Caravaggio Interaction
March 27, 2011 - 3:11am — Terabetha
Introduction:
The sun shines down through the trees, dappling the ground just as pleasantly as any other day. As you wake, however you feel The Forest is more lonesome than usual, as though you have been disconnected from your fellows. A listen or short walk would confirm your isolation, but before this worries you too much you discover something far more troublesome. Something has been stolen from you, spirited away while you slept.
What will you do now?
Warning:
Some of Caravaggio's comments might be a bit PG, references to sex, or crude humor and language can be expected. Nothing graphic, of course. Feel free to use the above in your comments as well, I don't mind, just if you plan to be vulgar place a warning at the start of your comment. Thanks!
Interaction Guide:
As something that I hope will make this a bit more fun, I will not be giving a description or personality brief for Caravaggio right away. He has several quirks, as well as physical abnormalities that will effect our interactions but for the sake of atmosphere, I want you to discover what they are for yourselves. As the various interactions progress, I will compile a list of traits for your reference so that you can keep an eye on how much of Caravaggio's character you have uncovered. In addition to the 'About the Thief' section below there is also a section called 'The Stash', this refers to the objects or secrets Caravaggio has stolen from each of your characters. When your character has recovered their object, it will be removed from the list.
About the Thief:
-It is a he...
-He speaks with a British accent...
-He is very hard to see...he is invisible...
-He is not a deer...he is a human...
-He lies...sometimes...
-He enjoys playing games at the expense of others...but does not enjoy hurting them...
-He has something wrong with his hands...he is missing both his thumbs...
-He has a deep-mistrust of shape-shifters...as well as multiple personalities...
-He feels uncomfortable around those larger than himself...
-He is usually indecent...the ultimate exhibitionist...
-He has several names...Griffin...Skinner...David Caravaggio...each is a clue to one of his 'pasts'...
-He is partial to pretty women...and only women...
Past Lives:
Caravaggio is a blend of elements from several characters, none of which are my own. In my own way I suppose he is a 'fan character', and for anyone who has read any of these I will be dropping little hints about them in Caravaggio's responses (I already have!).
-David Caravaggio, from the novel The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje
-Skinner, from movie The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003).
-Griffin, from The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen comics (1999) by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill.
A cautionary word there is touchy subject matter, especially in the comic so if you go googling mind yourself.
The Stash:
One Scarf, stolen from Matthieu
One Pictogram pendant, stolen from Bartholomew
One Poppy, tied to a piece of wood with a reed, stolen from Seed
One Silver Pocket-watch, stolen from Lady Bones
One Pendant, stolen from Nathaniel
One Worn Butterfly Mask, stolen from Jergens
(I tried twice to write this,
Bones takes slow sweeping strides around the room, the tune continues. The fluid motion of her wrist draws the horsehair bow across the strings, the fingers of her left hand dancing across the ebony fingerboard. Her eyes flicker to him, abandoning her perpetual stare at the bridge of the instrument, acknowledging his request. The tune quiets slightly as she leaves room for her thoughts. Her expression remains collected and inquisitive, considering all the statues towering around her, bronze, granite and marble, with calculating translucent eyes. What a request, to make her choose from such an oasis of memories! She slides skillful drones into the haunting tune, creating an auditory illusion of another violin playing somewhere in the room.
The melody fades as she nears a tiny display case nestled inside the arch of the glass wall, favoring it over her extravagant and extraordinary sculptures big and small, from artists known and forgotten. The vibrato of the final note dies, and she stands in silence seemingly in reverence. Slipping her finger beneath the case, it responds by opening its glass top. Glowing in the display lighting, white objects carved in an oriental fashion stared up from the depths of the case. Ivory perhaps? Carefully she takes one of the pieces in her fingers, and conceals it in her palm, returning to a long velvet bench where she invited him to sit. Too preoccupied now to put it away properly, the antique violin and bow was carefully placed beside her.
"Well I hope it isn't too disappointing but I didn't actually steal this one." She began, as if continuing a story she had long wished to resume. "My travels brought me to the Province of Wakasa, Japan. Though it's probably been renamed since my visit in 1688, it was a fishing community of considerable wealth and population. I had begun my endeavor for seafaring adventure here, not soon after I acquired this," she motions to herself in a casual gesture, "In west Africa about five years earlier. Pearly locks and all." she clears her throat and pauses for a minute. "The reign of the Japanese Pirates; or Wokou, had ended about a century before, due to the economic turmoil they faced when it was cheaper for their buisness partners to buy the goods directly from their prime targets of China and Korea, rather than from them. A hundred years the coasts of China and Korea had been left undisturbed by the raids of pirates, left to stew in confidence and economic growth. I could nearly see the glittering of their shores as I looked across the water.
The quantity of seafaring ships and willing sellers was limited in this fishing community, and only one or two ships were rigged well enough, and large enough to suit my needs, with or without modification of the ship. But the captains were unwilling to sell. This was unfortunate considering at that time Japan let no foreign ship dock at any port on its coast. I knew I had to work from the inside. Japan presented a business opportunity I couldn't pass up, and although becoming a renowned seafaring merchant may have made me my fortune just as well; it was apparent, due to the time I spend on trade ships, the life of a merchant wasn't my style. So I plotted a course, for the east coast of the massive island. I'd travel by foot along trade routes that cut through the heartland of Japan. Over mountains, through forests and towns. It was all so unfamiliar.
