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 Posted: Sun Jun 01, 2014 3:52 pm
"We have a bond with our weapons - and with each other - already," said Gale agreeably, as he swirled his cool tea again. "We'll figure it out one day. We'll share our thoughts together."
Her silence was slightly worrying, but Gale took another swallow of tea before she said anything, and then he lowered his mug slowly, blinking at Stormy in mild surprise. After a moment, however, he smiled slightly, and his cheeks were pink, his mouth opening and closing once and then twice before he spoke again.
"I'd be all right with that," he said softly, and then smiled.
"A mind meld. Ever watch Star Trek? My dad used to love it. The species, the Vulcans - they were able to mentally connect with another person by using something called a Mind Meld. They'd touch their fingers to the other's face and chant a few words and then their thoughts would be open to each other."
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Posted: Mon Jun 02, 2014 12:05 am
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Stormy added a little quickly, the delayed response making her slightly anxious and increasing the soft taps against her cup. "I-I didn't even know you kept journals until today, so . . . so y'know . . ." The thought trailed away before she could find a way to finish it.
She shook her head in response to his question, then settled on a curious look as ale explained. one touch, a few words, and that was it. It sounded like heaven . . . and frightening at the same time. But it was everything she could have ever wanted without any of the difficulty attached. No barriers, no magic artifacts, no sacrifices or obstacles: just a little incantation and an open agreement to engage each other. It would mean sharing Thane's thoughts as well, but if Gale hadn't accepted that part of her by now then it was doomed anyway (and that wasn't really a concern of hers now).
"It sounds wonderful," Stormy said quietly, contentedly even with the image in her head. His arm was lifted slightly as she brought the mug to her lips and sipped some more tea. "I know it's a stupid and random thing to have as a goal, but it's . . . It's been one of those things I've always wanted, you know? To know someone completely and thoroughly, the good and the bad, and not be afraid to share the same. Or even just to be able to talk without talking, 'cause sometimes . . ." She shrugged a little, trying to play it off as something minor. "Sometimes it's hard to have the words, even when you know what it is without them. Like looking at the sun, I guess: you know what it is and you can describe it, but it's not the same as being there yourself, burned alive and knowing down to your bones how hot it is."
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Posted: Thu Jun 05, 2014 7:45 pm
"I want to," said Gale quickly, even though his cheeks were a little pink. "I want to," he said again, in a much less flustered tone of voice. "And I don't...keep them all the time, admittedly, but sometimes, you know...it's nice to have a place to keep my thoughts written down for when I forget them. I like to be able to look back and learn from my mistakes."
Though lately his journal had been filled with pages upon pages of his gushing about Stormy; Gale wondered belatedly if it was even wise to show her those, dismissed the thought, and gave her a reassuring smile.
"I don't mind," he said softly. "I think it'd be a nice change, y'know. Getting out of my head and getting into yours."
He still recalled his father watching Star Trek, sitting in the arm chair in the living room with a drink in one hand and the remote in the other. Sometimes Gale would crawl into his lap and sit there, watching in fascination the different alien species, the giant ships, and his father's strong arms would be a comforting weight around him.
"It's not stupid," said Gale. "It's...I think it would be a wonderful thing, to just know something without having to say it out loud, to just...understand someone to that level. I know it's hard to do it now, unless it's with our weapons, but that sort of...bond with someone else, that sort of depth..." He gave a little shrug, one shoulder rising and falling. "I wish I could have that with you, and with other people, just so I could understand them, just so I could be in their shoes, feel everything that they feel."
His smile was gentle.
"It's not stupid at all."
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Posted: Thu Jun 05, 2014 10:24 pm
Something shifted in her eyes towards the end of his answer. Up until then, Stormy had remained content, relieved even to know Gale wanted to try this out however childish it still felt to her, and her arm slid against his in an unneccessary necessary motion--moving for the sake of feeling the soft friction, the warmth that could quietly agree right back, that took the place of a smile at how quickly he had responded, that reminded her of the contact. But the moment he mentioned the words feel everything that they feel, she tensed almost reflexively. "You don't want that," she said in a lower tone. "The thoughts, the perspective, yes, not . . . not so much of the emotion. Especially not from me."
It ran completely counter to her previous statements of knowing both good and bad as thoroughly as possible, but maybe those had been the wrong words to use anyway. Or maybe it was one of those implicit exceptions she had failed to make clear, as if expecting Gale to know how to read her mind already: that if she could control it, she'd give him everything except what she was most afraid of surrendering, even when she was very aware that it was impossible to keep thoughts and emotions separate in her case.
