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 Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2009 10:01 am
--Lost and Found--As soon as he was certain he was out of earshot his steps became heavier. The day’s wears, tears, and sores were weighing down his shoulders and Emile didn’t even try to stifle a yawn that stretched his jaws as wide as they could go. God, was he exhausted. The family of the house he was employed for hosted a rather large gala and all day the butler was directing staff, lifting, pushing, preparing, setting up, and more before the event started. His day started “before the crow call” at four a.m.. He took breakfast at four-thirty and didn’t eat again until lunch at ten. Now, at quarter past two a.m., that meal and any little snacks he had been able to filch with the rest of the hired hand were wearing thin. The blond man was certain he heard his stomach roar and echo off the now still halls. His walk would be long and belly still just as empty unless…
Emile paused by the French-style glass door that lead out to the darkened courtyard gardens. If he cut through and went out the door on the opposite side, he could shave a possible seven or eight minutes off his walk. He mulled the idea over, but the thought of the ham and cheese sandwich sitting in the fridge made his stomach demand the shortcut be taken, and so he reached for the handle. As he stepped out and off the slight stone step the grass beneath his polished shoes made a soft squelching noise. Emile looked down and saw the grass was damp. It hadn’t rained, so the timed sprinklers had probably just turned off. The air was cool with the scent of night and water and, for the moment, the accumulated pressure between his large shoulders was lessened.
After taking a deep, cleansing breath his hand dug into his pocket and with some jingling pulled out his keys. Attached to the silver ring was a small, metallic red flashlight which the butler quickly twisted on. The beam was short and not very bright but--
“Better than nothing.” He could see ahead of him with it, and that was important. Part of the gardener’s job earlier was to weed and a couple of them had found a tangled overgrowth of vines and roots near the fishpond. Emile really did not want to go for a swim with the fishes right now. His mind was set on that sandwich and then his bed at the back of the house given to him for being a servant of the household. He knew he’d only get a few short hours of sleep, and that thought killed him inside. It was two a.m. now and….s**t. He had to be up at six. A frustrated groan passed over his lips and echoed off into the night air, which up until then had be still. His pay was good but his hours sucked, and for a man like him coming from where he did…It was the best he had for now. He was grateful for it.
Emile’s trek led him past the pond with no early hour swim meets. A ghost of a smile at this brief stroke of luck passed his lips and he pressed onward with it on his face. All was quiet and to pass the time until he got to the opposite door, Emile hummed a little no-name tune. As he came to a bridge in his song, his humming increased in volume, filling his ears. The sound that broke the tune made him look down, thinking he stepped on a dry stick. It was a popping sound, almost rustling really, and as he paused humming and lifted his foot to see that there was no small clipping of wood, it stopped.
That was…Odd.
Emile’s eyes struggled to adjust to looking around in the darkness where his flashlight’s beam didn’t reach. Upwards, there was no wind, so it wasn’t the trees. Behind him, there were no fallen twigs. In front of him, just darkness and eventually the door out. To the sides; the end of the pond on his left and a small clump of bushes to his right.
Something in there? Or maybe I‘m just hearing things. God I need sleep…
Nevertheless Emile pointed the light to the bushes. Nothing showed other than dark green foliage. The blond man shook his head and moved his beam away, picking the tune up just before that loud bridge. He walked a few steps away as the bridge in the song came up, and the rustling was heard again. This time, it was behind him, and Emile swiveled around on his heels to look. His beam landed on the bushes that had the movements slowly coming to a stop. A smart man probably would have taken off, but Emile’s curiosity got the better of him. He moved towards the bushes, beam of light still on the nearly black colored leaves.
The plants were of the stocky, thick leaved variety, so he couldn’t see into them from where he was, but Emile was just a little too chicken to go upright and part them to see inside. Though he wasn’t a big believer in aliens, anything seemed possible to be in there right now. His mind was set on a bat though, or maybe the youngest daughter’s pet cat. Even that mean thing would be an ease off his mind if it happened to be somehow stuck in those concealed branches. Even though he approached it with heavy steps (an attempt to scare out whatever was in there), the bushes didn’t shake. Emile was perplexed by this, but as he clicked his tongue against his teeth in thought, it came to him. The bridge of the hummed tune. When that part was forced out, both times the bush had moved. With the light still on the leaves, Emile started the tune up again.
As the song progressed, he could see some movement; the odd twitching here and there, but once it was the bridge’s part the bush rattled and shook noisily. A lot of movement came from the side closest to him, so the blond crouched down and slowly swung his light to the bush. What he saw there made him yelp out loud and fall back, digging his heels into the ground to get himself away. It was an eye! An enormous eye was staring at him! There was something…An ALIEN…In the bush! In his fervor Emile dropped his keys and the flashlight’s beam was still pointed at it. Despite that, it didn’t blink. It stopped shaking, but it didn’t blink. Panting hard from his scare, Emile picked up a small pebble and lobbed it at the eye. Instead of a squish or a blink, it made a dull ‘bonk’ sound and moved. Eyes didn’t make ‘bonk’ sounds. It wasn’t an eye. But then…What was it exactly?
