Y'know, I'm not much of an angst writer, but I saw an episode of the Powerpuff Girls (don't ask), and now I have an idea....*shrug* Whatever.
Roughly twenty-three seconds after Sheik had arrived at his house, he smacked his forehead with rather more force than was necessary. [Ow... Dangit! I forgot about the poe...] Envisioning the ruined bridge of Castletown, Sheik appeared in Hyrule field, looking across the river at the town wall. [Wrong side again...It never works right.] Not too thrilled with the idea of fighting monsters with a harp again, Sheik ran toward the bridge, ignoring the sounds of stalchildren shuffling after him.
Launching himself over the gap in the rotting wood, Sheik instinctively flipped in midair so as to come straight down when he landed. As luck would have it, he misjudged his jump a bit; he landed at the very edge of the opposite planks. The wood there was constantly damp from the water below, and the weight of a grown sheikah was intolerable. With a juicy crunch, the plank Sheik stood on collapsed, dumping him into the river below with a loud splash and an equally loud obscenity. Kicking to the surface, Sheik grumpily swam with the current, working his way over to the bank and hauling himself out of the cold water. Feeling somehow naked, Sheik reached up to find that the bandages around his head and face had been swept away by the water. [Well, this is obviously one of those nights...] Standing with all the dignity he could scrounge up, Sheik heard sniggering from the other bank, and looked up to see a small crowd of stalchildren pointing and laughing. "Oh, get a life!" Sheik hollered crossly, then, rethinking that statement, he muttered, "...Afterlife," and strode regally into the town.
Thankfully, the creepy old man (at least, Sheik thought it was a man) who bought captured poes made his home in the old gatehouse, so Sheik wouldn't have to contend with any redead on his way. Still, the thought of them being so close sped up Sheik's journey to the little hovel considerably.
Stepping inside, Sheik was grateful for the overpowering smell of pipe smoke that filled the room and covered the scent of river water. Across the hazy room, Sheik saw the pile of rags that was, in fact, a person. A glowing red light shone out from the hood of the old man's tattered robe. A staff was clutched in the left hand, which was covered by an over-long sleeve. The man cackled and sat back down, his grip on the staff relaxing. "Ah, no harm in you. Heh heh heh..." Sheik was a bit uneasy already. He had heard that there was a man in Castletown who bought poes, so Sheik wasn't expecting a poster child for sanity; no one living in Castletown could be completely 'there,' and why anyone would need poes was beyond Sheik's grasp. This old man was just....ih. [Does he have dementia or something?]
The old man piped up. "Now, Sheik, leaping to judge strangers isn't very becoming to a young sheikah."
Sheik staggered back a step, and after a moment discovered that he had ceased to breathe. Gasping, Sheik was about to ask a question (if a string of confused grunts and whimpering noises qualifies as a question), but he was cut off by the old man's cackling. He gestured for Sheik to come closer, and Sheik hesitantly complied. "Don't look so shocked; I simply read minds."
"Simply?!" Sheik froze. [If he can....then he'll know about...!] How was he going to get around this? [What if he decides to tell...]
The man sounded very amused. His voice really didn't sound so much old as it did raspy. "Calm yourself. I have no great love for the gerudos and their associates. No great disliking, mind you, but no great love. Your secrets are quite safe with me." Sheik heaved a sigh of relief, and produced his Murry-filled bottle from... Oh, you know what the void thing is. The man took the bottle from Sheik and peered into it appraisingly. "Murry?" he asked. "You named it?" Sheik nodded, a blush creeping into his face. "And you talk to it?" Sheik blushed more deeply.
"No. ...Not much, anyway..."
The still-unseen man cackled again. "I like you, kid. I've never met anyone who treated poes with any respect before. So, I'm going to give you a good deal for this...Murry of yours. How's twenty rupees sound?"
[Twenty! I could find that on the ground!] Sheik huffed in irritation. "Twenty rupees for getting a concussion catching that thing hardly sounds fair. A person could get himself killed fighting those things."
The man nodded. "A person could get himself killed falling off the bridge into the river." Sheik looked at the floor, embarrassed beyond words. The covered man continued. "I'm not made of money, you know. I'd like to know who else would buy a poe from you. Twenty; take it or leave it."
Sheik took it, and the man immediately uncorked the bottle and let the poe flow out of it. "What are you doing?" Sheik yelped. "You'll lose it!"
