few more maw on me than I expected tae get, it's startin' tae be hard tae 'member way back then. If yer daoa was a golly, then it'd be after 'e drifted for that last time that 'e went tae Brunn'old at all." He chuckled, "Mihai's younger'n'me so 'e certainly might still be driftin' now, but 'e ent been back tae th'Crows inna long time, rosh."

Guaril sighed and leaned back on his palms, studying the witch carefully with his blue eyes, "Y'know, rosh, it looks tae me like ye've turned out tae be a decent witch already. Is there somethin' yer hopin' I can tell ye about Mihai?"

Annie sighed and rubbed the back of her own neck. "Aye, I understan'. It only makes sense that I would, if'n ye think about it. Sommat what can't sit still is bound t'populate a bit more o' the world than others." She gave a small chuckle. Annie hadn't counted on meeting her father, but she had almost half hoped someone would know where he was. That, however, now seemed to be as much a stretch as him being there at the festival.

Annie looked up at Guaril with a sly grin. "Oh, I have me moments, I s'pose. The Seventen an gollies what don't like the newspapers wouldn' agree wit' ye one bit, but I guess I ain't all bad." She laughed again. "I guess since there ain't no known location fer 'im, what I'd really wanna know is what he were like, ye chen? If I'm as much like 'im as Nata always said I were. An'," she paused, thinking before adding her other question. "An' maybe, erm, if'n there's any o' my extended family 'round here still. It'd be nice t'meet 'em if'n they are."

"Oes, y'got kin." Guaril laughed, as if the question was incredulous, "If'n yer da was really Mahai, then yer a Crow an' we're all yer family." The old wick offered a warm, gap-toothed grin and shook his shaggy gray head, "I know y'got a few cousin's who ent drifted, an aunt who might've gone tsat somewheres, an' prolly a few others 'ere'n there who might've married outta th'tribe. Mahai 'ad another sister, but she was in Vienda durin' th'riot, ifn' ye chen."

The man frowned, implying she hadn't survived the combat.

Leaning back on his palms and looking at the embers, he shrugged, "In our buncha' friends, if I was th'strong one, Mahai was th'smart one. 'E 'ad a 'ead for trouble, an' I was always th'one diggin' 'im outta it, but it was all in good fun. 'E just couldn't settle down as well as most, too curious 'bout what 'e could be missin' 'cross th'way or some'ere else."

Guaril chuckled at that, blue eyes twinkling with memories of youth, "Yer cousin's might be a bit younger'n y'are. An' I think yer other aunt's gotta writ in Vienda, too, come tae think o'it..."

He looked thoughtful again, as if trying to remember anything else important, "Mahai did like th'wild places. I wouldn't be surprised if 'e's still driftin' out aways from th'rest o'Anaxas. I'd be willin' tae bet y'ent lost yer da, but runnin' int'im may take a bit'o'searchin' off th'beaten paths. 'E's come tae Surwood b'fore, an' I'll admit I ent been lookin'. Ifn' 'e caught wind o'th'riots, 'e might be lookin' for 'is family again."

The whole idea of 'riot in Vienda' was still over Annie's head. Nothing like that had ever happened before, and not only had she missed it, but she'd lost family she hadn't known she had. All of it was a little overwhelming for the reporter, primarily because she hadn't been there to see it all first hand and write it all up for the papers the next day. Not that it'da been published anyhow, the clockin' gollies. "Corks. It ain't been a day yet an' already I'm losin' family members. Ye say I've still got cousins 'round here, then? Younger or not, they're family an' I'd love t'meet 'em. Not that I can prove nothin', but...maybe they'd know more."

Annie nodded. "Aye, that sounds about like me. Prolly one o' the reasons why I went inter the newspaper business in th'first place. Life ain't fun if'n I ain't trackin' a story somewheres."

At this, Annie perked up. There might still be a chance she'd see her father! Even with the festival only lasting a few more days, there was always that possibility they'd pass on the street. He might not know her, but...she looked back down at the sketch. She'd definitely know him.

Annie nodded, smiling up at Guaril. She had no definite proof, but she really hoped she was a Crow. It just felt right.

"So...care t'help me meet th'family? Or am I gonna havta convince all them folk on me own?"

Guaril laughed and made to stand, hooking a thumb in the direction of a nearby kint, "Y'ent that far from their kint now, so 'course I'll take ya o'er there. I'm sorry I ent much better 'elp; times 'ave been 'ard lately an' I ent so good at keepin' up with some folks as I'd like tae be. Gods, it's 'ard 'nough for me tae stay in touch with onna my own, let alone th'whole tribe sometimes."

He laughed, thinking briefly of the passive he'd since come to call son, "This way. I'm sure at least one of 'em's 'round."

With that, the older wick wandered away from his fire and towards a pair of kints across the way. From behind, Annie got an impressive view of the warrior's impressive tattoo—an artist's rendition of Anhau from the back of his neck all the way across his back and fading into the hem of his pants. The tattoo had faded with time and been marred by a few scars, but it was otherwise an impressive and probably painful piece of work.

"Hesta!" He called out once they were close enough, expectant.

"What's 'at?" a voice came from within the kint through the open upper-half of the door. A head covered in floppy, blonde, blue-tipped hair popped out, a toothy grin breaking out across the freckled twenty-two-year-old face as he apparently recognized Guaril, "Oi, hesta yerself! Gels, Guaril's come over! Wit' a guest."

There was a rumble as the kint swayed from side to side before two heads popped up on either side of the boy. They appeared to be about sixteen, and Annie could never have seen two wicks look more alike. They were dressed in identical green-and-pink outfits, their fuchsia-streaked brown hair done up in identical poufs and braids. They had noses similar to Annie's.