The butler shifted himself around and gingerly crawled to the spot. He bent the branch that was half covering whatever it was back and gently touched the surface. He thought he felt slow movement beneath the cold, hard exterior but that was overtaken by the rushing, snapping sound. It made him recoil to grab his light and stick it beneath that bent branch.
“What the hell…? Wings?!” Little black wings and something else; something softer looking and practically fluffy swirling around the tilted base of this thing. He dropped his light in surprise and before he could stop himself Emile’s hands were around the hard not-an-eye and pulling it out of its prison. “Oh….Wow….”
The noise from his stomach wasn’t heard over the sound of his heart in his ears; a sound that came up when the object, an egg, was dislodged and seated in Emile’s lap. Its surface was a glossy, velvet-black color and was dotted with millions of little white-blue star specks. That ‘eye’ that had sent him sprawling, now that he had it in his hands, was a crescent moon shape with the two points almost touching. It seemed to glow by itself, turning a small portion of that inky blackness to a light, flowing purple. The wings on either side were lighter black, almost gray next to the egg’s shell and had ceased their fluttering; folding up neatly at the sides. Now that it was level, the fluffy, dust colored…Cloud? Was correcting itself too and aimlessly swirling about the base.
By now the butler’s jaw was nearly touching the ground in amazement, his hands gently yet firmly holding the egg upright. Whatever was in it seemed to know it was safe and ceased moving. If not that, the heat coming from the man’s legs and chest as he hugged it to him did the trick just as well. It was probably a delusion of his need to sleep (he might have been hugging a rock instead), but without another thought he stood up, supporting the surprisingly weighty egg against him with both arms, and carried it off. As he reached the door out of the garden, Emile looked back out over the damp grass, then down at the starry surface.
…It needs me. 
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Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2009 11:45 am
--The Morning After--The alarm came to an abrupt stop at five a.m. as Emile’s hand came down on the clock. With a groan he turned over onto his opposite side; facing the shadow of the far wall instead of sunlight that was just beginning to peek through the slats in his window shades. For good measure his bare arm tossed over his lidded eyes as well, trying to squeeze a few extra minutes of desired sleep before he had to get up and start his pre-work routine. He started to doze off, but a now familiar rustling made him sit straight up in bed, blinding light or not.
“It wasn‘t a dream.” He said as a large hand flew to his brow, pushing back hay colored bangs as he turned his torso back towards the window. The words tumbled out as his eyes rested on that moon-marked egg; its off black wings fluttering to remove a section of blanket from its top. Once the task was completed, the movement stopped until the butler reached over and plucked it from the sheet. His disbelief was immense, and like last night, his jaw remained agape at it. When it was in his lap, the wings only unfurled, but whatever was inside the shell shifted against the touch. “And you‘re gonna be one big chicken.” Emile’s butler speech pattern was gone, replaced with his off the clock, natural tone. At his words the wings beat against his hands, as though denying that claim, and giving the man the impression he had somehow offended the developing something inside it.
His hand reached to touch the cloud at the bottom of the strange egg, fingertips just brushing against the odd colored substance. It wasn’t damp, which was strange, but felt like a mix between satin and the material used for those sheer, billowy curtains commonly used in commercials marketing ladies perfume with the consistency of cotton. It was a nice feeling on hands that were used to being blistered, rubbed raw, or sweaty from dainty, yet airtight, white gloves. A thought suddenly came to him as he felt another brief motion beneath the dark and star speckled shell, and a look of ‘maybe’ came over his tired face. With ease, but still surprise at how heavy the egg was, Emile lifted it up and pressed his ear to the surface. Despite it having rested next to the butler as he slept, the egg was cool (and refreshingly so) against his cheek. The scent from the shell wasn’t very egg-like at all. Instead it smelled like nighttime after a brief rain; an image of dew covered grass under a clear, star filled sky came to mind, and Emile smiled. His eyes shut as he tried to concentrate after that, listening for a heartbeat or maybe just a swirl of fluid that would be nourishing and supporting the thing inside.
Nothing, the shell’s inhabitant was quiet, but the sound of his alarm going off again nearly made him drop the egg. It slipped from his fingers, but he quickly caught it, his legs coming up to brace it. Just then he worried to hear the sound of the back of the egg busting open from the save, but Emile neither heard nor felt egg ooze. Grumbling, he set the egg at the middle of the foot of his bed and made sure that the button was ‘Off’ rather than ‘Snooze’.
