That more or less what I had in mind, although I admit it did come sort of spur at the moment.
More importantly, I'm glad I made you laugh!
Justric Member
STATUS: No longer here. youtube.com/watch?v=RLBo1HJK.. 9 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Justric
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 676 (0.17 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Justric 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Charybdis,
WhiteAngel25,
idlehands
Status
Recent Statuses
9 yrs ago
Current
No longer here. youtube.com/watch?v=RLBo1HJK..
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
He didn't have answers for her right then. James had ideas, certainly! Anna needed to train somehow, to practice so she could gain control and discipline her powers. Right now they were too tied to her emotions, and that could lead to serious difficulties in the near future if they didn't find a way to curb it. James was fairly positive that her emotions were the power behind her abilities, that the stronger the emotions then the stronger her talents would manifest themselves; only she needed to find a way to focus that power and channel it at her will. He needed to do what he was best at: research. He also had to figure out how he was going to do that research when he could't touch anything...
The feel of her again his corpus was heavenly, a warm summer's breeze that chased away the cold that continually surrounded and filled him. He closed his own eyes, only to realize that he could still see anyway. It was all... an illusion, he realized. His body, his clothes, his voice... These were things that didn't really exist while still managing to cling tenacious to his soul, a memory of what he had been that still clung to him. Was this what ghostly life was like? Were there other ghosts? Or was he some twisted manifestation of her powers, trapped by Anna unintentionally. There was another possibility, his mind whispered to him, a horrifying idea that he could only pray was only a passing fancy.
What if he wasn't James at all? What if he was only a memory of Anna's given awareness by those very same powers that killed everyone else?
He violently pushed that fear away, concentrating instead on awkwardly trying to hold what he couldn't touch. Anna needed comfort more than he did right now anyway. Besides, he was dead. What comfort could there really be for him?? Obviously Heaven was not an immediate option and Hell was thankfully not present either. "No," he whispered back soothingly, "It's not your fault. They'd been killing me for years even before I even met you, Anna. All they did was finish the job."
A thought struck him then, causing him to laugh bitterly. "Fuck. You know... all those times I wished I was dead? All those times I failed to kill myself? All those times you and I talked about what it would be like to be dead so we wouldn't suffer anymore? And just when everything was finally looking up... Poof." James fell silent in her embrace, sorting through the emotions that began to wake up and war within him. "It's not like what we talked about, you know? Remember how we always hoped it would be like a long, sleep where nothing could touch us or disturb us ever again? It's not like that at all, Anna. Now I'm nothing but awake. It's like I've forgotten how to sleep. I don't think I can sleep. There's no escape from everything, no downtime, I don't think. I'm like a lightbulb that's always on but can't turn off."
He pulled back out of her arms to look at her, and then found to his surprise that he *could* pull back! For a moment, he had felt tangible resistance in the motion. "What the-?"
Looking down at himself and then back at her, his eyes grew wide. "Anna? Where's the blood? On your arms, you were scratching yourself up and bleeding and now..." Sure enough, her arms were clear of blood now. While the furrows that she had rent into her own flesh were still painfully visible, they were dried and weeping a healing plasma now instead of streaking bright red. Her self inflicted wounds weren't healed or closed by any definition of the word, not even scabbed over, but they were certainly not bleeding anymore. A thought that had escaped James' attention earlier returned as he stared at her forearms. Blood, something about blood. It always came back to blood, he remembered, and now here Anna was with arms as clean as though she had washed them and him slightly tangible just for a moment.
The feel of her again his corpus was heavenly, a warm summer's breeze that chased away the cold that continually surrounded and filled him. He closed his own eyes, only to realize that he could still see anyway. It was all... an illusion, he realized. His body, his clothes, his voice... These were things that didn't really exist while still managing to cling tenacious to his soul, a memory of what he had been that still clung to him. Was this what ghostly life was like? Were there other ghosts? Or was he some twisted manifestation of her powers, trapped by Anna unintentionally. There was another possibility, his mind whispered to him, a horrifying idea that he could only pray was only a passing fancy.
