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Jan the Verse
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2005 3:33 pm

Cody's arrival.

Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2005 3:34 pm

Flipside

Roles: Cody, Marks
Time: December the 17th, just after the witching hour.
Location: The living room, in which no one typically lives and Cody is not sleeping.

==============

*Cody is sprawled out on a couch, less tired than he wants to be now that he's found somewhere to lay down. The world isn't right on at least one level - more, if it's the real Marks they're talking about. He wants to talk to Alex... because Wolfe is mercurial and unreliable and talking to Alex is like the nutri-grain for the soul. Doesn't always taste good but leaves you feeling so much more wholesome and sweet. Then again, he doesn't really want to get up, on the off-chance that this is all a dream and he's going to regret doing anything to break it...*

Marks: *having heard Roman, Wolfe and someone else in the hall, though he was dozing during most of it and just assumed it was Rob or something... but the voice was angry, and he can't fathom why Robinson might be angry with either of them - not in that way, at least. In any case, he's now slightly curious as to what it was that went into the living room.* *Observes the... hooved thing with no horn... on the couch. It can't be a just a horse - the tail would be different. So where's the horn?* *comes in and looks down at Cody, hands in his pockets*

Cody: Shoo. 'm trying to sleep. *peers up, not quite sure what it is that's looking at him since he's not used to Marks as a person, only as a memory - so it takes him a while to connect the face and the horns and the pulled in wings* *eyes widen, then narrow* Well, ******** style="color: firebrick">Marks: *mildly surprised* Excuse me? That some sort of invitation?

Cody: *would reply '******** you', but that seems stupid in lieu of Marks' second comment - can't say 'screw you' either, for that matter...* God damn you...

Marks: Hunh. Cussing like a sailor, you are. I interrupt your beauty sleep?

Cody: *glares, sitting up* I liked it better when I knew I'd never meet you in the flesh. Then again, now I know I can give you a good pounding...

Marks: *blinks* Have we met?

Cody: *rolls eyes* Obviously not. *stands up, fist clenched* All right, ******** - I'm going to give you to the count of three to arm yourself before I beat the living daylight back out of you.

Marks: *took a step back to avoid awkwardness when the 'unicorn' stood up* *quirks a brow, not interested in a fight not because he's tired or objects to hurting someone he's never met for reasons he doesn't know but because he's curious to see if this guy's actually going to go through with the threat* /Seriously, how bad can any acquaintance of Wolfe's be?/

Cody: One... *glare*

Marks: *blinks and stares, not moving*

Cody: Two. *sharply, as if it's a warning*

Marks: *doesn't move one iota*

Cody: *insistently* Three.

Marks: *stares at him apathetically, not letting the brief curiosity drift across his face*

Cody: *instead of punching, which it looks like he's going to do, considering the fist, kicks out quick and sweeping, hoping to knock the b*****d off his feet*

Marks: *not tired enough to miss that, knocks the 'unicorn' back onto the couch via elbow thrust before he can really sweep his leg*

Cody: *apparently didn't expect that, but he's a determined brat...* *pushes himself forward and tries to bowl into Marks' legs to knock him down*

Marks: *doesn't so much kick him as stop him from going forward by placing a foot just below his windpipe and pushing him back into the couch* You're serious, aren't you?

Cody: *doesn't respond, only grabs Marks' leg and tries to pull it one way or the other, but finding it frustratingly steady* *mutters* ******** b*****d -

Marks: Someone didn't go to Catacysm.

Cody: *glares up at him, still holding his leg*

Marks: Look, if you really knew what you were doing, you'd've twisted or broken the shin by now. Don't bother trying either, it's so damn boring 'round here the only thing I've been doing has been cooking up new ways to counter-parry escape attempts. *this isn't true, he's more of an improv fellow, terribly creative about it but definitely prefers to improvise*

Cody: So what's the point of threatening me, ********? You want something?

Marks: You do. From me. I'm curious.

Cody: *scoffs* I thought that was obvious. I want you dead, in pain or dead. Whatever's fastest.

Marks: *obviously in parody this time around* Why?

Cody: *doesn't catch it, just glares* *heavy sarcasm* Haha. b*****d.

Marks: *mentally beating himself for trying the 'why' - you don't assume people are like Rob! Not everyone's that ... 'stupid'? Overanalytical? Something.* Hey, I've never met you before - don't think I have at least.

Cody: *rolls eyes* Of course you haven't met me. Sheez. I showed up after you croaked - the second time. *silent for a moment, still glaring* I can't believe he liked you.

Marks: *slightly surprised, 'like' indicates that this guy knows Rob - because 'he liked you' obviously isn't referring to Wolfe or Roman* You're not the only one.

Cody: *sneers in disgust* You damn liar. You expect me to believe that knowing you possessed him, not somebody else? Christ! Anyone else would've been more helpful - he was the last resort and you had to use him 'cause no one else would let you into their heads. *glare* Idiot. *can't really tell if he's insulting Marks or referring to Alex...*

Marks: *Expression doesn't change much, but Cody's hit a nerve - the insight Rob has of him from having shared head space is enough to drive him crazy, he hates having that much connection, that kind of intimacy with anyone. Physical intimacy is all fine and dandy, but when you get down to knowing someone else's thought patterns, their sense of self... It was intoxicating, knowing so much about someone else, knowing exactly how to change or manipulate them, how to motivate... but it brought far too much along with it, far too much of that which Marks hates and fears.* *pushes a tad harder, more on the collarbone than the windpipe - he wants it to be subtle and for the 'unicorn' to be able to speak* Let me get this straight, are you after my blood for some sort of vengeance or are you just jealous Rob met me first?

Cody: *nigh on snarls, which causes Marks to be somewhat taken aback - he didn't expect it out of this guy* Long as you're here, he can't move on. The sooner you get back to being dead, the sooner he can get on with -

Marks: *not interested in an honor rant - this doesn't make justified sense unless the unicorn's been infiltrating the Townhouse for a couple weeks now, which Marks is pretty damn sure he hasn't* That's current stuff. I gather you've wanted a piece of me for a mite longer than that.

Cody: *angry at having been interrupted - all this just fuels his fury with Marks* Yeah well it all adds up, doesn't it? You're a ******** parasite - oh, right, and you betrayed your 'host'. More than once. And you let him forgive you. 'the ******** is wrong with you? Why didn't you -

Marks: *slightly amused, interrupting again* Indignant, aren'tcha? What are you, an old flame?

Cody: *darkly, angrily* I'm his friend.

Marks: *laughs* Me, you, the local nut - man, he makes some great 'friends'.

Cody: *furious* Don't you dare pretend to that! Don't you dare call yourself his friend!

Marks: *still snickering* Isn't he the one that gets to decide who's friend and foe? Why don't you ask him what he thinks of me?

Cody: Are you ******** deaf? That's the real problem - he's too stupid to get rid of you on his own--

Marks: Which is why you're here? Ha. *thinks about it, smirking to himself* Naw, that really is funny.

Cody: *anger does not simmer, continues to boil* I can't believe you.

Marks: Fancy that. ...what'd you say your name was?

Cody: *just glares at him*

Marks: *blinks back* Hokay... How about I call you 'Clarence'? 'Dilton'? 'Humphrey'?

Cody: *trying to kill him with a glare* .................................

Marks: I kinda like 'Wilbur'.

Cody: .....................Fine. I'll kill you in your sleep.

Marks: *laughs again* You're a riot.

Cody: *boilboilsimmer* *sullenly* Get off of me.

Marks: Haha. No.

Cody: *continues to glare and wishes he had a lighter - or Mace. Mace would be nice* I'm sick of your face - the last thing I want to do right now is touch it, trust me. Get off and I won't try to hit you, I swear.

Marks: *amusedly* You think I'm worried about you trying to hit me?

Cody: *darkly* You should be.

Marks: *laughs again*

Cody: *didn't really want to do this - has been lecturing himself about not doing it - but Marks makes him angry. Real angry. And he can so touch skin if he tries* *soon as Marks laughs, slips his hand just under the hem of the leg crushing his collarbone and calls on Valeren, glaring up at Marks with unadulterated malevolence* *as per usual when a Salubri uses his/her Disciplines, the third eye opens*

Marks: *used to pain - but this is something new* *jerks his foot back and kicks him sharply away* *assumes for a brief moment that the 'unicorn' has cut off a chunk of his flesh or something - until he notices the third eye... he's seen this before* Ah hah. Cyclops.

Cody: *picking himself off the couch, holding a hand out tauntingly, glaring* Bring it, ********. I can take you.

Marks: *keeping the distance, pulls out his gun and aims straight for the third eye* Right.

Cody: *stares at the gun for a moment, then kicks the carpet* ********! Why does this never work??

Marks: *stares at him, not coldly as there's no anger yet - but the Salubri's a Salubri, which makes him dangerous and worth keeping an eye on* 'cause you're stupid?

Cody: Whadda you know? *glare* ....... Agh! *puts a hand to his forehead* I hate this.

Marks: /He didn't use the demonic thing on me before anything else... which means he either isn't very good at it or he didn't want to... no, he did want to use it./ So... three eyes... What's your name? *still has the gun trained on him*

Cody: *crosses arms and glares* *sarcastic* Jesus.

Marks: *releases the safety*

Cody: *knows Marks will shoot if provoked - and he's not suicidal* Kingsley.

Marks: *little disapproving release of breath/sigh, looks at him patronizingly* What's with you guys and surnames? 'Robinson', 'Wolfe', 'Kingsley'--

Cody: *snaps* Why do you still call him that?

Marks: *raises eyebrow* Why does it matter?

Cody: *opens mouth as if about to respond, but can't think of anything* *shuts mouth again* ...

Marks: All right, 'Kingsley', you want to kill me as some sort of vengeance mission?

Cody: *bitter* If you like.

Marks: And you're a Salubri.

Cody: .........

Marks: Give me a good reason not to kill you now and save myself trouble later.

Cody: *lip twists in disgust* It'll be ******** boring without me.

Marks: Try again.

Cody: *not taking this quite seriously - threats that cliche can't be serious, right?* I'm pretty.

Marks: *half smirks, amused* But... not my type. One more try.

Cody: ........It's not worth your time.

Marks: And keeping you alive is?

Cody: Not like you're going to do it anyway. You're too curious - if you weren't, you'd've shot me already.

Marks: *somewhat disturbed that Kingsley's right - not going to admit it, of course...* *Still, he wants to know why there's a sense of familiarity with him, why it feels like the Salubri understands... something that Roman, Wolfe and Rob are either blind to or are unwilling to accept* *shrugs, making the gun disappear into his jacket once more* Touche.

Cody: *not surprised that he understood, apparently* *watches him for a moment, before turning and looking down at the ground angrily* God.

Marks: So you gonna sleep in here or you want a room?

Cody: *looks at him warily* .................

Marks: Oh, come on, three eyes - you couldn't kill me if you tried. And we've established I'm not going to knock you off at least until things settle down. Isn't this what's called a 'truce'?

Cody: *doesn't like the idea of a 'truce' with Marks* You first.

Marks: *rolls eyes* Of course. Not like you know your way around the house.

Cody: *crosses arms, follows a tad less warily than before*

Jan the Verse
Crew

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Jan the Verse
Crew

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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2005 3:36 pm

Overture

Roles: Cody, Tsuzuki, Madison, Alex, Arthur, Marks, Wolfe
Time: December the 24th, evening wakes and snow dusts the sky.
Location: An exit of the Townhouse, in company and no small amount of style.

==============

*Cody explores the Townhouse for perhaps the third time in the past week, still not confident that he knows it better than Marks. It makes no difference to him that it's Christmas Eve - he decided to be simply surprised that it exists at all on Gaia. Somewhere deep inside he knows he's being childish, knows he should be treasuring this opportunity to spend a genuine feel-good time with what he presumes to call 'friends'... But also inside remains a thirst for... something better. Because something's not right...*

Cody: *enters the living room near the door where he collapsed the first night and where, a couple days ago, five - six? eight? - anthros arrived from 'the Nest' to drop off a very, very large Christmas tree, claiming they'd been sent by a 'Ms. raven' because they knew Jan was neglectful* *beneath the Christmas tree are no small amount of presents, considering that nine people reside within the Townhouse*

Tsuzuki: *having situated himself on the ground beside it amidst the leftover ornaments and tinsel, humming happily and not actually out of tune while he wraps the first of what appear to be several pairs of socks* *doesn't really notice Cody*

Cody: *stops in the doorway, just taking in the scene and wondering why he doesn't feel happier on the inside*

Madison: *bumps into him as he's trying to get in through the door, having missed seeing him due to the couple of large, tall boxes he's attempting to carry into the room* Oof! Oy, careful! Special delivery here!

Cody: *moves out of the way silently, not retreating from the room but not entering it either*

Madison: *glances over his shoulder at whoever it was he hit* *nearly drops the boxes because he's just not that talented* Yeesh, Kingsley, a little help?

Cody: What for?

Madison: Because I can't carry it all on my own, genius - eegh--*the top box is sliding*

Cody: *moves forward to catch it - unfortunately for his pride, he actually has to scramble to save it* Did it never occur to you to carry these one at a time or something?

Madison: I was doing great until I bumped into you, silly --oop--*barely manages to save another box*

Tsuzuki: *still wrapping rather obliviously, nothing that big can be breakable, right?*

Cody: Right. *putting down the box and looking closer at the tree* /It's nicer without so many ornaments.../ More lights, maybe.

Alex: *from behind* Thought you didn't like decorating.

Cody: *jumps slightly* Christ! *glares at him* Why can't someone come from the front for once?

Alex: *blink* You'd've preferred it if I had emerged from the tree?

Cody: Stop taking me literally.

Madison: *laughing on his way out* Why do you put up with that, Sanders?

Alex: Oh, don't let him fool you - *but Madison is already gone...* *to Kingsley* Sulking?

Cody: Excuse me?

Alex: Sorry... It's 'brooding', I always forget. *shrugs and smiles, hands clasped behind his back and over his wings*

Cody: *looking at him funny* You picking a fight, kiddie?

Alex: *looks up at him in absolutely fake innocence* No. .............*looks up at the tree, perhaps admiring his handiwork*

Cody: *really can't figure out what's going on in that head* /When did I stop knowing you better than you know me?/ ......

Alex: Did you do any shopping?

Cody: *bluntly* No.

Alex: Does that mean you escaped the commercial bastardization of the true Holiday Spirit?

Cody: *irritably* No, it means I've denied the existence of the Holiday Spirit.

Alex: Hm... You feeling nauseous?

Cody: *darkly* No.

Alex: Oh... *smiles slightly, still lookign at the tree, not Kingsley* Want a hug?

Cody: *somewhat surprised and defensive all at the same time* No.

