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 Posted: Thu Jan 30, 2014 11:04 pm
Quote: Postdated to after Valentine's Day!
He was sick. And soon he would be sick past death, for only through transcending it might he reclaim himself once more.
Alois tread the measured steps across a beaten sidewalk, still dusted with leaves from a season since past. Whenever possible he shifted his gaze to his disgusting, bony fingers - monuments to his decline in health and repulsive outward image. Overly large knuckles crowned narrow, seemingly brittle bones that only tapered into another overblown knuckle. And from there came effeminate fingernails, highly similar to french tips in the lack of dirt resultant in his civilian life. Now without a job, he hadn't even dusty old tomes to provide a more masculine finish to his nails. And as he walked through the sun-stricken streets, passersby shouldered past him with little acknowledgement. This bade well, this entailed a good start.
Once the volume of petulant children and their atrociously oblivious parents lessened to a tolerable degree, Alois slipped his hands into his pockets and scanned the surrounding businesses for telltale establishments to mark his approach. A bakery sat on the corner, sporting hand-painted pastries across its windows. Further down, a Java Mama coffee shop acted as a kiosk to park plebs. He recognized the route; after turning just past the bakery, he spotted the flower shop nestled between a pair of nondescript establishments sporting mass-produced signs. One was a vacancy, and he flippantly considered breaking in to listen to Orah through the walls.
Or maybe just stab his switchblade through the sheetrock and see what he could hit.
Finally Alois resigned to jerking open the door, eliciting a clarion ring throughout the store. Afterward he passed through the threshold, a poltergeist intent on his singular target - the benign girl living her ordinary life bereft of scathing scandals or skeletons in her closet (or medicine cabinet, he discovered). As he walked, he paid no heed to the swaths of flowers bundled in various packaging, nor did he register the pungent, sweet scents emanating from the blooms. Smoking killed his sense of smell some time ago now.
"Orah," he greeted with forced tone as he approached the counter. "I haf' a proposition for you. And I sink you might profit greatly from partaking in it." Tired, sallow eyes settled on the slip of a girl while he folded his arms across the countertop. His loose jacket spilled across the pristine surface like black tar.
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Posted: Sat Feb 01, 2014 2:07 pm
Orah's life was, for the most part, sunshine and flowers. Even during the winter, the large pane windows at the front of the shop let sunlight stream in and the poinsettias they carried seasonally added the warmth of bright color. Even the girl herself looked warm in her wine colored sweater and dark brown leggings. This riot of color and warmth was why the entrance of a familiar was so disconcerting... The young man entered in a draft of cold air, looking like a raven in all black.
The young woman looked up, fingers tangled in a yellow rose bouquet as boney elbows came down on her counter, and blinked large brown eyes. Her expression was far from forced, a soft smile spreading over her face as she recognized the visitor.
"Alois!" Orah greeted him as she untangled her hands, letting the stems fall in a carefully random way. It felt so good to be out of the cast... she'd really missed being able to do work like this. The man acros the counter though... he looked a little worse for the wear since the last time she'd seen him. The young woman couldn't help feeling a little fizzle of worry for him, wondering what had happened to put him in this state.
"Um... a proposition?" That was... a little odd. She honestly couldn't think of anything she could do or give him that would be of any use. And profit? She didn't really care about money, since her father paid most of her expenses, so there was really no need for it.
"What did you have in mind?"
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 1:42 pm
"Yes, a proposition." Alois rested his chin atop the heel of one hand as he eyed her expression thoughtfully. Strange; he considered their last meeting utterly stilted and awkward, so why would she greet him with any warmth? Perhaps she'd remain a mystery for far longer than he suspected. After all, she lacked the disposition for deception. "But I am not propositioning you, so it's a little safer zan you might sink. It's a favor more zan anysing, but quite a long and hard favor." Suddenly he felt the urge to remind her that he wasn't looking for a quickie in the backseat of a car.