I allowed myself one day's rest at a Wakihonjin, or inn, and then I would begin walking the next morning disguised as a pauper, for European clothes didn't exactly blend in, and I wasn't looking for attention. The days were warm, the nights were cold, and I layered my rags accordingly. I couldn't afford a bed every night I encountered a village, I wasn't as financially stable then as I am now." she smiled to herself and then continued. "A few days of sleeping beneath the stars and bright white moon brought me to Kiso Valley, the view from the mountains was breathtaking. Soon the dirt path widened and the distinct pattern of ruts in the road told me this was a well used trade highway, wagons, horses and men on foot all traveled along this route. I expected to find a town soon. My clothes began to draw more and more attention from passing faces, and I knew my time as a pauper was finished, for this area was prosperous and poverty was much less common. By that time the sun had already hid behind the magnificent mountains of the valley, and I decided to wait until dark to change when traffic had lessened and I didn't have to worry about someone seeing me whilst bathing and getting myself together.
About seventy paces from the road, I found a creek that could get the job done. The basket that contained all of my supplies and change of clothing had taxed my back, but I hadn't noticed until I set it down. I was glad to finally leave it behind once I ate the rest of my food, bathed and changed. It turns out I wasn't alone when the sun finally faded. The soft light of my lantern had attracted someone, and I felt they were there before my eyes could prove it. Ignoring the feeling, I continued to bathe and then wrapped myself in the red kimono I'd purchased high in the mountains, and watched passed the glare of the lantern to see who was there. Seeing no one I called out, and slowly the figure emerged from the trees. He stared at me for a long time, in a sort of awe which made me both flattered and uncomfortable. Then with one swift motion he drags the basket from his back onto the ground and begins rummaging through the things inside. He holds something in his hand and keeps his eyes lowered as he slowly approaches me. He sets it at my feet, and in the soft glow of the lantern I can see the features of a boy no older than eighteen.
My eyes lift from the gift at my bare feet, to him, and all at once he bows deeply and flees as fast as his legs can carry him, into the darkness of the night. I watch as his figure disappears and then turn my attention to what lay on the ground, wrapped in cloth. Beneath the layer of fabric, an ornate Inro lay inside." Bones places what she had in her hand on the seat between them, so he might examine it. "A Japanese tobacco holder, easily worn around the wrist or in a sleeve... Of course at the time I had no idea what it was, but the craftsmanship was incredible, and it was apparent this gift was worth a good sum of money. But I couldn't help but wonder why. Surely I seemed quite exotic with my pale skin, hair and western features; but was this alone truly worth such a gift?
I tried not to question it further. I slipped the treasure into my kimono pocket and left without another thought. Self-conscious once again of my appearance, I covered my hair in a cloth, and continued down the trail to a popular trade and post destination; Tsumago. Guided only by the light of the moon, and the glow of my lantern, I eventually found someone to ask about a place to stay. I was met with the same wide expression as the boy back at the creek, and they lead me to a stout building within the town. Inside was extremely spacious and empty, save for a good amount of statues, which looked like reliquary items. It was apparent we were at a temple, and before I could turn away to find lodging, a monk came out to greet the guide and I. They spoke back and forth for awhile, the voice of the guide filled with awe, and the monk being mostly silent. Eventually I was invited in and shown a room where he and two other monks avoided my gaze, but worked diligently in setting up a comfortable space for me to sleep. I offered them money but they refused; pointing to the opposite wall of the temple where a painting of a white fox stared back at me with clever eyes.
I didn't understand, yet again, but I'd be a fool to refuse such hospitality. And so I accepted, and slept there that night, planning to leave early in the morning before they made any more fuss over me. Before the sun streamed through the windows of the modest wooden temple, I began gathering my things. The paper screen door was all that was left between me and resuming my journey, so I pulled it back, combing my fingers through my white hair and began walking across the floor. When I looked up, dozens of faces stared at my own, it seemed the entire village of Tsumago was crammed into this one temple. One by one, they began to set things in front of me, fruits and cakes, breads and candies, ornaments and statuary, scrolls and tea pots. It seemed anything they could afford to give was set before me. After a few minutes of this passed I had to do something, especially after glancing out the window to see a goddamned line forming to get into the temple, it stretched down the street and I wondered how many were local.
The overwhelming sense of admiration suffocated me, and although it was extremely touching, I didn't understand. I urged the people leaving gifts for me, to take them back but they refused, and so by the end of the morning the massive pile of various items was left at the temple itself, I couldn't possibly carry it all anyway. Nor did I feel comfortable accepting any of it. Though I will say I accepted a few kimonos, a Japanese smoking pipe called a Kiseru, and some food for the road. I heard later the temple kept most of the items offered to me there, and gave the rest away." With her story nearly finished, Bones scratched her throat and took in a breath, reflecting on the memory with a smile.