Alex: *looks sideways at him, still smiling* It's okay, Kingsley. It's Christmas.

Cody: *stares at him incredulously* I don't get you.

Alex: *nods solemnly, then hugs him anyway* I know.

*a cough - well, more of a hack - from the doorway*

Arthur: Am I interrupting something?

Tsuzuki: *looks up and STARES, gaping*

Alex: *turns on his heel, linking an arm with Kingsley and turning him around as well* Nope. Kingsley's coming too, though.

Arthur: *looks at the both of them distastefully, flicks an old cloak closer around his shoulders and heads for the door, muttering under his breath something that might be vile, might only be supposed to sound vile*

Cody: *detaching his arm* Coming where?

Alex: *blithely re-catches the arm, heading for the door* I had Wolfe get you a jacket, don't worry.

Tsuzuki: *gathering the presents* Wait for me, I've got to drop these off anyway--

Cody: *sharply* Drop those off where?

Alex: *humming, pulling him out the door* Stop fretting, Kingsley - Marks didn't want to come.

Cody: What does this have to do with - so? What do I care about that bast--

Marks: *from the kitchen* Language, three eyes!

*in the hallway are already gathered Arthur, Wolfe and Madison - Wolfe waiting rather edgily for Alex and Kingsley to show up already so he can stop thinking about Maddie. Arthur still looks unenthused but is out of his room, which is saying something*

Wolfe: *bounds forward to thrust a coat into Kingsley's free arm* It's snowing.

Cody: Where are we going?

Madison: Caroling, you big silly - man, you don't listen to anybody, do you? *opening the door*

Cody: Hey, hey, hey--baaad idea. I don't sing.

Alex: *cheerily* That doesn't matter. Now put on the coat or you'll catch cold.

Cody: *sarcastically* Yes, mother.

Alex: *simply pleased that he does it and follows Madison and Arthur outside*

Wolfe: *watching Kingsley somewhat awkwardly as Tsuzuki heads out past him*

Cody: *breathes in, out, puts on the coat* ......

Wolfe: *still watching him - nervously, almost*

Cody: *looks at him* ...What?

Wolfe: You want a hug?

Cody: *only half glares* You know, last time I answered that in the negative and got one anyway.

Wolfe: Do you?

Cody: No. *heads out the door* Let's get this over with.

Wolfe: *not sure if that was a good sign or not... but as long as Kingsley's not moping inside the house it's all for the best, right?* *last one to leave, closing the door behind him but not before grabbing his own present he's yet to drop off*

Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2006 10:48 am

Room Service

Roles: Marks, Leif, Madison, Tsuzuki, Cody
Time: Predictable breakfast surprise.
Location: All over the Townhouse, and we do mean all over.

===========

Marks woke in his own bed. There was no ritual to his rise, no significance to the beginning of each day - nor even to the rest of his days of late, come to think of it. He needed something to do. Something productive. Though it was important to be able to do things in the first place it was also important to exercise that ability. There didn't seem to be a point beyond pure stubborness if he just lazed about a kitchen all day.

Which was sort of the annoying thing, really. He kept getting those damn accusing looks from (almost) everybody, as if they expected him to get up to raising hell. His inclination was to surprise them by doing just the opposite and lashing out only when genuinely provoked (as seemed to be the case whenever he was even merely within ten feet of Kingsley). But that inclination was passive by nature, it involved not doing anything as a sort of point... which was being pointless for the purpose of being pointless, and that grated on his nerves. He definitely needed something to do.

But for now, breakfast.

Stumping into the kitchen long before anyone else in the Townhouse would bother to venture in, he paused in momentary befuddlement at the fact that there was, indeed, someone else already in the kitchen. Someone he didn't recognize. Someone in a dress. ...A girl?

What the hell?

Her movements were sweet and graceful, she traded and fetched ingredients and utensils with herself in a delicate, gentle rhythm. Long, shimmering tresses of golden curls glinted in the sun rising in the far window, slowly illuminating her thin wrists and moderately curved build which was accented and clung to by that long, pink dress. She'd rolled back the sleeves of that long dress to keep them free of the ingredients (of whatever it was she was making) and had somehow managed not to make a complete mess of his kitchen - which suggested to him that she couldn't possibly be applying for permanent membership in this place because hell if anyone was clean.

He coughed indelicately in the doorway, perhaps feeling the need to contrast with her supreme feminity.

Freezing like a doe caught in headlights, she turned and stared at him with large, soul-stealing blue eyes (perhaps a bad descriptor, considering the other local blue-eyed soul-stealer). Her hands clutched to her chest guiltily, she glanced demurely away from his inquiring (somewhat hostile) stare. "I'm sorry," she said in a voice... just a bit too deep to go along with the rest of her glittering, feminine parade, "I... I didn't know if... if it was okay for me to be in here--but I thought!--" she broke off, a blush creeping across her pale cheeks, "I thought it might be nice to have something for everyone when they woke up," she finished, glancing up at him in guilt before averting her eyes once more to the linoleum.

....

...

Good ******** hell, that wasn't a girl.

Now androgyny he could take - frankly, androgyny he was pretty attracted to - but this? This was real gender-bending and it freaked him out more than a tad, which was really saying something, considering the amount of things Marks admitted freaked him out was even smaller than the amount of things that actually did.

His wings twitched in slight annoyance.

"Um..." she took the opportunity to speak up once more, delicate blush still prominent on her soft cheeks. Wait--not she. Not her. He. His. Eegh. "I..." he continued. Marks felt shivers going down his spine. Why wasn't anyone else awake? "I'm sorry..." the... girl-male-creature repeated.

"Nn," Marks assured him before taking a step back outside into the hall and walking smartly away from the kitchen. Who'd let that guy inside? His bet was on Rob - since when had the kid been able to refuse anyone? Okay, fine, he could refuse plenty well, but that didn't negate his tendency to welcoming and befriending all manner of freaks. On second thought, it was unlikely. Rob had, as usual, gone to sleep early and it seemed that if the kid had let in the creature any time this morning, he probably would've been chatting it up with it in the kitchen when he'd had the misfortune of stumbling in.

So who...?

Luckily, he wasn't the only one up early - Tsuzuki and Madison both apparently had little breakfast radars in their heads, they could smell the mere intention of baking at least an hour before the actual occurrence. Or maybe he was just getting predictable - they did always seem to be having breakfast at around eight, didn't they? Whatever the case, both were tromping down the stairs, chatting in the way of friendly acquaintances and pausing upon noticing that, despite the little metaphorical dingings going off in their heads, Marks was outside the kitchen...

But never mind his location, something delicious smelling was sending out tendrils of wonderful into the hallway, and they were much, much more interested in edible loveliness than whether or not Marks was still making it.

Madison's intentions for breakfast were quickly stifled upon registering the calculating glare Marks had turned upon him and neglected to include Tsuzuki in. Which meant he wasn't just generally pissed off, he was pissed at Madison - or at least suspected he had reason to be. "Uh..." said the magician, in a not-entirely dissimilar way from the 'creature' Marks had heard moments before. "Something wrong, dear?" he attempted, wondering whether it would be better to duck or run.

Mouth opening slightly in a moment of heavy silence before he spoke, Marks continued to glare at the unicorn, "Is this your fault?" he asked in a neutral tone; neutral in the sense that it sounded like Madison was only one suspect of several.

"Hunh?" Madison replied in his defense, staring at Marks bewildered, wondering whether blinking was a sign of aggression and whether he could allow himself to tear up in the name of survival.

Apparently deciding that Madison really did have little to nothing to do with the business, Marks shouldered past both of them and disappeared onto the second floor, in search of they knew not what. Exchanging a shrug with Tsuzuki, Madison headed downstairs with the vague thought that perhaps someone had ordered out, and that Marks was angry because the delivered food was actually somewhat decent, thus suggesting some sort of ineptitude in his--

He balked upon looking into the kitchen.

Well, ******** (as best as that can be done without toes) towards the front door, he abandoned Tsuzuki in favor of a quiet escape. It wasn't like the puppy was interested in anything other than the fact that someone was cooking and that because it was someone new, he might be allowed to help. The wolf had already disappeared inside, and with any luck would completely forget he'd come down the stairs in the company of a certain unicorn.

While the renegade magician made good his escape out the door, Tsuzuki blithely made friends with a boy he considered merely as pretty as Hisoka and thus wasn't disturbed by and Marks surveyed the available doors on the second floor. It hadn't been Rob, that he was pretty sure of now. Probably hadn't been Arthur either, the rat likely didn't even acknowledge the front door existed most days and wasn't liable to invite anyone in through it either. Not Edmund, the coon had other things on his mind and thinking on his big angel friend, probably didn't consider the thing in the kitchen something worth his time or energy. It hadn't been Madison or Tsuzuki either, that he'd confirmed on the stairs. That left two of his favorite people in the world... Marks rolled his eyes and walked to Kingsley's door.

Cody had been having a rather nice sleep - specifically, a dreamless one. He'd had more than enough of dreams in the past few years. That wonderful, dreamless sleep did not end naturally, unfortunately. He groaned and moved the pillow between himself and the disturbance on the edge of his bed, the one sitting--or something--on the side. "Go 'way," he muttered at it darkly, hoping he might fall victim to sweet, sweet oblivion if he forgot about the disturbance hard enough.

"Morning, beautiful," a voice he had a very, very difficult time forgetting despite how little time he'd actually known it interrupted his enthusiastic pursual of unconsciousness. "Was it good for you too?"

After he successfully prevented the former Salubri from garroting him with the comforter, Marks thumbed a lighter on and off casually, perched quite comfortably on the small of the unicorn's back. "Just came for a question, actually," he informed the darkly cursing Kingsley, "You invite any new friends over last night? Last week? Matter of fact, do you have friends?"

"First," Cody snarled from his prone indignation, feeling terribly inclined towards tantrums, "That's not a question. Second," he turned his head to make glaring eye contact with the demon, "You're one to talk."

Marks sighed a long-suffering sigh and pushed Kingsley's head back down with a flick of his wing, "You got the gist of it, genius. The quicker you answer correctly the quicker we get out of this... awkward position. You don't want anyone finding us here, do you?"

Cody noted the validity of Marks' more pointed question and answered the demon honestly on the first go-around, possibly for the first time ever. "No," he said shortly, "Now peel your a** off my back before I decide to use you for tinder next time we make a bonfire."

"Decide all you like, Three-Eyes," Marks replied blandly, obliging the request anyway, "Actions speak louder than words." He was out of the door with a slight wave and smirk, quite pleased to hear the slam behind moments later. God, it felt so good to actually get under someone's skin. He'd seriously been missing something in that kitchen.

And all this left Oliver.

But something in the back of Marks' head shook its own in dissatisfied disagreement, certain that the crazy hadn't had anything to do with it.

Which meant that the creature had come of its own accord, and that it'd come to the Townhouse for a reason - that was all he could assume, at least. Everything seemed to happen for a reason in this place. Since when had the world been coincidence?

He was starting to sound like...

No.

Definitely time to take a break in that case.

Jan the Verse
Crew

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Jan the Verse
Crew

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Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 7:11 pm

ill at ease

Roles: (in order of appearance, not frequency) Arthur, Cody, Leif, Tsuzuki, Madison, Alex, Oliver, Marks [Everyone is mentioned, though the coon brothers make no actual appearance]
Time: Undefined post-breakfast pre-tea. It is February the 8th.
Location: The second floor, stretching from the door to Arthur's hole to the interior of Alex's room. Vignettes travel the length and breadth of the Townhouse.

Summary: In which Arthur is Petulant, Cody is belligerent, Leif is acquiescent, Tsuzuki is effervescent, Madison is inconvenient, Alex is significant (if no longer luminescent), Oliver is fervent, and Marks is hell-bent. A progression puttering into vignettes ending with a feeling that something unpleasant is on the horizon and a warm picture of Townies supporting each other would not go amiss.

==============

As the twelfth butchered rendition of "It's Not Easy Being Green" neared its end, Arthur decided he had had quite enough. He set down his quill at the base of the slanted architect's desk, breaking off mid-scrawl - or perhaps at the end of a word or even a sentence. No matter to you. It wasn't as if you were supposed to read it. Standing, he left his staff beside the chair, fairly certain he wouldn't need it. Even Mordred sang better than this racket. Or he had in previous incarnations, at least. No, it wasn't Mordred outside his door, which thus excluded any intentions towards physical brutality. Beatings were a special thing that Arthur liked to reserve for family.

"Is there a reason you're inventing hideous new notes in this specific area," he asked, opening the door and glaring up at the suddenly silent, hornless unicorn, "Or is it just my turn for the daily torture with Nicodemus Kingsley?"

Actually, the whole thing came as something of a surprise. Though he often heard the 'unicorn' trading insults with Madison or Marcus, teasing Edmund or taking advantage of Tsuzuki's gullibility, he tended to leave Arthur alone, excepting the occasional soap-related jibe. But everyone indulged in the last. Except for Leif, of course. Leif didn't tease anyone. Not about sensitive subjects, at least.

So how had he gotten on Kingsley's 'Hit List', so to speak? The last thing he could remember doing in relation to the 'unicorn' was a favor. He'd scrounged for (and found) a name encyclopedia for him when Kingsley had complained that his own was missing. Arthur had his suspicions, of course, but Edmund never admitted to anything anyway. It wasn't as if the theft of a naming book was a gross crime in and of itself, though the implications of Edmund wanting a name book were enough to keep Arthur retching for weeks.

He didn't really need to think about the event in order to feel sick right now, though (not to say that he ever needed anything to feel 'sick') Kingsley's 'dulcet tones' had been quite enough to get on nerves he hadn't actually known he had. This was impressive, given the length and breadth of things centuries of experience had allowed Arthur to discover got on his nerves.

Cody was acutely aware of how terrible sounded whenever he opened his mouth with the intention of melody, which was precisely why he had chosen that particular method to extract the very particular Arthur from his room at this particular time. "He's sick," he said, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms, leaning down a few inches to get closer to Arthur's face, despite how inadvisable it might be to do so, given the aura of overwhelming stomachaches (and other more unpleasant, unmentionable symptoms) that usually clung to the rat when he was irritated. On any other day he wouldn't be so masochistic, but this was a particular day. And things were getting... peculiar, to keep the p and the cul-ar but change the pace.

A number of monosyllabic answers flooded Arthur's brain in retort, ranging from 'Yes' to 'Who?' and including 'Lies', 'So?', 'Oh', and 'Why?'. The deluge of replies ended with a very Kingsley-like voice giggling (which was in itself disturbing) an ecstatic 'Your Mom!!' at the back of his brain. Now that hadn't been there before. Was he really spending so much time with the 'unicorn'? Certainly less than he did with Alex, though perhaps a tad more than with the other Townies... And he supposed Kingsley was further removed from what he deemed 'that which makes me me' than Alex, which suggested he would leave a more distinct impression. Still. Who wanted Kingsley in their head? He was willing to bet the number of people was even fewer than that of the number that wanted Arthur within ten feet of their personal bubbles.