What if he wasn't James at all? What if he was only a memory of Anna's given awareness by those very same powers that killed everyone else?
He violently pushed that fear away, concentrating instead on awkwardly trying to hold what he couldn't touch. Anna needed comfort more than he did right now anyway. Besides, he was dead. What comfort could there really be for him?? Obviously Heaven was not an immediate option and Hell was thankfully not present either. "No," he whispered back soothingly, "It's not your fault. They'd been killing me for years even before I even met you, Anna. All they did was finish the job."
A thought struck him then, causing him to laugh bitterly. "Fuck. You know... all those times I wished I was dead? All those times I failed to kill myself? All those times you and I talked about what it would be like to be dead so we wouldn't suffer anymore? And just when everything was finally looking up... Poof." James fell silent in her embrace, sorting through the emotions that began to wake up and war within him. "It's not like what we talked about, you know? Remember how we always hoped it would be like a long, sleep where nothing could touch us or disturb us ever again? It's not like that at all, Anna. Now I'm nothing but awake. It's like I've forgotten how to sleep. I don't think I can sleep. There's no escape from everything, no downtime, I don't think. I'm like a lightbulb that's always on but can't turn off."
He pulled back out of her arms to look at her, and then found to his surprise that he *could* pull back! For a moment, he had felt tangible resistance in the motion. "What the-?"
Looking down at himself and then back at her, his eyes grew wide. "Anna? Where's the blood? On your arms, you were scratching yourself up and bleeding and now..." Sure enough, her arms were clear of blood now. While the furrows that she had rent into her own flesh were still painfully visible, they were dried and weeping a healing plasma now instead of streaking bright red. Her self inflicted wounds weren't healed or closed by any definition of the word, not even scabbed over, but they were certainly not bleeding anymore. A thought that had escaped James' attention earlier returned as he stared at her forearms. Blood, something about blood. It always came back to blood, he remembered, and now here Anna was with arms as clean as though she had washed them and him slightly tangible just for a moment.
Victor didn't like being thanked. For anything. Thanks were but empty words, an acknowledgement that you had done something for someone. Verbal gratitude held no more value to him than the small pile of medals and awards he'd been granted for bravery and action upon the field of battle, than any of the citations and praises of his commanders who then took home that credit for themselves to parade before their peers. He still recalled how expressive Captain Messer had been many years ago when Victor had lead the remnant of the Forlorn Hope to capture a calvary unit's standard. To think of it! Light infantry in skirmish formation taking on heavy cavalry and winning! Not only winning, but shaming the foe by claiming their flag. Yes, Captain Messer had been very thankful. And Victor had discovered why many months later while on leave in Verrun: Captain Messer was being hailed as a hero for a feat that he hadn't even been present for. Captain Messer's name was in all the broadsheets, he had received quite the honors and prize money from the city and was in line for a promotion. What had Victor gotten? A pat on the back. That was life in the army. Thanks were short lived words that should die stillborn upon their owners' tongues as far as he was concerned.
Only looking at Kijani, Victor couldn't find it within himself to sneer at her gratitude. Looking into those soft eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat as though in sudden recognition. She was no soldier, of that he was sure. But in that instant he was just as sure that she had seen something of struggle in her life, some horror whose memory would never be truly expunged away but only lessened with time. He didn't question what might have happened to her. After all, in Verrun anything could happen, it just happened to the poor far more often than to the rich. Instead, for the first time in years he found his mind following a different track altogether: What if he had met her under some other circumstances? Would he be attracted to the richness of her skin and brightness of her eyes if he met her at some country dance or festival? Would he feel the urge to attempt courting if he didn't know she was some wealthy lady from the city, with her fine gowns and golden rings? The cynic within him warning him off such thoughts. She was a city woman, for all her beauty, and Victor could not see what use she would have for a lame ex-soldier who dirtied his hands with honest labour.