“Five-five.” Emile looked down at his person, then up and across the room at the mirror on his bureau. His hands cupped and covered his face, trying to wipe off exhaustion as though such a thing would remove as easy as water. “I look like hell. So tired and now…This.” The butler peered through his fingers at the egg, which was sitting there as innocent as anything despite having leathery looking bat wings. The sunlight seemed to have no affect on the color of the egg, it was just as dark as it was last night when he found it. It was foreign, it was strange, but even now that he was certain it wasn’t a delusion, he couldn’t bring himself to get off his bed to toss it outside.
“...Kinda pretty, even if it did scare me last night…Who am I talking to? Ohhh God…” Another groan and wiping off his hands across his face before he finally tossed the blankets off himself and got out of bed. He was talking to eggs, weird alien eggs at that, and no one was around. Should anyone have been lurking in the closet or wherever, they might of thought him to have a screw loose.
Pops and cracks littered the air when Emile stretched his aching body. He looked at himself in the mirror again, hand rubbing against his tee shirt-clad stomach at a phantom itch before looking down at the egg.
Can‘t leave it here by itself. Can‘t take it to work. Dunno know what it is either…
“You picked a weird time to show up, you know that?” There he goes again, talking to the egg. Emile bent down and set it in the middle of his bed so it would roll off and with a small frown, left the room to see if a change in setting would do anything to better this and more importantly help him figure out what to do. He wandered to the kitchen, turning on the sink’s faucet after noticing the blotching and weird smearing on his arms.
“Shoulda stripped it…Too late now, just gonna reapply it.”
He had been too tired to even eat more than a couple bites of that sandwich, which had been left sitting on the counter all night, let alone wash cover-up off his muscular arms. Emile trashed the food after drying his hands and tossed the small plastic plate in the sink. The clock above the basin read ‘5:15’. He didn’t have long to decide what to do, but the rustling that he could hear from all the way in the kitchen, plus the fact he was dog tired and hadn’t slept well for a week, was making him lean towards taking the day for himself. He had to figure out what that egg was and what could be in it, because judging from its size, it was going to be big. Since he had no idea where to start on looking information up, that would take a long while…
“Screw it.” He reached for the cordless phone. While he pressed in numbers he started to cough to try to sound believable. Emile didn’t like to lie, he had gotten out of that long ago, but the heads of service for the household liked a reasonable excuse. Even though Emile never took a day off other than the ones he was given, he figured using ‘I’m sick’ would be the best option.
“H-Hello, Gregory? It‘s Emile.” His voice was raspy and he even once pulled the phone away to turn and cough. Realism right? “Listen I…I know it‘s probably an inconvenience, but I seem to have caught something and I really don‘t feel like I can keep up to standard today.”
‘Up to standard’. A term the maids and butlers used since they had to be presentable and keep a certain air and face about them. They were the ones being seen the most by the family and guests and heaven forbid you weren’t ‘up to standard’ when company came over. Emile disliked the term; it felt perfectionist to him. He excused himself to the man on the phone and hacked away at nonexistent phlegm.
“My apologies. Uh-huh…Yes if it‘s not too much…I feel horrible Gregory, the bags under my eyes can attest to that.” This man…I swear… “Oh really? Th-thank you very much then. Goodbye.” Emile hung up and looked triumphant at the back of the phone now back in its cradle. If there was one person who could vouch for him or help turn the tides, it was the wife of the man on the phone. He’d thank her later, but now--
“I just hope it didn‘t roll off the bed.” Time to fetch the egg, move camp to the living room, and try to figure out just what the heck it was. Hopefully it wouldn’t hatch until he did; he wouldn’t know what to do with himself should anything - giant chicken, alien, or whatever - came breaking out into this world with the blond man not prepared in the slightest. As he exited the kitchen and drew near the bedroom, he hummed the tune from the night before. The for now unseen wings went wild and Emile mused becoming an impromptu composer, if just for that strange little bat wing egg.
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Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2009 6:57 pm
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Posted: Thu Sep 17, 2009 10:12 am
[ G.r.o.w.t.h. xxxQ.u.e.s.t. ] It knows where you are. You have absolutely no idea how it does, how it always seems to be where you are even if you've left it in another room entirely; it's a little unnerving how the egg follows your footsteps. You've tried to keep your space from it for now, to see if you're just being paranoid about how something that doesn't have any way of seeing you keeps going to where you are, but even that doesn't seem to work. You've given in a little while back, just expecting the egg to always be where you are . . . but today, you can't seem to find it? Where is the egg, and why do you have such a feeling of worry . . .?
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Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 6:06 pm
--What The Stork Brought (Quest Response)--It had been three months.