"You might benefit from ze experience. You lif' a very docile life, if I remember correctly. Zis is... Far from benign." Idly he traced imaginary swirls into the countertop before tapping his fingers against the center point of his designs. Gaze now cast at the counter, he found it easier to articulate himself without dancing about the subject. "I am certain you'f heard of detoxification in regards to narcotics. A means to allow ze body to push out ze rest of its toxins as part of 'getting clean'." Alois knew it'd be easy to explain his approach as a necessity for a friend, one who he lacked the wherewithal to help himself. Perhaps his brother Erik, or his sister Katarin, slipped into the urban sewage that peddled smack for dimes. Perhaps he'd find it easier still if he knew Orah would balk at the notion, would chastise him for becoming an addict and curse his name in such overwhelming hatred that her bitterness kept him afloat.
But she wasn't Katarin, or Clarisse, or Richard.
"Wis' most drugs, one can endure an amplified flu for a few days before returning to an adjusted lifestyle. It's not... necessary for supervision of any sort. However, wis' stronger substances, such as opiates, detox becomes dangerous alone. Zat is why I am casting a proposition your way, Orah - because if I am left to my better judgments, I won't survif'e it." Finally he leveled her gaze on her once more, Orah with her deep brown hair that curled vaguely toward her back, the one who might disprove him and demonstrate a bite after all.
Outwardly he demonstrated little more than stoicism marred with exhaustion, but his fingernails tensed against his cheek so greatly that he expected to feel a hot trickle of blood down his fingertips.
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 3:14 pm
In the beginning, she had honestly not linked 'proposition' with 'propositioning'. Such was her naivety that it just simply hadn't occurred to her, at least, not until he actually brought it up, making her face heat up as her eyes widened. Still, she chose not to remark on it since he assured her that wasn't the case, even with his 'long and hard' comment...
At least he kept taking, which allowed her to get past the awkward moment to the real reason for his visit. But that only brought up more confusion. He was talking about drugs... narcotics, and detox. For a girl who had never done anything, nor known anyone who had, it was somewhat beyond her knowledge and experience, leaving her floundering a little. She had to take his word on what he described, but it left her wondering just what it was he was asking her and what that said about him.
"Alois... you, um... use?" She had no... polite way of asking that. How did you ask someone if they were abusing drugs? It changed what Orah saw when she looked at him, but it also explained things she'd wondered about, but could never really put her finger on. For a long moment, she had to wrestle inside with her own stance on it, but listening to him wanting to clean up his life, and finally noticing how tired he looked, she felt herself soften.
In the end, she realized he was asking for her help, that he needed that help, and she just couldn't refuse him. She'd never been able to refuse anyone in the past and now was no different. It wasn't her place to judge him for making a mistake, just simply accept it and the fact that he wanted to climb out of whatever hole he'd fallen into.
Shifting down the counter, the young woman leaned her crossed forearms on the glass top as she looked over this strange man. The reduced distance let them speak softer and let her see his face better, in an attempt to gauge what he was thinking about.
"I don't know if that sounds much like a proposition... that sounds more like you're asking for help." She said softly as she tilted her head, a curl falling down her cheek. "I'll try my best, but you're going to have to tell me what to do... I haven't exactly ever done this before. We also, can't, um... tell my father what I'm doing." Orah looked sheepish at the end, glancing back at the beaded curtain. Beyond that were the stairs to the apartment where her dad was undoubtedly doing the books.
Geez... he would flip out if he knew what she was thinking about doing. Even if it wasn't her in trouble, the idea of her being so close to it would really bother him.
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 4:39 pm
Alois blinked, initially incapable of processing her response. "What are you trying to say?" He asked, his whispers sharp with frustration. "Of course it's a proposition! I'm giving you ze opportunity to see a very different side of ze world zan you'f been exposed to here! I don't deal in money, Orah, I deal in experiences. Besides, do you really sink I'd ask for help? I wouldn't care much if I lived srough it or not - zis is primarily for your benefit, not mine." Finally he tore his hand away from his face, exposing deep indentations from his nails between slowly growing whiskers. With a huff, he folded his arms across the table once more and leaned forward; he was loathe to allow someone else to eavesdrop.