"You're welcome," he finally grunted much to Feather's surprise. The maid servant's eyebrows shot up at hearing him utter the words no one thought he could ever say, and if that were not enough what followed caused her jaw to gape. "Just remember to help the next fellow out," he added, "There's always a next fellow, of course. Trick is figuring out which ones are picking your pocket and which are actually in a pickle barrel."
A final mouthful of food and he rose stiffly to his feet. His plate remained half full, as though he had suddenly lost appetite. "Time to be getting on with the other chores," he grumped, "I'll be back by the woodshed sharpening the ax heads if you need anything."
A sharp nod, and Victor stumped out with his cane thumping heavily on the floor.
Feather continued to stare after him as though she had never seen the man before at all, then turned to her mistress to exclaim, "He LIKES you!"
Only looking at Kijani, Victor couldn't find it within himself to sneer at her gratitude. Looking into those soft eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat as though in sudden recognition. She was no soldier, of that he was sure. But in that instant he was just as sure that she had seen something of struggle in her life, some horror whose memory would never be truly expunged away but only lessened with time. He didn't question what might have happened to her. After all, in Verrun anything could happen, it just happened to the poor far more often than to the rich. Instead, for the first time in years he found his mind following a different track altogether: What if he had met her under some other circumstances? Would he be attracted to the richness of her skin and brightness of her eyes if he met her at some country dance or festival? Would he feel the urge to attempt courting if he didn't know she was some wealthy lady from the city, with her fine gowns and golden rings? The cynic within him warning him off such thoughts. She was a city woman, for all her beauty, and Victor could not see what use she would have for a lame ex-soldier who dirtied his hands with honest labour.
"You're welcome," he finally grunted much to Feather's surprise. The maid servant's eyebrows shot up at hearing him utter the words no one thought he could ever say, and if that were not enough what followed caused her jaw to gape. "Just remember to help the next fellow out," he added, "There's always a next fellow, of course. Trick is figuring out which ones are picking your pocket and which are actually in a pickle barrel."
A final mouthful of food and he rose stiffly to his feet. His plate remained half full, as though he had suddenly lost appetite. "Time to be getting on with the other chores," he grumped, "I'll be back by the woodshed sharpening the ax heads if you need anything."
A sharp nod, and Victor stumped out with his cane thumping heavily on the floor.
Feather continued to stare after him as though she had never seen the man before at all, then turned to her mistress to exclaim, "He LIKES you!"
"Vait. Vhat??" Jötz stared at her incredulously as though she were mad. Which was the case, of course, for what were Sparks if not crazed scientists and looney inventors. It was by no accident that Sparks were often called 'mad boys.' All the same, the odds were not in what he thought were their favor. He was a Jaeger, afraid of little and enthusiastic in mayhem, yet that did not mean he was as foolish as he might sometimes seem. Whatever that thing was behind the wall, he doubted he could take it and the assorted small sized monsters about them all at the same time even with Ivy's cracker-jacks. The blue toads hadn't followed. Going back into their den seemed just a tad crazier than he could appreciate. "Chou ist joking, ja? Ist a funny, like telling zome new recruit to find a left-handed smoke shifter, ja?"
"Look, Miss Ivy, chou ist a pretty young gurl dat makes tings go boom und smells nize. Maybe not very nize, but nize. Chou don't want to end dat by becoming toad-chow, alright?"
Only as soon as the words were out of fanged mouth, the green furred soldier knew it was pointless. Ivy had that look in her eye that only meant one thing when it came to a Spark: 'Obey me now and I won't turn you into something nasty.' Granted it was hard to think of something nastier than a Jaeger, at least when it came to fighting. But she wanted to be obeyed, she would be obeyed and she would be obeyed NOW. Jötz could only shake his head. Better to humor her than try to force her; he hated to think what might happen if she tried to feed any of those cracker-jack things to him! "Alright, alright!" he finally surrendered after taking the glare for several moments longer than any sane person would. Throwing his hands up in the air in despair he added, "Not like I vast doing anyting better mit my life dan living it! Let's go!"