She tried very hard to remember her focus on the tea and its warmth, which was more neutral than thinking of skin to skin contact, and inhaled its aroma slowly.
"Let's head to my room to get them," Stormy said at length, taking another sip before setting the cup back on its saucer. Her arm slid from his as she eased herself back onto her feet and pushed her chair in. "I'll need to sort through them and pick and choose what's appropriate for a starting point anyway, so the sooner the better. And, uh . . ." She needed to check the lock to make sure it still functioned anyway, though halfway through she decided not to finish that thought and guilt trip Gale. "And I need to get some more wigs out," Stormy finished instead, her cheeks darkening a little again.
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Posted: Thu Jun 05, 2014 11:36 pm
He could feel the warmth of her arm against his as she moved, almost restlessly; and for a moment he thought it was done out of a need to be closer. It was soon determined, however, that it was not; her face had tensed, and she was looking less like she was reassured by what he was saying and more like she wished she hadn't said anything at all.
Gale's stomach twisted nervously.
"I know what I want," he said lightly, still trying to keep the conversation light, and then he let it drop, absently twisting Jinhai's ring. His tea was surely cold now; he'd set it on the table after a few moments of thinking and the warmth had all but seeped out of it, not that Gale really minded. He turned his head and gave Stormy a smile, though he could feel the air on his arm where she had left, and it made him strangely sad.
"Yes, of course," he said, not mentioning the wigs, and Gale got to his feet, gesturing for Stormy to lead the way up the staircase and the spare room beyond.
"After you."
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Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2014 7:46 am
I know what I want, he said, and she believed him. But she did not believe he understood the true extent of it. Stormy appeared confused at first when he gestured towards the stairs, and then it hit her: they were talking about separate rooms. Gale had thought... oh. In her head it had been a constant conflict of what to denote the second floor guest room as (despite being clearly where she had left her things, as if there was still wiggle room), and she had failed to notice how easily her words could be misconstrued. Her cheeks grew darker with embarrassment. "I-I meant my dorm," she clarified. "I only have the newer ones up there..." One of which Gale had written part of himself into. "I didn't want to, um...bring everything here and all...I-It'd be a long walk over with everything...in...one place..." Maybe she shouldn't have said that. Stop talking, start moving. Her hands fiddled with each other, afraid Gale would take offense. "I'll, er...clean this up first," Stormy mumbled after a moment, picking up her saucer and moving to get his as well to bring to the sink.
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Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2014 11:18 pm
He tilted his head and gave her a bemused look, wondering what the problem was. Stormy was acting strangely, her cheeks flushed; had she not wanted to go upstairs after all? Or perhaps, he thought with some horror, he'd said or done something to offend her and he hadn't realized it.
But then he caught the gist of her meaning and Gale's shoulders relaxed a little, an easy smile forming its way across his face.
"Sorry," he said, with a small laugh. "I guess I just like having you here so much that I sometimes forget that you technically do have your own room elsewhere."
His expression softened somewhat. "It's not a problem. Did you want me to come with you? I can help you carry things back if you'd like, or I can stay here and clean up a little; whichever you want, or whichever is more comfortable for you, okay?"
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Posted: Sat Jun 07, 2014 12:21 am
She made a soft noise to indicate a yes but not to which one at first, no longer trusting herself to talk at the moment. She thought she was lucky enough that Gale didn't take offense to her still not calling it her room, despite her heavy use of it. Stormy cleaned out their teacups and washed the saucers for good measure before setting them out to dry, her motions slow but fluid in a strange sort of choreography. A place for everything, and everything in its place.
She then turned and returned to him, and in the same uninterrupted way took Gale's hand and led them out. The silence coming off of Stormy wasn't the heavy kind from previous days but something milder and more contemplative, and her head remained high as they walked, their arms brushing every now and then. Her fingers of course had slid back into their slots between his, her thumb occasionally stroking his to assure herself he existed.
"I can move out soon," she eventually said, glancing at Gale to gauge his reaction. Stormy was cautious not to mention what she was leaning towards as far as her full hunter housing went. "Like a week soon. That's when it'll be a month since I put my submission in for a promotion." One more week of quietly dreading being called in, of finally facing Lance for the first time since Nevada's mission when horribly wrong. She hoped he and Sandy were both too busy to notice the request.
When they reached her floor and were able to discern the numbers on her room, however, Stormy's expression twitched and then froze. The door was half open.
