|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Aug 07, 2011 3:36 pm
 Orpheus searched through the hems of his shorts, digging around, as if he had lost something. The sun was just rising, and the streets were still cool. After graduating, he had left the Academy to live in the outlying area, and had largely been a bum. The only thing that kept him alive was his music, which he played for others in order to acquire food or currency. One morning he had been attracted to a bakery very close to his home, however, and one thing led to another: he now opened the bakery every morning, every day of the week, because he was up at strange hours and preferred to sleep during the day.
So that was where he stood, outside the bakery, rifling through the hems of his shorts. Potentially for a lost coin, or a key. However, he seemed to suddenly remember something. He smacked himself on the head lightly, and reached into his left sleeve, producing an apron. It was impossibly large, given his sleeve had no bulge. That was the unexpected benefit of the chaos fragment in his tea, as he had later discovered: hammerspaces and portals were his to control. Naturally, these powers had limitations, but storing an apron in his sleeve was not one of the forbidden aspects of his talent.
He put the apron on and headed into the cafe, calling out his good mornings to the cat and the owner as he entered. The owner was half-asleep at the wooden table in the room behind the kitchen, and Orpheus was careful not to wake them as he prepared the breads and muffins and cakes which were most popular in the morning.
For hours, he worked, until he was sweating and tired. His coworker came to relieve him, once most of the morning baking had been finished, and they opened the store while he slipped out the back. He sighed, leaning against the wall, and stuffed the apron back into his sleeve. From his other sleeve, he produced a violin and its bow, striking the bow to the strings and producing a pleasant, if amateur sound.
That was where his playing took off, however. The sound took flight, and his natural musical charm shone through. It was one of his passive skills, augmented into magic when he drank the tea which solidified his powers into that of a witch: when he played, bystanders would be temporarily transfixed. Those in earshot would feel compelled to draw nearer. It wouldn't work on everyone; any individual who was preoccupied beyond curiosity would not be drawn in or transfixed.
Orpheus wandered through the streets, yawning as he played his violin, heading home the long way.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Aug 10, 2011 5:00 am
Philemon Menniadis was infamous for a lot of things. First and foremost came his incredible tendency to get hurt. It was in fact, becoming quite the feat! Especially since he managed to do just that even with surfaces and objects that would never, willingly or not, hurt a human being. Another thing was his slightly insane sleeping schedule. Somehow, in a way most human creatures could not quite comprehend, Phil appeared to be able to run in a perfectly good condition for the greatest part of the day with nothing but strictly five hours of sleep. When confronted about it, Phil would kindly point out that if the day had more hours in it he might consider the addition of a sixth hour to his sleeping schedule but for now he could barely fit all the things he had or wanted to do within its measly twenty four clock cycles. And because of said limited time, Phil always ran on the clock to be able to finish his tasks in perfection every day while still leaving him enough quality time for himself and his friends.
That was such a day as well and an important one to top it off as Phil was going to start picking his saffron flowers to process and use the powder for his medicines considering how good it was for one's health. Of course there had been a catch, there's always a catch with such plants. Harvest had to happen strictly before sunrise and in a limited time frame of fifteen days where the flowers were at their best condition -and that's why Phil wasn't allowed to dally even if he wanted to. Sometimes he would wish his tea would have given him the ability to stop time or make it go slower but such a thing would be otherwise rather impractical.
It took him hours of meticulous, superhuman tries and intense focus to complete his task and that was only one day with quite a few sure to follow. At least, he felt accomplished, he decided and thus he smiled and returned home to continue the process later. For now his stomach demanded food and he was in no condition to make it. The remedy for that was rather simple and so, after changing from his clothes he used for fieldwork to those he would usually wear outside. He had just managed to make it outside when his thoughts of breakfast where whisked off and carried away by a rather incredible sound coming from the distance. Sure enough Phil knew it to be music and quite like every time before he was drawn to the sound like a small moth to a candle's bright flame.
Phil had always appreciated art, as he did artists themselves. He found it to be a beautiful world, one he could never truly understand or be a part of but a world he could watch and listen and enjoy all the same, letting it softly brush against him and give him all the things it could possibly give. It was because Phil himself had no special artistic talent of his own whatsoever so he was always left in wonder and awe in front of all forms of art. Even so he wasn't really jealous. He was also rather talented himself, although in completely different fields and he'd never trade if he was given a choice. It was because even if he had some sort of special talent he wouldn't have been able to help others simply through it and in the end that was all Phil wanted.
Forgetting about being hungry, Phil set off in his quest to find the source of the beautiful melody if nothing to congratulate the person playing and thank him for giving a performance even if it was so very early. Surely, Phil was certain, waking up to such a wonderful atmosphere would make many people very happy. In the end it ended up being a slightly peculiar, blond violinist . Phil would swear he looked very familiar, why, they had probably taken classes together in a few occasions and Phil would hardly ever forget faces but for some reason they probably hadn't talked yet; at least Phil couldn't recall conversing with him at all. He couldn't bring himself to interrupt him and so he just settled for being quiet, relishing in the fact he could just be there. He was surely having a helplessly cheerful look on his face and he was sure about that but there was little he could do even if the other thought him to be an idiot because of it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 16, 2011 9:01 am
Orpheus could hear footsteps. His eyes were closed as he played, sounding out the ground beneath him with his violin's music. When Orpheus finished his song, and stroked the bow across the strings lovingly one last time, he took the violin away from his shoulder and found the source of the footsteps: a witch with pale blonde hair and a rather angelic appearance. Orpheus grinned, the glow of his eyes amplifying. Typically, his eyes glowed brighter at night, like a lantern. When he was pleased, however, they would glow faintly bright as well. The worst was when he was sick: the light of his eyes would shine even through his eyelids, indicating the uncontrollable pain that wracked him. Thankfully, Orpheus was seldom sick.
He stretched, and opened his sleeve up, sliding the violin back inside, along with the bow. Orpheus was by no means shy, and he felt like he recognized the witch. Perhaps they had studied together? During most of his short studies, Orpheus had been deeply absorbed in reading about his future magical career. Not a career worth any monetary gain, however; Orpheus was actually rather poor, and lived in a "reclaimed" building. It was run-down, and occasionally had rats, but he had set up talismans against pests and unpleasant moisture, so his room was pretty nice. A stronger Reapear who had defected from the service of the land used her illusion magic to protect the building from being found by any but its occupants. Even those who were led there would not be able to retrace their steps to find the building again, making any possible spies useless to their masters. She lived like a king on the top floor of the house. Orpheus had a room on the second floor, with a big window and a mattress on the floor. His possessions and supplies from his dormitory room also decorated the stolen room. On the bright side, he paid no rent. Not that he could afford to.
For a while, he had just played his music for money. He had no shame in his hypnotic music, as it was a rare thing to hear. In fact, if he played just right, it was not only an auditory spell but a full experience. It was a sort of musical summons. In battle, it could be sinister; out in the streets, it was harmless fun. That had not lasted long. Orpheus longed for a kitchen again, and as the building had no working kitchen except for on the king's floor, he went out and found himself a job at a bakery. For Orpheus it was basically that easy to find work. He was a very experienced baker, even though it was a little embarassing, so he made food in the morning while opening the shop. It meant waking very early, which was alright; Orpheus was late to sleep, early to rise.
"Good morning; I know you, don't I?...You look familiar," he addressed the Witch. The young man had beautiful eyes and hair, handsome if they weren't so sweet. It reminded Orpheus of a sugary treat, but he realized it would do him no good to think of the new acquaintance like something edible. So he rubbed the back of his neck, and stretched out again, approaching a little closer to shake the young man's hand in greeting. Orpheus wasn't a great believer of handshakes as a greeting, but there was a lot you could learn from the way someone took your hand. So he extended his in a warm greeting, smiling. Perhaps what Orpheus liked most about the stranger was his smile. Although he worried a little, this young witch walking alone... Hopefully his powers were strong enough that it posed no danger to him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 16, 2011 2:59 pm
Phil listened in all his silent awe and wonder until the witch had finished playing his song. Even though no sound remained, reverberating in the atmosphere, Phil could still hear, almost feel, the last played notes gently linger behind with an aftersound. It almost felt like waking from a dream, a gentle dream filled with all kinds of things but what nightmares where made of. The absence of the melody suddenly filled him with the need to listen to it again even though it was only just gone; it was longing and loneliness and he couldn't possibly explain how it was possible he missed it so much, the need for it being realized only after it was already gone. It had to be some sort of magic, Phil's logic claimed so, otherwise it made no sense, absolutely no sense at all for him to feel that way.