Jötz took point on the less hurried trudge back towards where the toads had surrounded them, muttering varies imprecations beneath his breath as to how he had found himself in this situation. He finally shut up again when he remembered how: a pretty girl.
Come to think of it, that's how most of my problems in life have started...
"Look, Miss Ivy, chou ist a pretty young gurl dat makes tings go boom und smells nize. Maybe not very nize, but nize. Chou don't want to end dat by becoming toad-chow, alright?"
Only as soon as the words were out of fanged mouth, the green furred soldier knew it was pointless. Ivy had that look in her eye that only meant one thing when it came to a Spark: 'Obey me now and I won't turn you into something nasty.' Granted it was hard to think of something nastier than a Jaeger, at least when it came to fighting. But she wanted to be obeyed, she would be obeyed and she would be obeyed NOW. Jötz could only shake his head. Better to humor her than try to force her; he hated to think what might happen if she tried to feed any of those cracker-jack things to him! "Alright, alright!" he finally surrendered after taking the glare for several moments longer than any sane person would. Throwing his hands up in the air in despair he added, "Not like I vast doing anyting better mit my life dan living it! Let's go!"
Jötz took point on the less hurried trudge back towards where the toads had surrounded them, muttering varies imprecations beneath his breath as to how he had found himself in this situation. He finally shut up again when he remembered how: a pretty girl.
Come to think of it, that's how most of my problems in life have started...
Tambernanny wandered his way throughout the halls in a seemingly aimless fashion, poking his head into rooms here and there out of curiosity.
Those who encountered him were unsure what quite to do at the sight of him. The minstrel would pause to look at passing folk, be they lesser or greater, then give them a nod of greeting and a guileless smile that declared all was right with the world. Then he would move on. And the servants and lesser nobles of the Baron's court could only stare and gawp back at him in bewilderment, for how did one address a tramp?? Had it been any other day and any other person, the answer was clear: with distain. Pity might run a close second. Only this was a tramp who had humbled their lord before his entire entourage, a tramp who welded a legal hold over Lord De'Vance unlike anything they had ever experienced. For a wandering minstrel to have such influence was unheard of! It certainly made placing him within their society difficult. Where Tambernanny a lord or knight or wealthy merchant, they would have treated him with careful respect and perhaps even try to curry favor with him to whatever ends. There would be no currying of favors with some ragamuffin vagabond as it would offend their sensibilities, and yet there was simply no denying the amount of power he currently had within his grasp!
So when he stopped a young scullery maid in the midst of one of her errands, she had little idea of how to even address him! The maid was but recently employed, adding to her confusion. She stuttered and stammered as he stood over her, smiling gently and blinking politely. "I'm sorry... m'lord? I... I don't ken..."
"It's a simple enough question," Tambernanny soothed to the petite blonde. "Do you sing?"
She bowed her head and wrung her hands, anxious that she might be caught dawdling by the cook as this stranger pressed her with the most curious of questions. While she was a pretty little thing, she had little in the way of wit or cunning. She had feared he would press some sort of advance upon her make as some guards and the cook's son had done. His question was innocuous enough that she could find no harm in answering it. "On Church Day... b'sure... sometimes when I'm walking back to my quarters... I guess..."
"Excellent well!" he crowed, clapping his hands in delight. "I am in need of a partner for tonight's masque, someone whose voice will match well enough with my fiddle strings and other things. You, my dear, would be the perfect person to accompany me as I shall accompany you!"
Feather, for that was the girl's name, looked up at him in absolute horror at the idea. "B-but, m'lord! I... I can not attend the masque! I will have work to be done, plates and pots and pans to be scrubbed! The cook... he would beat me if I am not there to attend my d-duties! And my singing is... is... I sing, m'lord but I am not good at it. Father Joachim even asked me once NOT to sing." Thin hands plucked at the grungy skirts she wore, more rags than fabric from work. "Even should I attend... I can not go like this! The Baron will see me for the servant I am and dismiss me! It's madness to even think it!"