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Posted: Sat Jun 07, 2014 10:58 pm
He waited for her to finish with a quiet sort of patience, mostly because he knew attempting to speed her up or telling her that he didn't mind leaving the dirty dishes in the sink would most likely not have had positive results. Besides, he'd already told her that he would let her go at her own pace, and he was going to stick with that for as long as it took; so he waited while Stormy washed the dishes, Gale straightening the salt and pepper shakers on the tiny table until she had finished.
Stormy's fingers slid through his, and Gale let her lead, following along beside her in the same sort of contemplative silence that she had. The warmth of her hand in his was reassuring, as was the little gestures she made every few minutes. He turned his head to look at her, his expression softening as he traced the lines of her profile, eyes sweeping over the bridge of her nose and then with sadness over the dark circles beneath her eyes.
Her comment startled him. Gale lifted his brows in surprise. "You..." he said, and then, "You're being promoted to full hunter? Stormy, that's...wow, that's wonderful."
A pause.
"Right?" he added, a little hesitantly. "I'm proud of you, you know."
He would have said more, but Stormy stopping made him stop as well, Gale frowning in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask what the matter was, but all it took was one look in the direction she was facing to see what she was staring at.
His back stiffened a little. "...does anyone else have a key?"
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Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 11:04 am
It was an empty victory, but Stormy's face seemed to lighten a little at the time anyway when he congratulated her. It was something, even though she felt like she had accomplished it by doing nothing at all.
But now she had nothing for his compliments, nor his hesitance about them. Her mind had gone from a weak but hopeful state to a complete blank at the sight of the half-open door. Stormy knew she had closed it, she swore . . . But maybe it had just inched open? She hadn't exactly stopped and made it secure, having been in a rush to get some of her things before rejoining Gale on the way back to his house. Maybe . . . Maybe that was just the state it would be in regardless, from air pressure or other people opening and closing doors next to it.
"No," Stormy said distantly as she moved forward, unaware of whether their hands remained tethered or not. "Nobody except . . ." Nevada. And that key was gone, just like she was.
Her room was a terrible mess. The vague smell of smoke and alcohol was still apparent, but it wasn't the multiple dicks drawn on her wall that got her, or the fact that her minifridge was slightly open and completely empty, or that sticky notes were peppered everywhere and items had been left out. It was the fact that Nevada's bed had been disturbed that stood out most. She ghosted over and immediately fixed it up, her mouth partially open but no sound leaving her.
There was a note with bold, jagged red letters next to a box of menthols she thought had been hidden safely. She knew the childish parts of the invasion were from Leslie, but this one wasn't. Maybe not the bed either, she didn't know. But the blaring <******** you was in familiar writing and a different sort of childish, one she had intimate experience with.
Stormy was deathly quiet as she left the note alone, squatted next to her bottom-most drawer (noting it was opened already), and began collecting her remaining journals.
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Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 10:24 pm
The open door did not bode well for either of them. Gale stared at it with a sort of unhidden anger mixed with confusion, because who else would have been able to get into Stormy's room? The only other person who was able to get in should have been Nevada, as Stormy had implied, and that was impossible.
Which meant that someone else had opened the door.
He followed along behind her, Stormy's fingers sliding free of his, a breath of cool air making him acutely aware of the loss. Gale stepped towards the door with mingled hesitance and curiosity, unsure of whether he actually wanted to see what was inside. He had no intention of leaving, however, and took a small breath before he ducked into the room after her.
It was like a tornado had hit. Gale's mouth fell open as slowly he began to pick apart the wreckage, his eyes going to the drawings on the walls, to the partially open fridge, to the papers that were everywhere, sticky notes plastered to the walls and the floor. His gaze rested briefly on Nevada's bed, but then they found what Stormy was looking at, and he clamped his mouth shut, a muscle tensing in his jaw.
What. The. Hell.
Stormy was silent, of course, ghostly so, and she had knelt down near a dresser. Gale stepped over a pile of papers closer, his eyes still on the little box and the glaringly bright letters of a note that sat next to it. The handwriting was unfamiliar to him, but the words stuck out boldly, terribly, nauseatingly.
Gale brushed it aside, fingers sliding over the box of menthols, though he didn't pick it up.
"Do you know who did this?" he asked, but he had a vague suspicion that he wasn't sure was actually intuition or just his own personal bias and hatred.