Thus, ignoring all words which had come from anywhere near the Kingsley-hiding-in-the-frontal-lobe, he responded with the next thing that came to mind, "Good." This was, in retrospect, perhaps the most appropriate answer. It didn't matter who was sick so long as they were. Kept him feeling useful, which was better than the burdensome alternative.

For a moment, Cody's lips settled into a thin, angry line before they twisted into an almost comic disgruntlement. Almost comic in that it was partly a facade but mostly real. He was disgruntled, after all, though a little less than he was puzzled... and mad. Not in the Oliver way. "You did it on purpose?" he demanded, not moving a centimeter from his uncomfortable proximity to Arthur's face. Uncomfortable for both of them, certainly - though Cody had to admit that beneath the twinging, slimy-skritch aura of the rat's annoyance, he was getting a whiff of watermelon. So he had used the shampoo! Aha!

The moment of amusement wasn't enough to distract him from the matter at hand, however. Still unseemly close to the rat's nose, he asked the first obvious question, "Why?"

Arthur was almost ashamed to admit he hadn't the slightest what was going on. Except that it was likely another of Kingsley's pranks.

Ah. Now it clicked. He knew why he was the selected victim. The punch line - as the hook - of this joke probably had something to do with physical and/or mental illness. The 'unicorn' really knew how to beat a dead horse, didn't he? Instead of accusing him of some variation of cannibalism or self-hatred (mixing unspoken metaphors with conversation, now that was a bad habit he must've picked up from Alex, not Kingsley), he decided to clarify the situation, thus removing all possible comic value from it. "What are you talking about?" he rasped, remarkably unhesitant to confess ignorance.

Uh.... Damn. Curveball. He'd never been good at those, much to Oliver's delight as frequent pitcher. In normal circumstances he'd just lash out verbally until his target told him what he wanted (or, if they were ignorant, admitted to it) but today things were slightly different. He couldn't really afford to stomp through perilous word games with Pestilence, not when that which was at stake was a hell of a lot more important than his own hide. So. Just treat it delicately - but not too delicately, because then you won't be on even playing ground and if it turns out you've got to bargain you never want the other guy to know he's got the upper hand.

Still those uncomfortable inches close to Arthur's head, Cody's expression lightened slightly in its disgruntlement, affecting more of a befuddled tone, perhaps truer to his actual feelings than would be typical for an individual trying to pull the hood over an indefinably powerful anthropomorphic representation of one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Then again, there wasn't much typical about the situation, really. Not to get facetious or --or--screw it, "So was it on purpose or not? Do you just possess your friends or something? Is that a sign of affection? Or are you trying to punish him for something?-- in which case you're a sicko (no pun intended) and I'm really going to have to kick your a** to Judgment Day and back. I mean Christ, 'the hell'd he do, hunh?"

On second thought, maybe not the best phrasing in the world. Not the sick pun, the possession bit. Alex did have a history of a want for exorcisms, less so than Oliver perhaps but the latter wasn't the one spending his fifth day in a row bundled up in his bed (by order of Dr. Kingsley) with a trash bag for used kleenexes because the wastebasket just couldn't hold up. Not to mention the cough. Ugh, that cough. It really got on Cody's nerves as a doctor, because it had traveled with surprising velocity from the throat to the chest. Winter was no time for viruses, even Pestilence should know that. Besides which, every time the kid sneezed he showered everything within five feet of his wingspan with feathers. Considering the frequency of the sneezes, why those wings weren't bare as a turkey in November Cody couldn't actually tell - maybe Alex was molting? Whatever the case, through the kid's symptomatic shedding Cody had discovered that among the other things he'd acquired upon arriving on Gaia, one had been a very sensitive nose. Needless to say, he'd started sneezing as well - and that was the last thing he needed when trying to diagnose his best friend.

There were three unifying traits of the Horsemen this time around. First, they were all male. Second, they were all of the Anthropomorph race. Third, their red eyes. Unearthly red eyes. We're not talking that annoying after-effect in photos, nor red irises. We're talking Red. Like blood, like red dawn, like the weakest kind of fire, smoldering in wait. These eyes had various effects in their various owners; Requiem's were the only hint of life in an alabaster silence, Kiga's were the smoldering, desirous type, shimmering in promise. Mordred's were temptingly human, a terrible mistake to make, for they were human in the way that passion is human, unbridled passion - most don't really know the meaning of the words. Lastly, Arthur's were rather darker and less lit than the others', as if dampened by a thin film of virus and exhaustion, and they were also almost always narrowed, as if he were squinting for want of glasses. It was with these squinting, unearthly Red eyes that Arthur backed up all his threats. A juxtaposition to say the least, as those eyes were downright creepy by nature, bespeaking violence and savage judgment, but the creepiness was challenged by the fact that those eyes belonged to Arthur, who lent them a tired and ineffective quality.

Arthur knew this, knew it as he did so much else of his failure, but he glared at Kingsley despite, throwing all the Scary he could into that gaze. ''The hell' indeed. "Did you not hear me the first time?" he asked irritably.

He probably would have been delighted to know the impact The Look still had on Cody. Not that Cody was about to tell him or anything. Don't let 'em know about the upper hand, remember? Okay, so first there was Arthur first telling him he was glad Alex was sick and now here was Arthur pretending to be all mystified when asked to explain why. This could mean any of several things - that Petulance hadn't done it on purpose, that Petulance was lying because he didn't care to tell Cody why, that Petulance was lying just to be contrary or that Petulance didn't... know what was going on.

Which kinda made sense, he realized upon reflecting on the early bits of their exchange. "He's sick." "Good." Hm. Possibly explicable, if Arthur didn't know it was Alex they'd been talking about - or if it was a reactionary response. But how could Arthur have missed it? That Alex hadn't been by in days, that was. Surely that hadn't happened since... well, Cody didn't really know how long they'd been... er... 'together'... but he was pretty damn sure Alex spent a lot of his time with the rat - well... maybe not a lot, or even most... but he spent time with the rat every damn day, that much Cody knew. So why didn't Arthur? "You been missing something recently?" he asked finally, shifting his position slightly in that he uncrossed his arms and placed fist in hand, lazily cracking a of couple knuckles.

The 'unicorn' was out of his mind. Arthur had told Alex this quite clearly after his first meeting with Kingsley, and gone on to explain to the half-protesting, half-amused bird that even if Kingsley had been medically sane in the world they'd come from, something had gone horribly wrong when he'd come over to this one. And it had driven him mad. Or it had simply made him devastatingly immature. It resulted in the same basic behavior, so Arthur tried not to discriminate. What really tipped Arthur off to the 'unicorn's' insanity this time around was his attempt to threaten him with physical harm. How rich. Had it been Mordred, Arthur might have felt the lack of his staff a bit more keenly, but as it was a young, confused and harmlessly blustering former-'pacifist' rather than his sibling, he wasn't even close to concern.

"Are you planning to hit me if I answer you in the positive or the negative?" he asked coolly. At least Kingsley'd moved away from his baffling, aggressive 'I know that you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that you know what I'm talking about' stance.

All right, so the rat was playing hard to get. Why couldn't he just answer a question upfront, hunh? This was making Cody rethink the whole thing again. Maybe he did know what was going on and he was just drawing it on because the argument amused him more than it did Cody - because the 'unicorn' wasn't very amused at all anymore, even if he'd started the whole thing and therefore probably should've been the one getting a kick out of it. Only with however much humor he may have begun, the intention had never been a joke.

So here he was, still on the wrong foot with a Horseman of the Apocalypse. Ah, well, he'd been in similarly really really ******** bad situations before. It was kind of like having tea with Oscuridad - unreasonably not-threatening until you stepped back to evaluate it. Time to play the cards straight for a bit, see if he could maintain any sort of level ground before Arthur saw through him. "I'm going to hit you if you're being spiteful," Cody said (somewhat ironically, one might note), spacing out the words as if he were speaking to a belligerent child (more irony), "Did, you, make, Alex, sick?"

Oh.

...

Oh.

Well now it really made sense. The threats, the assumptions. To tell the truth, he hadn't missed the presence of 'his birdie' (as Mordred so dubbed the boy), not until Kingsley mentioned it. So he was ill, was he? Fancy that. "No," he told the 'unicorn' bluntly.

And he hadn't, either. Why bother? Alex was the only resident of this place he felt any sort of affection for, and as that affection was very-much based on the boy's talent at expressing all those wondrous thoughts inside his head, he didn't see how making the boy fall ill could possibly be to his advantage. Who wants half-baked fever dreams when they could have a page of thoughts that had taken weeks to compose? Arthur was no fan of prophets, one may notice.

What was it Kingsley had suggested? That he 'possessed his followers'? Ha. Since when had anyone followed a deity of disease? Besides which, it seemed an unclever way of rewarding one's disciples, killing them off in the most prolonged and miserable possible way. Thus even if he'd cursed the boy to illness a'purpose, it hadn't been a 'sign of affection'.

This left it as 'some sort of punishment', the possibility and meaning of which baffled Arthur to several degrees. But it didn't quite matter, as it hadn't been on purpose. It hadn't. Even if he'd done it subconsciously (which he doubted) it wouldn't be 'on purpose'.

Cody blinked. Well then. He was inclined to trust the rat. Buuuut--that probably wasn't the best idea, considering the whole word dance might've been a lie. And for this reason, he used yet another of his vampiric gifts for the first time in the new world. Concentrating with a wide-eyed stare, he stepped to another level of sight and searched the rat's aura for lies. A lie, more specifically, he wasn't ready to go for a full frontal assault on the Horseman's headbones just to look for past deceptions. The consequences of such an unchecked, full-blown link to Arthur's mind were higher than he cared to sacrifice in exchange for a little knowledge.

Is that the truth? The words resounded in his own mind, echoing off of everything, his memories, surface thoughts, Is nose, ears, what that the Alex's temperature was, truth? Is what Madison had that called 'breakfast' that set truth his teeth on edge as a doctor, Is that that he the was thinking 'as truth? a doctor' so Is it? much more Is that the tr often, uth?Isittheisitthe that truth he'd never truth actually truth gotten truth his medical degree is it, Kedalion. Is that the truth?

Was it just him or was the 'unicorn' going a little cross-eyed?

Pushing aside the momentary spiteful thought, Arthur well recognized the presence of some sort of magic passing between them. He could smell it, taste it, see it in the air - such were the gifts of age and inhumanity. Ah, the boy was reading him for lies. He hadn't known that was part and parcel of the 'unicorn's' abilities... whatever they were.

This brought to light something Arthur had preferred not to think about. That despite his immaturity, ability to pester and sheer b***h quotient, Kingsley was not always such a brat. At least, not to everyone. He had... levels. And what was often mistaken for mindless, utterly-annoying-though-with-a-touch-of-humor aggression was often ill-explained chivalry. The boy was protecting something, more specifically, someones. This meant he had the capability to think beyond what his actions suggested, only as actions do speak louder than words he came off as merely quarrelsome. Perhaps his actions were too often viewed in the wrong light.

Then again. Arthur still couldn't forgive him for the 'singing'. He wasn't sure it was possible to sing that badly intentionally. The boy must be cursed.

And speaking of curses... He could've sworn... "If you're quite finished with your examination, 'doctor'," Arthur hissed low and lazy, "I would prefer to get a second opinion."

He hadn't been lying. Okay... So that made him feel better - a lot better, really. It'd been mostly paranoia that told him to come up here and do the interrogation thing with Arthur because he preferred to think Alex really had made friends with the guy. But you never knew, something bad might come of hanging out with Pestilence, Horseman of the Apocalypse - and he wasn't the only one he knew who sometimes acted as one of fate's danger-magnets. Besides, who knew how an anthropomorphic representation of death by disease reacted to having a friend? For all any of them knew, it was in the same negative way Marks had reacted to getting close to someone, really close - which was probably at the root of it all. Damnit, he was still afraid of the b*****d, wasn't he? Afraid of what he could do, given the chance.

It made things so difficult, that Alex had such an effect on people. He could be your friend, and before you knew it he was a more important kind of friend, and you stopped leaving up any walls when you were with him. You never knew how someone might react to the realization that they could talk about anything, anything at all, things they couldn't even tell themselves when they were alone. A sort of absolution. When secrets were of no consequence, though there was no imperative to share them either. Where it was probably the gift all psychiatrists craved, in the environments Alex had been thrust into it was something of a curse. When Kindred realized they were spilling out the contents of hearts they hadn't known they still possessed, they were often less than pleased - or maybe a little too pleased. Whatever the case, the consequences had never been kind, even with the low-ranking, low-powered Kindred a Caitiff managed to 'befriend'. And now there was a Horseman, something more genuinely scary in a much bigger way than any of the petty vampires had been - and Alex was making friends again.

...--Anyway, the cold - or virus, he hadn't ruled that out yet - wasn't Arthur's fault. Which meant Alex really had just... caught something. From where, though? Okay, fine, it wasn't like he knew where the kid spent all his time, he could've caught it from anybody anywhere. On the bright side, even if he'd caught it from something in Arthur's room (ew), it wasn't as nasty as something Arthur would go out of his way to inflict upon someone (he hoped). "Uh--yeah, yeah, you're good," he finally responded--

--only to be shoved out of the way as Arthur exited the room and headed down the hall in the direction of - well, a couple people roomed down that way but only one of them was of any interest to the rat.

"Hey! Hey--no!" Cody protested, running in quick pursuit and catching his arm, preventing any further advancement. The rat's shirt was thick with dirt and decay, or maybe patchwork - and his arm beneath it? Unhealthy, to say the least. Cody could feel bone and weak muscle, as if it were molding beneath his touch (ew ew ew!) - well at least he knew which one of them had the advantage in wrestling, for future reference. "Come on, think," he snarled at the rat, pulling him back from the direction he'd been headed and closer to the nose-to-nose aggression they'd begun the 'conversation' with, "Don't you think you and close proximity to a virus are a recipe for, oh, I don't know, disaster? You're not going near him 'till he's better beyond a doubt."

There had always been something rather disgusting about being touched by a healer, to Arthur's mind. He hadn't been entirely sure whether the 'unicorn' really was what everyone who'd known him in the previous world claimed him to be - though the third eye was something of a hint. To the rat's experience, a third optical appendage was usually a sign of either monstrosity or enlightenment, the latter of which could be bastardized to healing. From what he'd gathered, it'd been interpreted as either one or the other of such in the world from whence they'd come as well.

