Fantasy The Hourglass Weaver

[mon]

In the 15th century, where the Pope and his church is rising to power and Constantinople has yet to fall to the hands of the Ottoman Turks, young Marin Hopper is under the guise of an orphaned servant girl working in one of England's popular tea houses. As her hand stretches out to collect dirty plates and cups, stacking them on the tray in her left hand, her corset bites into her aching back, inducing a strained exhale through gritted teeth. With quick ease and grace she makes fast work to clear up the tables for incoming patrons, but allows herself a minute to breathe. Her palms press into the small of her back as she arcs in a bow, stretching like a lazy cat.

In her mind, she curses the invention of corsets and silently thanks the heavens for making them purely a fashion statement in modern day. She's less thankful for them now that she's assigned to an era where it's more "practicality" than decorum. To damn her here for three weeks was going to be pure torment and she can't wait for the end of the day where she can strip off.

The small chime of the door bell calls her from her thoughts, reminding her that Mrs. Maggie, though kind enough to employ her, was not merciful enough to spare her a harsh lecture should she be caught slacking. With that in mind, she greets the next guest with a smile.

 

[NightRocker13]

A tall man enters the tea house, raven black hair tied back in a low ponytail with black silk ribbon. He looked like any well dressed man of the 1500s. His face is long with sharp cheek bones, angular jaw line, and thin yet elegantly arched eyebrows. He was dressed in a gray overcoat, a white, long-sleeved button up with a ruffled collar, a black formfitting vest, black pants, and boots. His face had small scars, one over his right eyebrow, two more on the left side of his jaw, as if he was hit with something blunt in his youth.

Once inside he gave the girl a small smile in return that didn't reach his eyes. Nickolai lived a lonely existence. He rarely smiled anymore. He sat at an unoccupied table, draping his overcoat over the chair. He perused the small menu, deciding on a milk tea with a bit of honey and vanilla, along with some tea cakes and finger sandwiches.

 

[mon]

Being a time-traveler (a Hopper is what her superiors call her, a weak play of words on her name which has her cringing every time it's used) Marin has met many faces in many eras. From the early b.cs to the late a.ds, Marin has seen them all, but there was one face which she has committed to memory. An incident from long ago---timeline-wise---but in truth it had only been a few months past for her.

Jumping a few centuries back, in the dark Ages where the plague was a threat and wine was safer than water, Marin had been assigned a short one-day mission in the slums of Old England. There she had met a young man, raven hair dark over ivory skin. He stood tall, a head above most, and yet walked with the meekness of a criminal caught in the act of felony. Back then, it had piqued her attention but it wasn't until a stone was thrown, hurling vehemently at the male did her curiosity turn to alarm.

The villagers nearby were stoning him, cursing his existence and yelling such colorful words Marin didn't even know existed in one's vocabulary. She watched as the male fled, unable to stop the villagers assaults. Guilt panged her then but she knew she couldn't do anything to help. After all, she was merely a foreigner in this timeline, a passing spirit meant to complete her task and disappear.

And yet, it was that same thought which had her turning back, following after the injured man. She had done her best to help him then. The rocks had been jagged, forming cuts and bruises on the man's body. A few of them had the cut his face, the sight had her reeling in disgust for his attackers.

"How can someone be so cruel?" she had thought, insisting to help, leaving only once his wounds were dressed and she was certain he would be safe. She hadn't ask him questions, not even his name. The sorrowful look in his eyes told her all she needed to know and she too, knew she would never see him again.

She was wrong, of course.

Because standing before her was the same man she met 6 months ago---or well, in normal time standards, nearly over a thousand years ago. There was no way it could be him. Logic told her that much but wishful thinking had her acting out.

"Hey," she said, unexpectedly shy. She's never forgotten a face, never forgotten his face. But he can't be.

She forces a smile as she gestures at the menu, "May I take your order?" she asks, but her eyes, the mix of aquamarine not yet fully blended, pleads for more than words could say.

 

[NightRocker13]

Nickolai spoke cooly, giving his answer with a nonchalant air. He didn't look up at her. He rarely met people's eyes. They seemed to sense his strangeness. They always figured out that he was different. His guess? It had something to do with his amber eyes. They shone bright gold in the sunlight. Cassandra had always admired that as well as how handsome his appearance was. Her greatest wish was that he settle down with someone nice.

Silly sister. You were always far too optimistic. He thought with a sigh as he fiddled with the pendant at his throat. It looked to be a broach of gold with a cerulean blue stone in the center. Truth be told it was a forgery. Nothing but glossy metal and well colored glass, but it still cost quite a bit so long ago. It was Cassandra's favorite piece even if her husband scolded her for carrying around something with no real value. The reason she loved it? It was the first gift she had ever gotten. Nickolai had scrounged together enough coin to get it for her. He wanted to see her smile, now it was the only thing he owned to remember her by.

