|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu May 03, 2012 9:00 am
 |
|
|
 |
♦ ♣ ♥ ♠
---------------the transcontinental---------------
spring
Though Hayden lived in the city, it took a few hours and a fair bit of mulling around to get to the Crantel transcontinental train. The drive over was enough to prescribe both parties with an insufferable case of ennui, but the two did survive, their eyes strained by the dull cold of Cran's bay area morning. As they did when they left, Graeme quietly picked up what few bags of things he had from Hayden's small car trunk and yawned into his knuckles. In Upper Sewit, Graeme was rather used to very early mornings, but the past two years bred a habit of waking up hours later than normal, sometimes during the afternoon if his schedule permitted, which did a load on his wakefulness.
Hayden poked her head out from the open driver's window, shrugging her shoulder against the seat to try and see where Graeme was. Despite having so little baggage, the large backpack slung around his shoulder made him seem even smaller than usual, and the woman laughed casually when Graeme let out a constrained yawn again. "You got your things?" she asked, patiently waiting for the boy to waddle his way on over closer to her, rubbing his eyes as a toddler would.
"You used to wake up earlier than me most days. What's gotten into you?"
Graeme hopped awkwardly on one foot to adjust the seating of the bag against his back, and murmured, "I got everything, I think. S'getting used to doing nothing what's got into me. And it's your fault." He blinked once or twice to regain a bit more consciousness, and leaned forward nearer to Hayden to take a glance at the electronic clock on the car dock. He groaned at the time: nearly 7 AM.
"Oh, shut up." Hayden nudged Graeme's shoulder lightly and, when it garnered little response from him outside of a peeved grumble, popped the car door open and lumbered out of it. Graeme stared up at the tall woman, who stared back and ruffled his fluffy bed of hair, checking the time again on the watch around her wrist. "We are here a little early. Your train arrives around 8... would you like some breakfast or something?"
Graeme shook his head.
"Okay. Well, I want some coffee, so let's get you inside."
Hayden closed the car door and locked it promptly, practically dragging Graeme along by the shoulder through the station plaza. It was, despite the dreary gray of the morning, a beautiful place, and the epitome of Crantel architecture-- the floors were a slick marble, and as Graeme tried to pick up pace, he noticed the reflections of him and Hayden against the ground. It stunned him even more to arrive at the entrance, when a clear and clean glass door swung open automatically and the tunnel through surrounded the two in their own reflections.
"Do you remember what I told you?" Hayden broke through their morning quiet again, and Graeme scratched the side of his head.
"I remember." The sleek aisles of white, broken up by silver-and-granite registrar stands, caught his attention. He recognized the aroma of food from a distance, and the incoming bustle of noise from a small populace of people not too far away. Almost naturally, the two went towards the smell of the food first, which made Graeme realize he was hungrier than he'd imagined.
"Do you, though?"
"Sure. I get off at the Glenmount stop, take the bus to Portslayne and walk to the pier." They stopped hear a quintessential coffeehouse, where he eyed the pastry stand at the register.
"You'll meet one of my old friends there, Mr. Felix. He's a tall-ish kinda guy, tanned, a little older than most of the dock workers there. Say hi to him for me, and he'll take you to the island shore."
When they reached the front of the line, Hayden placed an order, and the two sat down at one of the front tables. Graeme hesitated to put his baggage down, and simply nodded, emptily. "Yeah, sure. Get the orders out before the servant leaves, won't you? 'M gonna leave now, I think, get a nap in."
"Yeah, yeah, okay. That's it." Hayden sighed, and stood up in time for the baristas to whirl the espresso machines. Another group of morning-weary travelers filed into the shop, and Graeme stared at them as if they were competition for train seats.
Without so much as a warning, Hayden walked towards Graeme and pulled him towards her for a tight, brief hug. Graeme felt near choked to death, if not buried, between the woman's arm and chest and the weight of his things, but managed to extend two awkward arms around Hayden in return. Hayden pulled back, and Graeme simply scratched the back of his head.