And then, just like that, the violin and bow disappeared within a sleeve; more magic, Phil thought, dimensional magic at that. Why couldn't his magic be as practical sometimes? He secretly wondered that; and to think, that if it was, he'd never have to worry about breaking his vases or look for additional storage when he ran out of places to keep his medicine and powders. His house was spacious enough and the Pharmacy housed about half his ingredients nowadays but even so, if it'd be possible to move things around like this then he might not have to look for a greenhouse that early on. Even so, there were little things he would allow himself to go on endlessly about, much less whine or even thing of troubling others. He already had enough on his plate with his research and the potions and his studies and the constant worrying over his brother, but it wasn't as if it was something he could do anything about.
That was one more reason he admired artists as much. They always had their art with them, they were never alone. One step was all they had to take and they were already miles away, worlds away from the 'normal' people, lost in their own worlds of private wonders reserved only for themselves. Truly, Phil found the ability to be a gift. Not to mention art had a subtle, soothing quality about it; a feminine side, as giving birth to things had always been after all. Phil had no talent of his own, other than coming up with concoctions -that his brother always complained that they tasted bitter- but that was alright, it was always alright.
Phil tried to hide his excitement at being offered a greeting but failed, he was pretty sure it showed almost as if it'd be clearly written on his face with ink, that kind of ink his teacher used, the one that was impossible to take off unless you used magic too. "Good day." he beamed. "Perhaps, perhaps. I was thinking exactly the same thing. Could we, maybe, have taken classes together?" he questioned, fixing his glasses with one hand. "I... just graduated also, so maybe, if you took the trial then, I could have possibly met you at the Grave." he readily exchanged his own hand to shake the boy's when he offered his own, relishing in the fact he had found someone as readily open as he was most of the time. "My name's Philemon. Philemon Menniadis, if that rings any bells." he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand while he was at it. "Friends call me Phil." he added with a small nod of the head to underline his words.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 16, 2011 3:26 pm
The reason Orpheus' magic was so practical was that he had not particularly chosen it himself. It had been an unexpected gift when he passed the Gravekeeper's test. Hammerspaces were incredibly useful, though he only really had a couple of them at a time. He could transfer his hammerspaces to other objects. A bottle's mouth, for example, or the hollowed-out insides of a book. Once, he had turned the space under his bed into a Hammerspace, but the idea of going in there to retrieve anything terrified him. He wasn't even sure how to get out of a hammerspace. Although in theory, his portal ability should allow him to exit the hammerspace regardless. That was also something he had started working on, blessed by the chaos fragment with the ability to manipulate space both with hammerspaces and portal usage. He hadn't figured out if he could take anyone with him, however, or what the limitations were. He dreaded finding out.
Orpheus was fascinated by potions. It was his favourite subject in school, apart from his advanced independent studies, and had he known the stranger was familiar with potion lore, he would have eagerly listened to his expertise. Not even a specific topic; Orpheus would have loved to hear about any of it. He remembered, with an internal twinge, that irritating witchling he had met in potions class, who seemed to greet his enthusiastic and unorthodox approach with scorn and belittling. Regardless, that was over now, and Orpheus wasn't the kind to dwell on unpleasant people unnecessarily.
Orpheus didn't play to lose himself in another world. He played to bring others there with him. When he played his music, it was meant to create the visions which he saw and immerse bystanders in his worlds. That was why he was so convincing in battle. It wasn't an illusion, it was a conjuration based on his musical gift. He brought those things into their reality, made them one. Orpheus wouldn't phrase it that way. He'd probably just call it jamming and leave it at that.
It was hard for Orpheus not to laugh, in a content and honestly pleased way. This new acquaintance was so full of life. Orpheus treasured life, and thought that even the dead deserved to live again in song. The ones he didn't understand were the living who acted as though they had already died. He wished to infuse life into those poor shells, revive them. But he wasn't sure he could do that for everyone. So he would focus. In this case, he focused on the liveliness of the witch, which made him more animated in turn, his face in an open grin. "The Grave... Yeah, I think that's it," Orpheus agreed, his eyes glancing upwards briefly as he remembered. He had seen someone like this witch, hadn't he? Though obviously less handsome. It was hard to tell, as Orpheus himself had been quite youthful in appearance and perception of the world.
"Philemon Menniadis. Hmmm. I'm extremely pleased to meet you, Phil," Orpheus said, about to brush his lips across Phil's knuckles when he realized that might be received strangely. He laughed and squeezed Phil's hand then, letting go gently. "Well, Phil, I am sure that if I had talked to you more, we would already be friends. And in that case, might I invite a friend to eat breakfast with me? If you're up as early as I am, you've gotta be hungry too," Orpheus suggested, tilting his head, one hand on his hip. The nails were painted orange and black, and somehow the paint had yet to chip. He blew a stray strand of orange-blonde hair out of his face.
Around his clothing, the scent of cinnamon lingered. Further than that, was that... the smell of pumpkins? Suddenly, Orpheus laughed again, "I didn't even tell you my name, did I? I'm Orpheus Dovleac. You can call me just about anything you want," he told Phil, smiling.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 22, 2011 1:36 pm
Should Phil had known that Orpheus was interested in medicine, pharmacology and potions in general he'd surely have been delighted. For him potions were more that a simple study at this point. It went beyond research and experimental treatments... it was, literally speaking, a way of life. Books, lore, research, alchemy, experiments, brews, effects, results they were all but parts of a larger, greater picture, a greater vision. For one who devoted himself to protect and serve this was always both a blessing and a curse. The struggle never really ended for them... there were always hurt, sick, wounded or simply emotionally hurt, if not scarred people. Sometimes they also had to live with the harsh reality of being unable to help, unable to heal, unable to relieve the pain. It was always a burden hard to bear, the underside to a life of making other people's lives filled with light and joy.
Joy was a trivial thing on its own though. It had many faces, many facades. Something that made someone happy might be so twisted that made others look away, repulsed, and something that made someone sad might as well as make many others happy. He was taught that there were always two sides; if there weren't two they would not struggle, if they did not struggle they would be no action; and without action life as people knew it wouldn't exist either. The concepts of reality only became more convoluted from then on, but then again his mentor always had a knack for the bizarre and the complicated.
But, for all Phil knew, his new friend, if he could be as bold as to call him that after such a brief encounter, seemed quite pleased with their meeting which gave Phil double the happiness back, as always, making him beam. His smile was warm, abound with the restless energy that lurked underneath, waiting for such small chances to make itself known. It would appear that he had come across one of those few, rare people that he could associate with on a personal level even if he had barely exchanged a greeting with. He had gone through the same feeling once or twice and it was still just as wonderful as if he was just discovering it. He could live with it, as a matter of fact, he loved having to live with it.
Phil wasn't exactly sure as to where he had met the witch dressed in black and orange but the other seemed quite sure that their encounter must have been at the Grave of Fairies. For all purposes, Phil had absolutely no reason to doubt him, nor did it make any sense to. He did think it was a pity the two of them hadn't talked more before. He found the young witch absolutely charming, from his incredible ability to play the violin to the carefree way he would speak; and then there was that welcoming, gentle light about his eyes that somehow managed to pull Phil in. In front of that radiance he could almost feel himself paling. He felt pale, like a moon or star that had to reflect light that wasn't its own in order to glow. The gloomy impression lasted for nothing but a second, however, before normality was restored; the moment returning to its prior state by nothing but the sheer force of the young man's laughter and the light pressure on his hand. "Actually, I'd love to~" Phil laughed. "I never really expected people to be awake this early, as a matter of fact and if I hadn't found you I'd be eating breakfast all by myself, which would be a pity..." having food was always better with some good company, after all -and Orpheus himself smelled rather delicious if nothing else; even if it was entirely absurd to think such a thing about a person, not to mention awkward. He didn't dare what the boy was doing up that early seeing how he really wasn't one to talk, in the end.