If he was going to be living with these people, perhaps it would be a good idea to gather the more coherent ones and have them explain things to him. Alex, of course, perhaps that Alan fellow from Christmas. And hadn't Kingsley been complaining about some sort of 'Prince'? Him as well. And the girlish looking one. Cavalier.

But Kingsley was a healer indeed. He had the feel of one. They smelled of newness, of Spring, in the auric minds of entities such as Arthur himself. Sweet grass and the promise of harvest, of the mother's flesh after birth and of a baby's bawling. His touch, no matter the cooling, rushing effect it may have on others if he so chose, felt like nothing less than a purge to Arthur. To him, it was a wave of fire, a witch-hunt. Accusation and intention. No, he did not care for the healer's touch. This one, however, would be allowed to stay. For beneath the torrent of his will for a cure, Arthur knew there was more to Kingsley than the healer. He could not be identified by a single word, by a single profession or magickal ability/inclination. Because he was more than a healer and therefore less than one as well, Arthur would tolerate him. Not because he was Alex's friend, no. If anything, that was reason to turn him away, for it made him troublesome. But besides the healer, Kingsley was a crusader, but he wasn't the stupid kind (not entirely, at least). And the intelligent crusaders had always been Arthur's favorites in the Holy Wars.

"I'm not going to kill him," Arthur told the 'unicorn' flatly, pushing aside his disgust at the physical contact and concentrating on his appreciation for Kingsley's mettle, "Neither will my presence. Don't go thinking I underestimate myself, either. I have centuries to shore up my truth for your psychic lie-detector."

Fine, he didn't know if it was psychic. The nature of all these former-vampires' powers was for the moment a mystery - another thing to ask his future gathering.

Centuries of experience hadn't quite prepared Pestilence for Kingsley, however. Arthur had rather expected a fight. He was a little stupid, after all.

It didn't even seem like a battle for the unicorn to let go his arm and withdraw from the rat's sordid personal bubble.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he was so determined to trust Arthur. It couldn't be Alex's influence - he didn't trust the kid's judgment of people any farther than ol' Blondie could've thrown Big Fuzzy (without telling him to jump). He also wasn't entirely sure why he was willing to trust that trust, why it felt okay on all the inner levels. By rights he should be ever at odds with Pestilence if he should choose any of the Horsemen to rival, considering his 'occupation' (well, if not the Big Guy of the four, but sometimes he just didn't seem to count). And yet, gut instinct said, him and Arthur? They were on the same level. There was something they could understand and agree upon, even if he didn't quite know what it was. Apparently, that something was big enough (though subconscious >_<) to let him... trust.

He crossed his arms, giving the rat the exact same admonishing look he'd given Oliver a couple days ago in a similar incident, though his concerns over Oliver's visits had been of a different strain. "Don't talk too long, he'll feel the imperative to respond, don't let him get out of bed for whatever reason - he'll think it's okay because I won't be intruding if he's got a visitor, make sure he keeps drinking water, if he has a coughing fit call me - not just a little cough or two, three or four and if it doesn't stop after a minute, don't make him think about future plans, don't talk about anything that might get him thinking about anything but getting better, and above all else, do not give him a book unless it's fiction. Easy fiction. He needs sleep, not thoughts."

Just as centuries of experience had left Pestilence ill-provided for Kingsley, three and a half decades hadn't prepared Cody for the rat's composure. Unlike Oliver, the rat had listened without fidgeting or distraction (though with Arthur it probably would've been more of simply not listening). Also, he'd actually stayed for the entire bombardment, which Cody had not expected him to do.

Apparently, they were both going to have to do a little more second-guessing.

Arthur meanwhile was wondering why on earth he was walking anywhere without his staff. There was nothing to lean on when he was asked to stop - or forced to, as the case may be. It wasn't as if he was too weak to stand on his own - or like he needed the staff as some sort of security... against Mordred, perhaps. But he felt as Jan did without a watch. Bare. Exposed. Vulnerable, almost. But this is Arthur we're talking about. He's pretty unfamiliar with the idea of 'vulnerable'. 'Squishy', maybe, but not 'vulnerable' - that's a word one does one's best to leave in the dust if one must deal with Mordred on a regular basis.

But despite the prickly feeling of exposure, he had indeed listened and taken note of all of the 'unicorn's' admonishments. "I ask you, Kingsley," he wheezed, "Are you his friend, his doctor or his mother?" With that, he turned and walked away, apathetic as to whether or not Kingsley would take issue with his comment.

And for your information Kingsley didn't. So nyeh. xp Arms still crossed, he watched the rat shuffle down the hall, shoulders hunched and seeming a little awkward without his staff. It wasn't that surprising to note that Arthur didn't really need his staff, there was no limp, no perceivable weakness in his gait - except for the fact that he was bowed with a tired sort of weight to his shoulders. ...But the rat wouldn't appreciate any gesture of... of whatever, whether it came in the form of Cody retrieving the staff for him under the guise of using it for javelin practice or Cody carrying him the rest of the way to Alex's room. So he wouldn't do anything about it. For now.

The 'unicorn' turned away decisively, intent on some alone time.

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 7:13 pm

ill at ease pt.2

Second Verse, same as the first.

It was somewhat worrisome, actually. He never visited Alex, it was always the other way around - he knew the boy's room was somewhere on the second floor... but he wasn't... actually... entirely sure where... Thankfully, a concurrence of no less than three of the Townies in front of one particular door tipped Arthur off to the correct location.

The shimmering, demurely pretty creature withdrew from the door, hands clasped near rose-bud lips which were caught in a picture-perfect moment of shy giggling that was quickly choked by a realization that there were others around. Leif averted his eyes from the other two by the door (he likely took no notice of Arthur - Arthur was a bit too far removed from his preferred version of reality to pay attention to) and called sweetly back within, "You're welcome, Allie--I... I'll come back! I promise!"

Much to Arthur's disgust, he could almost see the hearts floating at the end of the words. The noises he imagined they would make if popped by his staff were delightful. Except that the staff was absent. Bah.

The two others outside the door, both of whom had been sitting on the ground and, he assumed, engaging in Madison's favorite routine, leaped up in opposite directions when Leif emerged. Tsuzuki jumped slightly forward in delight at the advent of one of his new friends while Madison jumped a tad farther back, dropping into a somewhat defensive stance to stare wild-eyed at the dainty bunny.

...Odd.

Leif shrunk away from the sudden action on his right in surprise, as if fearful he might be attacked. Upon recognizing them, however, he merely laughed again in that shy way, a delicate blush creeping up his cheeks - likely the only thing about Leif that creeped. "I'm sorry, Asato, Madison --I didn't mean to frighten you..." he trailed off, shoulders raising in slight amusement, invitingly bare as the sleeves of the embroidered and corseted mock-peasant's top he wore today slid off of them in the movement. He blinked up at them with those large, endless sapphire orbs.

To Arthur, it rather resembled one of those fish in the deep sea with overly-large optics. The ones with teeth.

"It's okay, Leif--" Tsuzuki began brightly, only to find his reply eclipsed by Madison's shout.

"DIBS!" the unicorn cried, shoving past the wolf, avoiding the bunny by a good three feet (impressive considering Leif's proximity to the door and the length of his long, many-layered skirt), slamming the door behind him.

"Aww...." Tsuzuki whined, realizing he had once again been duped, ears flattening in disappointment.

Arthur could question whether or not Madison's enthusiasm to visit Alex was really an attempt to get in before the puppy or... hm... there was a tension between Leif and Garden that he hadn't noticed. Even Leif didn't seem to notice it, except to seem a little upset that someone had left without so much as a 'hello'. What had Arthur really interested in the mix was that Garden seemed even more eager to get out of Leif's presence than he usually did Arthur's.

It couldn't be an aversion to ukes, otherwise he'd never have made friends with the childish monkey. It wasn't any sort of the usual Anthropomorph tendencies that led to avoidance either - unrequited love and such. Arthur could sense those young, simple traits even when they were latent, and Madison possessed few of them. Finally, something worth exploiting in the tiresome Garden.

Whatever the reason Madison's dislike for the bunny, it couldn't be entirely irrational - Arthur knew the power lurking behind Leif's sweet, innocent exterior. And he hated the cliche of it about as much as he hated lots of other things. Which was lots of hate.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Asato!" the bunny cried, hiding his face behind golden curls and a soft, downy ear as he tried to wipe away sudden tears without the puppy seeing, "I really didn't mean to distract you --oh, it's all my fault!"

The puppy was rather distressed at the crying, though he dealt with it quite well, to Arthur's mild surprise. "Don't worry," he protested cheerfully, reaching down to pat the much shorter bunny gently on the head before brushing a silky, light-encaptured lock of hair away from Leif's face, armed with a grin positively child-like in the nature of its enthusiasm, "Madison had more important stuff to tell him, I'll just come back later when he's not so tired. Just wanted to say 'hi' anyway--it's okay, it really is!"

Somewhat odd how Tsuzuki's speech, however similar it might be to Leif's in nature (in theory...), it did not give Arthur the same sort of stomachache. Coming from Tsuzuki, it was merely irritating that someone could be so honestly sweet. From Leif, it was... ah yes, superficial. Like finding out not only have they put too much sugar in your coffee (far too much sugar) it's the artificial sweetener s**t too. Hm.

As the puppy led Leif away from the door, presumably to have fun talking or some other sickeningly benign past time, Arthur opened the previously slammed door without even a semblance of respect for the apparent 'one at a time' rule.

Madison twitched slightly at hearing the door open, his eyes darting to the peripheral in apprehension. But there was no burning in the earring he'd spelled to alert him to Leif's presence - the one that would spark once for Leif and spark a lot more than that for Leif and magick--but it was neither, so it was okay. Okay, if slightly gross, it turning out to be Arthur.

He'd gotten over being unnerved or afeared of the rat with the arrival of Leif - all the worry he'd harbored that the rat was not only an honest-to-god manifestation of part of The Powers That Be but an Agent disappeared when a real Agent surfaced. So really, Arthur was just irritable and all-powerful - or some sort of powerful, maybe not 'all' - but he wasn't after Maddie personally, which was the important bit.

Breaking off mid-spiel he twirled on his hoof and included Arthur in his sweeping bow, "Good Sir Rat!" he exclaimed, hand outstretched in a fanciful gesture, "Are you so eager to enjoy another of my humble performances that you dare break the harsh rules of Overlord Medigician Kingsley?"

Arthur shoved past the unicorn without sparing him a second glance, covering the distance between the door and the bed (however relatively short it might be) with a remarkable speed. For a moment, he stared at the bird in silence, taking in the bemused and muddled gaze, gray eyes clouded with the exhaustion of coughing and general illness. He observed the chapped, dry lips which surely remained thus no matter how much water was imbibed. The trash bag beside the bed, evidence of a mountain's past of kleenex. Feathers everywhere. Not everywhere, but the boy had definitely been up to some serious shedding. And the wings themselves... not elevated as he preferred them, to keep the sensitive appendages from too much contact - limp and relaxed, as much as they could be before another sneeze sent everything a'flurry once more.

"You look terrible," he rasped, stating a fact more than anything else as he turned his gaze to scan the nearby tabletops, shelves, anything for... "Where is the charm I gave you?"

With being mortal again, he had rather expected the illnesses that were part and parcel of the experience. Andre had even relished it, if he recalled correctly - but there wasn't anything pleasant about being sick for days on end, not really. Especially when someone like Kingsley became your doctor-maid. Who knew he had so much capability for worrying? It had gotten Alex on a track of worrying over him in turn, which only made the symptoms worse and generally made Kingsley fly off the handle, which in turn made Alex freak out. A vicious cycle. Not that he was particularly aware of it, bedridden and basically sick as he was.

The symptoms weren't necessarily bad, either. They just hadn't gotten any better, and they hadn't gone away. Kingsley did his best, finding the few drugs he could identify and bring himself to trust at the local pharmacist. But all the meds he'd been able to verify were of low impact, practically placebos. Then he'd gone out in search of an herbalist, but found his own memory of what was effective (and otherwise) to be so full of holes that he couldn't tell if he was being scammed or not, so that plan had fallen through as well. Poor Kingsley... the moment he finally found something worthwhile to devote himself to, he discovered how useless pragmatism was in this new world.

He'd gone on to the 'last resort' of what Salubri powers he could apply to the common cold (or whatever it had turned into - Kingsley muttered 'bronchitis'), but even then the best he could do was take away the infrequent chills or aches. Though it was thanks to him that Alex had never spent the night tossing and turning in the midst of fever or racking coughs - Obeah granted a respite in sleep, even if it failed to cure. Unfortunately, it bothered Kingsley that he couldn't just cure his friend with a snap and exertion of will - he'd always desperately wanted that sort of power, the ability to say "Your woes begone," and have it be so in an instant. Poor, poor Kingsley.

It wasn't so bad. Well, it was sometimes - but the time Kingsley devoted to him, the visits he allowed from others which were larger in number and variety than Alex expected (perhaps because everyone was so fascinated that Kingsley was making a fuss for the sake of rather than to the detriment of someone else and wanted to know if Alex really was as bad off as Kingsley made it out to be), these things and these people made it better - even if he did find himself feeling guilty upon realization they might catch the same ailment. Yet he relished their time and their faces, the voices they shared while his was so woefully inadequate to be shared in turn.

But through it all... he'd noticed a conspicuous absence of Arthur. Admittedly, his two most frequent visitors were Kingsley and Oliver - almost to the exclusion of everyone else, considering Kingsley's "One. At. A. Time. Damnit." Mandate (Oliver being the exception - but only when in the company of Kingsley). And neither Edmund nor Marks had dropped by at all - why should they? But when Kingsley wasn't listening, Oliver told him things, chatted of everything under the sun, held his hand and talked into the silence steadily, knowing that silence just now was not the same as the peaceful quietude they'd had before - for now it had the opportunity to be broken by unpleasant, hurtful noises. Hacks and wheezes, coughs and sneezes. So he talked, even unto the point where Kingsley sometimes realized it, but let it go because he always found it so hard to break them apart.

Among the things Oliver said were the goings-on of everyone, of the silly things he'd heard Tsuzuki tell Hisoka, the silly things he'd seen Maddie and Yagil do--even if he still didn't trust Madison, no not at all--the silly things that happened when Mordred came to see Edmund and they didn't know someone could hear, the silly things Leif did to surprise everyone and make them smile, the silly things Kingsley did to try and make Marks make chicken soup, to keep Marks off the second floor, to keep Marks away from fiddling with the warning labels on the drugs...