"Move over, Purgi," one of the girls said, pushing past the boy and getting out of the kint, "Hi, Unc'Guar!"

"Wait up, Sidzi!" the other twin squealed.

"Don't call me 'at! It's Purgan. An' hold up! He's got a guest, you yoffels!" Purgan grabbed the girls by their arms and pulled them in close, "So just relax a bit, ye chen?"

He turned to Annie and tipped his head to shake his mop of hair out of his eyes, and Annie could again see resemblance, "Hi, there, I'm Purgan. This," he squeezed the girl on his left, the one who had pushed past him and called him Purgi, "Is Sidzara. And this," he squeezed the other and lifted her up off the ground, sending her into a fit of giggles, "is Tomeia. Nice to meet'cha."

"Nice to meet'cha!" The girls chorused.

Annie's stomach jumped in excitement as Guaril led her off toward the other kint. She'd always liked meeting new people, but this time she was meeting relatives. Here's hopin' they like me 'nough.

The walk wasn't that far, but it was long enough for the reporter to take in the huge tatoo on the older wick's back. It appeared to be some sort of island, or country. Something made up perhaps? "Hoi, Guaril, what's that on yer back? It's a pretty picture, but I ain't never seen it on a map 'afore. Did ye make it up?"

Guaril had greeted the blonde-blue haired boy in front of the kint, but she was highly unprepared for what happened next.

Annie's eyes were wide with astonishment, and it was very hard to not let her mouth fall open. The two twins presented themselves before her in what could possibly be argued as 'record time'. Had she not been so nervous, Annie would most likely have been highly impressed. She subconsciously tweaked her nose, almost in recognition of the genetics.

"Ah, erm, howdy! It's nice t'meet ye. Th'name's Annie." She wasn't quite sure as to how to say 'I'm the cousin ye never knew ye had', since it seemed semi-awkward. Instead, she looked up at Guaril, hoping he would know how to go about things.

Guaril laughed, "Not jus'ta guest, but fami. Ye got yerself a cousin, 'ere, ye chen. 'Pparently, th'chip be Mihai's boch." The older wick grinned, "Annie ent known she was a Crow 'til today."

((SFSR.))

Yep, that'd do.

She sheepishly grinned at the trio and gave a single wave. "Erm, haha. Aye, that'd be me. Bran' spankin' new Crow, at ye're service."

Annie hoped they wouldn't be too rough on her.




*(ASFSR)*

"Fami?" The girls grinned.

"Mihai's boch?" Purgan's brows knit slightly.



The twins looked at Annie a moment, glanced sidelong at one another, then stepped wide, quick stepping in tight little circles around Annie, as if sizing up a kenser. They began rapid-fire questioning Annie:

"Yeh don't look wick."
"Where yeh been 'afore now?"
"Annie, Hm?"
"Annie what?"
"Doesn't seem wickish at'all."
"Your face doesn't seem wickish."
"Then neither does yours."
"True. Don't cast'a'much, do ya?"
"Why's that?"
"Ever been near'a kint?"
"You'd look good in a hat."
"'R maybe just'a better hairdo."
"Ever consider pink?"
"Ever consider green?"
"We got dye."
"We'll fix you up right!"

And with that they grabbed hold of her hands and promptly turned to drag her into their kint, grinning and chattering in stereo.

Purgan watched as the girls manhandled Annie into the kint. He turned to Guaril, about to ask if he was sure, but he could tell that Guaril knew for sure as much as he did. He'd seen her. Looking in her eyes was almost like looking in a mirror, and she had his mother's nose and lips. He pursed his own and turned to go. He snatched his hat off the steps into the kint and marched off. He didn't seem entirely pleased.

Annie shrugged and gave a half-upturned grin. "Aye, it looks that way. See, I foun' this ol' feller what drew a sketch of him, an' it looks an aweful lot like me." Purgan's facial reaction was not amiss on Annie. "I have it right here if'n ye need a look."

Right about then, though, the girls went in for the kill.

Annie was a reporter, and a darn good one. She was used to asking the tough questions and getting tough replies back. Even as the twins circled tight around her, she wasn't shaken. As quickly as they asked her questions, she answered them back.

"Says you. I think I look plenny wick, thankee, kindly."
"Vienda. Been there nigh on nine years, or woulda been til a coupla weeks ago."
"Aye, that'd be me."
"November."
"I s'pose that's up to th'one what wears the name."
"Does it look gollish? I right doubt it."
"Ain't had much of a need fer it."
"Well, when ye work hard day an' night fer a top-knotch newspaper like I do, ye learn the skills what ye need to. I know enough magic t'get me by; my weapon o' choice is my words an' my typewriter."
"I'm standin' by yours, ain't I? Or are ye just pretendin' t'live there so the neighbors won't talk?"
"I have one. Lucky fedora. Fer some reason or another, I left it behind in me room back in Vienda."
"My hair looks fine as is, thankee kindly."
"No. It ain't professional."
"Right, 'cuz that's more professional than pink."
"I got a mean right hook!"
"I said no thank yo--WHOAWHOOP!"

Before Annie could consider thinking of using that mean right hook, she was half hog tied, half cattle rustled into the kint. Nightmarish visions of herself with a shaved head, or green braids or--gasp!--a bright blue mohawk! flashed before her eyes.

I miss that ol' hat.

((Haha. "Your face doesn't seem wickish." and "Then neither does yours." were them addressing each other, being silly. I should've been clearer. That post sounded pretty EOT. We can have some more interaction, if you like, or wrap it up there to start another thread. Your pick! ))