Three months since the meeting with Tier and Salem in the grocery store and three months since he had found the egg. During that time since he learned what would come out of the starry shell, Emile had been lying and making excuses to get out of working once his accumulated vacation time dried up; unsure of when the egg would hatch and scared it would do so when he was gone pouring afternoon tea. He spent his time preparing for the coming arrival; leaving the grounds to stock up on baby food, diapers, wipes, clothing, and some toys. When he was out he'd be sure to pick up a flier or two that listed places looking for employees and that detailed apartment listings. Several places looked promising in both categories, and he eagerly applied to jobs that could suit him. No way he'd remain in this line after the child was born. He'd be a good father to him or her, and that would mean uprooting himself and diving into a new career and home.
So far, no reply in the job field. He'd call them after a couple weeks, to show he was interested, and while the people on the phone seemed pleased with his determined voice, he had never gotten a call back after the fact. Thus Emile was left in a spot. The butler knew the people in the household he worked for must be getting suspicious; who was gone for three months and not in the hospital? He had been visited, yes, but never let anyone who came inside his small home. Not for fear they'd see his fliers or hear little wings smacking against a velvet black shell, no, but because it had started following him wherever he wandered in the house, and it would surely be seen and reported.
This behavior started roughly a few weeks after he found the egg. It was morning and Emile had just woken up after an easy night of sleep. The egg slept with him, figuring that body heat and the comforter will keep it warm during the nights that were turning cooler as the seasons changed. The springs in his mattress creaked and groaned as he sat up, and it was no surprise to him that the leathery wings started up a racket as he stood by the side of his bed.
"Baby's awake." He had mused as the wing beats settled back down; still flexing out and in but not smacking against the starry shell anymore. Emile had turned away then, stepping towards his closet as though some civilian clothes had appeared there overnight. The sound of metal hangers moving along the metal bars they hung on was similar to that of the mattress springs, so at first the blond hadn't picked up that the egg was moving. He kept looking but a funny, almost tugging, sensation around his navel made him turn around and just in time too, as the egg was teetering on the edge of the bed; wings swiveling back and forth like a child going to jump off the jungle gym and wanting some distance.
For a man his size he had moved quickly, catching the egg just as it plummeted. He landed on the floor, winding himself and banging both his elbows against the hardwood surface. But the egg was okay; that was what mattered. In fact, its wings fluttered almost innocently as he had held it before him, seemingly unaware of what could have happened had he not caught it then. The egg had been kept on the floor, Emile not wanting to take any chances while his back was turned, and he had gone back to his closet. The sound of rolling along the floor had made him turn back once again, and as he did so the egg bumped into his foot. It had been on its side, the wings tight and flat against it, while the cloud swirled undisturbed around its bottom. Perplexed, Emile had taken several steps his left, watching then as the wings unfurled, pushed the egg lengthwise toward him, and then set it into motion. A laugh had escaped him then, and for a good half hour he had moved about his room at varied lengths and watched as each time the egg righted itself and followed after him.
It had been cute at first, kinda like a puppy following its master in a way, but soon it had gotten almost tiring. If he was sitting on the couch and wanted a drink, he would have to put the egg on the floor so it wouldn't take another leap as he went into the kitchen. Before he was even a few feet away he would hear it behind him, following close to his heels, and after he had gotten a glass of liquid deliciousness it would be right under his feet again. Many times he had almost fallen on his face as it took to stopping right up against his feet and at least twice his glass had dropped and spilled its contents all over the floor. The little egg was becoming a health hazard! And how did it know? Even with the softest tiptoes it was right there, so it couldn't have been sound. Could it?
Over the months it had almost become routine, though he wished the egg knew manners as well as it knew following so he could go to the restroom in peace. Once he had amused himself to putting obstacles in the egg's way and even blocking it into a corner with a square of particle board, but it had gotten by the latter and had no trouble getting around what he had set on the floor. That had half amused, half unnerved him, and he hadn't tried anything like it since.
Today was different though. Firstly because he woke up on the living room floor instead of in his bed, parallel to the couch and surrounded by those free magazines that had job listings in them. Second, he had noticed it was mid-afternoon. Emile had been up late reading and highlighting ads that had potential, so that was easily waved off. Third - and most importantly - the egg was gone. Not against his chest, behind him, in the crook of his legs - just flat out missing. At first he thought his eyes were just not seeing it; it happens when you just wake up and everything in the corners is fuzzy. But after he rubbed his eyes and cleared his vision, it was still nowhere in site.
Emile got up into a cross-legged sitting position. Maybe he had moved at night and in response the egg had rolled, but overshot and got stuck under something. That was plausible, and its size would easily get it wedged beneath or between practically anything. With that idea in mind he got on his belly and pushed himself around with his hand and toes towards everything in the room.
It wasn't under or behind the couch, not caught up in the cords of the desktop computer in the far corner, not even wedged between the coffee table and the armchair.