"Need I remind you zat you lif' in such an infinitely compartmentalized zone, constructed by your dad? I highly doubt you'f ever even met an addict before, let alone seen what cocaine looks like, or even realized you were watching a drug deal go down when you see two men sitting on a bench passing a Taco King bag! Trust me, zis is a circumstance where you get to understand what pain is." Likely the worst she dealt with in the past was an abandoned relationship, aside from her mother's death. But that agony felt far differently than the inner convulsions for another hit. This was a purge, not a loss.
Alois shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose before sighing softly. "It's not a terribly difficult procedure. If your life takes precedence, let it - you only haf' to check back once a day to ensure I'f actually eaten somesing and not drowned in my own vomit." Not that I'd mind if you left me to die. "I'd explain in greater detail, but as you can tell, zese aren't ideal trappings for zat kind of discussion. Don't you haf' some errands to run for ze store? Maybe your dad needs coffee, or some pliers to pull ze roman column out of his arse for sheltering you for so damned long..." With a huff, Alois chewed the flesh of his cheek to abstain from further acerbic comments.
If she agreed to help, it was prudent to avoid taking potshots at her remaining family.
"Zis is pat of what you'll haf' to deal wis, Orah - agitation. A lot of it." Stepping back from the counter and out of immediate sightline through the beaded door, Alois busied himself by checking over the various flowers displayed on the tables.Inwardly he hoped Orah would waste little time checking in with her father, as he found little interest in staring down different (and equally repulsive) dirty plant bulbs in bags. After locating one particularly crusted bulb, he busied himself with plucking off each husk of dried plant material until the pale surface showed through.
He hated waiting.
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 5:05 pm
Orah's eyebrows climbed towards her hairline and stayed there as he went on, finding that he was less than convincing. It was a good thing she'd already decided to do it, because he was a horrible salesman... and lying to himself if he thought this was really for her personal growth. It was disturbing though, to hear him claim he didn't care if he lived or not, or to treat his state with so little regard. Did he really dislike himself so thoroughly that he didn't care about his life? It was a hard concept to grasp, but at least grasping it wasn't required just now.
For now, she chose not to comment on what he thought of her life. She knew there was nothing wrong with it. A lot of people strove for a life that was as simple and good as hers was now... even if there were parts of it she wished were better. The pliers comment was a little much, but his explanation soothed any hurt she might have felt over it. He was in pain, things in pain tended to strike out at the world around them. Orah made a mental note of it, knowing there would probably be more of it in the future. She wouldn't take it personally.
"I'll go get my brother to watch the store, just stay here for a moment." The teen said as she straightened up. Reaching for the vase of flowers, she took them with her into the back to put in a cooler before she trotted up the stairs.
It wasn't easy to convince her brother of what she needed, but he came grumpily slumping behind her when she reappeared downstairs, green eyes narrowed suspiciously at the guy across the counter.
"What's he doing here?" The young teen growled as he crossed his long sleeved arms over his chest. He looked as punk as ever, his hair mussed in the usual '******** you if you don't like it' style.
"We're going for a walk. I'm entitled to a break, you know, so just watch the store for a while. I've got my phone if you need me." Orah said, brushing off her brother's dark look as she grabbed Alois by his wrist and pulled him towards the door. She didn't want to hang around for more arguement and more questions she couldn't answer. It wasn't any of his business who she hung out with or what they did... but that didn't mean it was easy to shake him off if he didn't want to be. Matthew was stubborn like that.
"Come on." The teen said quietly to the side, hoping Alois would cooperate for once. When they were outside, the cold nipping at exposed faces, she slowed her pace, half turning. "Where do you live, anyway? I assume you wanna do this at home."