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Posted: Mon Jun 09, 2014 12:12 am
She didn't answer at first (of course she didn't), piling up the journals in her arms by chronological order first. The colors alone could have been an indicator of the passage of time: the bottom one was a plain leather bound thing with a small cinch, but they grew progressively busier until the new one looked like a collage of old torn pages with a quotes from famous books, coated a handful of stickers to add splashes of color. Several had bookmarks or dog eared sections, one was larger than the rest and had a different type of paper, and still another had a thick cover and an old fashioned lock and key belt around it. Stormy set them on the dresser and aligned them all before turning to Gale.
"I know them." She'd never looked so delicate, nor so strangely resolute at the same time, like her energy had all coalesced in her eyes and left her body fragile. Everything, though, from that look to her tone, was devoid of emotion and replaced with something artificially plush: a false sense of serenity, a softer kind of robotic. "The sticky notes and drawings are from Leslie King, a new Mist trainee. I've been trying to befriend him for a while now." He claimed she annoyed him, and yet they still kept talking.
"The note right there is from someone else, from him. I can still smell the alcohol." There was no extra inflection, but Stormy had only referred to one person as simply him.
Her gaze fell towards the pack of menthols, and something unreadable passed through her expression--close to fear but without the energy sustain it, close to guilt but without actually feeling sorry. Not really feeling much of anything, really. She reached out and for a moment their hands brushed, a strong impulse to just keep her hand there and take it and remind herself that things lied beyond the walls of her skin. But staying meant lingering in the room, and she didn't want to. She wanted, needed, to run away from there and breathe something soothing in, something other than that.
Stormy's fingers curled around the pack and slid it into her pocket. Tea just wouldn't do it for her now. She could hope Gale didn't make a scene like Evan had, because she honestly didn't know how she'd take it if so.
Ducking away for a moment into her closet, she pulled out some of her books and slipped on her Eeyore slippers, remembering the weeks in winter she used to use them for, the shuffle across carpeted floors that always built up static electricity. And then she remembered the one meeting with Gale she'd made after the dream of the Gold Kingdom, where she had worn the slippers and ate with him in the cafeteria and shared hot cocoa with marshmallows and promised to always be there for the other if they needed to talk. And then came the lone forlorn thought that asked what happened to you?
She chose not to answer and turned back around, placing the books atop her journals and aligning them all with the same precision Gale showed for his tea set. Then, wordlessly, Stormy went to the door to begin fiddling with the knob and its locking mechanism. For all the damage wrought inside, she couldn't possibly leave it open again--no, she had to be sure nothing like this could happen again, nobody could touch anything of hers.
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Posted: Mon Jun 09, 2014 10:34 pm
He waited, somewhat less than patiently than before, for her to reply; though in all honesty, it was not out of annoyance or anger at her, but a frustrated desire to determine who the hell had done this to her room and what sort of cruelty or deprivation could constitute the actions immediately following the death of a loved one.
Someone in particular fit that bill, and though he wanted to immediately pin the blame on him, it wouldn't do any good to accuse someone without actual evidence.
Not that it would ever do much good. Either Jack Hawthorn would fully admit to doing it and take pride in his handiwork, if it was his; or he'd never admit it, and all that would come out of the accusations would be anger and frustration on Gale's part, and that was neither productive nor conducive to the sort of life he was trying to live with Stormy.
Gale's eyes moved to the journals in her hand, tracing the worn covers before they moved to Stormy herself; and he could see everything he'd worked so hard - everything the both of them had worked so hard to build up in the past few hours beginning to crumble. His chest felt tight, his breathing quickening as he tried desperately to stay calm.
He didn't know who Leslie was (the name alone, terribly reminiscent of his long lost sister, was enough to make him a mixture of sad and angry all at once), but at the very least his suspicions on had left the note were confirmed. A fierce swell of hatred unlike any other he had felt rose in Gale's throat, burning up his spine like fire, and it was only with the greatest amount of self control that he tamped it back down, forced it to stay at bay.
The menthols were a question he wasn't sure he wanted answered. Gale's eyes flickered as Stormy drew the pack away, their fingers brushing, and for a brief moment he felt the same warmth he had when she had taken his arm in the little kitchen of his little yellow house.
And then it was gone; and with it, most of the last remaining hopes that Gale had had of Stormy ever becoming human again; his heart barely holding on to the shreds that were left. She was closing off again, shutting down, shutting herself away.
No, Gale thought desperately, no, no, no, wait, stop, don't leave, don't go away, don't leave me again -
He had never felt such an overwhelming feeling of despair before, not even when he had sat at his sister's makeshift grave marker and wept bitter tears over a girl that would never see the light of day again. At least Leslie - his Leslie, not some other Leslie that had vandalized Stormy's precious room - was free from whatever pain had ailed her while she was living.