"See you in a bit, kid. I'm counting on you."
"Yeah, see you." Graeme waved and turned towards the stations, and walked sluggishly towards the train terminals.
"When you reach the shore, be sure to take Mr. Felix as an escort," Hayden shouted, "And be as alert as you can. Try not to get killed!
"Seriously, though, Graeme! It's the afternoon, and animals will be out there. Mr. Felix will disable the booby traps, but try to call on your assets if you can.
"There might be lasers!
"And a simulated thunderstorm!
"Robot tigers, Graeme!"
Graeme dourly reminded himself that the transcontinental was the first memory of Crantel and hoped, dearly, that it would not be his last, either. He knew that there was a good several hours before he'd arrive at his destination at the bay and, desperately, hopefully, the young Graeme Withers started to beg his four other selves for help as soon as Hayden's voice could no longer be heard.
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 14, 2012 4:19 pm
|
|
|
|
♦ ♣ ♥ ♠
---------------admissions (WIP)---------------
spring
Jack, fully costumed, stumbled into the Admissions Office during a rather humble afternoon.
A young man from behind the counter stared worriedly at the boy, who teetered near the wall and practically melted into the couches. He looked similar to a chimney sweep from Mary Poppins, soot from head to toe and all. The only thing that remained reasonbly immaculate were the backpacks slung loosely over his shoulders, and his pair of bright red eyes, which shot the curious Admissions secretary a wiry glance in silence.
The secretary looked around the rest of the office in nervous avoidance. The only other "company" they had today were the faint ticking of the clock above and white noise, which screened in from the numerous office cubbies several feet behind the office booth. Coughing into his knuckles, the secretary pushed up his glasses and rolled his chair nearer to the side, where Graeme was, and attempted to break the silence.
"Uh. Sir? Do you have a scheduled appointment?"
"No, but I'm filthy and in need of some information, and someone redirected me to Admissions. I've been out in your Academy's blasted Death Road for about two days, and-- how do you expect anyone to live through that thing?" Jack stood up and near collapsed at the weight of his luggage, and teetered towards the secretary, "Do you want to kill your students and teach the corpses??"
"We haven't really had a problem with that, really. Most students nowadays find... alternate routes... uh, are you injured? Should we call someone in to get you to the medical wing first?"
Jack pointed to himself. "Do I look injured to you?"
Silence.
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 14, 2012 4:22 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 14, 2012 4:23 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 16, 2012 9:05 pm
|
|
|
|
♣
---------------the wagon---------------
summer / meta
Graeme often had lucid dreams after he'd gained his powers.
His parents argued frequently about the nature of them, but Semper Withers, his father and born in more well-to-do parts of Upper Sewit, simply dismissed them as meaningless dreams. Agricole, a doe-faced and quiet mother, from the simpler parts of the continent, had called them visions. When he'd reached Crantel, Hayden Cooper, bemused and besmirched, had called it lucid dreaming and, like his father, thought nothing of it.
Yet, even upon researching lucid dreaming, Graeme did not understand its nature. He possessed no control over his surroundings, but remained conscious, and he'd dream frequently of four brothers, and his dreams rarely included himself.
Often, his surroundings were reoccurring and familiar, and he, standing invisibly behind an armored man, bowing, stared at the three figures perched upon three wooden thrones, heads raised high. At the center was the sharpest one, frowning, staring at the armored man past a veil of leaves and shadow. The regality of it all would shrink, slowly at first, until only the thrones remained and the pillars beside them were nothing more than wooden flanks with curtains to obscure the light.
The creaking and smell of candelight would grow familiar, and Graeme recognized it as the old caravan, his birthplace and an ancient heirloom. But the place he knew as both his grandfather and home felt different, with these four strange men in place of himself, with thrones that burst with uneasy radiance.
And, again and again, the man at the center of three thrones stood. He asked but one thing, repeatedly: "Why are you here?"