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 6:14 pm
A familiar disgruntled teen passed through the beading, wearing a glowering expression shared amongst most his age - one Alois himself wore years ago. In return, he winked at the boy, if only to exacerbate him further. An easy target, but Alois found no reason to spare him the anguish, especially since he sounded utterly pleased when he sighted the man whose switchblade he stole once before. Alois considered sinking the switchblade into one of their tables, but that was an action better saved for a different day. Namely, after Orah completed their agreed-upon task.
Initially the misanthrope jerked at her sudden, unexpected touch, but he followed her nonetheless. The flower shop proved inhospitable to their discussion, so he welcomed the change of venue, despite the heavy winds eating through their clothes. Alois tugged his scarf up over his nose and mouth while he set the pace for their short walk. "As much as I prefer to avoid ze house, zere's no better place for it." His voice came muffled, yet still discernible. Slowly he wrapped his arms about himself to stymie the chill. "It's not terribly far from here. Walking distance. Zat ugly-looking house on ze corner of 121st and Gaarde. I share a place wis' my roommate, who is too fortunate for my liking, but luckily he's never around." The myriad of gaudy candlesticks aside, Alexandre came from a rich family with ties to more rich families - the boy had more money at his disposal than he would ever need.
"Initially I'll haf' you help me dispose of ze junk I accumulated. Naturally, you will be combing areas of ze house you never sought to check for stashed away items before - ze battery compartment of a keyboard is a good example." Alois paused in his explanation; his gaze drifted toward the street where he watched a bundled up child run from her mother, who pursued happily enough. The world really did continue turning, no matter the pain he endured. And now, with Orah tagging along for the ride... "Sorry; zis is somewhat strange for me to discuss. It's not easy to discuss weaknesses wis' someone I hardly know, but you are perhaps ze best choice for your lack of a friendship wis' me." That sounded utterly convincing.
As he continued, Alois half-expected the svelte girl to simply push him into the street and end his nonsense entirely. "As for ze actual detox process, imagine dealing wis' fifteen hormonal, pregnant women in one sitting - all demanding different sings and none of which understand what zey truly want. Zat is... Possibly ze most accurate description I can conjure up. Zere will be a lot of bitching, muscle cramps, vomiting... You will endure a vast scope of insults and criticisms, pleadings, bemoaning nonsense, and possibly rare stretches of silence. It's not pretty, but at least it's real." But Orah appeared nonplussed with his assertions that the experience was the reward; due to that, he abstained from expounding on its merits.
"Your task is relatively simple, I sink - ensure zat I'll actually eat, or more accurately, drink somesing. Additionally, it might be wise to linger for a while and determine zat I won't suddenly haf' a heart attack and die. If I haf' a seizure, try to ensure zat I don't crack my skull open on nearby furniture. Most of ze process entails afflictions zat you cannot help wis', but quitting like zis is dangerous enough to warrant outside assistance." Inwardly he hoped his condition wouldn't deteriorate so far that he depended on Orah to walk. His research dredged up ominous results; were he a prideful man, detox would undoubtedly humble him.
"Do you haf' any questions?"
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 6:45 pm
Matthew would probably never approve of Alois. They seemed too much alike, and on top of that, the yellow-eyed stranger was far too friendly with his sister for his comfort. That wasn't, of course, going to stop Orah from trying to be friends with the troubled young man. There were a lot of things Matthew would approve of, but she wasn't here to please her brother all the time... even if she usually acted like it.
The cold turned Orah's small nose and rounded cheeks a warm shade of pink as she released Alois's wrist and did up the buttons on the cream peacoat she'd thrown on along the way. As they walked, she tied the belt around her waist and considered what he said, realizing it was going to be a lot more work than she had thought. Not that it changed her mind... but it meant that things might be even harder than he was describing and she was going to have to be prepared for it. Tucking her hands into her pockets, the young woman sighed softly.