"Where on earth...?" He trailed off with a grunt as the blond man pushed himself up off the floor. He turned towards the "dining room" area of the home, it and the kitchen open wide and not blocked by walls or doors, so the egg might have rolled in there. From where he was Emile could see it wasn't under the table or either of the two chairs pushed into it. He walked into that area, making sure his footfalls were heavy as he went. Loud sounds were bound to make the egg come or, if not that, make the wings on its top go wild.
Thud, thud, thud...
Silence.
Not a flapping or a soft grind of eggshell on wood. Not anything except for his own breathing and the tweeting of birds out on the lawn. That tugging feeling behind his navel, the same as that time the egg took its dive off his mattress, returned. There was a crawling feeling up his spine and tingling in his arms; something he hadn't truly felt for a long time now.
Worry.
As calmly as he could he turned the corner into his kitchen. Nothing there. The butler went back into the living room and moved all the furniture around; double checking in case his brown eyes had missed some sign that it was actually there - just stuck. After he was done, his living room looked like a tornado had gone through it and the egg was still missing in action. Emile's large hands grabbed at his hair in frustration and fear before he went to the door and shook the knob. Locked. Windows? Shut. All his possessions in the three rooms he had graced with his presence? Present and accounted for. His home hadn't been broken in, so it looked like the egg hadn't been stolen. There was some relief there, but he didn't immediately feel it, remembering then he had a back door. That sent the man tear-assing down the hall to it, stomach aflame with that concerned navel-tugging. Like the front, it was locked and the hook-and-eye latch hadn't been disturbed.
Okay...It is somewhere in the house. Okay. Okay...
Like any person he had a heavy bladder and an urge to go after waking up, but the situation made that take backseat. Still, he burst into the bathroom, the door ajar from last night's before highlighting tinkle. Space between the toilet and sink was clear, as was the space between the toilet and the bathtub. Emile even looked into the tub's depths, but even with the wings the egg was to heavy to lift itself up, so there was no chance it'd be in there. Once he was sure (he even checked the cabinet under the sink), the blond man left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. This wasn't the egg playing a game. It was always near him. He crossed the hall and walked into his room, dropping to his belly with a heavy 'thunk' once he was completely in.
If anything it should've been under the bed, but it wasn't. Emile had forced himself as far under as far as he could, only stopping when the curve of his buttocks prevented him from going any further. He struggled to get in farther, but when he saw it was fruitless, he backed out. Like the living room the butler turned his room inside out. Everything was opened, no matter how high off the floor it was, and everything was moved at least six inches away from its resting place so he could see behind it. His closet's sliding doors crashed at the end of their rollers as Emile tore through his carefully pressed jackets and other things. Shirts, shoes, pants, assorted boxes and other things flew through the air until nothing remained inside. As he saw there was no softly glowing moon or stars in there, he fell to his knees. Blood was pumping in his ears and his face was flushed. The corners of his eyes stung from a combination of salt water and floating dust particles. His breath grew ragged and his hands went right back to his hair, tearing at his scalp.
"Oh god, where are you?" The worry was chewing at his innards, twisting, churning, and making him feel ill as it was on red alert. Emile sniffled once and picked himself up, thudding heavily down the hall and back into the kitchen. He grabbed the phone off the cradle, finger running down the list of numbers he had right next to it.
Tier, Tier, Tier, Ti- Wait. He couldn't call the man. What would he say to him? 'Oh hey Tier, it's Emile, just wanted to let you know my egg vanished into thin air while I was passed out on my living room floor and I can't find it. Say, did that ever happen with Salem at that stage?'
Stupid. And he'd look like a horrible parent, not that he didn't feel that way already. The phone clicked against its plastic rack and he introduced both of his palms to his face. In the shadows of his hands he started going over the layout of his home. Where hadn't he checked? Living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, closet...His breath hitched in his throat.
"Wait." He had a closet in his bedroom but there was also an unused, mostly empty one just down the hall. The latch was broken on the closet so the door wouldn't shut properly and whoever designed it had a mental block with its hinges because it opened inward, not outward. He had mostly forgotten about it being there out of habit but it was there. The blood that had rose up in his face drained out and went to his legs just then, because Emile went rushing down the hall once again. His feet were in socks and he nearly fell on his rear as he tried to stop and slid, but he caught himself in time. He swiveled, and his face fell when he saw the door was shut. Still, he had to check anyway, and he grabbed the knob. The door felt stuck as he tried to push it inward, like something was stuck or had caught against the inside. As a thought that it might be the egg popped up in his head, he eased his struggling against the wood. The knob and door still jiggled as he worked at it and as he was starting to feel pain between his shoulders something fell and the door creaked open.
Emile practically launched himself through that small crevice, his palms whacking against the fallen object - a small broom - and causing him to double down in pain. Today wasn't his day, but he wasn't hissing through his teeth for long as a faint glowing on his right made him look over with his face in a 'please be it' expression. What he saw wasn't the entire egg, but the crescent moon that was on the egg. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end and his nerves sent shivers and goose flesh up and down his arms.
