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 Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 6:38 pm
TASK 1 He walked slowly.
There was no rush, of course. It was not necessary to move fast, not necessary to hurry his steps when the destination would remain as it ever was - steadfast and fixed and unmoving from where it was. He heard a steady clinking noise that he didn't understand but there she was and she was making something and she was holding something -
- he didn't get it, but was he even supposed to? Curiously he reached out a hand and took the offered key and its little empty pouch, turning it over in his fingers. She was asking him something, but again it was not as though he could quite get it, though perhaps that was the entire point.
Still, she had asked for his help, and he would assist her. Rune squeezed through the narrow space and emerged on the other side, his head turning this way and -
- there were doors, three of them. He watched them carefully, scrutinizing, cautious and curious and wondering all at the same time and there were too many choices to make, too many paths he could possibly take and what if he took the wrong one? What if he stepped through the wrong door, because would he even get a second chance?
The door on the far right made him suck in a sharp breath, deep and hollow and he moved towards it almost instinctively, stretching out a hand, fingers reaching, touching cold, cool metal that felt smooth and hard against his fingertips.
It frightened him.
He stepped through the door anyway.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 7:39 pm
He could hear a thudding.
It settled deep in his bones, if he had them, or rather it settled deep inside of him; a persistent thudding that refused to stop. It was dark here; darker than he had thought, his vision masked by the cover of the shadows that stretched out in front of him, long and enveloping.
Rune took a step forward and then stopped.
Another step.
Thump, thump.
He felt something - something warm and sticky and unfit for the box in front of him.
Thump, thump.
He can hear something else too - words, a vague phrase.
Thump, thump.
Thump.
Thwack.
Smack.
"Daddy."
He cowers on the floor, his hands over his head, his body bent almost in half, knees drawn up against his chest. Tan feathers are strewn across the ground in front of him, some twisted and bent, missing tufts of their soft needles, while others simply lie there as though they have fallen quietly to the ground. And perhaps they have, or maybe they're from when he plucks them out, face stony, cheeks reddened and wet.
"Daddy."
His voice is pleading, almost, though there's an edge of something else, something softer - a desire, a whim, a want for something more than what he can obviously get.
"Be quiet."
The voice comes from a short distance away, maybe two feet or so.
- editing
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Posted: Wed Aug 14, 2013 11:58 pm
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 12:06 am
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 12:13 am
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 12:19 am
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 6:59 pm
TASK 3
He can hear music.
It's soft and lilting and there are voices as well. Rune wanders through the room and he feels something landing on him, white and fluffy and pleasant. When he looks up, all he can see is white and it's somehow relaxing, somehow nice.
There is a table with jars ahead. He moves towards them, reaches out a hand, picks one without really taking care to know what it is other than a mild curiosity.
Blue.
When he drinks it, he feels his stomach twisting. Something is not right, something is missing and he's oddly ill at ease and he can't quite determine why that is. When he looks sideways again he can see the table in front has been laden with sweets, laden with various things that look pathetic at best. Still, he is strangely drawn to them, and Rune reaches out, his fingers brushing across the chocolate.
He breaks off a piece and slips it into his mouth.
It tastes sour on his tongue. He frowns a little, glancing across the room to find something else, something to soothe the acrid scent, and there are little cups filled with liquid that makes him draw nearer. He moves towards them, glances down, and selects one carefully - a dark red and brown one that looks unpleasant.
And yet...
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 7:01 pm
"Are you stupid?"
The word is terrible, hinging on painful. He can feel it stinging him like needles, digging in past his skin to the heart that lies beneath, beating slowly and rhythmically and yet still he stays where he is, unable - or maybe it's unwilling - to move.
"No," he says, and something flies towards him, landing on his cheek - a hand, a stinging blow that makes his face smart. He can feel himself growing warmer with the humiliation and the anger.
"No what."
"No, sir," he says, and there's a definite sarcastic note to his voice. The figure in front of him stiffens and walks towards him, and he lifts his head defiantly as the figure reaches out, grasps his chin, turns his head at a terribly sharp angle to the side. It makes him hiss in pain, though he grits his teeth, refusing to let any sound of weakness escape.
If there is one thing that he hates, it is weakness.
"Do not speak to me that way," says the figure, and lets go, and his head snaps back forward, though his neck hurts. Not for the first time, he wonders that he is still sitting here, that he is still allowing this to happen, but another part of him still fears that rejection, that path that stretches out in front of him. He can't quite seem to put that foot forward just yet, though he longs for it, pines for it with every part of himself.
A scoff escapes the figure's lips, as well as a single word.
"Pathetic."
And something snaps, something deep within him that he didn't know could be broken. Everything else is already broken - he can feel the bruises on his face and on his wrists and his arms and his stomach and he pushes past the pain, shoves himself to his feet, lunging forward. The figure gives a shout of surprise and fury, backhanding him, and he sees stars blinking in front of his vision, agony riding across his fury addled mind.