"What do I do if I find, uh... whatever it is?" Orah said finally after some thought. How did you dispose of drugs anyway? And did he really go to such lengths to hide it? "And is there anything you're not allowed to have, besides... you know? If someone asks what's going on, like your room mate, what do I tell them?" It was bound to come up, after all... unless he was completely disconnected from everyone and everything, which she found hard to believe.
She was a little bit sad that he didn't really consider her a friend... but at the same time, glad that she was here to help him with a difficult process.
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Posted: Fri Feb 07, 2014 11:06 pm
"Morphine," Alois corrected lowly. "It's morphine. If you find it, you flush it. Cut open ze bag, drain its contents, and get rid of it." The misanthrope fought to quell the panic stemming from simply mentioning the disposal of his current lifeline. Wearily he pulled his arms taut about his chest, in an effort to both focus on and stymie the chill. Suddenly he felt exhausted. "And if my roommate questions you, tell him it's a bad case of food poisoning, and you're ze idiot friend who undercooked ze chicken in ze first place, which would explain your guilty presence in ze house. It's not a terribly noble explanation, but ze inherent humility qualifies a certain honesty. Alexandre is atrocious wis' detecting lies; even if you're a mediocre deceiver, he will buy your story nonzeless. You look too trustwors'y for such lies."
Additionally she looked slight and meek - would she truly withstand the emotional onslaught generated by a heinous withdrawal? Alois cast a sidelong glance at his future sitter, standing several inches shorter than him and wearing every indication of her lithe frame. But she may surprise him yet; with her purportedly spotless upbringing, she might possess the mental faculties to write off the torrent of acerbic insults he'd undoubtedly sling at her.
Alois blew a stray set of bangs from his face before he spoke. "My scope of analgesics is now limited to over-ze-counter products, or ze traditional remedies available at most apos'ecaries... Pharmacies?" The misanthrope sighed in exasperation. "Ultimately I cannot take anysing derived from opiates, or prescription painkiller wis' addictif' properties. Curiously enough, when heroin was first synsesized by a Swiss chemist, zey marketed it as a cure for morphine addiction. Now I hear zey use messadone to assist addicts in stepping down. It's... more of a leap, for me." A leap of faith - both in Orah and himself.
The pair approached the corner at a quick clip, and Alois realized he lacked the luxury of time to dally in his explanations. "I'm looking to get zis over wis' as soon as possible. It's a... Necessity, at zis point." The misanthrope cupped his hands over his mouth and exhaled into the makeshift cavity, hoping to breathe some warmth into his bones. "Orah. I never gaf'e you all ze information before you agreed to ze proposition. Do you regret it now, knowing how much work it entails?"
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Posted: Sat Feb 08, 2014 2:25 pm
Morphine? That came as a surprise. You could get that through a prescription, it wasn't illegal. Which... was something of a relief. He wasn't doing anything against the law as she had thought. The abuse of a painkiller was still bad though, and wasn't going to make this any easier on either of them... but it did help her peace of mind.
The young woman wilted a little as he came up with a plausible excuse for why she was there and he was sick. She didn't like being cast as the bad guy or her cooking cast in a bad light, but it was simple enough to pass as true. Orah would just have to bear the lie, which she would do to help him, even though it hurt what little pride she had.
As they approached the corner, the young woman shrugged in her wool coat, her collar pulled up to help shield her face. "I don't regret agreeing to help and I won't go back on it. You need someone and, though I'm still not sure why you'd choose me for this, I'm willing to be there. Everything you told me just makes me more sure." Turning towards him, she watched as her breath cast clouds in front of her face. "When do you want to start?"