"Orph... Orphe..." Phil ran his tongue over possible nicknames for the boy but came up with nothing. "I guess Orpheus is too beautiful a name to accept any diminutives." he decided chuckling, unable to come up with something satisfactory in time for it to make any sense at all.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 22, 2011 2:16 pm
All in all, perhaps someday Orpheus would learn of Phil's passion, and his goal. Surely, on the day that Phil revealed his talents in medicine, Orpheus would respect him on an entirely transcendental level. And to know, someday, the extent of Phil's kindness, Orpheus would not be able to help but think of the young witch in an entirely different light. Even without knowing the details of Phil's skills and goals, however, something about him made it evident that Orpheus could trust this witch, and should care for him.
Orpheus wasn't always happy, even when he looked like it. He was someone who needed time to himself to recharge, and who, although he thrived on the happiness and energy of others, often craved the silence of a library. The words in books were comforting. He was pretty active, busy and could be quite scattered, but reading was the comfort he required in order to replenish ressources drained by interacting with others. Phil, to his surprise, was not draining him, but rather contributing. Naturally, Orpheus would be tired eventually as he had risen quite early that morning, but there was not the usual drain he felt when speaking with others. He didn't feel like it took extra effort to communicate. He could just be himself: pleasantly easygoing, and not in a hurry for anything or anyone. He didn't think much about the concepts of joy or struggling. In his life, the two had been inextricable from one another. To be happy meant to struggle, and one had never existed without the other. He never really got a "break" from the struggle of his poverty, but it had not bothered him in a long time. What did he need that he had to buy, after all? He had his instruments, and making friends was free.
Phil was already Orpheus' friend; it wasn't that it was easy to be considered such, but it was fast. Orpheus decided extremely quickly how he felt about someone, and Phil ... the way Phil smiled, the way he seemed so sincere, and without expectations for better or worse, made Orpheus like him. His smile widened as he thought of it, the glow of his eyes casting across his cheeks. Orpheus tilted his head, briefly. He believed there was something especially beautiful about Phil, if he could only unlock that secret.
As soon as Phil mentioned the Grave trials, Orpheus was certain that was where he had seen him, though he had been pretty preoccupied that day. Orpheus' eyes wandered across Phil's face, taking in the blue of his eyes, before his attention snapped back to the present. There was nothing sharp about Orpheus. He was the embodiment of his music, and he himself loved harmony. But he was strong, and his posture didn't betray that. Even while his face was carefree, as was his stance, there was a quiet ferocity to the way his eyes burned, even if it seemed to be amusement at the moment. Phil did not appear pale to Orpheus. Phil calmed him, and for some reason drew him in. Orpheus was not used to being drawn in by any means.
"A pity assuredly, your company is precious," Orpheus replied, "I'd've been eating with rats, so I can hardly believe my good luck this morning. Since I get to eat with you, instead," he finished, laughing again. Orpheus produced a broken scone half from his sleeve, wrapped in a fine cloth napkin, and offered it over to Phil. "Try a bite? I made this, but it crumbled before I left work, so I saved half for later."
Orpheus laughed, happily. He hadn't laughed so freely in a while. Lately, he had become kind of a hermit, playing music in the streets and otherwise being a bum. He didn't return home until he absolutely had to, as it was a little shabby and depressing. He didn't mind it all that much, but he didn't exactly want to hang out there if he didn't have to. At least it was cheap. He was not sad by any means; Orpheus wasn't one to get too sad. He could have introverted moments, it was true, but he was fond of company. It was nice to chat with Phil. Once Orpheus' laughter had eased, he beamed at Phil in approval, "You're not too harsh on my ego, Phil; Orpheus has its own musicality, doesn't it? I'd rather use your full name, you know; I think that every letter is precious." Orpheus eyes glittered mischievously.
"Let's go eat by the fountain over there, I know it has a nice garden and a good bench," he suggested, offering Phil his arm and gesturing down the street with a nod of his head.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 7:04 am
Phil didn't like the quiet, he didn't like loneliness... Even when he was sad, depressed even, he wouldn't seek solitude; it was the inevitable effect of being brought up in a house of so many children, he supposed, but he was always fond of having people around. Being alone for a little while wasn't what scared him. Going for a walk, working in the fields, at the pharmacy or at holed up in his attic wasn't lonely. He knew that he could get up at anytime, go see his friends, or even simply roam the streets, watching people pass him by. This kind of 'loneliness' didn't seem lonely at all. The kind of loneliness Phil feared was that in which you no longer have anyone to turn to, nor does anyone want to turn to you in turn. Should he lose his friends, his siblings, the people he had grown close to, Phil feared death. As a matter of fact it was a fate far worse that death itself.
For that reason, he made sure to make no enemies, just friends that he could trust in, friends that could trust in him in turn. Therefore it was often easy for him to connect with others; to invest time, himself, his future included in them and fight for them, trying his best to get close, understand the other and form a bond to later protect. And then came those people, like Rajih and like Orpheus here for example that he simply clicked with. There was no initial struggle, just a few words, a meeting of fate, unspoken, unneeded words in silence and just like that a bridge could be formed, a connection in and on its own in all its precious value. There was nothing; but there was also some peace in nothing.
For the better or the worse, Phil had been fascinated, entranced almost by Orpheus' eyes. For all he knew it was just an effect of the magic he held within him but at the same time it was extremely beautiful. He had never before seen eyes like his, radiating so much warmth and light. He could have stayed there and watch for a while if it wasn't rude but he didn't want to come off as strange. And yet, his initial impression remained; the sun. Orpheus resembled the celestial body quite well from his point of view, from the stark blond of his hair to his burning eyes as well as the fact that he was up so early and how he appeared to be so carefree.
"Precious, you say." Phil chuckled, somewhat awkward and moved to rub at the back of his neck with one hand yet again, subconsciously and without realizing it. He wasn't even sure why such a simple suggestion should make him feel as awkward but there was little he could do about the way he felt at the moment. Perhaps he was just tired from gathering all those saffron plants so early in the morning. "Eating with rats, you say? Perhaps you keep them as pets? Rats are surprisingly clever animals, after all." he realized his suggestion was probably rather absurd only after he had spoken it -victim to his tactless words, as always- and sighed, at the border of exasperation. "If you're often up as early maybe we could arrange to eat together more often." he offered on impulse seeing nothing bad to sharing breakfast with his new friend since their schedule coincided. His own breakfast were usually equally lonely, having none but Desmond to share his meal with.
Phil stared wide-eyed at Orpheus producing the napkin with the scone from his sleeve -even though he had just seen a violin disappear up there so it shouldn't be nearly as surprising- before receiving it with a nod of the head and a smile that still played in his lips from before. He'd just have to eventually get used to the powers of his new friend, then he most likely wouldn't be as shocked to see him come up with all sorts of things from his sleeves. "Thank you~" he beamed taking a small bite from the baked treat as instructed. He paused, uncertain for a second as he chewed and let the taste spread in his mouth. It had a surprisingly well rounded, full, extremely satisfying taste. Why, he was certain that this would make a most excellent offering to any deity from those fantasy novels he kept reading. "Y-you really baked this??" he looked up at Orpheus in what bordered awe and blinked. "It's... it's really good, Orpheus!" he beamed, delighted at the revelation that he had made such a multi-talented friend.
He found Orpheus laughter to be contagious and he was laughing with him before too long. "It does indeed, but its not my fault you've been given such a good name!" he teased before nodding his head in agreement, adjusting his glasses lightly. "You can use my full name if it pleases you. It's just that most people find it a bit hard to fully pronounce it every time which is where the shorter version came in play." that and his brother also shortened his name, disliking the sound of it so Phil cut his own to adjust accordingly. His name fit him perfectly in every sense, though, him being the friendly person he was. "Yes, let's go." he agreed, trusting in Orpheus' choice of a site and hesitating for a single second to take the boy's offered arm but doing so after all in the end. He couldn't really even remember when was the last time he had walked so close to anyone...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 12:57 pm
Orpheus didn't fear much. But he did dislike being lonely. At the same time, he had never had a particular family. He had always been a bit of an outsider. Not that he felt like one, in the homes he had stayed in. He was a couch-surfer, permanently, or had been before he acquired his apartment. Sometimes he missed his hometown, missed the families he'd grown to know and love. He played music for them, and provided help in small ways. When Orpheus was around, rooms were filled with music and laughter, talking and drinking. He was the embodiment of life, even if he was so familiar with the less populated hours. Orpheus had no siblings, but he felt a connection to every stranger who heard his music. It created a temporary, thin bond in Orpheus' heart. Essentially, although Orpheus had recently become slightly more of a hermit, he did not particularly feel sad or upset by his life.