Tambernanny was not to be dissuaded so easily. He smiled again. "Worry you not about the cook, for I will attend to him! And worry not about a dress for I have a dress that will fit you finer that any you might dare dream! And worry not about your voice, young maiden, for as a musician I can tell! I can tell that your voice cracked and creaked as you grew into the woman you are now, and that your voice then was much as a newborn colt: awkward and stumbling. Now? Now your voice is a magnificent mare, sleek and strong yet wanting for freedom to run. And that freedom you shall have." The bard cocked his head to one side and looked at her shrewdly. "Have you a lover?"
The blush that covered her cheeks put roses to shame. "N-no," she fumbled at the improper question, yet all the promises he was making seemed real to her and further opened her trust. "There is... there is Creggan, the grandson of Broadmere the Seneschal... but..."
"But nothing." The bard rested a hand upon her one shoulder. "Trust me in this, and he shall be yours as well."
Speechless, she took a step back from him with eyes wide and chin trembling. "How... how can you promise such things?!"
He gave a negligent wave of his hand. "Because I am many things, my dear. Many things indeed. You have heard the tales, I take it? Fairy godmothers, death as a godfather, helpful spirits one might find upon the road? Think of me as one of those. A man in a unique situation who wishes to see you get your heart's desire for his own reasons, a man who shall grant you your wishes." Another honest smile, and then he plucked the cloth he had snatched from the wind earlier that day. The three drops of blood were quite stark against the threads. The smallest of these he pinched and drew forth a gown of shimmering silken copper, and while Feather did not know it, the dress and its finery were the sister of Seraphina's own gown upstairs in every detail save that of color and size. From a velvet band of reddened rust hung also a mask, a finely and intricately wrought sparrow's face with beak and plumage to match. Feather's eyes grew even wider at the sight of it and not from the magic alone that called it forth; desire lit in her soul at its beauty. Whatever else might happen, the maid felt she had to have that dress. Laying the wonder in her unresisting arms, Tambernanny knew he had her. "Wear you this gown for me tonight. Be my singer. And henceforth you shall sing as prettily as any bird or maid, and you shall have your fortune."
Holding up a warning finger, the bard's face became stern and serious. "But tell any of how came you by the dress and voice, and you shall be the sorrier for it."
***
The masque was a dazzling display of wealth, opulence and taste. The court musicians played quietly in a reserved alcove to provide atmosphere as guests arrived to partake in the first night of festivities. There were clergy and clerks, merchants and militia, dames and dowagers, ladies and lords all mingling in glittering and feathered chaos about the grand hall. Jewels sparkled beneath the light of the great chandeliers, adding even more color to the air with their shine. Lord De'Vance sat upon his Chair to greet each as they came forth. Broadmere stood behind and to one side as befitted his station.
"Has there been sign of our... unique guest?" the Lord muttered to his Seneschal after a fat burgher and his wife had made their obeisance to him.
Broadmere could only shake his head. "No, my Lord. Nor could I find him earlier. Our own court musicians are somewhat nervous as it is, knowing that they with their instruments can not hope to compete with your daughter's melodic singing, but the presence of this rascal unnerves them even more. This Tambernanny fellow has not given any indication as to what sort of amusements he plans to entertain us with, and so I have no idea whether to expect him or nay! The man has mischief in mind, I fear, much as your daughter has predicted." He pursed his lips in thought before adding, "I still do not believe he intends harm, but I do fear what merriment he may bring so unexpectedly upon us."