But the poe didn't seem to go very far. Murry floated around the room, more or less content, judging by the smile that moved around on the flame-like being. The man sat up straight, saying, a bit smugly, "Poes like me." He pointed to one of the torches in the room, around which several other poes drifted. "I take care of them, and they keep me company. I find them more agreeable than people." Sheik nodded politely. "You, however, I don't mind so much."
[My, such flattery...]
"Even though you're a bit rude," the man said pointedly. They were both silent for a minute, and Sheik took that as a hint that he should be going. "Wait," said the man impatiently; Sheik was surprised by the command and stood still. The man sat quiet for a second more, then looked up, the red glow seeming to fix itself upon the door. "The redeads have been getting bold since that forest boy ran through the town teasing them. It would be safer for you to leave when they've gotten a little farther from the gatehouse." Sheik was about to say that he could teleport if it was hazardous outside, but in a rare flash of intuition, he reasoned that the mind reader knew perfectly well that Sheik didn't have to leave by the door. [Perhaps he's lonely. Poes can't be very interesting conversation...]
"You'd be surprised," said the man. Sheik thought bemusedly that he wouldn't get used to that. "But that's what I was aiming for, yes." The man cackled a bit. "How could I pass up an opportunity to talk with a fellow lover of poes?" Sheik was cut off from saying 'I'm really not all that fond of them.' "I was about to have a cup of tea; you'll join me, of course; you've resigned yourself to humoring me already." Sheik shrugged and sat down on a nearby crate. [It's not like I have anything better to do.]
The man limped into the back room, leaning heavily on his staff, and returned shortly with two mugs. He nearly dropped them, but Sheik saw it in time and jumped up to help. "Thanks, my hands aren't very strong."
After about a minute of trying not to burn his tongue on the scalding tea, Sheik heard the man say, "My name is Edgar, by the way."
Sheik extended a hand absently. "Nice to meet you." Edgar leaned back a smidgen and gazed at the proffered hand, befuddled. Sheik grinned. [Ah, sweet vengeance.] "Hylians shake hands when they meet, right? Come on now," Sheik said, mimicking Edgar's voice, "Don't be rude."
A gnarled, misshapen hand clasped his lightly. It wasn't wrinkled, and had no age spots. [Well, that answers the question of age, at any rate.] Sheik raised an eyebrow. "You have a really weak handshake. People must forget that you have hands to shake because you keep them in such long sleeves," he jibed.
The man seemed a bit offended. "At least I have a reason for keeping myself veiled."
Sheik retorted, "Well, if I'm unmasked, I don't think it's very fair that you've covered."
Edgar made a 'pah!' sort of noise and sipped his tea. "Who said life was fair?"
Sheik half-stood and smiled wickedly. Seven years, and his mischievous streak still wasn't gone entirely. "If life isn't fair, then I'll lose no honor by throwing that hood of yours back by force. I can see that I'm the faster and stronger of us."
Edgar seemed to stare incredulously. "You won't."
Sheik stood. "Oh? I have no great love for a cheapskate who only pays me twenty rupees for a poe that might have killed me, and then guilt-trips me into drinking tea with him. WHICH, by the way, doesn't have nearly enough sugar in it."
Edgar sighed and motioned for Sheik to sit. "No need to threaten; I was merely concerned for you. Wouldn't want to traumatize a comely creature like yourself." He said this with no small measure of bitterness.
Sheik waved a hand. "Enough dramatics; it's just a face, for Nayru's sake."
Edgar pulled the hood back, and Sheik had the presence of mind not to gasp or make any startled movement. The red glow was in actuality a red lens tied over Edgar's right eye, like a patch. The left eye wasn't there, as a rough scar covering most of that side of his face testified. The scar also pulled the left side of the poor hylian's mouth up into a permanent grin. The left ear had been amputated about an inch from the side of the head, and the right one grew so that it spiraled back on itself. Curly black hair went some way toward hiding the severed ear, and his moustache and beard were neatly trimmed, despite the fact that no one ever saw them.
Sheik grinned. "There. That wasn't so bad. See, I haven't clawed my eyes out or anything." Edgar shrugged noncommittally. Sheik gulped down his tea; by now it was only warm. "Since I'm a bit rude, may I ask as to what..."
"Caught in a bomb explosion," Edgar said, holding a twisted hand to the scar before pointing to the stub of his ear. "And gangrene. The rest, I was born with."