Stormy was still entrenched in it, buried in it, drowning in it, and he couldn't save her, no matter how hard he tried.
He felt like he'd swallowed sawdust. Wordlessly, Gale moved through the room, past Stormy fiddling with the doorknob and out into the hallway again so that he could get some air, so that he could breathe. The expression on his face was inscrutable, Gale turning to face Stormy again as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
"All set?" he asked, his voice strangely casual, deliberately calm, showing no indication of any other terrible emotions currently roiling inside of him.
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Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2014 1:01 am
For a while, there was nothing else but the doorknob and its exposed insides; she became almost entranced by her own work, soothing her with busywork until the false serenity was replaced, slowly, with something closer to the real thing. No-one would get in. It was comforting and clear and a fixed point for her churning insides. She had described her room as her mind before, and the arrangement of it was as messy and open and secretive and colorful to reflect this. Being invaded like this . . . It was almost a direct violation of her very being. And yet she couldn't feel anger in that moment: only the grim determination that she could make sure she could prevent it from happening again.
Everything would be safe and no-one would get in again. With precise strokes Stormy fixed the lock back up, and she tapped it gently as if to say stay.
The menthols still weighed heavily in her pocket.
She turned her head belatedly, once into her room and then to the other side when she realized Gale had stepped out. She recognized that terrible tone of voice, but she couldn't fault him for it; a distant and removed part of her mind realized she was shutting down again right in front of him. (That was better than breaking down, wasn't it?) "Almost," Stormy replied, softening. (It had to be, right?)
(You're hurting him.)
She turned the lock and checked the knob for resistance, once to the left, once to the right, and once more to the left. Satisfied, she put her toolkit back to the belt she had looped loosely around her hips (lost weight, she needed to eat, needed something to fill her insides with a wonderful distraction) and went to the pile of books and journals. She could almost rest her head comfortably at the top of it once it was in her arms. Carefully, Stormy turned and returned to him, her steps still remarkably light and fast despite the extra weight.
(You can't both get dragged down. At least try to hold him up above the surface.)
She nudged him, and it might have looked accidental, a mere shift from foot to foot, if she didn't repeated the motion, both times her elbow nudging his with a tacit expectation to link again. "Can I ask just two more things of you?" she asked quietly. "Just two today, it's all I need, I-I won't bother you for more. Can you lock the door for me? And . . ." She hesitated, then ducked her head tiredly, shamefully, because even after everything given she only had a need for more to take. "Can we stay in your room?"
She couldn't bear the idea of being in the guest room alone, suddenly. It was not hers, and yet it was, and it needed to be left untouched at least for the rest of today. She was tired of Stormy right now; she needed to immerse herself in someone else.
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Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2014 3:21 pm
He was deliberately trying to stay calm; not because he was angry at Stormy, but because he was absolutely livid at Jack, at this fake Leslie who was not his sister, at himself for not doing more, at the world for doing what it did best and screwing everything up. They had had happiness for a brief moment in time - kisses that tasted like cocoa and warmth, blankets tossed over both of their legs as they curled up on his couch together, the smell of tea and chocolate in the air, the scent of the beach as they had sat on the shores - but now that happiness seemed faraway, distant and vague.
Gale wondered if he was being too selfish about all of this; if he should have been focusing less on himself and more on fixing what lay in front of him. Was it self-centered and arrogant to act this way? Was he merely being melodramatic, over thinking everything as he had the tendency to do so?
Sometimes he wished he could just turn his mind off; stop the constant desire to analyze every little situation and over think every little word and action. The world was not so easily deciphered, but sometimes it didn't need to be deciphered.
He ran a hand through his overlong hair as Stormy came towards him, her arms filled with books that stacked almost all the way up to her chin. Gale turned to look at her, feeling her arm brush against his, and his expression softened a little, some of the tense calm he was forcing himself to have ebbing. His heart ached a little at the way she ducked her head, and he wanted so much for the anger inside of him to dissipate so that he could focus on the more important things.
She didn't want to stay alone in the guest room. She had said we, not I, and that gave Gale the smallest shred of light; that perhaps all was not lost quite yet.
(Maybe he was being over dramatic after all. Maybe he was being stupid. Maybe - )
"Sure," said Gale to the former, and to the latter, he added, in a much gentler tone, "Of course we can."
He stepped towards the door and fiddled with it for a few seconds before hearing the satisfying click of the lock as it fell into place. Gale turned back around to Stormy and then held out his hands; not for a hug, as it might have looked like, but to offer his assistance.
"Do you want me to help carry some of those?"
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