"STOP!" the figure screams, but he is too far gone, too far to hold on because if he just holds on it will continue, but if he just holds on then he'll get past it because he always does, and it always passes. And letting go means breaking out of that mold, letting go means releasing the safety and leaping into the fire and it's stupid stupid stupid -
A feral, monstrous snarl breaks free of his throat, grinding through the room and there is no end and no beginning, everything colliding together in a chaotic tangle of feathers, skin and bones. It is a mess - all that can be heard are snaps and bites and scrapes and hisses, an almost deafening roar echoing in his ears, a low buzzing that makes it almost impossible to think properly.
"Stop," says the figure. "You will not do this to me."
But he can't stop, not now, not after everything has happened. He leaps forward again, undeterred by the pain in his arm, undaunted by the snap of teeth and the sight of claws coming towards him. Something rips into his stomach and he can feel the pain spreading through his torso like a wildfire, like a brush fire unable to stop, but maybe he's that brush fire, maybe he's the thing that can't stop...
It does stop, eventually.
Everything stops.
He lies on the floor, his face pressed against the cool stone, and there is a terrible metallic taste on his tongue, thick and acrid. He coughs, winces, and spits it out; he sees a dark red liquid in front of him, on his fingers, on the front of his clothes.
He can't move.
He can't think.
Everything hurts.
The figure stands above him, head tilted imperiously downwards, and he can hear a voice as though from far away. His head is spinning unpleasantly, black wavering across his vision, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. He wants to retch and almost does - but he hangs tight to what little sanity he has left, what precious little life he has left to offer.
"I told you," says the figure, and his feet leave the line of vision. He can hear them tapping as they walk away. A heavy creaking sound can be heard as the door to the room swings open on rusty hinges, startling loud in the otherwise silence. The footsteps pause, and he closes his eyes, breathes out slowly, waiting for the inevitable.
"I will not allow my son to defy me."
The door closes.
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Posted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 7:02 pm
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Posted: Fri Aug 16, 2013 7:05 pm
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Posted: Fri Aug 16, 2013 7:41 pm
Tea Guest Log Colour of Tea Tasted: Deep Ochre Description: Instantly stark and sudden in taste, rather strong and a bit dark. There is a metallic taste mixed with the musky, Earthy flavors. Your commentary on its flavour: The deeper flavors of the various teas seem to draw Annabell to their cups and when she noticed a yellowish colored tea, she mistakes it for something lighter than what it is. The first sip is more overwhelming than she expected and by the second sip she knows she's over her head. There is no going back, but she instantly regrets her decision and knows that backing out is not an option. A deal of courage is required to finish the cup as the memory plays and Annabell bristles against the figure. If it were possible to fight back she would, but she cannot. She cannot even offer comfort to the boy reliving the memory as she wishes she could, hating it all the more when its a father who extracts the punishment. The cup clinks hastily against the table and she huffs at the taste, wanting it off her tongue but knowing she's learned from the experience. As much as she dislikes it, she knows she's not the only one.
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Posted: Fri Aug 16, 2013 7:48 pm
Tea Guest Log Colour of Tea Tasted: A Dark Yellow. Almost like Amber. Description: Painful, a bitter taste that lasts. Unhappiness. Your commentary on its flavour: Such an unhappy taste. It came quickly, like a biting force, lasting a while, almost making one want to tear up for the brewer. If tasted right, you could almost feel a soft boldness through the sadness. A recklessness, a proud streak. She hoped whoever this was got out of that situation.
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Posted: Fri Aug 16, 2013 10:24 pm
Tea Guest Log Colour of Tea Tasted: Amber Description: Discontent, Rage, Defeat Your commentary on its flavour: The first thing out of Viola'i mouth was 'oh my.' She covered her mouth even though it wouldn't do really anything from simply watching a memory, she couldn't help in any way. But it was so intense, she kind of admired the boy for trying to defy the actions even if they were so reckless and a pang of sorrow for his defeat.
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Posted: Fri Aug 16, 2013 10:28 pm
Tea Guest Log Colour of Tea Tasted: Gold/Dull Yellow Description: Sharp, bitter, metallic Your commentary on its flavour: She felt every hit as she lived the memory in the tea, and she could understand how the one who brewed it got so angry. Though she could tell he looked up to the man hurting him, she was still taken aback when it was revealed to be the boy''s father. After her own memories she was utterly shocked that someone could treat their child like that and she sat for a long time staring into the cup. Not all fathers were nice, it seemed, and whoever it was who made this tea was far less lucky than she was. She wished there was a way to find out who brewed it, it certainly seemed like they needed a friend now.
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Posted: Fri Aug 16, 2013 11:21 pm
Tea Guest Log Colour of Tea Tasted: Dark Gold Description: Sharp and bitter, unsettling. Your commentary on its flavour: Rhryse sipped at the tea, finding it strong from the beginning. The emotions the flavor brought forth were just as strong. Hurt and anger. These are followed by something stronger, a flavor she can’t place, but an emotion she can. One where thinking is put to the side, one that is often followed by pain. It was here, too. She felt sadness for the owner of this memory.
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