Philemon was a nice change from the students he had known at the academy. Orpheus ran a hand through his hair idly as he thought of his arguments with childish Falys, or Aquene's rough demeanor. He had liked Requiem, but he had lost touch with him very early on. Orpheus had somehow let himself sever all ties to previous lives he had led. And this was a new one. It could go any way he wanted, and he intended for it to go well. Even if his luck was occasionally bad, Orpheus was typically optimistic about things. Or even idealistic.
Even though his silly comment had made Philemon nervous, Orpheus didn't apologize; he just smiled at him, waiting for the embarasment to pass. Orpheus didn't regret saying it. He would, if given the opportunity, likely say it again anyway. "I don't have any pets, no; I just have a really rundown apartment," Orpheus said. "I wonder what it'd be like to keep a pet... I'd like a little dragon, I think," Orpheus joked. Then, more seriously, "Or maybe a song bird. Wouldn't it be nice to have music always in your life?" he looked at Phil, smiling openly, and back at the path ahead. His face lit up again as Phil suggested they should eat together more often in the mornings.
"I would like that, very much," Orpheus said. "We can pick a place and a time, and I'll always be there." If he made a promise, he kept it. It would be so much nicer to eat with Philemon in the mornings. It would give Orpheus a nice excuse to avoid going home immediately after work. He liked to stay out. Even if by this point in the day he was likely becoming a little tired.
Sometimes Orpheus took his hammerspaces for granted, and didn't realize that it would surprise others he met when he produced things seemingly from thin air. It was very handy to have them, however, when he wanted to take his instruments out into the world. Less clunky, less weighty; altogether more pleasant. He rested his hands against the back of his head, elbows out as Philemon tried the scone. He was surprised and pleased when Phil enjoyed it so much, blinking awkwardly before laughing. He sounded content. He looked content. Orpheus was clearly beaming to have someone to share his baking with. At the academy, it had mostly been a secret. Even now, at night time, he wasn't the same person. During the morning, however, he was pleasant and sweet.
There was a pause, as Orpheus thought of his name. Who had given it to him? Was it his parents, or his friends? He couldn't remember back far enough, but whoever gave it to him had given him an accurate gift. "Well, Philemon, I'll do just that until you tell me otherwise," Orpheus finally said, grinning. He squeezed Phil lightly on the shoulder before he turned and offered Phil his arm.
Orpheus hadn't really thought twice about offering Phil his arm, but as the witch hesitated, he hoped briefly he hadn't upset him. Suddenly, Philemon's happiness being derailed seemed like something he should fear. But all he could do was continue being himself and hope for the best. Orpheus led Philemon to the fountain, humming as they walked. It wasn't his eyes which were true hallmarks of his magic, but rather his voice. Listening to it in the morning, it felt a little like a honeyed dessert. He tapped the nails of his free hand against his hip in time with the music, coat fluttering slightly in the morning breeze.
It didn't take them long to reach the fountain. It was a courtyard where four streets met, though it was a small yard. The sun was in a position that it caught the fountain's waters and made them sparkle. Orpheus liked this particular place so much because the guardian statue at the center of the fountain was a woman with a harp. She seemed so intent on her music that she might not even be a statue. She might simply be a very small witch so preoccupied with song that she couldn't be bothered to look up. The flowers around the edges of the place bloomed mostly in white and some pale pink, little clusters of yellow blossoms forming on windowsills. The pink ones smelled sweetly. "I never could play the harp well," he admitted, a bit of an amused sigh escaping into his voice, as he shook his head and smiled wryly. He led Phil to the bench, and brushed it with his sleeve to make sure it was clean before inviting him to sit.
"So, Philemon... how do you feel about milk, and what kind of breakfast food do you prefer? I may just have it," Orpheus said, grinning. For a moment, the light in his eyes flickered. He realized, with some surprise, that he would be sad if he made Philemon upset. He didn't want to cause him any pain. Orpheus looked away briefly, something catching in his throat. It was a little unsettling for his new friend to have such an effect on him. Maybe it was the sun, or exhaustion?... Orpheus pressed the back of his wrist against his forehead, smiling gently, his eyes closed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2011 6:32 am
Phil hadn't known, his whole life, what it meant to be truly alone, and quite frankly he didn't feel like finding out. If he could avoid it he'd be the happiest person in this world and if he could keep people, keep them connected then he'd be happy also. A protector is one who is meant to look out for people, all the more if they're a healer to top it off, and that was what Phil was. His mind had been said on that very track ever since the day he was born. No later and no earlier, although if he didn't believe in reincarnation he was sure he'd have been exactly the same in all his past lives as well. There was no other reality for him. Of course, one, knowing Phil slightly better, could laugh. What good was a person who cannot even protect himself be for protecting others? Phil would most likely disagree, however, saying that he was quite adept when it came to doing the things he had to even if he did hurt himself in the process.
Phil never cared about his own wellbeing, only that of others. He was the kind of friend who'd sacrifice every last ounce of his being for others, entirely selfless save for his most absolute displays of affection that he thought others found smothering sometimes. It somehow made many people flood to him, some of them appropriately ill-intentioned even though Phil rarely ever chose to view it that way. Some people were just like that. They up and disappeared; Phil didn't do anything about it. He kept his arm outstretched and his hand open for whoever chose to take it and that was the only thing he was good for, without it he was simply nothing.
But he appreciated it; he always did, always would. He appreciated the try, the effort people sometimes would place in reaching back to him even if sometimes his hand seemed so very distant, so very far away from their realities as they had been up to that day. It just... happened, mainly because Phil couldn't see in black and white, not even shades of grey. All he had ever known, growing up, was individual colours, a direct, again, cause of living with so many people under the same roof. Everyone was different but all were equal and there were no sides. Orpheus now... Phil didn't exactly know how he viewed his own world but a part of him was certain that he was more like him rather than not, being an artist in the first place. "A... a rundown apartment, that's..." he was about to say it was rather sad and if he could he'd invite him to go stay at his house if he wanted but it'd be terribly straightforward considering he had just met him and he would probably need to expand the house to live comfortably with more people. It wasn't as if his house was huge or anything. " Pets are nice... most of the times..." he laughed, thinking of Desmond. "You can start with getting an Alchemia... although I've had terrible luck with mine." he nodded. "A songbird would be nice, though... I love music." he admitted, his smile becoming even warmer than before. He really loved music and Orpheus had literally managed to make his day that morning.
"I'm glad~" Phil nodded his head. "Up till now I'd had some very lonely mornings." with a very few exceptions, like the time he met Kia in the forest or when he walked early all the way to the crossroads to meet with Theo to go to his teacher's. "How about there? I mean, you suggested the fountain and it's a beautiful place anyway... not too far away from home either, unless it's far away from yours, that is... Is there a place where you really like being at?" he thoughtfully tapped his lip with one finger and shrugged. He was pretty flexible when it came to things like this. He didn't mind being called to places or walking or... anything really. He'd be able to meet his friend wherever that would be and they could have breakfast like that and it would be alright... next time he should prepare some sort of tea to take with him, or maybe prepare some food of his own. "I'll try to be there, also." he nodded. After being made such a promise he couldn't help but want to be punctual, also.
Phil didn't really see how or why could anyone be ashamed of such a wonderful skill as was baking such delicious treats nor why they'd might want to keep it a secret at all. Cooking -in his mind at least- was a lot like alchemy itself, quite similar to potion making also. You needed a recipe, a certain amount of specific ingredients and some magic, literal or not. It took a talent and a keen eye, and the produce, just like medicine was meant to be shared with the world. Knowing that something you did was making someone else well and happy was a feeling Phil couldn't exchange with anything else even if he tried. He had been delighted, all the same, to know of Orpheus' gift. As a matter fact he was certain, that given the chance, he should demand to trade secrets. That scone had really been amazing, after all.
He limited himself to a small nod when the issue of his name was addressed and then let Orpheus lead the way letting himself be lead to wherever it was that they were heading. There was enough trust in that moment that could have surprised a crowd if it became known, no ounce of suspicion or anything even though he was heading somewhere he probably hadn't been before -or had he?-. He found himself half-closing his eyes, enjoying the small melody Orpheus was humming and fell victim to that boundless admiration he held for artists such as him. It was such a beautiful voice; Phil was certain it could rival the sirens just fine, but whereas a siren song was cold and lifeless, Orpheus' was warm and full of life; welcoming but with no intention to trick and maim the listener. Some part of him secretly wished to hear more of it, a lot more of it.