Once his tea and food arrived, Nickolai thanked the serving girl and took a long sip from his cup. He certainly learned to enjoy tea over his travels through the centuries. From knights on horseback to the majesty and consequent fall of Rome Nickolai had seen it all. He wished furtively that he had not. He wished he had died young, younger than Cassandra so that he did not have to watch as she was taken from him. So many centuries had passed that he struggled to remember the sound of her voice. He could say with confidence that she had been beautiful, but that was all.

As he sipped his tea and ate his food the lonely far off look of his amber eyes never lessened in the slightest. Thankfully only proper folk came and went through this fine establishment. Nickolai needn't worry about anyone attempting to intrude upon his personal space. Nickolai, simply because he had lived long enough to learn how, had managed to amass a small amount of wealth. He was also well-read, always wanting to know about the world around him. He was cursed to remain upon this earth forever unchanged he could ill afford ignorance.

 

[mon]

(after 5000 billion years this btch finally posted. Thanks for waiting on me. This post is probably super jerky because I'm still kinda confused on how to progress. I'M DOING MY BEST.)

It was hard to ignore him, like trying to un-see something that's already been seen. While she knew in her head that it couldn't be the same male from the Dark Ages, her photographic memory had never been wrong and she had been praised multiple times by her superiors for her impeccable ability to recognize faces, despite the countless number she has seen. The oddity not only piqued her curiosity but confused her.

As she worked, her eyes peeked back at him, if not studied him from her peripherals. With her mind elsewhere, her work efficiency downgraded a notch and it was just her luck that she had been careless enough to run into a particularly wealthy patron, spilling a tray full of cream pastries and hot tea down his vest. There were shouts and a yelp which had Marin scrambling for napkins and gushing out apologies like a river. The gentleman was having none of it and the commotion brought the owner of the teahouse scrambling out.

"Sir Roland!" Mrs. Maggie gasped, face paling upon seeing the victim. Sir Roland was an esteemed guest, not just in the teahouse but a respectable and haughty figure in the city. Marin wasn't sure what position he was in, but from the way people treated him, almost afraid to step out of line, she figured it must be some high lofty position.

"I'm so sorry for this maid's insolence. Apologize to him right now, Marin!" Mrs. Maggie snapped, forcing Marin's head to a bow. The ravenhead apologized for the nth time, already dreading what's to come. There was no way she was going to keep her job after this blunder and Sir Roland did not seem the forgiving type, instead adding venomous insult to her scolding.

"Such crass. I had higher hopes for this establishment, Mrs. Maggie. You best be off with such lousy hands," Roland remarked snidely, placing the casket on Marin's doomed career. Mrs. Maggie could only nod in eager response, desperate to please by offering a clean rag to clean the gentleman up. His prideful demeanor had him declining with such arrogance and it wasn't long until he stormed out of the teahouse just as he came.

The whole incident had caused a scene which had all the other patrons in the teahouse spectating with amusement of pity. Marin could practically feel their eyes burn holes into her back and her cheeks flamed as Mrs. Maggie apologized to the other patrons for disturbing their meal. With an iron fist, the teahouse owner then pulled Marin into the back of the storeroom where she gave the girl the scolding of a lifetime.

"I gave you a place to stay, a decent job, food, shelter and this is how you repay me? Do you know what your mistake could cost me? I could lose everything because of your blunder!"

"I---"

"I don't want to hear a word from you. Go change and leave now. I can't afford to lose another valuable customer because of your clumsiness. You can come collect your things tonight but I don't ever want to see your face again."

Something hot pricked in the back of Marin's eyes even as she nodded and quietly accepted Mrs. Maggie's decision. She removed the apron from her waist and changed into her casual dress clothes in the changing room. With her head held high, she exited the teahouse without looking back once. The only thing she did do was spare one last, almost grudging glance at the cause of this whole mess before the glass doors closed and the bells overhead chimed as they shut.

 

[NightRocker13]

Nickolai became increasingly aware of the serving girl glancing his way. He ignored it. He didn't want to bring attention to himself. He was just finishing his tea when there was a crash. He looked. The serving girl had crashed into a patron. One of the haughty royal types. One of those thst liked he was fucking god and deserved just as much respect.

Nickolai watched him leave with contempt in his gaze. He was old enough to know that gods didn't exist. A mere man deserved less for acting like one. He watched the girl leave. He payed for his meal, giving the kowtowing Ms. Maggie a look of contempt. He hated people like her. Ones that stood on other's backs just to reach better heights. He shook his head and left the tea house.

When he did, he was a few minutes behind the girl. He caught up to her, offering a place to stay since it seemed he had lost her her place of employment as well as a place to live. He expressed his condolences, offering her a hand. His voice was undeniably the same as when she first met him. The broach at his throat was also around his neck back then as well. His golden eyes were gentle as he offered her a hand and a place to stay. At least for tonight.