And the simple, sweet or sad things too. That Roman was missing - but Alex shouldn't worry, because Oliver knew he was supposed to find him and he would he definitely would--but when Alex was better?--And other people had seen him, so he couldn't really be gone, maybe he just needed some time on his own, because everyone needs that time. The simple, when Edmund warned Madison not to do that thing with the hat on the linoleum, it was dangerous. The sweet, when Tsuzuki had exchanged joyful, unexpected hugs with no less than three Townies and Marks because he was so happy over something his kitten had said - or even implied. The sad... Roman's still gone. I don't know where he is, Alex. I don't know where he's gone.

But never a whisper of Arthur. In Oliver's words, it wasn't a vacuum as there was always more to fill the void - but Alex suspected that had it been someone else, there would have been the occasional silence, an awkward, accusatory moment.

He didn't know what to think himself. The brief exchange he'd heard all that time ago at the beginning of the new year, when Arthur had asked him to leave... It had been frightening, awe-inspiring, though not the words, the realization. He'd stood in the presence of such, such entities, trapped - or empowered? - by mortal flesh. Ideas, conceptions of humanity, or part of that which had conceived humanity, it was impossible to tell who was visa and who versa, all wrapped up in the package of mortality. Beings of incredible meaning bound by mortal emotion.

Or so he hoped. For if they merely used mortal flesh as a vessel to the physical world and operated on levels far beyond his comprehension in their brutal purity.... Such he feared. And for now, he did not believe. He was Arthur's friend. Arthur. Was his friend. Not some manifestation of Pestilence, but Arthur the rat, Arthur the man. Arthur, a being of heart and soul, however solitary and crotchety and old. Terribly old. Arthur was real, separate from the idea he was bound to, and his friend. Arthur had nothing, nothing at all to do with his illness - as Oliver at least so clearly feared. His friend.

And now Arthur was here, filling an absence with something simpler, not a presence, but a person. "You look terrible," he said at first. Alex had to agree. "Where is the charm I gave you?" he continued. The bird supposed he shouldn't have expected anything different. The rat never emerged from his room without extreme impetus - he couldn't recall having seen him outside of the niche more than twice before they'd become friends. Whatever had brought him out was important, and Arthur was focused upon it to the point where Alex's state of health was a negligible factor he probably didn't register.

He leaned forward from the fluffed and enveloped position Kingsley had left him in. Any movement other than to move an arm to pick up and drink the nearby cup was awkward - though this particular one might've been awkward even in the springtime of agility. Alex lurched to the side, nearly knocking over the lamp resting on his bedside table but finding his new position quite convenient for opening a shelf and extracting the requested charm. He held it out quickly to Arthur, fully expecting the rat to disappear with it immediately and maybe explain himself a week or so after the fact.

Arthur disdainfully watched the awkward bundle formerly known as Alexander R. Sanders flop in a hasty attempt to retrieve the charm in question. At least he knew where it was, he thought with a roll of his eyes. Alex really did look awful, though. Nothing like the angel breed - or even remotely like the bird he was more clearly associated with. More like something sticky that had been rolled through a chicken farm. A slightly more positive voice in his head (of which there were few) piped up "Hope is a thing with feathers!" and he supposed that could work here. For Alex tended to be hopeful, he had feathers (however ungroomed they might at the moment be) and he certainly resembled more of a thing than anything else. Or maybe the thing he resembled just hoped to be put out of its misery.

As Alex thrust the charm out to him, face caught in the utter calm he (sometimes) fell into when asked to do something important (or maybe that was just the fever and the drugs that had killed his smile muscles?) Arthur continued to stare at him, laconically, almost menacingly. He stepped forward, pushing the packaged thing-with-feathers back up to its previous perch. And he stared.

Blinking those large, sick-clouded gray eyes, Alex drew the charm towards his chest, almost defensively and feeling as if under attack - definitely accusation at least - from Arthur's terrible red glare.

He reached forward with his brittle-fingernailed, strangely rough green hand, seizing the wrist of the hand holding the charm. Strange that there were calluses to texture a hand that spent more time writing than gripping a staff. Time had worn him hard, not smooth. He drew Alex's hand forward in the air, so that it hung between them, the charm exposed in his palm.

A simple charm in design. At it's center, a small, circular, rounded jade stone bordered with a hammered gray metal, thin metal, but hammered nonetheless, no larger than half the littlest finger's nail. Surrounding it, a slightly thicker circle of the same metal. Extending from that circle were four loops, one to connect the charm to whatever chain or string would hold it, the other three linked by a small gold chain, anchored with sharp, faded blue-white teardrop-like beads at the loops, the bottom bead being twice encircled with as the jade stone above it, with a pale yellow stone, half the size of the jade stone hung on another gold chain. Fine, a simple charm in design in some cultures.

A complex charm in craft.

Madison Square Garden knew it the moment he the kid drew it out of his bedside table. Luck charm. Powerful. Pounding. ...Wow. There just weren't words - he couldn't even get away with snitching it, Arthur would know in a second if he caught even a glimpse of Madison after. Something that strong had an aura that just palpitated everywhere, it'd leave little bits of itself on anyone who touched it for weeks. Though oddly enough, even though Alex's hand had been all around the little thing but a moment ago, the aura seemed to wash over him... and off of him. Was that part of the charm? The spell part, not the physical part - because he could tell both were present. Someone had put a spell on the charm, something that complicated the ornament to the point where Madison knew he wouldn't understand without several hours' examination, maybe days. Maybe not even until he'd deconstructed the entire spell. Not that'd he'd really want to try taking apart something that big, it'd probably do something nasty to him at the most inconvenient time.

But wow. He wished he had friends giving him that kind of charm - or maybe he didn't. Still didn't trust Arthur himself, no matter how much less frightening the rat might be than Leif.

Alex stared forward at the charm, at Arthur, unsure of where precisely his eyes should be and incapable of concentrating on any one thing for too long without having everything go unnervingly fuzzy.

"This," Arthur hissed, a hint of snarl creeping into his rasp as he gripped Alex's wrist a little tighter and shook it once to make sure the bird's sick, befuddled brain caught on that whatever was in its hand was significant, "This," he repeated, tone just as dark and threatening, "Is to be worn. Worn where it touches your skin," his eyes narrowed from their stare, "you idiot," he concluded, voice carrying the same note.

Nestled in the mess that was his brain on too many weak meds, Alex blinked and hoped he remembered whatever it was Arthur had told him - in case it was important. "Okay," his faraway voice said.

Having gotten to know a lot (and we mean a lot) sick people in his time, Arthur knew the signs - and he knew that right now, he could've proposed marriage and world domination both and he wouldn't phase his bird.

Wait. Waaaaait. 'His' bird? Ugh. No telling Mordred that one - not that he made a habit of sharing his personal thoughts with the winged menace. Winged Menace - wasn't that Marcus? Bother. Getting too close to a muddled sick person obviously wasn't doing wonders for his wits, due to his nature of adaptive mutation.

Anyway. He needed a way to make the charm stick, and not just physically - and he wasn't about to trust Garden to remind the boy, because if he acknowledged Garden now it would be good as giving the unicorn leave to ask questions. Couldn't leave a note for Kingsley, because word might get out to Mordred. Couldn't tell Oliver to remind him, because if the boy didn't forget himself, Mordred would find out. Not Leif, didn't want him asking questions either. Nor Tsuzuki, too close to Leif. Not Edmund, that was good as telling Mordred in person. ...Marcus? Ugh. The last thing Arthur wanted was to give the original Winged Menace reason to linger near his bird - and therefore, himself. For the first time, Arthur found himself missing Atticus. Someone who lacked connection to the most volatile of the Townhouse's recent arrivals would be more than welcome, even if he did tend to sniff in disdain and distaste when Arthur got too close (read: they were on the same side of the Townhouse door).

This meant he was going to have to attach the charm to Alex himself, or he was just going to have to come up with an excuse to Kingsley that somehow neglected to make it essential while still making him do it...

For all his current frenetic, Arthur didn't honestly believe that Alex's sickness could be cured by this particular dormant luck charm, nor that Alex could have missed catching it altogether if he'd been wearing it from the start, as Arthur had intended. But something about the realization of Alex's current vulnerability and general miserability coupled with the fact that both curses stemmed from that which was under Arthur's domain but really quite out of his control struck an instinct... Something was going to happen, in the relatively future, he could sense it in the most profound manifestations of his self - and if Arthur could help it, he wanted neither for his one and only worthwhile companion in this life to be harmed by any... untoward... events, nor for there to be... complications.

His gaze swept the room darkly once more, glancing over Garden as simply another piece of furniture before he realized that the unicorn was waving at him slightly.

"Hey," said Garden.

"What," said Arthur, sourly.

"Wanna borrow this?" asked Garden, extracting a long, delicate-seeming, silver chain from thin air, deftly clasping it together with his agile fingered hand and holding it out obligingly to the rat, no flourishes, not tricksome gestures. "Don't worry, it's stronger than it appears - appropriate for the bearer, yeah?"

Eyebrows unfurrowed and lips closed but not pressed, one would be hard pressed to have described Arthur's expression as 'concerned', though as the paranoid 'friend' he was, it was well within his rights to be. "What's your price, magician," he replied coolly, neither an invitation nor a rejection, nor even a question really.

"A promise. From you. Nothing to do with him."

"..................................................."

"Ah... eheh..." any good performer ought not to be slowed by a dour audience, but Arthur was a real tough crowd to work. "If Leif asks you for anything, any help of any kind, don't give it. If he asks you a question, don't answer. Give him no aid, not in the physical, verbal or any other sense. Especially not magickal."

"You wish me to shun him."

"That'd be nice - but I'd settle for you just not giving him a leg up of any kind, I imagine it'd leave me pretty high and dry."

"You will explain this to me."

"Uh... it'd take too much time. Besides, you're really not that interested."

"Ah, but the readers are."

"I dun' wanna be another one of your tabloid stunts, Arthur - I'll make my fame my own way, thanks."

"You seem to be attracting all the right crowds on your own, yes..."

"Hey, you want the chain or you want to spill everything to the Queen b***h?"

"Kingsley's not always a b***h," Alex mumbled, having dozed off somewhere in the middle of the conversation, despite Arthur still gripping his wrist - though Arthur's grip isn't admittedly something that can keep someone awake by way of its sheer force. The two fell silent for a longer moment, till they were sure Alex was properly out of it - neither were keen on letting a third party into the conversation, whether because it was that specific third party or otherwise.

"I will not recognize Leif, then, magician. For whatever good it does you."

"Not just that - promise me exactly. Or to the effect. I don't much care for loopholes."

"Should he ask it, I will give the witch Leif no aid, no help of any kind; be it of the physical, mental or magickal nature he shall have no service of me."

"...That was pretty good. ...Actually, could you take out the 'should he ask it' part and just leave it at no giving him help even if he doesn't want it specifically from you?"

"Thank you... and no. I am not that desperate. You are, though, apparently."

"Look - maybe you can add a little 'And I'll avoid him slash I won't let him in my room'? It'd make me feel loads better."

"I'm sure once Alex recovers he'll disallow me from doing anything that may directly harm you, whether through a third party or no, whether the intention is there or no."

"Yeah, well you two probably aren't going to know how it's helping him anyway - just promise it, okay?"

"I will not seek out the witch Leif. Should he come to me for aid, reference the previous oath."

"Uh... yeah... sure... okay." Madison handed the chain gingerly to the rat.

Arthur took it with an air of 'well finally' (which was less of an air and more of the beginning of a vent of frustration) and strung the charm on it, leaning o'er the bed to wind it around and clasp it about Alex's neck.

The half-awake bird reached up to brush away at Arthur's hair tickling his nose and cheek. Opening one sleepy eye he blinked them both shut and waved the same hand away at the funny green thing looming above his bed.

"Skin," the funny green thing said darkly, insistently, "It must always be touching your skin."

Alex agreed, "Uh huh," rolled over and snuggled into his bundled self once more, sneezing slightly upon the burrowing in feathers.

Madison rocked forward on his hooves, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the rat close the door firmly behind them. "So..." he said by way of conversation. "What was that all about? You really worried about him--I mean, is it something that really ought to be worried about? Because the way Kingsley of all people makes such a ruckus has turned it into sort of a joke, you know."

The rat appeared to genuinely contemplate the unicorn's words for a moment before he looked up and made hard, piercing eye contact with him - not having to look up as high as he did for the majority of the Townhouse residents was quite satisfactory for him - and replied, "I will tell you my opinion of the bird and his situation, when you tell me why you are so very frightened of the bunny's presence and not his actions."

Sweat beaded at the nape of Madison's neck as Arthur shuffled back down the hall to his door. Yes... Leif. Where the witch unnerved other Townies - most notably the three who hadn't come from here and weren't as all-accepting as the bird they'd just abandoned - due to his ultra-feminine demeanor, he disturbed Madison for significantly different reasons. The other guys just weren't used to ukes - they'd obviously been a different species, it wasn't hard to tell. They'd had girls factored into their hormones back where they were from, they just hadn't adjusted to the idea of girls with man-parts yet, because to Madison's experience, lots of ukes and girls had a couple basic traits in common.

But personality analyses aside, the issue he had with Leif? Well, it was probably better to call it the issue Leif had with him. The councils hadn't forgotten him, apparently - and he had so hoped, when they'd left him alone for so long... But such transgressions aren't easily pushed aside, even when they are of such a unique nature as Madison's would be.

Ever feel like you're living life on rewind and it's going way too fast?

He needed a break. Everyone needed a break. To just wind down for a bit and... stop.

Inside his bedroom, Alex coughed once. Twice. No more. It wasn't a fit. He did not wake.

~*~

Cody decided he ought to get back and make sure people were following the one-at-a-time rule. Maybe get Alex to take another dose of... oh man, this just wasn't working. Maybe he should stop freaking out and just let the kid get better on his own. Only what if that didn't happen? It was so hard to convince himself to step back and relax when the problem was so personal in so many ways - because the victim was as close as it could possibly be and the problem itself was that which he was theoretically designed to combat against in the best case scenario. Because in the best case scenario, the worst thing that ever happens to anyone is the common cold. But he couldn't do anything about it. Not that anyone could do anything about the common cold. ...In which case, the world wasn't ready for the best case scenario--ugh.

Still. Alex cured sooner was better than Alex cured later. And damned if he was going to mope around and not do a damn thing about it. Maybe he should take him out for a little fresh air? That'd do everyone some good. Try and get some food into that stubborn stomach.

~*~

Once more, Oliver failed to exit the Townhouse for fear that an attempt to find Roman would result in a disastrous conflict where it turned out he was intruding and he had to try and explain that he just got worried is all - not saying that Roman was incapable or anything, just that he worried and there was no way to ever stop that ever because because because something Alex had said made more sense than anything he'd ever thought and he hated it so much when Alex got sick because then everything seemed fuzzy all the time fuzzy and fragile like you can't see it clearly and you can't hold it too tight because even though it gets clearer if you hold it more firmly it might break because you don't really understand yourself and your touch just yet and... and...