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Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2014 9:36 pm
"Let zis be your first lesson, Orah: do not gif' an addict ze choice of when detox should start. If you do, ze answer will always be soon, and soon always lingers on ze horizon." Alois plucked a cigarette rom the battered pack wedged in his pocket, pursing it between his lips as he considered how to proceed. Regrettably his once typical brand's taste lacked in comparison to the cigarettes given to him by Schörl - both kinds. "Realistically I should start now. If I remember correctly, symptoms will require some time before zey precipitate. Presumably I will start ze night wis'out complications, but I don't know how long zat will last. You should haf' time to concoct a story to sell to your dad..." Alois smirked around the cigarette as he struck a match against his boot. "Wouldn't want him to know zat you'll be sneaking out of ze house to meet a boy, eh?"
The mirth faded from his eyes as his cigarette glowed to life. Thin plumes of smoke peeled out from his nose, dissipating into the stars. "I suspect zat your troubles will not lie wis' your dad. Your sibling... Massew, was it? I cannot tell how smart he is, but he's curious enough to not settle for stories. You would know him far better zan I, obviously, but if he has bos' ze wits and ze interest... It's not difficult to couple your sudden need to leaf' ze house for quite some time wis' my recent reappearance. And zere are worse sings to come up wis' zan detox for us to do." Given the addition of youma in the city, a kidnapping sounded rather benign.
Alois paused at the street corner, when a volatile gust nearly stole the cigarette from his hand. The misanthrope closed his eyes and allowed thick tendrils of black hair to writhe across his face. When the burst subsided, almost half of his features were obscured by the unruly mess. After running a hand through the tangled heap to correct it, he eyed Orah more seriously. "Orah. You remember telling me of your mom, correct? Zat had a lot to do wis' my choice. Initially I considered you as nossing more zan a decrepit ghost, whittling away life as some imperfect reminder of your dad's wife. But, after sinking on it, I learned zat it is not so." Taking another drag, the smoke scathed its way to the depths of his once-injured lungs.
"Zis will eizer qualify my conclusion or render me a prodigious idiot. Let's try for ze former."
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Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2014 10:49 pm
A soft sigh slipped from the young woman as she eyed the toes of her boots against the sidewalk, gently scuffing a heel against it. Today was the day to start then, or he was right and it would only be harder to do. A blush bloomed across her cheeks when he mentioned sneaking out to see a boy. The idea was embarrassing, though it would have been exciting if it had been true. Sometimes... she really kind of wished she had someone to sneak out to see. She called up an image of herself and for just a moment, Alois' image tried to fit into that space where the guy she was seeing would be... but it didn't fit, not really. He didn't fit.
"My Da is easy enough... if I tell him I'm working with a friend from school on a project, he won't question it. I've done that before..." Though, the question of Matthew was a little harder to answer. He was right, of course... if Matthew paid attention, he would notice, and being the boy he was, he would question it. Though, the excuse Alois pulled up in his head was different from her image, still thinking about the seeing a boy scenerio, which only made her blush harder. At this point, she didn't even need a scarf, her face was so warm... "Matthew isn't my keeper and I can do what I want without his permission. If I tell my Da its a school project, my brother will have to deal with that excuse."
The gust of wind tossed her dark curls around her face and she reached to clear her hair back, watching quietly as he put a cigarette to his mouth. Smoking was a horrible habit, but it wasn't really her business to say anything about it. He had a worse habit to deal with right now.
And then he brought up her mom and the young woman stilled, watching him with big brown eyes as he told her what he had really thought about her, that first time. It hurt, hearing that. She had never considered herself that way... as some image of her mother that her father kept around as a reminder. Even if he had changed his mind later... was that how people saw her? Not as herself, but as someone else's image? Tucking her hands into her pockets, Orah straightened up, something in her stiffening her spine and an air coming about her that most only saw when she called on the pen in her pocket. For a moment, she borrowed some of Ida's confidence, bolstering her voice and hardening her eyes.