The moment had a certain peace about it. Everything was moving in harmony and owned their respective rightful places. Phil dressed in white and Orpheus in his mainly black costume, contrasting well as they walked side by side. Orpheus' gentle song and the wind that carried it with it, the quiet surroundings of the city that was barely waking... Everything was moving and yet everything appeared, like the picture of a storybook, to be caught in a standstill; even his breath, the one Phil realized was holding in for far too long without realizing it and which escaped him into a small, content sigh.
"It's beautiful here..." he mumbled quietly once they had finally reached their destination as his eyes moved around to take in the view. It was a beautiful little corner and he would swear he must have passed from there on a couple of occasions but he couldn't remember what he was doing out there or why he had to. It sure was peaceful enough, though, the only sound that he could pick now that Orpheus was humming no more being that of the wind as it swept across the slumbering town and that of the water as it fell, sparkling like diamonds. "I bet you could, if you practiced." Philemon smiled, looking up at Orpheus. "I mean... you've got a gift with music... I can play no instrument, well or not." he hadn't meant it as a bitter remark, though, it was just who he was, in the end.
Seating himself at Orpheus' side he took another brief moment to admire the light he appeared to give away so open handedly. "Milk is tasty and good for one's health." he chuckled. "And I usually go by with any number of baked things or leftover sweets from my brothers' visits..." he trailed off. "Honestly, I have no real preferences when it comes to what exactly I'm having for breakfast as long as it tastes good." he admitted with a small shrug as he watched Orpheus bring his wrist to his forehead and even though he was smiling, Phil couldn't help but feel a small sting of worry; a subconscious reaction caused by his profession most likely. Without hesitating he extended his own hand to place one cool palm against Orpheus' forehead to take his temperature. He didn't appear to be warmer that he should, he thought, quickly withdrawing, somewhat embarrassed with his reaction. "Sorry about that... are you feeling well...?" it was only natural to be concerned with a friend's wellbeing after all. "If its too warm or anything I could take you home... it's not that far from here and it's certainly a lot better than sitting out in the heat after... working for so long." He didn't quite realize it but his brow had grown furrowed with worry, the hand still resting on his lap clenched lightly on the fabric of his clothing as he didn't as much as dare remove his eyes from him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2011 3:26 pm
Once Orpheus realized that Phil was the kind to never consider his own needs, Orpheus would always look out for him. He would do his best to protect him, even if that meant being firm and occasionally appearing cruel to others; he wouldn't want anyone to harm Phil, if he could help it. Orpheus would not prevent Phil from his selfless acts, he would merely wait to catch him, and provide as a friendly and constant warning to others that they shouldn't cross Phil, or they would doubly be crossing Orpheus. And Orpheus did not like to be crossed with. Parties and music were typically associated with merriment, but they could turn sinister in an instant if it was Orpheus who controlled the song. Regardless, Orpheus would not take advantage of Phil's kindness. He would merely admire him for it, and spend as much time around the witch as he could.
Orpheus was used to people disappearing. He felt that it was a natural trait of others, one which many people could not help. He, himself, could be known to wander off suddenly. Often lost in thought. That happened particularly when he was not concentrating on reality. Or rather, he was concentrating on a particular reality which was not exactly apparent to others. That was the twist to Orpheus: playing music the way he did, creating new realities, meant that he was not always in touch with the common reality.
In terms of caring for his own wellbeing, Orpheus usually took care of his own needs first and trusted others to be that strong. In a way, it was good: he was never cruel, but he provided others with an environment to learn lessons on their own. Even if it meant learning the hard way. He had a hands-off approach to situations, and to the needs of others. But it meant that he was usually in decent health and well-rested, because he considered his own needs first. That often made him pleasant to deal with. Orpheus was, in fact, rarely in a poor mood. He might like to keep to himself to recharge, but he was never short-tempered. The one exception in terms of Orpheus' moods was when he was forced to deal with Falys and her inability to accept his wilder nature.
He laughed contentedly when Phil wasn't sure what to say about his rundown apartment. It wasn't something that made him sad; Orpheus wasn't miserable in poverty. He simply didn't feel the need to collect nice things. He had everything he wanted, although he did miss his extended family comprised merely of a network of friends. "It's really not as bad as it sounds," he reassured Phil, "it's just a place where I sleep. My home is my music, and that goes with me anywhere I want." Orpheus stretched, and rolled his shoulders, relaxing.
"Are they only nice most of the time? I've never had a pet; I never had a way to keep one." That was one problem with never having a steady home. Orpheus had never had a pet. He would really like a songbird, or maybe a dog... Orpheus smiled to himself, a hint of longing flickering across his eyes. There was little he regretted about his lifestyle, but the fact that he had always been without a living companion sometimes saddened him. Or rather, he wished he knew what it was like, to have a pet or a fixed presence. He assumed that everyone who entered his life was fleeting.
What would it feel like to grow close to one person? In his song, his heart let go of the apprehension it felt, and the longing: could he want to be around Phil more? Could he want to recognize Phil as a part of his life? Orpheus was always moving, his family was numerous and spread across many cities, but there was no one person he knew he could always turn to. You couldn't exhaust someone's kindness; he would never do that. Orpheus merely smiled as Phil complimented the location. It was indeed beautiful. Orpheus went here whenever he wanted to relax after work.
"I tried learning, admittedly," Orpheus answered, "but I can be impatient. Violin and guitar speak to me in a way harp didn't, and I need to give it more time." Then, with a very sincere and curious expression, Orpheus turned to Phil and said, "Would you like to learn? I would teach you anything I know. Anything." Orpheus held Phil's gaze for a moment, then smiled, breaking the intensity of his expression. "I suspect you have other talents, though," he said, grinning.
Orpheus edged closer to Phil without meaning to, as he sat down next to him. "Your brother?" Orpheus asked. What was it like to have siblings? To have a blood family? He had never had one, and maybe never would. When Phil brushed his forehead with his wrist, Orpheus' suspicions were confirmed: the closer he got to Phil, the more the irrational feelings persisted. His heart beat faster, and his throat caught. He wasn't free until Phil withdrew his hand. Clearing his throat awkwardly, his face pink, Orpheus produced two milk packs from his sleeves, ones which tasted good but provided extra vitamins. Orpheus loved milk. The hammerspace in his sleeve kept everything in whatever state he had placed it. So the milk stayed cold. Orpheus had always collected many types of milk packs. Even when he was a student. Now, even though his other possessions (however few they were) did not amount to much, the milk he bought was often the best quality available. And his baking was his passion apart from music, so he took out a sandwich wrapped carefully in waxed paper. A breakfast sandwich, with various delicious ingredients, toasted lightly. "It's not too warm out," Orpheus said, "and I don't think that you'd be comfortable where I live. But thank you."
He split the sandwich evently in two, observed the halves, and gave Phil the larger half. "I'm feeling strange," he admitted, "but in a good way. A new way."
For a moment, Orpheus regarded Phil with a curious smile. He tore the wax paper in half, gave Phil a good portion to keep himself clean from crumbs, and set his own sandwich down on the remaining paper. His hand, brushed clean on his shirt, slipped up and brushed the side of Phil's face, before he turned to look away, back at the fountain. His cheeks were flushed, and he felt a little dizzy. What was that...? He'd never felt that about anyone, much less another man. He didn't know what had possessed him to brush Phil's cheek in such a way. But he didn't seem able to help himself... He took a bite of the sandwich, embarassed. Orpheus was never embarassed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 27, 2011 7:11 am
Normally, Phil never asked for help or guidance. He had a need for neither and he felt like it was his duty to provide those instead of being provided with them. It was a strange, calm feeling to know that you didn't have to depend but to know others could depend on you in turn. Of course leaving one's back open like this was unwise and yet, even though Phil could realize that, he would accept no helping hand of that sort. A guardian who cannot protect is no guardian, after all. It wasn't that he disliked being protected, or that he disliked having people to lean on when things turned rough, only a sense of -perhaps false- duty to himself and the world. In his mind if one had to take a fall for everyone else it was alright if it was him, but not if it was anyone else around him; often failing to realize that if he acted as he wanted in his mind the people he was trying to protect would be in pain because of him in the end. Or maybe it was because he failed to successfully attach himself in a way other than his perpetual kind and caring love for all living things.