"Oh god..." There was a pop and a piece of shell with a cluster of stars fell into the strip of light Emile was mostly occupying. He slammed his shoulder into the door to open it as far as it could go, stopping it with his left hand as it started to swing back at him. He was barely aware he had stopped breathing, eyes wide and focusing into the gloom to see his child hatch. He could see a wide hole that had been broken into the shell, with some shiny egg goop that had dribbled down the sides. The egg was even darker inside and Emile could just see movement. Minutes felt like hours passed and the egg continued to be broken apart, piece by piece. His hand dropped from the door and he quickly moved the small sections away from the egg, all the while speaking the words 'you can do it' in a ragged, breathy tone. Pieces broke away and soon there was a very loud 'crack' and the top and sides fell away. The dusty colored cloud dispersed into nothing just as a small body fell out of the gaping hole, landing into Emile's outstretched arms.
By now his heart was in his throat and when the infant flopped into his hands, he almost dropped it out of shock. He didn't feel skin at first beneath his fingers, just long, goo covered hair. Not a pleasant feeling, but he had no time to make that disgusted feeling known as his arms involuntarily brought and cradled the child to his chest. In the light Emile could make out skin between long locks and this child was just as unique, if not more so, than Salem. Its hair was dark; black but with a very prominent dark blue tint and large sized beads - like miniature moons or planets - near the top of its head. Its skin was exactly like the shell - midnight blue, almost purple, and covered with millions of starry speckles. Emile inhaled. The shifting of his ribs beneath the baby seemed to make it aware that it wasn't encased anymore and was outside what was up until now its home. It squirmed, hiccuped something thick onto the butler's shirt, and started to cry against him. There was a moment where Emile wanted to start crying too, but in place of sounds of sorrow were sounds of joy.
The two rose off the closet floor and Emile carried the child into the bathroom. The tub was started as he sat with the infant on the closed toilet seat, the butler making soothing noises to calm the crying.
"Hey now, you're okay. It's all gonna be okay. I'll wash you and wrap you up in a soft towel and then...Shh..." The crying began to calm into sniffles and hiccups as he shut the water off; only allowing a couple of warm inches to fill the basin. He got on his knees and eased the child away from him, though the starry skinned baby had attached himself firmly to his shirt. One hand kept the infant against his chest while the other gently took one small hand.
"I won't drop you, I promise. The water will be nice." The head with the long hair tilted up and Emile finally saw eyes through wet bangs. Pale irises, the same color as the cloud that once swirled around the egg with pupils that matched. Remembering Salem's eyes, Emile felt no worry or fear. Instead, he smiled. As his hand rubbed the small one in its grasp, the baby smiled in a lopsided way and the blond was able to pull it away fully.
"Atta-" A downward glance. "Boy." A boy. A son. As he set the baby down in the water and started to wash away the egg, the tears that had sprung up during his search finally fell over. A healthy, now happy, beautiful baby boy.
Everything was going to be okay.
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Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 10:25 pm
--Hatching Day--Three months was long enough.
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Posted: Wed Sep 23, 2009 8:02 pm
--These Eyes--It had been less than a week since the starry shelled egg had hatched and Morpheus tumbled out into Emile's arms, and in that short span of time the blond butler was amazed at the Ashe child's growth. In five days Morpheus - affectionately dubbed 'Morphie' by his caretaker - had grown to the size of a small toddler and was crawling vigorously throughout the home. He had even picked up a few words here and there and while his sentence structure was poor Emile had no trouble figuring out what the star covered child wanted. The butler had dipped into his accumulated day off time and had taken the next couple weeks off to get to know his child better and while he had Tier on his contact list, Emile didn't want to expose Morphie to anyone else but him just yet. It was some sort of parental selfishness on his part, yes, but he genuinely didn't want to confuse or overwhelm the baby boy just yet.
"Morphie! Morphie, come here."
Emile was seated on the floor of his living room, lounging with his back against the couch in a tee shirt and pajama pants, his arms out. The Ashe was seated across from him in a spot where up until a few days ago the coffee table occupied. Morpheus was in a diaper and blue baby tee shirt, his guardian having changed him not long ago. Though only five days old he was acting the age where a child would prefer to run around in nothing but his skin, with only the toy he was playing with and Emile's keen eye keeping him from stripping off his bottoms and shirt and taking off down the hall. When he heard his name, the child turned his head, black bangs framing his dust colored eyes. Emile smiled at the delighted grin his boy was wearing, shifting himself up into a cross legged seating position.