"I'm not some ghost of my mother, Alois." She said firmly, watching him over the raised collar of her coat. "Its... sad, if you couldn't see that. Just because I honor her memory doesn't mean I live in her shadow. I'm my own person, you know. I hope you'll see that, if you don't now." Let him think what he wanted about that. It didn't change who she really was, her inner self. Maybe she needed to look at things again, though... consider if she had really let her own light dim just to keep her mother's glowing. She would have to prove to him, and herself, that she was stronger than that.
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Posted: Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:36 pm
Alois took a long draw of his cigarette, eyes fixed distantly in contemplation. Several moments passed, filled with the whistling wind in its whimsical strength, before he elected to speak. "Oh, why can't we be perfect..." His words came with an edge of bitterness, barely audible above a whisper. But the words stole away his volume, and he hopes that Orah would not seize on the phrase with any real discussion. Instead he revised his earlier statement with a stronger tone behind his diction. "To be human is to err, is it not? Perhaps you should forgif' me of zat, unless you'd prefer I become a monster." Alois smiled crookedly, as his statement stood half in jest, half in reproach.
"I remember her from zat photograph." Striking woman, one I would've studied from afar. Perhaps I would've taken up photography, too, but... A pretty face is all she ever was. I suspect she did not set her standards high, for she married such a lukewarm man. It's possible she cared little for money, but those entrenched in shallow careers are often shallow themselves. "Do you take after her, your mother?" He asked, rolling his r helplessly. Still, he managed an english phoneme without warping the word too terribly. "Obviously you look quite like her, but what else do you share in common?" Was her mother every bit as meek? Did Orah carry the same aversions to specific foods as the woman? Genetics were a puzzling affair.
Thinking back on her reaction, Alois shot the brunette a sidelong glance. "By ze way, I was surprised you tried to stand up to me. I was almost impressed." Alois elbow checked her as he passed behind her. He considered reminding her to avoid standing up to emotionally destitute goths with switchblades in a markedly violent manner, but he was not Bischofite - and the penalties behind stabbing her far outweighed the positives. He dismissed the consideration easily enough, for his blood did not boil when met with a spirited retort.
Finally he returned the cigarette to his lips and pressed his hands into the deep pockets of his pants. Occasionally he'd expel smoke through his nose, and it writhed into sudden dissipation seconds later. Tortured breaths, an echo of old injuries. The misanthrope found it curious how everything stood as a reminder to past events. Orah to her mom, fading vapors to his broken ribs... What next? The bottom half of a rat strewn across the street to remind him of his despicable furbag of a 'landlord'?
In only a handful of hours, the two would know each other under very different, visceral circumstances. Detox and death were very much alike in one regard: each provoked a total exposure of raw character. Orah would discover the absolutely intolerable truth behind him, and in return he would receive hardly a scrap of how she truly behaved beyond superficial conduct. Or did he? Was his visit to her house not a window into her lifestyle? Pawing through the prescriptions, did he not discover the marked lack of emotional unrest in her life? Maybe he already knew enough, and this venture only imposed a sense of equilibrium.
Oh, how he detested a fair game.
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Posted: Wed Feb 12, 2014 1:54 pm
"Its not that..." Orah insisted as he asked her forgiveness. "I'm not... blaming you. I guess maybe it looks that way, from the outside, but I just... need you to know that I'm not some... shadow. I don't know."
What was she trying to say, anyway? Why even bother trying to convince him of anything? The young woman shifted as he dug his elbow into her side, casting him a glance from the corner of her eye as he moved. At least he seemed to appreciate her saying something. Some people were strange like that... they wanted you to assert yourself and only respected people who did. It wasn't something she normally did, but for some reason, being around him made her feel more like she did when she was Ida. Ida was stronger, more confident, more sure of what she wanted and what she was doing... Orah was a soft, naive girl who just wanted to take care of people, to be liked by them.
Speaking of... "I don't remember as much about my mother as I would like. I was only four when she died... from what Da says, we're actually a lot different." The teen wasn't sure, really, why she was standing out here in the cold with him, plans made and done, only to chat now about the past. Maybe he wanted a distraction from what he was going to be facing, to delay going home. She could indulge him in it, if that's what it was. Even if it wasn't... Orah wasn't so much in the mood to stand behind a counter and entertain customers like she normally did.