Those who encountered him were unsure what quite to do at the sight of him. The minstrel would pause to look at passing folk, be they lesser or greater, then give them a nod of greeting and a guileless smile that declared all was right with the world. Then he would move on. And the servants and lesser nobles of the Baron's court could only stare and gawp back at him in bewilderment, for how did one address a tramp?? Had it been any other day and any other person, the answer was clear: with distain. Pity might run a close second. Only this was a tramp who had humbled their lord before his entire entourage, a tramp who welded a legal hold over Lord De'Vance unlike anything they had ever experienced. For a wandering minstrel to have such influence was unheard of! It certainly made placing him within their society difficult. Where Tambernanny a lord or knight or wealthy merchant, they would have treated him with careful respect and perhaps even try to curry favor with him to whatever ends. There would be no currying of favors with some ragamuffin vagabond as it would offend their sensibilities, and yet there was simply no denying the amount of power he currently had within his grasp!
So when he stopped a young scullery maid in the midst of one of her errands, she had little idea of how to even address him! The maid was but recently employed, adding to her confusion. She stuttered and stammered as he stood over her, smiling gently and blinking politely. "I'm sorry... m'lord? I... I don't ken..."
"It's a simple enough question," Tambernanny soothed to the petite blonde. "Do you sing?"
She bowed her head and wrung her hands, anxious that she might be caught dawdling by the cook as this stranger pressed her with the most curious of questions. While she was a pretty little thing, she had little in the way of wit or cunning. She had feared he would press some sort of advance upon her make as some guards and the cook's son had done. His question was innocuous enough that she could find no harm in answering it. "On Church Day... b'sure... sometimes when I'm walking back to my quarters... I guess..."
"Excellent well!" he crowed, clapping his hands in delight. "I am in need of a partner for tonight's masque, someone whose voice will match well enough with my fiddle strings and other things. You, my dear, would be the perfect person to accompany me as I shall accompany you!"
Feather, for that was the girl's name, looked up at him in absolute horror at the idea. "B-but, m'lord! I... I can not attend the masque! I will have work to be done, plates and pots and pans to be scrubbed! The cook... he would beat me if I am not there to attend my d-duties! And my singing is... is... I sing, m'lord but I am not good at it. Father Joachim even asked me once NOT to sing." Thin hands plucked at the grungy skirts she wore, more rags than fabric from work. "Even should I attend... I can not go like this! The Baron will see me for the servant I am and dismiss me! It's madness to even think it!"
Tambernanny was not to be dissuaded so easily. He smiled again. "Worry you not about the cook, for I will attend to him! And worry not about a dress for I have a dress that will fit you finer that any you might dare dream! And worry not about your voice, young maiden, for as a musician I can tell! I can tell that your voice cracked and creaked as you grew into the woman you are now, and that your voice then was much as a newborn colt: awkward and stumbling. Now? Now your voice is a magnificent mare, sleek and strong yet wanting for freedom to run. And that freedom you shall have." The bard cocked his head to one side and looked at her shrewdly. "Have you a lover?"
The blush that covered her cheeks put roses to shame. "N-no," she fumbled at the improper question, yet all the promises he was making seemed real to her and further opened her trust. "There is... there is Creggan, the grandson of Broadmere the Seneschal... but..."
"But nothing." The bard rested a hand upon her one shoulder. "Trust me in this, and he shall be yours as well."
Speechless, she took a step back from him with eyes wide and chin trembling. "How... how can you promise such things?!"
He gave a negligent wave of his hand. "Because I am many things, my dear. Many things indeed. You have heard the tales, I take it? Fairy godmothers, death as a godfather, helpful spirits one might find upon the road? Think of me as one of those. A man in a unique situation who wishes to see you get your heart's desire for his own reasons, a man who shall grant you your wishes." Another honest smile, and then he plucked the cloth he had snatched from the wind earlier that day. The three drops of blood were quite stark against the threads. The smallest of these he pinched and drew forth a gown of shimmering silken copper, and while Feather did not know it, the dress and its finery were the sister of Seraphina's own gown upstairs in every detail save that of color and size. From a velvet band of reddened rust hung also a mask, a finely and intricately wrought sparrow's face with beak and plumage to match. Feather's eyes grew even wider at the sight of it and not from the magic alone that called it forth; desire lit in her soul at its beauty. Whatever else might happen, the maid felt she had to have that dress. Laying the wonder in her unresisting arms, Tambernanny knew he had her. "Wear you this gown for me tonight. Be my singer. And henceforth you shall sing as prettily as any bird or maid, and you shall have your fortune."