[Makes sense...] Looking more closely at what he could see of Edgar's left arm, Sheik discerned old burns and scratches. The man finished his own tea.
"Now, what say you take out your harp and play a few songs for the poes," he said in a business-like tone.
"Why," Sheik replied. Quite frankly, he was ready to go home and catch a little nap before morning.
Edgar leaned back and steepled his fingers. "You have had the privilege of looking upon my face and drinking my tea, WHICH, by the way, tastes perfect the way it is."
Sheik sighed. [Whatever...]
It really wasn't bad after the poes had gotten tired of diving between the harp strings in attempts to make Sheik miss notes. Some of the poes seemed to enjoy the music, wafting sleepily through the air, or keeping time with their movements. Edgar must have nurtured this behavior, as he played on a roughly carved wooden flute, harmonizing with the tunes he knew and playing along quietly with new melodies. After a while, he and Sheik switched, Sheik playing harmony to familiar songs and adding new ones to his repertoire. For having hands that looked rather clumsy and deformed, Edgar was a skilled musician.
When they were tolerably played out, the two chatted for an hour more, mostly about mundane things: when they'd started playing, how they'd come across their instruments, the odd temperament of poes, etc. Exciting. [Still,] Sheik thought as he teleported back home, [It's not like I had anything better to do.]
The following week passed uneventfully. Really. It did. After several days of searching through the countryside's weeds, Sheik had come up with just enough money to pay the landlady and buy some food for himself. He had spent most of that day wandering around Kakariko, and hadn't gotten back until late. Sheik had been asleep for about six hours and the sun had not yet risen. He awoke to the sound of footsteps hurrying along the path in front of the house. Curious as to what kind of masochist would be awake at this hour, Sheik crept down the stairs and peeked out the front window...just in time to see none other than Link pass by, apparently on his way to the gate that lead into the mountain path.
[@#$%!] Sheik raced upstairs, tripped over the second to last one, rolled most of the way down again, grabbed the banister to stop himself, stood up, raced upstairs more carefully, and wrapped new bandages around his face and hair. [Thank the Goddesses I've been sleeping in my clothes lately...] He snagged his harp and whip and envisioned the wooden pole, and the sign that pointed toward the goron city.
Landing in the familiar spot, Sheik looked around until he found what he wanted-the path leading to Death Mountain's summit.
Roughly twenty-three seconds after Sheik had arrived at his house, he smacked his forehead with rather more force than was necessary. [Ow... Dangit! I forgot about the poe...] Envisioning the ruined bridge of Castletown, Sheik appeared in Hyrule field, looking across the river at the town wall. [Wrong side again...It never works right.] Not too thrilled with the idea of fighting monsters with a harp again, Sheik ran toward the bridge, ignoring the sounds of stalchildren shuffling after him.
Launching himself over the gap in the rotting wood, Sheik instinctively flipped in midair so as to come straight down when he landed. As luck would have it, he misjudged his jump a bit; he landed at the very edge of the opposite planks. The wood there was constantly damp from the water below, and the weight of a grown sheikah was intolerable. With a juicy crunch, the plank Sheik stood on collapsed, dumping him into the river below with a loud splash and an equally loud obscenity. Kicking to the surface, Sheik grumpily swam with the current, working his way over to the bank and hauling himself out of the cold water. Feeling somehow naked, Sheik reached up to find that the bandages around his head and face had been swept away by the water. [Well, this is obviously one of those nights...] Standing with all the dignity he could scrounge up, Sheik heard sniggering from the other bank, and looked up to see a small crowd of stalchildren pointing and laughing. "Oh, get a life!" Sheik hollered crossly, then, rethinking that statement, he muttered, "...Afterlife," and strode regally into the town.
Thankfully, the creepy old man (at least, Sheik thought it was a man) who bought captured poes made his home in the old gatehouse, so Sheik wouldn't have to contend with any redead on his way. Still, the thought of them being so close sped up Sheik's journey to the little hovel considerably.
Stepping inside, Sheik was grateful for the overpowering smell of pipe smoke that filled the room and covered the scent of river water. Across the hazy room, Sheik saw the pile of rags that was, in fact, a person. A glowing red light shone out from the hood of the old man's tattered robe. A staff was clutched in the left hand, which was covered by an over-long sleeve. The man cackled and sat back down, his grip on the staff relaxing. "Ah, no harm in you. Heh heh heh..." Sheik was a bit uneasy already. He had heard that there was a man in Castletown who bought poes, so Sheik wasn't expecting a poster child for sanity; no one living in Castletown could be completely 'there,' and why anyone would need poes was beyond Sheik's grasp. This old man was just....ih. [Does he have dementia or something?]