Graeme's vision undulated and faded but for a moment, and he looked down at his hands, armored, with his legs bowed, and instinctively he knew he was the armored man. Without hesitation, he drew his glance to the man at the center and drew his breath.
"I am your brother, thus I am here."
"Why are you here?"
"I am a servant, bound to your wisdom."
"Why are you here?"
"Because I wish to kneel."
The world erupted, and thunder followed.
♣
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 16, 2012 9:06 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu May 17, 2012 5:53 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 22, 2012 1:20 pm
|
|
|
|
♦ ♣ ♥ ♠
---------------grainne's tale---------------
summer / meta
Semper Withers and Agricole Withers (née Gravois) had always wanted a girl. When they visited Agricole's part of the continent, which was as comparative a town to Upper Sewit as a rather manky old and questionable nook would be to an wholesome alleyway as one could get, the local fortune teller surmised that their wish would come true. The news was all the troupe needed for it to celebrate with wild festivity over the course of the next five months, as an unexpected little girl was, many Upper Sewitans said, the cusp of good tidings ahead.
When Graeme was born, it was autumn, and the weather terrible. Their wagon had nearly knocked over more than a dozen times and the theatre had bad business the past few seasons, and Agricole found herself distressed and unable to function over news that the fortune teller was somehow wrong about the little spirit she'd held inside her for so long. Discounting the fact that the fortune teller had always been wrong about the weather (really, was there any fortune teller who was right about it?) and the other time she'd mistaken Semper to be a lady (he was a younger bloke when that happened), her horoscopes and palm readings were always on-mark, and when she bode future fortunes, they always came in grand sweeps.
What, then, did Graeme mean for the Troupe? When revisiting the fortune teller with sombering news, she could only conclude one thing: the Troupe had to tread carefully, and their unexpected son kept close in sight. A baby boy for anyone but a noble was a sign of hardship, but a change in genders entirely meant an untold and mysterious future.
Agricole followed the mystic's sage advice and Semper tried to, as well, but there was still one question all three couldn't answer: what to name the child, then? The fortune teller had already predicted sweet Grainne to blossom into their lives, but what good did a girl's name do for the boy? So think the Withers did, and a year later they found a name that fit, after thinking so long on what a similar name might look like: Graeme.
Not Graham, nor Gram, but Graeme, because the name fit, and it seemed much more fanciful than any other denomination the Withers could find. Graeme Semper Withers, so he was called, unless he was being a particular little nuisance. Troupe members and Semper alike often called him Grainne to irk him, to make him pout, and to ultimately stay quiet, because even as a tender youngling he was easily silenced by shame and aggravation. For his wheat-like hair, sometimes they called him Little Grain, or Wheat Grain, or Spoiled Grain, or any of those thousands of other irksome denominations, and he'd cry until he got too used to the nickname to care any longer.
If Agricole was feeling so obliged, she'd summon Little Grain to her lap and tell him once again about the time they'd suspected him a girl when he was still in her belly. She'd pinch his big ears and button nose and lament how they should have kept the name Grainne, after all, much to his refusal.
When he'd switched genders, it was because of his-- her-- mother that he'd (she'd?) quietly feel the ends of his ears and sniff his nose, because of that memory of teasing and pain and ogling. It was an unconscious and immediate thought to call herself Grainne when she experienced the unfortunate twist of events, but when Graeme-now-Grainne really thought about it, it was bitterly fitting.
Perhaps being a girl wasn't horrid: he'd played the part during acts before, everyone thought he'd be one before he could even breathe. But it was instinct to still squirm in her chair and stare blankly outside the window, in hopes that she could feel more embarrassed than she actually felt. She'd already prepared herself in her usual, alarmingly colorful Jack outfit, deck of cards pressed tightly in her palm.
In her other hand was the dorm room's phone, and on the other line was Hayden, whom Grainne had called immediately after her (and her roommate's) slew of confused and heckling guests were gone, and who was more confused than embarrassed or angry.