Oh God. Roman was missing. And there was no way to find him. Not yet. Not yet.

Not yet.

It hurt.

~*~

He'd been kicked out of the kitchen. Again. Bah. There were other things to do... Really. Like that catapult he was off-and-on having fun with on the roof, only last night's snowfall had done horrors to just about everything about it and now the thing was a shambles in two separate places, two full stories apart. Oh well. Maybe it was a summer thing. Or a finish-before-it-snows-again thing. Or a 'You need a new hobby' thing.

Enh.

He missed raising hell. Anything was better than this, even if it'd give people like three-eyes the right to satisfied "I told you so"s.

~*~

Arthur settled down at his desk, withdrew the quill from its inkwell and resumed skritching and scrawling away into the quiet, undisturbed by further mangled and discordant tunes as Kingsley was otherwise preoccupied. Eventually this tension clouding above the Townhouse would release, he knew, but until then, he would remain at peace. The bird wore the charm so that it touched his skin. Nothing too terrible could happen.

Jan the Verse
Crew

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Jan the Verse
Crew

Offline

Posted: Sat Feb 18, 2006 10:02 pm

All you need is...

Roles: Cody, Marks, Alex, Oliver, Arthur
Time: Love and tissues are in the air, we move forward.
Location: The coffee pot and oddly placed reflections.

===========

"Nnnnnn," said Nicodemus Kingsley in response to Marks' very, simple question.

"How much coffee have you had, three eyes?" the demon repeated, enunciating lazily in case the 'unicorn' hadn't quite heard him the first time, and adding the nickname to ensure Kingsley knew he and not anyone else in the kitchen was being talked at. Marks had thought it was pretty clear he was addressing him the first time around, but having recieved no coherent response he just couldn't be certain.

He held the coffee pot aloft, exploiting his two and a half inches over Kingsley plus proper posture due to general awake-ness to the full advantage.

Cody was not amused. Not just about the fact that his coffee was out of reach either, it being the morning and him being without proper dosage of caffeine for that particular morning. But it wasn't fair. Because it wasn't. And he wasn't amused. And he wanted coffee. Now, damnit.

"Nnnnnn," he said again with a little more insistence as he reached up towards the coffee pot, one hand still clutching the empty mug.

Marks held the coffee pot a little higher and raised a brow. This was an event that beared a little more than casual observation. He was fairly certain the 'unicorn' had been in the kitchen not once, not twice, nor even thrice times this morning - more like six bordering on seven, as he wasn't entirely sure who'd put the coffee pot on originally, but it had been there when he arrived.

Recently the demon had gotten in the habit of staking out the kitchen especially early as to claim territory before Leif got to it. Not that Leif was always in the kitchen, Marks just had a tough time getting his smell out of the linoleum whenever he baked. Because the boy certainly did that more often than anyone else in the Townhouse, even if he wasn't the same sort of kitchen rat as Marks.

In any case, the coffee pot had been on and just about ready when he arrived, to be followed moments later by a groggy and disinclined to eloquence Kingsley who only bothered to take a mug instead of the entire pot because he wanted to refill the pot. While Marks hadn't quite paid the 'unicorn' much mind or attention for most of the morning, by the fourth visit he'd grown somewhat curious. "Never noticed a propensity for this much caffeine before. What's the occasion?" he asked the as yet incoherent Kingsley. Maybe he thought the answer would be in English. We don't know.

"Nnnnnnn!" Cody responded in place of profanity, making another grab at the coffee pot and, when he failed, aiming a kick at Marks' shins. Luckily for him, he missed.

Though not before the voice of protest admonished him from the doorway, "Kingsley!" Alex demanded, recently recovered and none the worse for wear. "No violence!" he continued, stressing each word equally in that lecturing tone he had adopted for addressing the more belligerent of his close friends of late.

It wasn't often that he made rules - or even statements - that started with 'no'. It was even less often that he impressed such statements upon others. Alex was much more of the 'pester with questions until they admit it was wrong' school, preferring that others found the truth on their own, rather than being lectured into following empty commands.

And yes, he probably does think exactly like that, for the reader's information. Alex is what we like to call the 'ultra-metacognitive' type. He thinks about thinking about thinking and tends to assign metaphorical connotations to everything but appearances. Actions speak tomes to the boy.

Days of separation had replaced a comfortable barrier back in Marks' mind. For the moment, he perceived Alex as no threat, even if he was never quite aware of that perception even when he acted upon it, being inclined to interpret his hostility towards the boy as annoyance for... something else, that he just hadn't figured out yet. So whatever. But for now, the kid didn't bother him like he had for the past couple weeks. So it was okay to address him, to chat even. Maybe even get an explanation for the senselessly aggressive Kingsley.

Then again, it wasn't often someone was able to offer an explanation for Kingsley.

"So?" he suggested, indicating the cantankerous 'unicorn', looking to the doorway, "He get dumped or something? What happened?"

By way of answer, Alex's hand met his forehead and he made a highly dissatisfied, long-suffering sound. Marks was halfway surprised to realize he remembered it, which was when a couple more barriers went up and he felt all nice and comfortable again. "Kingsley," he said again, drawing out the vowels.

Cody frowned. He turned to the doorway, expression somewhat befuddled and in a dissatisfied fashion. The gears in his head turned, creaking with effort as they didn't yet have enough caffeine to 'fire up the juice' so to speak. He frowned at the doorway, specifically at Alex (to clarify that he wasn't frowning at the doorway itself - he actually found the wooden decorum rather pleasing but it wasn't on his mind).

Something clicked. Difficult things made sense.

Well, a little.

"You're not in bed," he croaked, only somewhat surprised at the terrible sound of his own voice - usually he sounded okay, nice even, provided he wasn't singing. "Why?" he asked, before the kid had chance to retort something sarcastic and facetious in challenge to the obvious.

"He's been up all night," Alex explained moments later as he guided the 'unicorn' rather directly onto a stool, steadying him once he'd been perched as there appeared to be a genuine chance Kingsley would lose balance and simply topple over. It was unclear by his tone whether he was offering explanation to Marks or once again scolding his less than compliant friend.

"Several nights, actually, I think," he added, this time probably addressing Marks as the 'unicorn's' gaze had drifted towards the ceiling, his tail twitching erratically, despite Alex attempting to make eye contact for purpose of further reprimand.

"Why?" Marks echoed, just in time to beat the master.

"Why?" came the most familiar voice to the syllable as Oliver poked his head into the kitchen, attracted to the sound of Alex's voice coming from somewhere other than his room. Well, that and he was going out already and had been passing the kitchen but if Alex was going to be around there was a chance of procrastination via conversation. And Oliver, despite his determination in this particular pursuit, was not entirely enthusiastic about it. Being nervous.

Oh God oh God.

"Coffee, goddamnit," Cody interjected, finally managing to clump together some reasonable sounding syllables to communicate the first and foremost on his mind. He had come to the conclusion, you see, that things weren't making sense the way they were supposed to. The only obvious solution to his somewhat addle-pated brain was a lovely little fallback and chemical restorative most easily accessible to him through ground beans. He wanted coffee. Because he didn't want to think about anything until he could think about anything, because it hurt to try but he needed to think about things because they weren't going the way he'd planned.

He thought.

Thought. Ow. The pain, mother of Christ the pain.

Groaning, his head met the counter with a resounding thunk.

Marks laughed.

Reluctantly letting go his friend's shoulders, Alex acknowledged that the weight of Kingsley's head and the friction of his hair would likely keep him connected to the counter and thus the stool but apprehensive as to the wisdom of... well, it was sort of a mother-instinct, really. Only it had to be a father-instinct, seeing as his estrogen levels would have to be a mite higher for him to be a 'mother' - or maybe a parent-instinct, to be non-discriminatory. Anyway. It worried him to forsake the physical contact with Kingsley. There was this little, likely foundless, red-flag going up and waving 'hold hands when you cross the street' and other such childhood fail-safes. But it had been awkward to keep holding up the 'unicorn's' deadweight. The triumph of convenience over comfort. Hm.

It was awkward being the center of attention too - or at least the expected bastion of Truth and Explanation - because, well, it wasn't a position he was altogether familiar with. Nothing to do about it now, though, not when everyone else insisted on being either inflammatory, reactive or just plain stubborn. Oh, not everyone. Oliver was just a little confused. Marks and Kingsley though... sometimes it was almost enough to irritate him - but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been honestly angry at... fine, Kingsley. Marks was entirely different matter, as he likely preferred to be anyway. "He's been a little workaholic of late," he finally told the demon, headwings twitching once under pressure of attention.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Oliver," he added, simultaneously changing the subject and acknowledging the nervous wolf in the doorway. Nervous. As usual, per normal. To be honest, it was odd to see such a degree of disquiet in the typically easy-come-easy-go Oliver, and a little discomforting - but what could he do but take the hand when it reached out to him, and to repeat everything that had already passed between them? Because... the nervosity was about Roman. He knew that, knew it intrinsically in the way he knew so many other things about Oliver. In the way they shared with each other, forgiving and all-encompassing. But this part was always... muddled. And it wasn't mere anxiety pestering the wolf, it was something a little deeper, like missing all those things you never took a picture of. Heart sick.

Gaaah. Hit home. Home run. Bases loaded. Or they were, because they're empty now and the runs are up and the deluge and the delu, deluvian, antediluvian spring, and you can't drown yet because even though there's breath there's more important things than breathing water and you have it in your hand already and everything's coming and going at once and why does he always know exactly what it is that's on your mind exactly what to say exactly what to do and exactly when to... when to... when it was too... too much.

Making a small, uneasy noise, Oliver stayed exactly where he was in the doorway. It was difficult. He wanted so very, very badly. Wanted. Wanted to fix it, to finally do something now that he couldn't refuse it - because when things were out in the open, that was when you acted, when you moved and grooved and toppled towers and set fire to the barn and didn't ever, ever trust that kind of speech again only you did because on the inside you knew it was right even if it hadn't come out the way it was supposed to the last time because in the middle of it all you found out that Roman - no it was at the end, not the middle not the middle - you found out that Roman - and you listened again though, didn't you? because the words are right and they are true and there - you found out that Roman... It's always the mixing point, the breaking point the point of no return when you finally realize everything. Only you don't. And you know you have to even though you know you can't and you kind of don't want it even though everything on the inside is sighing screaming "YES".

And no matter how many times he tried to push it aside for a moment of peace and quiet and comprehension, it was this damnable frustration, frustrating damnation, that he couldn't do the right things right even when he was doing the right thing. Because he knew what he had to do, knew it hard and true. But it was so hard and it was so true.

He could feel it in waves, almost the same thing he always thought of with Kingsley or rather had more recently associated with Kingsley and those moments when he'd actually slept in the past few weeks. The consuming wave, the embracing wave that sends you down and crushes you into that warm, safe place you didn't know you wanted to be in so very badly until he forced you to be taken care of. But this wave was, as was Oliver's nature, somewhat more frenetic, if such a word could be applied to water symbolism. It was the prickling of a warm rain he'd never felt, because when was the last time true rain was warm?

But the truth was, something was amiss. Of course it was, it was silly to stop there. "Where are you going?" he asked, voice caught somewhere between soft and reflected worry. Reflections - mirrors... Something in the back... Something to chat about later.

Feeling more than a little queasy, Oliver's eyes flicked to his right in the direction of the door, where his coat hung, where the door where outside.

Yes. Going. Leaving. Of course he knew. He always knew - or didn't, according to what ought to be. Odd, that. But comforting. And--no. Stop stopping, stop it. Stop seeking comfort in the already proven, there's work to be done. "Yes," he said first, shaking his head immediately after with a momentary closing of the eyes that far removed from a blink, "Going. To... going to the... for a letter. A letter. It's the right day for a letter."

Irritably aware that he was being ignored, Marks moved to the side of the island-counter opposite Kingsley and leaned against it, arms crossed. He hadn't heard Oliver this panicky in... damn long while. Maybe it wasn't panic - it'd been a little more desperate the last time he'd heard it, tainted with terror. But this situation was slightly different, so he gathered. There was a distance between the Sabbat and Valentine's Day that even Marks recognized.

Whatever the case, he was curiously curious. It was hard to be disinterested when there were so many connections.

Alex's lips pressed together slightly, as they tended to do when he was problem-solving outside of his abstract world of applied poetry. He looked from Kingsley, gaze still glued to the ceiling, to Oliver, lonely yet intent. There had to be a way to solve both problems here...

Without having to have thought about it for all that long, the bird deftly reached for the coffee pot Marks had abandoned on the far side of the counter, filled Kingsley's mug, picked it up and walked out the door, linking an arm with a mildly startled Oliver and heading, presumably, for the front door.

Marks watched in slight respect as Kingsley stood and followed his mug, expression either vengeful or bushwhacked, he couldn't tell. Neither could he decide whether the 'unicorn's' actions were more like a robot or a bee's, the way he followed without a hitch in his step and with such purposeful movements. He had to admit, the kid really knew people.

Which was the problem, of course - but he wasn't thinking about that.

"Field trip," Alex said by way of explanation to Oliver as he handed him the mug so as to better stuff Kingsley into his coat. "Don't forget your jacket, I've been able to feel the frost all week and I haven't even been outdoors."

He was thankful, that much was certain. There wasn't really another word for it. Things were always so much harder alone, which was really why he preferred to be alone sometimes because that was when you knew it wasn't supposed to be easy. But for now, he couldn't help it. Couldn't help wanting the closeness, when he couldn't find, couldn't do the intended.

No matter how hard he tried.

~*~

Sneezing violently, Arthur doubled over, fleetingly looking away from the window before he recovered and stood straight again. He stood at the big window - the one in the hallway, the one no one ever went to because it was simply irrational. The stairway emerged onto the second floor, leading to a hall that went straight for many doors before it turned right or allowed you down another, smaller staircase, whichever was your preference. To reach the window, one turned left upon reaching the top of the main stairwell and inched along a narrow stretch between baluster and wall to reach the small area. And the window. The big window.

In a fit of nerves over the presence of the day, Arthur had exited his room. Full of a sense of dread, he'd gone to the window. Someone was coming. He'd known that for over a month now, but it was heavy on the wind this morn', though perhaps that was the scent of the day itself. He had not, however, watched an arrival, but a departure. Three familiar voices, drifting in silence and a slight cascade of laughter when the cup passed hands. Strange... how such a thing could waken the feelings he associated with fingers wet with ink and the skritch of a quill. Continuity. Comfort.

Something was coming, certainly. But the some things already here... They would certainly have something else to say for it, and that was a warming thought.

Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2006 11:47 am

spin cycle

Roles: Cody, Oliver, Alex and 'Asteil'.
Time: Midday rising. Shadows waning. Soon there won't be anywhere to hide. Still Valentine's.
Setting: Half mile's distance from the Townhouse, and from here things only get farther away...

==============

"...And then he left," Oliver finished, nervously looking to one side - the side away from where Asteil and Alex sat by the fence bordering the wide road, away from incrimination - but towards the Townhouse, which was just within sight now. Ooooh, this was such a terrible mistake.

Cody crossed his arms and stared unforgivingly at his friend. "Let me get this straight," he said, voice low with passive-aggressive rage, "Pack leaders? That's how this f*cking place is run? Based on--f*ck that," he snarled.

Oliver's gaze shifted to the 'unicorn' covertly, and he watched him warily from behind layers and eyelashes both. Things hadn't gone well with the vampire - he and Alex had picked that up the moment they stumbled across Kingsley on the road and they'd all exchanged a surprised 'You're leaving too?' before Kingsley had interrupted all that with a blunt and frightening (to Asteil at least) 'The hell is that? Parasite? Mole? Infestation?'

So... Kingsley was in a terrible mood, which made him vindictive and--and--

--and Oliver himself hadn't found Roman, which he was only just beginning to register...

And it only relieved him in part, of course. Even if it did relieve in that part. So here they were, not half a mile from the Townhouse, renegade and distraught demon on hand and good relations fracturing quickly to pieces.

Had Kingsley even been listening to him? He couldn't tell - there was just all this anger about further resemblance to animals overshadowing any proof that he might've heard anything to do with Atticus.

Meanwhile, Cody had been muttering steadily to himself a stream of oaths - not all of which were comprised of foul language - and had decided upon a final course of action. He brushed past Oliver and strode over to where their two winged companions sat - or rather, where Alex sat and steadily talked at Asteil in an effort to convince him that the demon needed to rest before they could move forward.

It wasn't working that well, apparently.

For Alex, it was all a matter of reverse deja vu. Or so he assumed... Oliver's brief explanation before their sudden reunion with Kingsley had been disjointed at best, incomprehensible at worst - possibly because he didn't quite understand it himself. But from what Alex had been able to glean, the coon beta, Atticus, had... done something or other... and thus, something had happened to this demon, this Asteil. Or rather, that was as much as his friend had been able to get out of Madison. Frankly, Alex was amazed Oliver had managed to get even that much, considering the odd aversion he had to the magician.

Whatever the case... there was so little he could do here - and it left him feeling miserably helpless. He wanted to reach out now, more than ever, to someone to whom he presumed he could truly relate - to care for someone he might have the genuine ability to care for. Memory could be such a terrible thing...

Thus when Kingsley stormed up, eyes flaring with unconcealed malcontent and intentions indecipherable despite the clear rage motivating them, the only conceivable course of action was to block his way. Wings flaring out ever so slightly, Alex stood square in Cody's path and stared hard at his friend.

Here was an inevitable collision, he percieved. Kingsley assumed he could save the world with no care for how he did it - but Alex knew otherwise. It was impossible to pursue that which was righteous in any way shape or form other than by righteous means. Ends most certainly did not justify means. Kingsley could not be allowed belligerence in pursuit of his knight-in-shining-armor approach, not when it would clearly cause more fright and harm than calm in the incurably distraught Asteil - who even now had started in confusion when the bird had so suddenly arisen.

"Stop it," the words fell from his mouth, sharp and more authoritative than all but the closest of his friends had ever heard.

Oh, he knew what the kid meant. And... hell. It was so much easier to ignore him when he himself wasn't in the mood to... ********. He didn't even know this mood. It wasn't mere irritation, or even a devil-may-care I-can-do-it-better kinda thing... It was mad, certainly... but... damn. He knew this. Knew the stink, the anger, the struggle.

Defeat. He was dealing with defeat. And in the midst of defeat, what could he possibly do but acquiesce?

Refusing to break the staring match, Cody crossed his arms and leaned forward, to put his face inches away from Alex's, "You're a bully," he informed him darkly before stepping lightly to the side and kneeling in the grass beside the shattered demon.

=======

Too lazy to write the rest. Because it's long and stuff and I want to get this up. So, basically -

Alex relents, feels slightly guilty over Kingsley's statement but more satisfied that the anger inside his friend is waning.

Oliver is apprehensive about allowing Kingsley that leeway, but per the past few weeks, follows Alex's lead.

Cody uses the 'Magical Medical Diagnosis' on Asteil, finds that... something's wrong, but he really can't be sure what... because it's kind of like Oliver, only maybe not the same because... uh... Damn. So he decides to do what he can to get rid of whatever it is and thus uses the Fourth Power of Obeah - the one that lets him 'soothe the soul' and relieve an afflicted soul of some degree of mental illness by means of steady, calming talk. He settles on explaining to the demon (QUIETLY) all the things that he's missed about home that are starting to fall into place now, how things are sort of coming together against his will and how it doesn't always feel quite as weird as he wants it to.

Asteil is, regrettably, still kinda crazy afterwards. But that's not Cody's fault - our 'unicorn' isn't more powerful than Nature itself, after all.

Cody can't really take anymore of Asteil's focus on this weirdo 'Atticus' and leaves care-taking to Alex, instead leading the way to the Townhouse with Oliver - who he lectures on the art of wooing, more to distract himself than anything else. They both know his heart's not in it.

Anyway, on the way, leave some time for inner reflection from both Oliver and Alex. Oliver for the 'heart's not in it' bit, where he thinks on how Kingsley is... actually, I'm being selectively lazy. I'll write those bits out.

=======

It was impossible to simply stop listening. Oliver's world was simply to bound up in sound for him to ignore something so relevant as voice. But the way this voice carried was so... unsettling? Not creepily, just wrongly. Kingsley didn't really mean to talk to him. Well, he did. He meant well. But he wasn't doing very well. Not just in the talking either, though he was failing pretty spectacularly at that (and when Oliver can tell that kind of thing, you know you're in trouble. There was something off about... Kingsley. Himself. He wasn't just angry anymore...

And unfortunately, it wasn't an improvement either. He was slipping into... oh, how could he be so bold as to claim knowledge of whatever funk this was? Kingsley was broken, plain and simple - turning back to the way he'd been right before they got here, when he'd been so lost and mad but, but, but... Lost. Because when you were angry, but you had no direction and no motivation... you despaired. And he was catching hints of that again.

While that despair - or whatever it was - had motivated Kingsley to a certain extent, forcing him into leadership responsibilites, reaching out, binding, seeking... It hadn't been the same. Lost. However much Oliver hated it when Kingsley got mad and belligerent... this was, on some level, worse.

But there really wasn't anything he could do about it. Not like Kingsley ever listened to him...

Holding Asteil's hand to guide him gently but firmly, Alex followed the two at a goodly distance, never getting close enough to hear the distinct words. This couldn't go on. Maybe it was Arthur's influence, or Marks', come to think of it - or most of the other Townies, really--no, it's foolish and selfish to foist off your own opinions as the fault of others--but he really was... Oh, Kingsley. Why did he have to get so... It was like being an a*****e was his backed-into-a-corner reflex.

Okay, maybe it was.

He'd been able to deal with it in the past, to varying degrees of acceptance... But it had never really frustrated him as it did now. What they had here was a cycle, one where Kingsley went through phases of alternating depression or hell-bent apathy... and it wasn't healthy. Simply wasn't right. But how could he possibly... It wasn't right to 'intervene' either - Alex had little trouble with the concept of lectures, he exercised them often on Kingsley's more puerile escapades and had done so with most of Marks' escapades in general... back when they'd been on lecturing terms. But when it came to the greater things... Actual, important things... Wasn't everyone supposed to figure out what was right for themselves? He couldn't just barge in and try to reorganize Kingsley's head for him, that wouldn't just be rude... it'd be mean, demeaning - and arrogant.

But he was still so frustrated! What trapped Kingsley in the terrible cycle more than anything else was his failure to realize that he couldn't just lash out at the world (or try to save it) without some regard for himself. Oh sure, he went through all the motions of an ego the size of the Ukraine, and he certainly did have the confidence to say whatever the heck he felt like to whoever the hell was in his way (or maybe the latter was just stupidity...) but he'd long since considered what passed for his soul to be worth any saving. And that was where he faltered.

He didn't know how much he was worth. Everyone has incredible value, no soul is any less significant than the next... But Kingsley didn't recognize either that the world was comprised of such treasure or that he was part of it. Without seeking to better himself, without protecting some sort of goodness and pursuit of further good... This cycle was going to continue.

And it was making Alex faintly ill to think on that.

Something had to be done. Before the world lashed back.

Jan the Verse
Crew

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Jan the Verse
Crew

Offline

Posted: Tue Mar 28, 2006 10:58 am

rolling, rolling, rolling

Roles: Alex, Cody, Marks (for a moment), Oliver
Time: Who knew?
Location: The Townhouse.

==============

[OOC Note: I have taken the time to write up some short reference stoof for the White Wolf gaming 'verse, which many of my (and raven's) anthros come from and from which many of said anthros take certain terms for granted. It can be found here and might be useful to glance over before reading this section.]

And do you know what really haunts these words?

That in the end, I couldn't do it. I wasn't strong enough. Someone else had to, even if their intentions were not for my sake.

Do you know what that means? I can't handle myself! I'm not strong enough for my own mind. It's me, the all of me that I do not know how, perhaps can never hope, to control.

Then again (though not to get rhetorical), who knows how to control themselves, really? Though I suppose that question is merely born of phrasing and not the same meaning. A misconstrued, facetious connection between recurring words which disregards differing definitions (<--alliteration!).

No. It's misleading to cover-up shortcomings with tangents. It is time to expose a failure of self, not a general state of humanity. And so, no more on the inability of the ego to suppress every aspect of the id and onto a more revealing exploration of the battle between defense mechanisms and the guilty truth within an individual mind.

I am not well-versed in the science of the body and mind, having had no formal education in either. I am no doctor. Therefore, the details of amnesia and how it manifests itself are a general mystery, though in layman's terms I can say with confidence that it tends to come of either really awful knocks to the head or intense stress to the mind. There are cases of temporary amnesia born of the latter, where an individual will 'blank out' the familiar world, cutting him or herself off from the afflicting environment in hopes of somehow escaping the cause of the stress. The more dramatic type of memory loss, the kind featured most in literature or melodramatic chick flicks, is most often caused by the knock-on-the-head scenario and/or sudden, severe trauma. Physical or emotional trauma of the third degree, you could say. Apparently, finding out the summer project you took for an elaborate (if enjoyable) joke was real, almost being cooked by your classroom and, not too much later, getting bitten by your 'elaborate summer joke' is enough to evoke that particular, dramatic brand of amnesia.

For now it should be made clear that it would be presumptuous to claim to speak for anyone other than myself, though that ought to be a given. Also, my personal experiences and the reaction to them were, perhaps, singularly odd. Therefore, what follows must only be seen as a glance back on the self that was, my self. Not that what follows might in any way be similar to the accounts of others - I fear myself to be somewhat touched in the head at times, or, if not mad, overly emotional and/or metacognitive.

It's impossible to say what one feels at the beginning of amnesia. It doesn't feel like memory loss as there is no feeling that something is missing, only that not everything makes sense. Over time, though certainly you will wonder from whence you've come, it doesn't seem to matter quite as much. Perhaps it was the environment that struck that belief within me, for the desire to escape the loneliness imposed by ignorance was strong. Stronger now than it was then, maybe, which might explain the doubts now expressed over the credibility of my claim that I had no desire to search for any origins.

Reflecting on that state, it's true I made no especial effort to investigate what could be found of my past, though perhaps that was the instinct of survival in a human world coupled with the pressure of such a heirarchical vampiric society. The human world to which it could only be assumed I had recently belonged could not be truly contacted without breaking some very important, even intrinsic rules of vampirism. For example: don't let the humans know you're a bloodsucker--that really is asking for it, and not just from the mortals. Beside this stood the fact that, being Caitiff, no one really cared where I'd come from. Who I had been made no difference as to what I was, which was below anyone's concern. With that thought in mind, it seemed pointless to define myself by human name or birth, as what labels I did possess weren't going to change either way. To become a being of my own creation, to be what I must be in my own eyes and by my own judgment, was the only source of validation anyone else would bother to validate along with me. Reinventing yourself from nothing is much easier, much more grounding, even, than rebuilding a former identity.

There were, of course, twinges. Little things, habits I realized must have carried over, abilities that led to clues and hints of memory. A name. The most useless, disused name in the world, perhaps, but how was I to know? Twinge means pain, however momentary. But moments of pain are not enough to demand a bona fide quest for former identity, so these twinges remained breaths in the wind. Firmly believing I didn't care for the most part and that what was more important was being who I was, amnesia became less of a burden and more of a simple condition of existence.

But to say 'twinge', to select that word before others... suggests some significance to it. Le mot juste, as the French say. There were the wonderings, daydreams like anyone else's, thoughts of 'what if someone's looking for me' and so forth - though who doesn't have that hope? Again with the rhetorical. To assuage: the prayer lies within that someone loves us more than we love ourselves, and all pride really can be validated because there is someone out there who believes we are worth everything we hope we are. Romanticism declared my hopes to be of greater significance than others', and so naturally these hopes flourished... though not enough to quash the demand for individuality based on present, not past. Does that make me a pessimist, in the end? That I worried forever that there really was nothing to who I am? Any Adams fan should shake their head in disapproval, "No, that's just perfectly natural paranoia. Everybody in the Universe has got that."

It's still difficult to fathom how incredibly dense I was about the eventual fiasco. Though considering the current theory... perhaps I really was resisting remembrance every step of the way. Then again, there was plenty else to be preoccupied with, not the least of which was not being in my own body...

And to elaborate on the subject of Marks, there's still a depressing indefinite. Indefinite infinite. Hate the sin, love the sinner. When does the sinner reach the point of no return, when they lose all pretension to reason and must... must needs be... forsaken... Can you do that? Legitimately? Is there any way short of being cold to give up a soul for lost? Of course not. Corrupt, but human. Always human. And that isn't the real question, admittedly. I don't seek to save him from himself or any other such pretension, merely to... to like him? It's difficult, being of two minds on such an individual, especially when one of those minds isn't your own. To know all he wants is to be free of you, however...

No, there still isn't a conclusion.

Whatever Marks' role has been, memory returned. And I couldn't accept it. Oliver insists, however gently, that the fear of those weeks of weak raised themselves from the trauma that induced amnesia. He demands for the sake of his own conscience that I suffered from guilt, from sorrow and grief. Maybe he's right, it would be nice to think he is. But the lingering fear remains that... it was all shock that... I was not a product of my own creation and will, that my life meant something before it was lost and that through the loss I had become everything I feared: important.