The old man piped up. "Now, Sheik, leaping to judge strangers isn't very becoming to a young sheikah."
Sheik staggered back a step, and after a moment discovered that he had ceased to breathe. Gasping, Sheik was about to ask a question (if a string of confused grunts and whimpering noises qualifies as a question), but he was cut off by the old man's cackling. He gestured for Sheik to come closer, and Sheik hesitantly complied. "Don't look so shocked; I simply read minds."
"Simply?!" Sheik froze. [If he can....then he'll know about...!] How was he going to get around this? [What if he decides to tell...]
The man sounded very amused. His voice really didn't sound so much old as it did raspy. "Calm yourself. I have no great love for the gerudos and their associates. No great disliking, mind you, but no great love. Your secrets are quite safe with me." Sheik heaved a sigh of relief, and produced his Murry-filled bottle from... Oh, you know what the void thing is. The man took the bottle from Sheik and peered into it appraisingly. "Murry?" he asked. "You named it?" Sheik nodded, a blush creeping into his face. "And you talk to it?" Sheik blushed more deeply.
"No. ...Not much, anyway..."
The still-unseen man cackled again. "I like you, kid. I've never met anyone who treated poes with any respect before. So, I'm going to give you a good deal for this...Murry of yours. How's twenty rupees sound?"
[Twenty! I could find that on the ground!] Sheik huffed in irritation. "Twenty rupees for getting a concussion catching that thing hardly sounds fair. A person could get himself killed fighting those things."
The man nodded. "A person could get himself killed falling off the bridge into the river." Sheik looked at the floor, embarrassed beyond words. The covered man continued. "I'm not made of money, you know. I'd like to know who else would buy a poe from you. Twenty; take it or leave it."
Sheik took it, and the man immediately uncorked the bottle and let the poe flow out of it. "What are you doing?" Sheik yelped. "You'll lose it!"
But the poe didn't seem to go very far. Murry floated around the room, more or less content, judging by the smile that moved around on the flame-like being. The man sat up straight, saying, a bit smugly, "Poes like me." He pointed to one of the torches in the room, around which several other poes drifted. "I take care of them, and they keep me company. I find them more agreeable than people." Sheik nodded politely. "You, however, I don't mind so much."
[My, such flattery...]
"Even though you're a bit rude," the man said pointedly. They were both silent for a minute, and Sheik took that as a hint that he should be going. "Wait," said the man impatiently; Sheik was surprised by the command and stood still. The man sat quiet for a second more, then looked up, the red glow seeming to fix itself upon the door. "The redeads have been getting bold since that forest boy ran through the town teasing them. It would be safer for you to leave when they've gotten a little farther from the gatehouse." Sheik was about to say that he could teleport if it was hazardous outside, but in a rare flash of intuition, he reasoned that the mind reader knew perfectly well that Sheik didn't have to leave by the door. [Perhaps he's lonely. Poes can't be very interesting conversation...]
"You'd be surprised," said the man. Sheik thought bemusedly that he wouldn't get used to that. "But that's what I was aiming for, yes." The man cackled a bit. "How could I pass up an opportunity to talk with a fellow lover of poes?" Sheik was cut off from saying 'I'm really not all that fond of them.' "I was about to have a cup of tea; you'll join me, of course; you've resigned yourself to humoring me already." Sheik shrugged and sat down on a nearby crate. [It's not like I have anything better to do.]
The man limped into the back room, leaning heavily on his staff, and returned shortly with two mugs. He nearly dropped them, but Sheik saw it in time and jumped up to help. "Thanks, my hands aren't very strong."
After about a minute of trying not to burn his tongue on the scalding tea, Sheik heard the man say, "My name is Edgar, by the way."
Sheik extended a hand absently. "Nice to meet you." Edgar leaned back a smidgen and gazed at the proffered hand, befuddled. Sheik grinned. [Ah, sweet vengeance.] "Hylians shake hands when they meet, right? Come on now," Sheik said, mimicking Edgar's voice, "Don't be rude."
A gnarled, misshapen hand clasped his lightly. It wasn't wrinkled, and had no age spots. [Well, that answers the question of age, at any rate.] Sheik raised an eyebrow. "You have a really weak handshake. People must forget that you have hands to shake because you keep them in such long sleeves," he jibed.