"C'mere Morphie. Let's try to put your shorts back on again." Morphie's limited vocabulary and linguistic knowledge didn't contain the word 'shorts', so he was keen on approaching, unaware of what would happen when Emile got his hands on him. When the butler shifted, thin ripples and a white hot solid outline of the man's shape and the that of the couch behind him lit up the otherwise pitch black world Morphie saw before his pale eyes. He flinched. Though he had been alive five days and vastly mobile, the sudden arise of shapes before his otherwise sightless eyes still gave him a little pain. It was something he would adapt to, but for now it was flinch-ville for him. He dropped his toy, got onto his hands and knees and crawled his way over; Emile's white image not hurting so much anymore. Even if it had, the warm arms and slow heartbeat his caretaker provided were enough to make the pain go away fast.
Emile's smile stretched more as the Ashe made his way over and knelt before him, raising his arms up as a sign the child wanted into his arms. The blond complied, drawing the boy into his arms and his legs up, bending those to provide a backrest for Morphie when he attempted to get his pants back on him. That could wait though, the parental selfishness also came with parental pride and Emile was awestruck by the little body that was standing against his chest and wobbling slightly as he tried to gain his balance. Morphie was giggly as he tried, knowing inwardly he wouldn't be allowed to fall no matter how much he squirmed, his long dark hair that had been drawn into a ponytail by Emile this morning swishing against his back.
When he finally steadied himself, Morphie cast his eyes up to Emile's face, lighting up with pride at his accomplishment. His prize was a deep, bubbling laugh from the butler as well as being lifted up over the man's head like he was flying.
"Atta boy Morphie, you did it!" A trill of delight was the return for that approval, Morphie gazing down blindly at his caretaker's face though the other didn't know that fact. To Emile, the color of the boy's irises and pupils was normal; and in place of what should have been worry was a rather calm certainty that the boy was fine. Salem's eyes were strange - fully black with no real discernible pupil as far as Emile could tell - but from what he saw, that child could see as well as he did. Plus there was the fact that, while crawling, Morphie avoided any obstacles that he came upon, but the blond wasn't aware of the real reason for that. To him, his son was as normal and healthy as any child who came out of an egg that had been found in a bush and that had bat wings on its sides, and that was good enough for him. He lowered the child back down and maneuvered Morphie into a lying position against his thighs. Time to get his shorts back on, no matter how much he didn't like it, but Emile couldn't resist tickling the belly that was exposed as the tee shirt rode up a bit.
"Emiiiiiiiile no tickle!" Morphie squirmed around in his lap, giggling loudly despite his plea. His little hands wrapped around the offending ones at his middle, the sound of Emile's chuckling mixing with his own in his pointed ears. "No tickle! Emiiiile no tickle!"
The butler watched his ward writhe around in glee despite his askance of stopping and after the second round he relinquished his assault. Morphie's wiggling around stopped but his giggling continued well after at, slumping against his support with a grin on his face. "No tickle Morph-e-us."
"I won't again kiddo. I couldn't resist though." Emile said on the wings of a dying round of laughter. He kept his left hand in Morphie's grasp while his right reached behind him to snag the shorts off the couch. "How about we finally get you all dressed though, huh? Blue shirt, red shorts."
"Red?"
"Yup!" Emile straightened out the bunched up cloth and held the pair of shorts at chest height. "The red shorts. Nice and bright."
"Red..." Morphie trailed off, sounding uncertain. Emile's first thought was that he hadn't taught the child colors, so the Ashe was trying to self learn and make a connection for later use. True lessons would come later, but since it had only been five days, he'd let him learn little by little by picking up things. In truth, Morphie was trying to make a connection, but not the kind the butler figured he was. Though he couldn't see the color, something struck him as familiar about its name. It was like he vaguely knew what 'red' was, yet he couldn't describe it. And not because of his small word pool. His little grin flickered and his eyes turned up to Emile's face. "What 'red'?"
At that question and after watching the smile slowly go from his son's face, Emile's own faltered. 'What red'? Red was...Red! It was the color of the shorts that were right in front of him and about to go on his diapered bottom. Emile wasn't upset, (how could he be at that face?) but rather feeling the faint curl of uncertainty and worry twirling about his middle. He struggled to gather the right words together to explain, watching Morpheus tilt his head in questioning at him.
"Red's a color, Morphie."
"Color?" He 'saw' Emile nod at him - the man's movements stirring his born ability. "What 'color'?"
"Err..." He knew he had to expect a lot of questioning as Morphie became a child, but this one had him stumped. How does one explain what color is? What was 'color' outside hues, tones, and other technical terms that would confuse the child? He looked from the child to the shorts in his hands, brows knitting together as though willing the answer to appear in the stitching. "Well, Morphie, color is...Are...These different shades...Well, more like...Ahh..." His lips flapped together silently like a fish out of water, his brain wracking for the right words. Art teachers made this look easy.