Despite how much the remembering may be analyzed now, I couldn't comprehend it all, no matter the care and tenderness shown by others, regardless of all protection and promises of "It's all right, it'll be all right", I just couldn't deal. The mind and heart I wanted weren't mine. Helpless in the onslaught of myself. An undeniable truth that who you had been did matter, even if you decided it didn't. Proof that your exercise of free will has been meaningless, and that God may well still be on his throne of omnipotence.

For how could we choose good if the Allmighty is all-powerful? He would simply will the world a more perfect place and so it would be, though without the deliberate choice of goodness we are nothing truly good. He must have stepped down, abdicated from the ultimate in realization that he could not have his cake and eat it too. We have free will. But if all paths lead to the same destination, how can that be true? If we burn a new path and nothing changes, then God is in Heaven and good is lost forever.

I have really got to find a less thought-consuming hobby, if hobby this can be called... More like an obsession of late.

To be truthful (and to escape further metacognition), I don't remember much of the actual reorganization, though that makes sense upon thinking about it... The subject is delicate, I've been avoiding it. Delicate for... for me, of course... Perhaps Oliver could tell the story more accurately, though if my dear friend can relate anything accurately, it is probably not the dramatic. The mundane has always been painfully within his grasp... But that is another tangent. The Kiasyd fixed everything broken. Ah, there it is. Admittance and stone. I... destroyed him for it. More stone.

Yes, frenzy had something to do with it. Yes, the guilt remains. But all the same... Yes... I can speak of it in such a manner... Which implies a nonchalance or, worse, satisfaction, within me that...

Again, Oliver is quick to my defense, even if it is from myself. I believe he takes my questioning for self-deprecation. If he is right, there is little more to fear of the Beast within than immaturity. If he is wrong, I am the monster we are always doomed to be, a monster I unknowingly fostered in not seeking who I had been. In denying that there could be some meaning to all previous existence I drew out Hyde.

Beast, curse, how much of this am I to rely on? What superstition shall prevail over reason? And reason!, the root of love, which we are - were? - supposed to be so incapable of. Passion, perhaps it flags... But for a creature, even a human, to lose sight of the divine? The good, which we desire above all else... I thought vampires were covetous, that we craved beauty out of being ugly ourselves and that we thus treasured the good and the right. Then again, such a craving justifies the argument of beastial nature.

I don't want to be a creature. But no one wants to be the crass, the crude, the second place. And thus do I roll in Clamence's compassion... what hypocrisy, the judge-penitent.

But to the original point, I have lost all right to govern myself. I could not accept how wrong I had been, how changed things became when the past returned. It wasn't supposed to matter, or at the very worst it was supposed to be mildly surprising. It shouldn't have been important, there shouldn't have been people to make it poignant. Don't misunderstand me, everyone is precious... but I know my foolishness now, and I can no longer allow myself satisfaction.

Someone else stands in my place and I am no aid to their plight. How odd to be on the opposite side of the spectrum - who would have thought there would be a second chance? The only hope remaining is that, unreasonably, Asteil will raise himself from this struggle as I could not.

Despair is a terrible thing.

~*~

Three eyes stared at the methodical thinker, vaguely displeased. Or generally displeased. Not quite pissed, neither optimistic, just a wide-ranging irritation with everything. It occurred to Cody that he needed to find a new all-purpose mood, because this particular one wasn't making his life any longer.

He had reason to be miffed this time though, right? Dealing with Asteil didn't make him an exactly 'cheery' individual. Tended to make him downright ornery, really. Had it been this difficult for Oliver to deal with Alex when the kid got his memory back? ...No. He had those memories now, had taken the time to sift through the stolen recollections of both his friends and... no. Alex had never been quite like this, had been much more withdrawn than the sometimes hysterical demon.

But there was Oliver again, dealing with it. Maybe practice made perfect or something. So much the better that one of them could take care of the new nutcase. Cody's bedside demeanor was in serious need of repair and Asteil was more than a little frightened of Alex - which put Cody out more than a little bit, because he was fair convinced the kid would be a better pseudo-mom than the distractable Oliver. The only other people Asteil could tolerate (or even liked) among the other Townies were Emo and the brat. So what did he, Oliver, Adrian and Wrath have in common? Or what did the other Townies have in common? He still didn't know how the demon felt about Tsuzuki - no one had seen the puppy in several days now anyway. Nearing a week, wasn't it? Enh. Whatever. Bigger fish to fry.

So here he was, stuck with a delirious and only partly healed demon whose malady appeared to be the fault of one of those damn 'pack leaders' or whatever. And he couldn't fix it all the way. Part of his mind insisted that all Asteil needed was a couple bottles of Prozac (or elephant tranquilizers) but another part chided and warned that the demon's ailment was a bit creepier and supernatural than anything the drugstore (or zoo) could cure. Still, it rubbed him the wrong way that he couldn't...

And always the recurring thought of 'you didn't actually get that medical degree, moron'. Bah. So what was he going do about it, go to school?

Hm.

More immediately though, he'd intended on soothing his temper with a bit of chatting with his less preoccupied friend. Not that he ever really talked with Oliver. Not about important things. He just didn't trust him to really get it the whole way. But unfortunately...

Alex was busy. Busy busy. He hadn't seen the kid write that way since... couldn't quite remember when, maybe it was one of Oliver's memories - but he sat in absolute quietude, pen drifting slowly, fluidly over the paper. Hovering, never scratching out, just drifting. As if he were tracing and etching rather than writing. This was serious... whatever the hell it was. And he was loath to interrupt it.

Maybe he could get out some of this excess tension with an argument with Marks. Then again, probably not. The b*****d had an uncanny ability to avoid giving Cody precisely what he wanted, whether it was caffeine or harsh words. Bah.

Oh well. Time for... Ugh. A walk? No. Too tired. Not really, he just didn't feel like straying far. He needed a talk... really, really needed a talk. But where the hell was he going to find it short of interrupting...

Hm.

Two options here, really. As he didn't really want to get Meph involved before the bunny dropped back in himself though... Only one. Because hell if he was going to tell Alan.

Safely away from the stairs, Cody exited the Townhouse, a carefully placed shout of "FORTINBRAS!!!" masking all intentions from the suddenly distracted remaining residents.

--the hell?

...Shakespeare?... Alex thought momentarily before returning to his confession.

Oliver blinked up from his book, shook his head, and went back to watching Asteil stir the fire absently while he pretended not to be keeping on the demon from behind the pages.

Posted: Sun Jun 25, 2006 9:30 pm

....Bleh. The mood drifting over the Townhouse and through Cody was nothing short of foul. It hadn't started out as a particularly good day, but at least it hadn't been a bad one... but it'd gone steadily downhill from there. What with Cavalier being a general a**, the general Townhouse disappearing out of the blue and then...

Okay, the part with Kaine had been nice. He could actually relax around that guy, and even if the fox's taste in old movies sucked like nothing else, he was cool. But Kaine was gone, back to the Nest now, and that made everything sort of suck again.

A couple of Townies had trickled back in... Arthur, Maddie... but that wasn't much. Not who he wanted to see, at least. Stupid little--where the hell could they have gone? And why'd they have to take Asteil? If they got themselves in trouble, Cody was going to flog them. And hard. Literally. There would be blood and pain and tear and--his trail of vengeance broke off abruptly as the doorbell rang and, just as quickly as he had the previous two times, he flew to the door, flinging it open in hopes of finding what he really wanted to find.

...oh dear. By the look on Kingsley's face, the frazzled, bordering on upset and likely to start doing stupid things any moment look... Maybe leaving him on his own this morning had been a rather unclever idea. "We can't come in if you don't scoot over," he advised lightly to the 'unicorn' standing squarely in the doorway.

Yay. Freaked out Three Eyes. Okay, the night had just gotten a little better.

Cody was a little beyond listening, however, and while his first instinct was to grab Alex and shove him in a closet where he couldn't get into any more trouble, his second and almost as strong instinct was to throttle Marks for being within five feet of his bird. Marks' mistaking Cody for a former lover of Alex's was not without some evidence in behavior.

The third instinct, however, now offering up pretty strong competition to both the first, involved the two strangers. "What're these?" he snapped, gesturing at the strangers while simultaneously trying to put Alex inside while keeping Marks out. "Was it adoption day at the circus?"

Jan the Verse
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Shaddaling

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Posted: Mon Jun 26, 2006 7:09 am

"I swear, is everyone here riding a crimson wave? Are you all PMSing or something?" Vain questioned. "Come on, stay something else so I can tell if your worse then your pompous brother." So he was taking a stab in the dark. Judging by the other appearance he couldn't be to far off.

"Leave Alex alone Cody! " Skittle stomped his little feet. "He said we could rest here for a little bit." He like Alex's company and the angel didn't appear to be one that could handle rough handling.

Well, Skittles just conformed his suspicions. "Damn, what are you a jealous lover? Did you know your brother was here?" The demon glanced at his nails walking up behind Marks and shoved a booted foot in the door. "Move aside love." He was tired, both physically and meeting these gender confused men. Three people who appeared to be on PMS, lovely. "Or I'll just jimmy it open when you leave." You learned a few interesting tricks as a servant.

"You alright?" Skittles questioned Alex attempting snagging the others hand. In his mind Alex was his friend, and Cody was acting like one of the fiends that kept abusing his small body when younger. "My friend." He muttered.

Posted: Mon Jun 26, 2006 11:35 am

It was one thing for Alex to bring home strays. It was entirely another for him to bring back smartass strays. Soon as he weaseled out where the hell Oliver and Asteil were (because he was certain Alex knew, even if... apparently... he had been out with Marks? - which in itself was baffling) they were going to have a loooong talk about this.

Because right now? There were a couple other things on his mind - like 'brother'. What the ********? Had the tiny one just said his name? "Lover?" he snapped, "Why is it always 'lover' with you people? I'm his ******** his friend!" addendum - edit - oops - bad adjective.

All right, keeping the carnies outside wasn't going to be an option - he could still lock Marks out. Though... the demon would just break a window, so that wasn't really a solution. It'd make him feel a little better though. Cody bared his teeth at Vain, vaguely aware somewhere in his mind that the action was no longer threatening now that he didn't have those impressive fangs. "Shut up. And come in. Okay? No breaky anything," he hissed. Primary objective - piss off Marks. Secondary objective - shake the information out of Alex. Tertiary objective - do something nasty to the irritating one. Okay. Mission Accepted.

Whoo boy. "I'm fine," Alex insisted, ducking past Kingsley's arm and into the Townhouse, catching Skittles' hand to guide him inside as well. He knew there was a reason he should've found Kingsley sooner rather than later... Oops. Poor thing... He must be going out of his mind by now...

On the bright side, he was physically intact - which was more than he could've possibly hoped for, considering how much Kingsley was railing on about Lestat the previous night and how... oh dear. That must not have gone well.

It didn't take much for Marks to realize that Three Eyes' prime goal was keeping him out. Enh. He'd go for the roof. Make an excuse to get away from his two new least favorite people for a while. With a sweep of his wings, Marks launched himself into the air, taking the brief aerial leap between the ground and the roof of the Townhouse with no small bit of pleasure.

Hell yeah. Wings were awesome.

Jan the Verse
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Shaddaling

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Posted: Mon Jun 26, 2006 8:03 pm

Skittles smiled at Alex, walking in behind the other keeping in his shadow a little confused. He wiggled his toes on the floor, glancing around all over trying to take in everything. "This is where you live? It's interesting..." he didn't know what else to say. He had lived in a palace of marble and gold and latter a silk tent of purple and white silk.

"Your where acting possessive, usually a lovers action." Vain muttered walking inside. "Your brother is Peregrine correct? I think I see a family resemblance." Such as attitude, perhaps a bit in the face features, dark hair blue eyes.

His eyes flickered to Skittles, a small smile crossing his face. The kitten hadn’t toured an actual home before; wait where was his manors. “Sorry about the rudeness. It had been a rough day. I am Vain and the other is Skittles.” He said giving a small half bow the unicorn direction before entering the home.

Posted: Mon Jun 26, 2006 9:01 pm

Interesting? Perhaps his most frequently used word of late. It was the most tactful way to say 'weird', 'demented' or 'bizarre' and often the most accurate way of encompassing the general feeling of 'I don't get it' he got from most of Gaia. The Townhouse, though, was one of the more typical, dependable things in his existence here, thus hearing that certain adjective applied was of a certain small amusement to Alex.

"I suppose..." he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. The relatively old building of stone and wood with so few carpets to speak of and so many, many rooms filled with what seemed like centuries of garage sales... yes, perhaps 'interesting' was an appropriate term. "Are you more sleepy or hungry?" he asked as an afterthought. Kingsley could be dealt with after taking care of the houseguests.

"It's also the reaction of any sane person who sees Alex within arm's length of Mr. I'm-a-raving-psychopath-Giovanni!" Cody snarled, slamming the door behind the taller carnie and barely catching the second half of that...

He fell into silence. ...If... this guy... knew Peregrine... then things were potentially going to hell. What had Alex been thinking when he invited them over? Hell, was he thinking? Maybe not - probably not. The last time his friend had seen Pip, he'd... been stupid. s**t. Alex had done it again, had believed what he was told because if what he was told was true, then the world was a nice-nice-daisy-type place. But it hadn't been true, and the only reason Cody could think of that Peregrine hadn't killed Alex was because he'd been waiting for the Caitiff to lead him to other vampires.

And, it turned out, he basically had. Or... fine, he didn't know that, but the only reason he didn't was because they'd gotten shoved over several alternate realities to this weird-a** joint before anything could happen. Peregrine? What was Goldie up to?

Vain's introduction interrupted his bout of paranoia and a sudden realization swept over Cody that he'd been frozen, staring at his hand on the doorknob. "Pah, you think you've had a bad day?" he grumped - okay... wait. His day hadn't been that ba--yes. Yes it had. Grrrr. Don't lose the high ground now. "Where're you from?" he followed up, leaning against the door and crossing his arms with a narrow-eyed glare.

Jan the Verse
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Posted: Tue Jun 27, 2006 9:01 am

"A other world, well purgatory really. Or some form of limbo where they keep vampiric dead." He started pulling off his boots more from instinct then politeness. "Recently the woods we where just dropped their."

Skittles ran his fingers across the stone, a reflective shiver going though his small body. 'Alabaster instead of stone, wooden, marble and rugged floors of thick fabric that cushioned and wrapped the feet in imaginary kisses. ' He shook his head, eyes running across the nick knacks and hodge podge furniture. "A shower?" He muttered hopefully.

“Then to bed.”

“But,” Skitttles’s eyes caught the others and he looked down accepting, “rest then.” He scuffed his bare feet against the floor.

Welcome to Gaia! ::

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