Holding up a warning finger, the bard's face became stern and serious. "But tell any of how came you by the dress and voice, and you shall be the sorrier for it."
***
The masque was a dazzling display of wealth, opulence and taste. The court musicians played quietly in a reserved alcove to provide atmosphere as guests arrived to partake in the first night of festivities. There were clergy and clerks, merchants and militia, dames and dowagers, ladies and lords all mingling in glittering and feathered chaos about the grand hall. Jewels sparkled beneath the light of the great chandeliers, adding even more color to the air with their shine. Lord De'Vance sat upon his Chair to greet each as they came forth. Broadmere stood behind and to one side as befitted his station.
"Has there been sign of our... unique guest?" the Lord muttered to his Seneschal after a fat burgher and his wife had made their obeisance to him.
Broadmere could only shake his head. "No, my Lord. Nor could I find him earlier. Our own court musicians are somewhat nervous as it is, knowing that they with their instruments can not hope to compete with your daughter's melodic singing, but the presence of this rascal unnerves them even more. This Tambernanny fellow has not given any indication as to what sort of amusements he plans to entertain us with, and so I have no idea whether to expect him or nay! The man has mischief in mind, I fear, much as your daughter has predicted." He pursed his lips in thought before adding, "I still do not believe he intends harm, but I do fear what merriment he may bring so unexpectedly upon us."
Not to worry! Here's hoping things get less hectic for your own sake!!
That's perfectly alright! Convention season is starting up here this weekend, so I've been rather busy myself. Though I have to say, I am curious as to how she's going to respond to his question of what she does for a living!
Amused myself today by reading "Mira's Gone. It's Anna Now." It's really interesting to see the differences between my James and Thinker's Vincent! Though I have to say, I think Vincent is taking being dead just a bit better than James.
James could only blink in bewilderment as she confessed to everything that happened after his... death. Sara had killed all of them, all of the people who had made their lives a living hell for the past several years. And her mother, too. Searching his own soul for any sort of emotional response, all he could find was a savage satisfaction. Revenge. Revenge had been served! True, it had taken his death for it to come about, but what was done was done! James still wasn't quite sure how he felt about having been killed himself, although he sensed a rising bitterness about the whole thing that further enflamed the savage acceptance of all those deaths. A hundred and fifty-some students, a handful of teachers and chaperones that failed to protect James and Sara and her witch of a mother?
"Good," he finally said distantly. Then with a great deal more force, "Good!"
He knelt down before her on the mattress (how had he gotten there?) and tried to look into her eyes again. "Anna? Listen to me. It's good that they're dead. D'you understand? Can you think of anyone who deserved to die more?! How many years did they... did they hate us? How many times did they beat us and tease us and put us down like we were less than human? And what did we ever do to them, huh?! What did you and I ever do to deserve that?! And the ones who didn't bully us? They were just as fucking guilty. They could have stepped in at any time to help us out, but no! No, they just shook their heads and looked the other way. Sometimes they laughed, too, I saw them. I'm glad you killed them! Not just for us, but for society as well! Can you imagine them out in the real world? How many people's lives and spirits they would have crushed and broken over the years? Maybe you didn't plan it, but it sure as fuck couldn't have happened to more deserving assholes."
"And your mother?" James snorted hatefully. "What love did she ever show you? Cramming you into that God forsaken closet all the time? And you know how much of the Bible she twisted? Seriously? Shit, my father thought the Bible was only good for hitting me with, but even I know your mother used it to keep you afraid and weak. She was a manipulative hag who was nothing but ignorant and deranged. She was sick, Anna. Sick in the head and sick in the heart, and you should be glad to be fucking rid of her. I only wish you had offed my old man in the bargain!"