It was a strange way to view the world, inconsistent almost even if the principle behind it remained the same. Phil cared unconditionally for everything near and far, those that came to him he loved to be able to call friends, those who stayed he loved to call his companions and those that departed after a while... well he was happy to have made their acquaintance. And although he cared so much it rarely hurt to see them go. As a matter of fact it had only occurred once with his brother, when Theofratus chose to walk a different road from his... and that was mostly because Phil knew things his brother didn't on top of being his twin.
And even though he kept telling everyone no, and that they needn't worry or bother about him as much, they kept going at it as if it was their sacred mission to protect him or something equally absurd; like from those fantasy novels he loved to read where friendship always prevails and the protagonists conclude amazing feats. Reality didn't always answer to such principles which is why he was always telling them to just let him do his work and protect them instead, but no. Everyone, his brother and best friend included were trying his best for him at all times and that's where that attachment grew in. That's why it hurt him so, to even think of having to let go.
He was glad that Orpheus didn't think ill of his comment about his apartment and he was ever grateful that the whole thing was softly declined. He was even given an explanation to calm him down a little which was... at least considerable of a stranger to do. But Orpheus wasn't really a stranger, was he? As bizarre as it would appear, as irrational it was, he couldn't see Orpheus as a stranger even though they had just met, had only exchanged a handshake and... and what? His thinking stopped forcefully at the border of logic and he was left there, unable to comprehend, unable to understand why he was suddenly so fretful, so fearful that something he said might upset Orpheus even slightly. "That's really wonderful..." he managed to reply, even though he wasn't really thinking when he spoke. To be able to carry your home with you, to be home wherever must really have been great. He was on the move at all times himself but he needed his home, needed his 'base' to return to which was why he had worked so hard, all along, to be able to afford that small place. "I'd... I'd like to see your home some more, then, sometime... maybe..." it was a selfish request to make and yet he couldn't but phrase it.
Phil chuckled gently, trying to hide how nervous he felt, his fingers betraying him as they moved to fix his glasses for another time. "Most of them are okay... I mean my friend's Alchemia is pretty manageable... I just had a really bad luck with mine. Sometimes I swear! It's like that thing's out to get me, you know~" he paused and thought about it a little. Sure, Desmond was a tough case but he was his only Alchemia and he'd hardly trade it for another in any case. "I'm sorry about that..." he sighed a little at being told Orpheus never had any pets before. It would be nice if they could get a kitten or something of some sort, cats were easier to take care than dogs and it could also take care of the rat problem also. He never noticed he had used plural in his mind, at the time he didn't have a way to realize it if he wanted, caught on the moment more than he'd ever deemed possible.
He took a few more moments to take in their surroundings and felt himself filling up to the brim with a content, gentle emotion. Everything seemed just about perfect in that little quiet place, the city and nature contrasting as always, yet blending comfortably into one another accompanied by the water and wind singing songs and the myriads of small flowers lazily raring their heads to meet the sunlight. "Perhaps someday, then?" he question tilting his head to the side as he regarded Orpheus behind his transparent lenses. He found himself laughing quietly at Orpheus' offer to teach him anything he knew. As a matter of fact he'd love to try and learn anew since he had offered but he had no talent with music whatsoever. "I'd love to learn anything you might have to teach me, Orpheus." he nodded his head, his smile remaining to linger there. "But I'm afraid I have no talent when it comes to instruments and music... Well, more like... I have no luck with any art really." he shrugged, admitting that and moved on. "Except if you consider growing plants and potion making as a form of art, that is..." he chuckled and shrugged. He didn't mind being who he was. Never did and most likely never would. There was little he, or anyone else, could do about it.
Phil looked at Orpheus as he sat by his side and nodded his head firmly. "Well... my twin to be precise, although its a bit amusing if you were to see us side by side... we're really nothing alike, completely different people..." and as much as he didn't want to admit it it stung a little when he thought about it at times. He couldn't understand why his brother had to be so mean and rough all the time. He couldn't understand why he couldn't just get along with people, why he kept pushing even him away. He had been the only person Phil could really trust with his life and yet when he was finally feeling like being weak for a second, wanting to reach out to someone expecting to find them there so he could hold on Theo was being too busy with moving forward. It almost felt like betrayal. And he was so caught up in his thoughts that he somehow managed to overlook the tension that had appeared to overtake Orpheus when he placed his hand on his forehead.
"Thank you for breakfast!" Phil beamed making a small bow of the head as he accepted the offered milk carton and sandwich. As a matter of fact Phil loved milk even if he hadn't right-out expressed his like of the specific produce. Milk was like... the perfect balance between tastes, pleasing, all-round and refreshing, and before anything not overpoweringly sweet. So he was actually rather happy that things turned out the way they did. And Phil would have replied that it wasn't exactly about comfort, that he didn't mind as long as Orpheus was okay when he was reassured that the other would be okay and found himself quieting down a bit. It was strange for him to worry so much even if he was a medic to begin with in the first place.
What did strange mean? Phil wondered. If he had to describe his own feelings at the moment 'strange' was all he could describe them as as well. "I'm glad it's in a good way..." he tried to reply and in the end he wasn't exactly how much of his sentence made it to the boy's ears as it faded to a whisper only to disappear when Orpheus gently brushed the side of his face with slender fingers. Just like before time slowed down and came to a standstill, everything unmoving, peaceful in that very sense that made it all the more intriguing. Because Phil didn't jerk away, he didn't shrug it off laughing awkwardly, he didn't do anything to prevent Orpheus from doing it. On the contrary he'd swear he had leaned into the gentle touch, seeking to stay there just for a little while longer. It almost felt right in an absolute way that held no questions or regrets, almost as if Orpheus' fingers had always been meant to touch him so very gently. And he accepted that quietly, like he always did, readily embracing the new facts...
...for but a second, just before the reality that had been kept afloat, away from them by means of that dream-like state came crushing down on him, making him see the illogical points of it all. His heart came to a thrashing from a standstill, cheeks flushed by the blood rushing to his head and his thoughts of how embarrassing, it was, all of this, not to mention that of all intimate feelings he had ever felt this was most likely the most forceful, the most powerful one of all; and he felt it towards a man, no less? No... not that he had anything against that kind of thing but he had always considered himself under a different light. He was becoming confused and this wasn't quite right... because it had felt terribly right to be wrong -even if his thoughts were becoming a mess. Preoccupied with averting his own gaze and clearing his throat that felt all so dry he took a sip from his milk and looked away, lost in thought for but a second. With a small sigh he turned back to Orpheus, to almost timidly watch him behind his frames, wondering what could be possibly going through his mind at that very moment and if it was possible he was feeling the same way.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 27, 2011 12:37 pm
Maybe Phil wouldn't want Orpheus to back him up. Naturally, if Phil was so kind, Orpheus assumed he had many to care for him already. But Orpheus would, regardless, be there to catch him if he fell or cheer him up if he was sad. That was his nature, though he hadn't known he could specifically care for one person. Orpheus sighed internally. Orpheus would always take care of his own needs, regardless; he did trust Phil to do the same, but there was a significant portion of Orpheus which would henceforth keep an eye on him, and make sure he was there if Phil should happen to need him.
Material objects were hardly an indication for Orpheus of one's happiness, so it never insulted him to have someone observe that the way he lived was certainly not the highest quality. It felt to Orpheus as though this was one breakfast of many, and that Phil was endlessly familiar to him, so it was doubly inoffensive. Although music could be a passionate endeavour, Orpheus seldom thought with the same passion he played. He was careful to protect himself. How was it someone had made him care for them so quickly? There was simply a softness, and a gentle warmth to Orpheus' heart as he spent time with Phil. "It is wonderful, yes," Orpheus admitted, unabashedly. His hammerspaces had allowed him to take all that he loved with him everywhere. But you couldn't always love objects and objects alone, could you? He loved them because they were his best friends, his instruments, and music was home. Orpheus grinned, and tilted his head, observing Phil. He tugged one of his sleeves longer over his hand, out of habit, and replied, "My musical home, or my physical home?" He was sure there were much nicer places than his apartment to take Phil.
"Either way, you're welcome anywhere you want," Orpheus offered, leaning back. He'd invite Phil to listen to his music anytime, or perhaps even show him the apartment, though he'd have to clean it a little first... maybe hang some drapes up to hide the exposed material of the walls.