"My mother was... vivacious, from what Da says. Passionate, head-strong, and stubborn. She came from a rich family, she was beautiful, and she always got what she wanted. You've seen my Da... he's quiet, but he's also sweet and caring, and back then he was charming and witty. He used to be a programer, even made it as far as being the lead at his company before Mum died. I remember she used to laugh a lot, usually at something he said. It was probably why she loved him so much. He says her family threw a fit over them, but she put her foot down when she decided to marry him. I don't know if I could do that... I would want someone my Da would be happy to know." She shrugged, thinking about it as a gust swirled the snow around her boots and made her shiver. "I probably take more after my father, even though I look more like her. Matthew got Mum's fire and flash, I think. I got Da's warmth and gentleness."
There was nothing wrong with that, Orah knew it, but it was hard to admit she wasn't as much... woman as her mother was. How does a delicate, white Orchid compete with a luxurious, wine-red Rose? It wasn't much of a competition. Orah lifted her eyes to the sky, watching as the light faded towards evening. Maybe she did let her mother over shadow her, even in death... maybe it was just the turn of the conversation that made her feel that way. She could never live up to that bright, shining woman in the photographs... she could only be herself, as drab as she was.
"I'll need your address. And a key." She said finally, bringing her eyes back down. "I'll drop by tomorrow after school, bring you something to eat while I check up on you. I'll give you my number too, in case there is an emergency."
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Posted: Fri Feb 14, 2014 10:22 pm
Alois faltered mildly when Orah addressed the business between them without prompt. Sighing through his nose, a growing frown pulled the corners of his lips and he flicked the ash from his cigarette to draw on its filter once more. Idly he wondered why a filter was truly necessary when he poisoned his body nonetheless. "Fourteen twenty-six nordwest Gaarde street." Conceding his address felt like admission of defeat; a slow, rotten blister of disgust formed somewhere in his pile of intestines. Maybe one day it might burst and flood him with such acerbic derision for the world that he'd finally use Bischofite to reduce it to some equally squalid, atrocious cesspool containing the dregs of humanity.
But that sounded like such a lofty goal.
Smoke curled from his lips in slow breaths as the misanthrope dug around in his pocket for a set of keys hanging from a rusted keyring. With five altogether, three as keys to separate houses, he flipped through the three to select the one for Alexandre's house. Finally he curled the key off its ring, handing Orah the brass-plated object by the black rubber ring surrounding its head. "I don't haf' any spares, so don't lose it. I dislike having to break into my own house forever." Though the statement hinted at lightheartedness, his eyes belied very little; his tired gaze settled too heavily on the slight girl as he spoke. The recurrence of bad memories settled into his skin, and it crawled.
"I am surprised; I sought you two would be much more alike, but we do not all stand as monuments to our parents." If you wanted to change, if you wanted to be more like your mother, all you have to do is suffer. "Different experiences widen ze gap between ze current and last generation regardless; I doubt your mom had ze experience of helping someone detox, and I can guarantee your dad has not." Alois rubbed his nose gently; the cutting cold caused his sinuses to run. "Your parents... zey had good lives, but it's hard to start making your own."
Orah with her curious brown eyes and her gentle grace... Had she ever seen a world outside of her flower shop? Had she seen the youma that prowled through the shadows? Had she heard of the wonders and terrors that stemmed from the stars? He smiled wistfully; how long had it been since those questions described himself? Perhaps war grew one exponentially - in a mere two years, one grew ten. All that change... due to suffering alone. Would Orah choose a life like that, knowing she could depart from her parents' footsteps? Would she prefer to settle into the gentle monotony of running a florist's business?
"And your number?" He asked, though his voice sounded far away. After pulling out his battered cell phone, he awaited her response.
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