James shook his head violently, ghostly jaw firmly clenched in anger and a frightful snarl on his face. "If you need to be Anna, then be Anna. I love you whatever you call yourself, and that's not going to change. But don't feel bad about what you did. You didn't kill people. You put down a bunch of animals that would have just spread their fucking poison around even more after graduation."
Reaching up, he tried to take her in his arms to give what comfort he could then. To his horror, James found that his hands passed right through her as though she wasn't there at all. He blinked again in surprise as he drew back to stare at the offending limbs. She had touched him, kissed him. He had felt it! It had been a mix of love, tenderness and a sweet, sweet warmth that had briefly staved off the freezing blight that both surrounded and filled his core at the same time. "I can't touch you," he murmured sadly, "You can touch me... but I can't touch you..."
He only let that self pity last for a moment. It was a nightmare of a realization that not only was he dead, but that he couldn't touch the woman he loved anymore. It was... so unfair! James shook it off for now, focusing instead on Anna's needs.
"I'm dead. Fine." He held out his arms for her to take them if she wished. "But I'm still here, Anna, with you. I don't know how or why or if this was supposed to happen, but we're still together. I still love you and I won't leave you."
"Ever."
"Good," he finally said distantly. Then with a great deal more force, "Good!"
He knelt down before her on the mattress (how had he gotten there?) and tried to look into her eyes again. "Anna? Listen to me. It's good that they're dead. D'you understand? Can you think of anyone who deserved to die more?! How many years did they... did they hate us? How many times did they beat us and tease us and put us down like we were less than human? And what did we ever do to them, huh?! What did you and I ever do to deserve that?! And the ones who didn't bully us? They were just as fucking guilty. They could have stepped in at any time to help us out, but no! No, they just shook their heads and looked the other way. Sometimes they laughed, too, I saw them. I'm glad you killed them! Not just for us, but for society as well! Can you imagine them out in the real world? How many people's lives and spirits they would have crushed and broken over the years? Maybe you didn't plan it, but it sure as fuck couldn't have happened to more deserving assholes."
"And your mother?" James snorted hatefully. "What love did she ever show you? Cramming you into that God forsaken closet all the time? And you know how much of the Bible she twisted? Seriously? Shit, my father thought the Bible was only good for hitting me with, but even I know your mother used it to keep you afraid and weak. She was a manipulative hag who was nothing but ignorant and deranged. She was sick, Anna. Sick in the head and sick in the heart, and you should be glad to be fucking rid of her. I only wish you had offed my old man in the bargain!"
James shook his head violently, ghostly jaw firmly clenched in anger and a frightful snarl on his face. "If you need to be Anna, then be Anna. I love you whatever you call yourself, and that's not going to change. But don't feel bad about what you did. You didn't kill people. You put down a bunch of animals that would have just spread their fucking poison around even more after graduation."
Reaching up, he tried to take her in his arms to give what comfort he could then. To his horror, James found that his hands passed right through her as though she wasn't there at all. He blinked again in surprise as he drew back to stare at the offending limbs. She had touched him, kissed him. He had felt it! It had been a mix of love, tenderness and a sweet, sweet warmth that had briefly staved off the freezing blight that both surrounded and filled his core at the same time. "I can't touch you," he murmured sadly, "You can touch me... but I can't touch you..."
He only let that self pity last for a moment. It was a nightmare of a realization that not only was he dead, but that he couldn't touch the woman he loved anymore. It was... so unfair! James shook it off for now, focusing instead on Anna's needs.
"I'm dead. Fine." He held out his arms for her to take them if she wished. "But I'm still here, Anna, with you. I don't know how or why or if this was supposed to happen, but we're still together. I still love you and I won't leave you."
"Ever."
We're usually not "safe" until mid-April, although hopefully this will be the last big blow. Buffalo is known for its snowy winters. Even so, this one has been really strange. And get this: this friday and Saturday it's supposed yo jump back up into the mid-40s.
Okay, hot cocoa break done. Back to shoveling.
Okay, hot cocoa break done. Back to shoveling.
© 2007-2024