The habit Phil seemed to have of fixing his glasses, was it a sign his nerves were as shot as Orpheus' own nerves? He smiled, amused, as he listened to him talk. "I can't imagine why it would be out to get you-- unless you're that delicious?" he asked, trailing off, his eyes glittering with amusement. Orpheus didn't reply to Phil's apology, just shook his head with a smile, as if to say Please don't worry about that. Orpheus would likely much prefer a dog, even though a cat would be a better idea, given all the rats. Knowing his luck, he'd end up with a fat, lazy cat that just slept on his mattress all day.
Orpheus closed his eyes, briefly, which shut their light off as he breathed in the blossom scent and listened to Phil's voice and the wind in unison. Sometimes there was music even in such simple things, especially to Orpheus. It was a sincere music which could not be rehearsed. "Every day, maybe? I could find that time. I would find it, if it meant..." Orpheus realized what he was saying, and trailed off suddenly, coughing to hide his embarassment. If it meant seeing you every day, I would even sacrifice sleep, he would have said.
"Ah, potions?" Orpheus asked, his voice perking up, a sudden brilliance returning to his eyes. He turned to be closer to Phil, his eagerness obvious. "That was my favourite subject at the academy," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "and I do think that it can be artful. Certainly impressive. You should show me, sometime. Let me hang around you," he proposed. "I'd even bake for you? Though you likely have someone who already does that for you," Orpheus admitted, with a heavy sigh and a sad grin.
Orpheus couldn't even imagine having a twin. Was it like having a copy of oneself? Phil had just said they were nothing similar, though. It was unlikely, if his brother was so different from Phil, he would have gotten along with Phil's brother. Orpheus couldn't imagine it, in any case, if Phil was so wonderful already.
"Thank you for eating with me," Orpheus replied, popping his milk carton open and taking a swig of it.
At the time, strange meant that Orpheus didn't want to be gentle. At all. He wanted to pick Phil up and pull him into his lap, something he had never done. Especially not with another man. Orpheus wasn't sure how he could be attracted to any other man than Phil, even now; how would that possibly happen, given how Phil had captivated him? Specifically Phil, Phil's softness, Phil's intelligence, even his presence.
Orpheus took comfort in the fact that even though he had been bold, Phil had not moved away. He seemed to lean in, which Orpheus felt he must be imagining... The dream which held them seemed to burst suddenly, leaving Orpheus to float, disconnected from his body. He leaned back against the bench and felt everything swim around him. What could Phil be thinking? Orpheus opened his eyes and stole a glance at Phil, his eyes half-slit, smiling tentatively. His focus seemed to fall on Phil's lips. "Do you like the milk? It's my favourite kind," he told him, sighing and taking a sip, before leaning back and getting comfortable. Rather than sit there stiffly with Phil and worry about how he felt, however, Orpheus had slid closer, and his free hand traced patterns lightly on Phil's thigh, occasionally playing as though there were strings or keys on Phil's leg.
"Philemon, what do you dream of?" Orpheus asked him. At night, or in life? Perhaps both.
The most disconcerting part of looking up at Phil was that Orpheus often found himself unable to control the feeling that he needed to press into him, steal touches, steal whatever he could. It was never that Orpheus himself was hypnotized. Did Phil have some kind of magic? And yet he seemed as nervous as Orpheus himself was. Orpheus concentrated on his sandwich, which lasted all of a few bites, and settled strangely in his stomach. He didn't feel full. But it wasn't hunger, exactly. His hand, without him realizing it, had been tracing closer and closer to Phil's inner thigh, stroking the fabric idly, still playing music against it. There had to be some way to control this, didn't there? But he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to control it, at any rate. If he could just get a little closer...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2011 6:38 am
Phil couldn't have known he was somehow, in any way, be bending Orpheus' normal behaviour just by doing nothing... or doing whatever he was without realizing it could be a different phrasing of the condition. Honestly he couldn't have expected such a thing to happen and if it was something he could control he wouldn't wish for it. Forcing people to be something they weren't wasn't really his style. And yet, at the same time he was experiencing the same thing which drove him borderline crazy in and on its own. Without realizing it he was becoming a lot more receptive, mellowing out even more than his normal disposition and letting himself be more openly approached. Some part of him was certain of it, an inner, almost subconscious part of his; as long as it was Orpheus anything was allowed, anything. And he couldn't really understand how it was that he let someone else so close to him, so fast. There was the illusion that if Orpheus could simply reach his hand out for him he'd be able to touch his heart instead of just the warm flesh that separated all living beings.
Phil spent little time wondering about what people were or what they owned. To him everyone was more or less equal. You were judged by the things you did, nothing else could possibly define a person in his mind. Personality, kindness... those were the things that mattered, really. Everything else were minor and could be overlooked at any time. And he, himself, was living proof of that principle. In a world ere everyone divided things in shades of white and black, where two races lived -from his point of view- both in fear, he was one that never paid differences any mind. Whether one was Majin or human it was the same to him as long as neither sought to harm people. It was the same in any other application in his life, though. "I meant your musical home..." Phil laughed gently. "But I'd love to go anywhere with you..." he admitted, without thinking it yet again. It was hard to him not to be truthful, not to speak his thoughts as they were anyway, but Orpheus appeared to somehow be intensifying that effect. Phil didn't feel the need to hide. "Anywhere you'd take me..." and he wanted to show Orpheus places also, show him his own house sometime, let him in...
Philemon found himself laughing awkwardly at Orpheus statement about the reasons Desmond might want to get him. Really, by the frequency the pudding monster was trying to assault his fingers or legs and often just random body parts Orpheus might as well as be right. Phil could only blame it on the creature's terribly moodswingy temper otherwise. "M-Maybe!" he laughed. "Who knows? Maybe I really do taste nice." he paused and hadn't he be shocked enough about the implications of what he had just stated entailed he might have even managed to blush, even more fiercely if that was possible at the moment.
There was a small break of peace, a most welcome one in that moment as Phil found himself in need of it in order to cool off his head. He drew a breath and sighed, looking away, lost in the small talk until Orpheus left that sentence half-finished before coughing awkwardly. His first thought was that he might have caught something after all before his rational thinking kicked in, glaring at him and how it was impossible this was that kind of coughing. Yet the question remained... what exactly was there? Lingering at the end of that sentence? He had no way of finding out but he had to push his own feelings about it out at the same time anyway. "It would make me very happy if you could find that kind of time for me." he nodded. a warm smile curving his lips. "I'd fix my schedule anytime to accommodate yours." he admitted. It was more than just his love for the arts being involved there; a lot more.
Phil's entire face lit up as he learned of the fact Orpheus had liked potions. It was hard to find someone with similar interests to his after all. Not many liked that kind of things, but it shouldn't surprise him as much as things were of now. Orpheus was proving himself to be very different than any person he had met thus far. He was almost... special, if Phil could say that, in every definition of the word. "That's wonderful!" he beamed. "I don't know many people that love the same subjects as I... as a matter of fact I've only ever met one who was really interested in potions." there had been one more time, he idly thought, but explosives didn't really count as 'potions' now, did they? "My workshop is at home, you could come by anytime, stay as long as you like... I'll be happy to have you around, show you my work..." he smiled tenderly and shook his head slowly at the next of Orpheus lines. It'd be lovely to have someone as such around but Phil... Phil had none. He had come across many girls and being who he was he loved and admired them all. But as much as he did like them he hadn't have one of his own, no person to call his own and share all the time with, no person to look out for him in that kind of way as Orpheus had suggested. "No... no, sadly..." he trailed off, his voice quiet even though he was still smiling, somewhat ruefully. "I have no person like that." he sighed and shrugged a little. "But I'd love it if you'd bake for me..." Orpheus' skill when it came to that was undeniable.
Phil was often awkward about meeting his brother to people, even if there were many that he felt his brother should meet. Even so he rarely took the initiative of introducing him to many, seeing how Theo's personality wasn't something 'many' could deal with. Likewise, he wasn't exactly sure he should introduce him to Orpheus, even though it was impossible for it not to happen eventually. It was a very strange, double-edged feeling. On the other hand he didn't like keeping secrets from his brother, nor did he feel like him getting angry about it. Phil could often deal very poorly with his twin's anger and abrasive emotions.