While Emile tried to work out his explanation, his movements kept Morphie seeing the shorts in his hand without moving himself. Given that he saw things before his eyes in solid whiteness, the shorts looked like a continuation of Emile's hand, but he knew they weren't. He squinted as though to will himself to see 'color' and see the 'red' of the fabric, but the whiteness didn't change. Emile saw the 'color', why couldn't he? And he knew 'red' as 'hot' or 'burning' though he had never been into contact with such things since his birth. All this hurt his head and a frown set heavy on his starry face.
"Emile no color." He sniffled. This fragment made the butler stop his struggling and look down at Morphie, brows still knit together, but this time not in the tenseness of trying to find the right words.
"'No color'?" Morphie shook his dark head.
"No color. Emiiiiiile." The guardian's name was spoken in a whine rather than the playful tone of before. Morpheus' bottom lip was trembling and the inner corners of his eyes started to well up with the dampness that came before tears. That coil of worry was unfurling faster as he watched his son's dismay.
'No color'...Could it be he can't see the color? His brown eyes traveled all over Morpheus' face but always came back to the boy's eyes. So pale...And his pupils... Cloudy and the color of dust like the cloud that drifted around the base of the egg. He was feeling scared now. What was wrong with his son? Words lined up on his tongue as Morphie gave a wordless warbling whine; a sign he would break out into a full crying fit soon.
"Morphie...Morphie." He cleared his throat. If his voice held worry, that would only make the starry Ashe worse. "You can't see the color?"
"No. No color." One of his small fists wiped at the tears pooling and stinging his eyes, though they never left Emile's face. "No 'red'. No color."
On the positive end of the spectrum, Morpheus was only color blind. On the negative...
"Morphie, how many am I holding up?" Emile held up two fingers, his face draining as the Ashe's eyes remained on his face, not even ticking to his left to look at the blond's right hand. Despite that, Morphie's free hand mimicked Emile's and held up two fingers. Emile sat up straighter. It was the right answer, yes, but Morphie hadn't even looked. He extended his arm as far as it would go and splayed his fingers out. "How...How 'bout now?"
Again, no movement of the boy's eyes to Emile's extended hand yet he put the right number of digits out. Morphie said he couldn't see colors and his eyes made no movement; stayed trained on Emile's face yet he held up the right number of fingers when prompted twice...Tier had said Ashe were extraordinary - they looked the part so it seemed to be only natural - but...
"What is with these eyes?"
His words were murmured, but his actions were louder. Emile acted on a hunch, scooping sniffling toddler into his arms and padding down the hardwood floors to the kitchen. One of the cabinets was promptly opened after Morphie was set on the counter, far away from the edge so he wouldn't take a plummet. Emile moved boxes of dry goods and bottles of medicinal tablets around until he procured a small 'in case of blackout' pocket flashlight from the near back of the cabinet he had opened. When he turned it on, it flickered and died, but with a couple sharp whacks against his palm it was lit up fully.
"Morphie, look at me." The dark head turned toward his voice, the ponytail sweeping across the Formica surface. The Ashe sniffled again as Emile's fingers rested under his chin and tilted his head up and Morphie was aware they were shaking slightly. The hand in the flashlight was no better as he brought the small metallic tool around and directed the beam into Morphie's left eye.
No dilation.
He held it for nearly a minute more, but there was nothing. He moved to the right, that coil wrapping around his organs and squeezing them hard and causing Emile to shake more. The beam of light was focused at the dead center of Morpheus' pupil.
No dilation.
Emile's shoulders slumped and both hands fell away from their spots back to his sides. He had been deceived though he placed no blame, and only felt his mind kick himself for not spotting it sooner. Morphie stared blindly back, with himself and Emile keeping still, the image of the man and various things in the kitchen faded from his eyes, leaving him once again in the dark. He could feel Emile nearby and felt the man's happiness drain away and fully succumb into something else that he didn't understand yet.
Worry. Worry for his son, worry for himself though to a lesser degree. Back in the living room there were short stacks of help wanted and apartment listings, untouched for a day or two though the plan was to go through them in earnest when Morphie was napping today. And they would be. But for now they were left in another room, in a place where time was moving at a regular pace. In here, however, time stood still, neither body moving. The fact Emile knew someone with an Ashe of his own seemed forced completely out of his mind, all his attention on his child. Morphie heard the breath the butler took in deeply, telling him the man had come to a conclusion about what was wrong. His tears hadn't spilled over and his sniffling had stopped, but the feeling the man wafted out from his person already told him enough.
"You're blind."
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Posted: Sat Oct 03, 2009 3:45 pm
--Identity--Reserved (10/3/09)
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Posted: Fri Oct 30, 2009 2:07 pm
--You're Fired--Reserved (10/30/09)
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Posted: Fri Nov 06, 2009 7:59 pm
Reserved 11/6/09
(Possible PRP or Solo)
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