[ prp ] The Beginner's Guide to Symbolism (America & Gloom)

[lizbot]

An Important Thing
Stuff to Leave a Mark
Dust with Meaning

It took a little while, to orient herself to the differences between this world and the normal one, to find her way back to the cemetery she'd met Gloom in. Along the way, she'd call his name out every once in awhile. Just in case he was wandering elsewhere.

ashdown whaler

 

[Ashdown Whaler]

It takes a moment to notice that there's less rain falling on her and soon there's no rain falling on her at all.

A moment later, shadows lengthening and then twisting, weight is there on her shoulders. America has a scarf, his name is Gloom. "Y'back!" His eye glinted. "Did y'find everything?"

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Hello, Gloom Friend," America greeted him with a growing grin. Taking a moment to scritch his head, the girl opened her satchel, pulling it wide for him to look at all the many things within.

"For inks and dust, I picked up a few, whatever I could think of that seemed likely," she admitted, feeling a little chagrined, a little shy.

ashdown whaler

 

[Ashdown Whaler]

"America is the best," he said very seriously. Gloom ended up hanging somewhat on her to look at the satchel but then ended up sliding down until he was on it.

So he just went in it, his size shrinking down and shadows wisping away and disappearing.

The shadow creature was rooting around in the satchel, his head poking back out. "These are all good! Very good!"

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Well dang, hun. Can you get real, real big too?" America mused as he inspected the bag.

Relief washed over the girl at the assurance and she visibly brightened, all uncertainty giving way to attentive enthusiasm. "So we can do a magic?" America bounced lightly on her heels in anticipation.

ashdown whaler

 

[Ashdown Whaler]

"Nope!" he replied. "Just smaller!" At least that was all he knew. Gloom was young and not so powerful like others.

He wriggled around and got comfortable in the satchel, peering up at America. "We can," very pleased sounding, "but inside." There was a building not that far away, what was a restaurant in Ashdown but dilapidated here. The door swung on it's hinges.

"In there for magics."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

Automatically, America brought her hand up and waved the building hello, as if the door swing had been some sort of greeting. Catching herself, the girl let out a small huff of laughter and began walking over.

"Do you have a little home 'round here, Gloom Friend?" The girl looked around curiously at the buildings, and even more so once they entered the worn down restaurant.

ashdown whaler

 

[Ashdown Whaler]

The inside of the restaurant looked like something from the 1950s, an old jukebox in the corner and the entire thing not unlike a soda hop. When they were inside, Gloom was carefully climbing up the satchel and back onto America's shoulders.

"Yes! It is a secret place." His nose pressed to her cheek and then his head turned towards where a space was seemingly cleared in the center of the restaurant.

A good spot.

"Sometime y'can see it."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Secret places are the best places," America nods, moving toward the center clearing. Behind them, there's a rustle of feathers as Mr. Bitterberry enters and finds a perch on an unlit neon Open sign.

The girl placed her bag on the floor, kneeling slowly to draw out the needed items. The first was a plain stone pendant, aged but taken care of. The second was a spice bottle, full of very black ink made with time, and candles, and spoons, and burnt finger tips. The third she draws out at random, another small spice jar, the a layer of dust collected at the bottom and a piece of tape labeling its side.

"You can visit my place, too, sometime. It's not very secret, m'afraid, but it's nice all the same."

ashdown whaler

 

[Ashdown Whaler]

Gloom slid down America's back and curled around her feet. Mister Bitterberry got a polite chitter in greeting before he was nosing at the things that she had brought.

"Would like to see y'place, America friend." His tail swished from side to side slowly. "Will show y'mine too. Y'can know the secret place, so y'can find me." The shadow creature was inspecting each object until he came to jars and he was putting his paws on it, rolling it across the ground.

It was the one that read shelter. "This one. This one is best for the magics."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Found that sort thanks to," she nodded toward the jay and gave him a thumbs up. Mr. Bitterberry gave the girl an unimpressed look, but preened once her attention was turned back toward the ingredients.

The girl took the top off both the ink and the dust, then placed her hands in her lap, attentive as a small child.

ashdown whaler

 

[Ashdown Whaler]

Mister Bitterberry and Gloom would likely reach an accord that America definitely needed to be looked after. It simply was a thing.

"Y'birdie did good. Has a good keen eye." The pendant was rolled in front of America before he came to push at her leg to settle into a sitting position. Clearly it was time to sit for him in her lap.

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

With a quiet laugh, the girl shifted until she was sitting crosslegged, hand smoothing down Gloom's laugh as he settled into her lap.

"He does at that. Took the pendant for himself, too. Had to trade him back for it."

ashdown whaler

 

[Ashdown Whaler]

"Y'made a deal with 'im? Smart birdie."

Gloom, like any creature might, circled around in her lap a couple times before he settled. His paws were crossed and his head settled on them. "Y'take the ink and y'have to mark on the pendant."

Shadows gathered in front of them, pulling from the dark corners of the room. They glowed eerily, just like Gloom's eyes, and took a shape in the air. It look like a shield, bits of it wisping off into the air and reforming again at the bottom.

"An important symbol, a glyph."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

Going quiet, America gazed at the symbol, drawn from shadows. Holding it firmly in her mind, the girl slipped the paintbrush out of her bag. Her hand moved toward the the ink and then paused.

America is not a particularly good artist, a thing she's perfectly cheerful to admit. Her lines are often wobbly and uneven, her shapes impatient to the point of abstraction. And so she practices the brush motions, first in the air, eyes tracing the wispy form hanging in the air, and then over the pendant, slowly and with consideration for its smaller size.

Eventually, something clicked, in the motion of her wrist and brush and fingers. Something made her sit a little bit more confidently, and without hesitation, America dipped the brush into the sooty black ink and then the smooth, stone surface of the pendant. She exhaled slowly, in time with the stead, sure motion of her hand. By the time the symbol, the glyph was complete, America was holding her breath.

ashdown whaler