Then again his own feelings weren't much easier to down at the moment. He thought of that while eating his half of the sandwich almost lost in thought. He didn't exactly know how to deal with it as he was balancing uncertainly between feeling and rationale. One side yearned for complete, unconditional surrender, the other, logical instructed him to look the other way, but Phil couldn't; he really couldn't. The first side was already ahead and most likely gaining ground a lot more faster than he had thought possible. "Yes, it's very tasty." he smiled when asked about the milk. He was glad they had something like this in common, little things like that were happy, happy little things, things he could cherish.
A weak, helpless smile curved his lips as he saw Orpheus peering back at him. The warmth from before moved back in to settle around his heart making him feel comfortable, so very very comfortable; yet that was before his heart turned into a terrible, throbbing pain, clenched by a feeling he couldn't exactly define, then back again. The load of feelings kept piling up, fluctuating between extremities. Orpheus' hand on his thigh made him feel... strange... longing almost, not afraid, except perhaps afraid of him pulling back, he just didn't want for that feeling to cease, he didn't want to drop back into reality, if he could just stay there, as he was in that very moment, even if he couldn't understand what was happening. He drew a deep, shaky breath when he was asked and he shut his eyes tight, his cheeks burning as he stared straight ahead, in an attempt to compose himself enough to give a reply without embarrassing himself.
"P-Peace." his voice wavered without him being able to help it and he turned to Orpheus, betraying himself all over again. "I... I dream of peace, awake or asleep. I dream... that people wouldn't hurt anymore... that they'd had no use of someone like me..." he shook his head lightly, searching for answer's in Orpheus' eyes even if he didn't know what question exactly he wanted returned. "W-What about you, Orpheus...? W-What do you dream of?"
Everything was reeling. As absurd as it sounded he wanted to be touched, wanted to be held, he wanted to feel close, wanted Orpheus close, closer still. If only Phil could shed his skin for him to melt inside him he'd readily do that in that moment; he'd do anything in that moment. Everything was pulling him in and he was powerless to resist it, didn't want to resist it. He shifted very lightly to press himself closer against Orpheus' side, seeking out the warmth, that alien feeling of completion that he could only faintly grasp. He didn't care for logic and reason; logic and reason didn't belong there. He had wanted to speak, but he found no strength to so he remained silent, heart still pounding in his chest, eyes still locked with Orpheus' radiant own because he couldn't looks away if he wanted to. Feeling his mouth very dry all of a sudden Phil quickly brushed his tongue over his lips, almost expectantly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 29, 2011 4:54 am
The sweet scent of the blossoms in the courtyard made Orpheus feel like they were indeed in a dream-state. And if that was true, then what was preventing him from expressing himself however felt natural? Sometimes, things took a lot of waiting; Orpheus was used to those kinds of situations. Apparently, however, there were also such situations which were so natural and immediate that no wait was necessary. Orpheus exhaled, hummed, and watched as the wind stirred the blossoms, pretending for a moment he could move them with his voice alone. That wasn't the type of magic he used, however.
If he was judged by the things he did, then it would be strange for him to become a Reaper, eventually; Orpheus didn't know how Phil felt about the Majin. To Orpheus, it was about protecting others. It was what he had always wanted: the power to prevent hearts from being stolen. Although outwardly he was choosing a controversial career, he would never harm a Majin who had not acted on his or her urges. If they had, however, what was to say he shouldn't react? One day, Phil would know this about him, but Orpheus couldn't yet know that Phil cared so much for Majin. However, because it was Phil... perhaps Orpheus' mind would be changed, without him even knowing it. In any case, he would have felt this way for Phil regardless of race.
"My musical home it is, then, Philemon," Orpheus agreed. With Phil's declaration he'd go anywhere with him, he turned to regard Phil, his eyes a chaotic combination of emotions which could not, apparently, be sorted from one another. "Let's go everywhere, then. See everything. We could; portals are a pretty cheap way to travel," Orpheus told him.
Even the worst situations would seem manageable if Phil was with him. Especially given Orpheus suspected Philemon was better with the types of magic that he, himself, was not. Almost all of Orpheus' magic was offensive. He cast his eyes to the sky, briefly, watching a fat cloud and wondering if it would rain today. As he was looking at the sky, he heard Phil agree that perhaps it was his flavour that made the pet bite him. Orpheus' voice caught in his throat again, and he swallowed the knot as he looked back down at Phil, edging closer, his face towards Phil's. "I'm sure someone should test that," he suggested, his voice heavy with some kind of longing he had not expressed before.
His cheeks were flushed, but not from embarassment. However, he realized how close he had gotten to Phil and tried to pull back a little, finding himself unable. "Between the two of us, we should be able to spend a lot of time together, then," Orpheus said, "especially if you like live music." That was what Orpheus did regularly on nights; played shows to refuel his passion for music and even his humanity. Being around so many others who loved music reignited his desire to perfect his techniques.
In the academy, Orpheus had loved potions, most assuredly. He found it fascinating, and so useful. If Phil had pursued this line of study, perhaps he wouldn't mind sharing some of his wisdom with Orpheus. "Would you really consider showing me...? I'd love to learn from you, Philemon; I'll bake for you, and it will be a fair trade?" Orpheus reached one hand up and stroked his thumb along Phil's cheek, tenderly, his eyes half-closed again. At any one time, a portion of his attention seemed to be devoted solely to absorbing every detail of Phil's presence. Each one seemed precious. Although he didn't mention it, he was almost always playing music; if Phil allowed him into his workshop, it was certain Orpheus would be extremely grateful, but if Phil needed space to work, Orpheus would just settle nearby and play something.
Somewhat like a puppy, Orpheus seemed to want only to follow Phil around. He wouldn't ask for more than that-- would he? He was beginning to doubt he could be so far removed. However, if it meant the difference between being near Phil or being apart, he would prefer the former. It cheered him up, in some strange way, to hear that Phil didn't have a particular person who took care of him or loved him in the way that-- what, in the way that he wanted to, himself? Orpheus' eyes seemed to brighten for a moment, as he realized the extent of what he wanted from Phil.
There was a fire building somewhere inside him. It was tender, firstly, but there was something more insistent making itself known, particularly as he heard Phil's shaky breathing and watched him stare ahead. Peace? Whatever it was that seemed to want to consume Phil, in a different way from a Majin's desire, returned to a profound tenderness as he realized Phil really was as sweet as he seemed. Down to the core. Orpheus had to pause, thinking. He hadn't expected to have the question returned to him, somehow. What did he dream of? The words to songs, the hum of life and how it changed and wove but never grew quiet. And then there was the secret dream, the one which he did not admit, to anyone. He offered Phil both of them. "Music; I dream of a symphony so alive that anyone who hears it wants to put everything they've got into living again. And I dream of a family; of having somewhere I know I can return, even when I've been gone a long time, or even when I've done something wrong. Someone's love, I guess," he admitted. There he was, exposing his less manly side, again. What was he supposed to say, though? He didn't dream about war, he didn't want to fight. He wanted to wake people up, or help them sleep, whatever they needed to live. And he wanted to feel like he belonged.
Orpheus wanted to know if he might, possibly, belong closer to Phil. Phil's tongue brushing over his lips triggered something in him. And the fire in him grew hotter, again, until his hands seemed to move without his permission: he reoriented his body so that he was closer to Phil, torso facing him, hands sliding around Phil's waist. Orpheus offered him a split second to recoil, before his hands were slipping up Phil's shirt, pressing the skin against his fingertips. One hand crept higher up his shirt, feeling each rib, while the other traced around the front of his stomach, exploring the edges and ridges of skin and bone across his hips and stomach. He leaned in, his tongue touching Phil's lips briefly, as if tasting whatever Phil had just moments ago, and he managed to murmur, "I think I know someone who'd be able to tell you if the pet bites you because you're delicious?" and for not even a whole heartbeat Orpheus paused, before pressing his mouth against Phil's.
And that was it for any resolve Orpheus may have had. He lifted Phil into his lap, sliding under him on the bench, and pulled their bodies together. There was some kind of whirring sensation, and Orpheus had Phil pressed up against a wall in the courtyard, before they were back on the bench in an arrangement much like the previous one, only Orpheus had now slid Phil's jacket open further and was working on pushing his shirt up. "It's definitely the way you taste," he concluded, his voice dark again, speaking with his lips still against Phil's. His portals, it seemed, were difficult to control when he was feeling like this. He'd never known, before.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