The man seemed a bit offended. "At least I have a reason for keeping myself veiled."
Sheik retorted, "Well, if I'm unmasked, I don't think it's very fair that you've covered."
Edgar made a 'pah!' sort of noise and sipped his tea. "Who said life was fair?"
Sheik half-stood and smiled wickedly. Seven years, and his mischievous streak still wasn't gone entirely. "If life isn't fair, then I'll lose no honor by throwing that hood of yours back by force. I can see that I'm the faster and stronger of us."
Edgar seemed to stare incredulously. "You won't."
Sheik stood. "Oh? I have no great love for a cheapskate who only pays me twenty rupees for a poe that might have killed me, and then guilt-trips me into drinking tea with him. WHICH, by the way, doesn't have nearly enough sugar in it."
Edgar sighed and motioned for Sheik to sit. "No need to threaten; I was merely concerned for you. Wouldn't want to traumatize a comely creature like yourself." He said this with no small measure of bitterness.
Sheik waved a hand. "Enough dramatics; it's just a face, for Nayru's sake."
Edgar pulled the hood back, and Sheik had the presence of mind not to gasp or make any startled movement. The red glow was in actuality a red lens tied over Edgar's right eye, like a patch. The left eye wasn't there, as a rough scar covering most of that side of his face testified. The scar also pulled the left side of the poor hylian's mouth up into a permanent grin. The left ear had been amputated about an inch from the side of the head, and the right one grew so that it spiraled back on itself. Curly black hair went some way toward hiding the severed ear, and his moustache and beard were neatly trimmed, despite the fact that no one ever saw them.
Sheik grinned. "There. That wasn't so bad. See, I haven't clawed my eyes out or anything." Edgar shrugged noncommittally. Sheik gulped down his tea; by now it was only warm. "Since I'm a bit rude, may I ask as to what..."
"Caught in a bomb explosion," Edgar said, holding a twisted hand to the scar before pointing to the stub of his ear. "And gangrene. The rest, I was born with."
[Makes sense...] Looking more closely at what he could see of Edgar's left arm, Sheik discerned old burns and scratches. The man finished his own tea.
"Now, what say you take out your harp and play a few songs for the poes," he said in a business-like tone.
"Why," Sheik replied. Quite frankly, he was ready to go home and catch a little nap before morning.
Edgar leaned back and steepled his fingers. "You have had the privilege of looking upon my face and drinking my tea, WHICH, by the way, tastes perfect the way it is."
Sheik sighed. [Whatever...]
It really wasn't bad after the poes had gotten tired of diving between the harp strings in attempts to make Sheik miss notes. Some of the poes seemed to enjoy the music, wafting sleepily through the air, or keeping time with their movements. Edgar must have nurtured this behavior, as he played on a roughly carved wooden flute, harmonizing with the tunes he knew and playing along quietly with new melodies. After a while, he and Sheik switched, Sheik playing harmony to familiar songs and adding new ones to his repertoire. For having hands that looked rather clumsy and deformed, Edgar was a skilled musician.
When they were tolerably played out, the two chatted for an hour more, mostly about mundane things: when they'd started playing, how they'd come across their instruments, the odd temperament of poes, etc. Exciting. [Still,] Sheik thought as he teleported back home, [It's not like I had anything better to do.]
The following week passed uneventfully. Really. It did. After several days of searching through the countryside's weeds, Sheik had come up with just enough money to pay the landlady and buy some food for himself. He had spent most of that day wandering around Kakariko, and hadn't gotten back until late. Sheik had been asleep for about six hours and the sun had not yet risen. He awoke to the sound of footsteps hurrying along the path in front of the house. Curious as to what kind of masochist would be awake at this hour, Sheik crept down the stairs and peeked out the front window...just in time to see none other than Link pass by, apparently on his way to the gate that lead into the mountain path.
[@#$%!] Sheik raced upstairs, tripped over the second to last one, rolled most of the way down again, grabbed the banister to stop himself, stood up, raced upstairs more carefully, and wrapped new bandages around his face and hair. [Thank the Goddesses I've been sleeping in my clothes lately...] He snagged his harp and whip and envisioned the wooden pole, and the sign that pointed toward the goron city.
Landing in the familiar spot, Sheik looked around until he found what he wanted-the path leading to Death Mountain's summit.