"Waiting outside for me was the boy I had seen at the creek. The reins of a horse were gripped in his hand while the gentle giant stared at me calmly. He offered it to me, and I accepted, but before he could dash off again I grabbed his arm and tried to communicate the best I could, to ask him why he hand given me what he did, and how he came upon such an item. I didn't get an answer out of him then due to language barriers, but he agreed to travel with me to the east coast, and later joined my crew.
It was years later, when we patched together what words we knew of eachother's language did I finally get the whole story. The Indo he gave me he had stolen from the new Emperor Higashiyama, and the night he met me he had been on his way to Tsumago to sell it, along with whatever else he had to make a living. He was an orphan. He explained the light of my lantern had attracted him and thought he might find merchants there willing to part with some hospitality, but instead found me. He said ancient Japanese lore teaches that any woman encountered alone at dusk or night could be a Kitsune, a fox spirit, cunning and beautiful. Tricksters, and masters of disguise often taking the form of beautiful women. The features of a Kitsune taking the shape of a woman might include a narrow face with angular features and high cheekbones. She would also lure unsuspecting victims with round lights during the night hours. It also didn't help that the fox spirit is sometimes described as having pure white fur... everything matched."
She twisted a piece of her own white hair, then threw up her hands finally and was quiet for a few seconds. "He honestly found me so exceptional and otherworldy, and clearly supernatural he thought it best to offer his most prized item, than to sell it for food. Not only he, but the rest of the town followed!" Her eyes cloud over for a moment in stern thought not quite understanding this spiritual devotion. "Later he learned about my immortality, which only strengthened his devotion and superstitious belief about me. How could I say otherwise?" She grinned. "We had a strange friendship."
As he listens to the story,
"I can't blame them, I mean you have that certain je ne se qua that implies the supernatural. Heck!" He settles in beside Bones on the couch. "I know how that feels." The ivory case is carefully returned to the cushion beside her. "It comes in handy, more often than not. I'm surprised you didn't milk it for what it was worth, hit up a few more villages. Make a spree of it."
"Then again, sprees only work if you can keep ahead of the buzz. You've read the story book I left you, that was his mistake..well, one of many, but I digress. It's only gotten harder these days, word spreads so much faster."
Her eyes flicker to the ivory
Bones stands and returns the violin and the inro to their safe cases, no doubt to be handled again in a few decades. A change of strings was due for the violin. "You must have quite the archive of stories regarding your... 'sanctity' as well. I can't imagine the pranks. Come to think of it;" she turns to look at him with a half-grin. "You could do some serious damage." She motions for him to follow her back into the house as she begins to turn off the lights, hoping he'd give her a story of his own.
“Sanctity indeed!” He
I was part of a job, a heist at a Library in London. Odd place you might be thinking, not a bank or a mint, but you see the Library had quite a large art collection. We were there for the paintings and the plan was brilliant. We set the place on fire!
It really was a great idea; stage a fire and ‘save’ the paintings. We walked right out the door with them, the crowd applauded and we quietly handed them off to the driver. Anyway, the real meat of the story was when I realized, having just rescued one particularly heavy painting…why the old masters insisted on such heavy frames I’ve no idea! I look around and realize that the chap who’s been sent in to set the fires in the first place wasn’t to be seen. Now I think that pretty odd, he had the easiest job and the more I got thinking the odder it seemed. The fire was all his idea, so was the library, so I think to myself; If that was me, I’d be after more than just some landscapes and watercolors.
Now by the time I got back into the library it was a god-awful mess, we’d used pine sap soaked rags so the place was just full of black hazy smoke. I could barely see, but I managed to find him, Arms was his name I think, or at least that’s what he insisted we call him. So I come across Arms, scrambling like a madman through this display case with what has got to be the pride and joy of the museum, under glass and everything. Obviously looking for some volume in particular, Arms doesn't even see me. I shout at him, I says ‘Arms, we gotta go!’ and d’ya know what he does? He hoists up this big revolver and shoots at me!
The bastard missed thankfully, but having not been the most careful of persons he must have spilled some of the sap on himself so poor bastard Arms is on fire before he can voice me a sincerest of apologies. There’s nothing like the smell of burning bastard let me tell you, very unpleasant and very loud.”
It seems at this point that Caravaggio realizes how much he’s blathered on, and that he is speaking in-fact to a person of the fairer sex, not some pub-fair lout. He snickers somewhat embarrassed, waves a hand dismissively. “But that’s not important. The book was, that being what Arms was trying to recover. If you remember from the novel I gave you when we first met, the story ‘bout the original invisible man; the scientist left his research in two volumes of notes, in code, which after his death were hidden away by the inn keeper. That in keeper, not understanding what he had obviously fenced them, and passing through what was likely several sets of hands, one of the volumes came into the possession of the late Mr. Arms. The second was hidden, as you may have guessed, in the library of the national London Museum.
Arms orchestrated our entire heist as a cover so he could make off with the volume. I took the liberty of saving it, priceless artifact that it was, and had an acquaintance of mine reproduce the experiment. Druggy you understand, very crafty with tinctures and tonics and whatnot. That was the end of that, and the start of all this.” The sleeves make a sweeping gesture of his invisible form.