"...It looks like it's made the news, but the blast radius didn't make it much farther than the eastern coastline of Crantel. Lucky us, I suppose," Hayden said, in a voice alarmingly similar to his past female voice.
"You embarrassed?"
"Not exactly, which is the embarrassing part. Well, it will pass, right? I mean, it... will pass. Period."
"You're oddly calm about this, for being a teenaged boy. Did the blast effect your nerves, too?"
"Oh, chuck it. You're not as used to it as I am, okay? The "acting as the opposite sex" bit."
"Whatever."
A click followed on the other end, and Grainne was left listening to white noise.
"...Ah, God, I forgot to ask how you go to the damn toilet!"
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 22, 2012 1:22 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Aug 29, 2012 9:09 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Aug 29, 2012 9:38 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Aug 29, 2012 9:39 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Oct 30, 2012 1:12 am
|
|
|
|
♦ ♣ ♥ ♠
---------------fears---------------
autumn
Intro Magic was horrifying. Graeme vaguely recalled the first day of class: they had to write down their biggest fear. Without much thought, he wrote down "homesickness."
He thought his reply was unique, if not satirical, and it was the first thing that popped into his head, at least. No one was particularly into it, and he liked to pretend that he wasn't, either, though the concept was interesting. The professor urged that overcoming your fears was the very foundation of acing magic.
He was right, in a way: when he called out the fears publicly to the class (it was part of the routine, and it was anonymous, thankfully) most of them were as followed: hurting loved ones, loss of control, thirst for power. Average fears for average heroes, no doubt, and most people could relate to it. Heroes who had to deal with the magical arts were particularly subject to falling for all three.
It was only when the professor recited "homesickness" and raised his brow that Graeme felt heat rising to his cheeks. His fear wasn't even average: it was well below average, though he took it in stride. Maybe having a fear so needlessly frivolous was a good thing, that it was proof of his undamanble courage. So he spoke up about it, the class had its bout of laughter, and he explained in his quaintest voice that it was the best he could think of.
Five weeks and a midterm later, Graeme was left thinking about it. He was alone, in the cafeteria, eating stale pizza, and came to a revelation: he wasn't lying at all.
It really was the best thing he could think of, and it was a fear well below average. None of that would change. But when he moved far, far away from Upper Sewitan shores, he detested the continent with fervor. So much fervor, in fact, that his contempt for the place didn't die two years after relentless homelessness and nights of starvation, solitude, and depression.
His face scrunched up, and he stared at the piece of pizza, grease rolling off onto the paper plate. The first thing he thought was how much he missed Upper Sewitan food, as was a thought repeated several times over throughout the course of his stay.
Graeme left the cafeteria soon after. He finished the pizza anyway, but he threw the plate away as a frustrated, crumpled mess. He wiped some grease off onto his pants and watched a few people passing stare at him with resolute pity.
"Sod off," he murmured resolutely, until he found someplace to sit at. It was a minute's walk away from his dorm. He took off his hat and stared at the Sewitan stitching on his gloves, and on his hat, and he realized he spoke in a very Sewitan way.
He was more Sewitan than he was when he left the place. Graeme frowned.
He hated Upper Sewit before. The problem wasn't that he liked it now: it was that he was, somehow, prideful of it.
But he was homesick.
And he never realized it.
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Oct 30, 2012 1:24 am
|
|
|
|
♣
---------------the song of storms---------------
autumn
The Unseelie Court was nomadic. The Seelie Court, however, knew their place in the world and nuzzled comfortably within the many enchanted forests of Upper Sewit. They could have lived anywhere, really, but the forest was abundant, and the plants were their lifeblood: it was food, shelter, and clothing.
The Seelie Court was big. They stretched from forest to forest, and lived from families to families. The hobgoblins were among the most abundant. They lived on sap and human kindness. Hobgoblins were fond of borrowing.
The one thing they did not take pleasure in receiving, however, was clothing.
♣
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Oct 30, 2012 1:33 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
