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 Posted: Sat Nov 07, 2009 8:47 pm
Herald 
When you come upon the scene, it is a weak and dying Herald that you find, unable even to stand. A few scattered feathers on the ground are the only remnants of the wings it once possessed. It has come to this place to die...or be saved? That, of course, is up to you.
You are alone when you find the angel. The Heralds have long gone unsaved, and though it appears to you, it does not hold much hope of living on. Near to where the two of you meet rests a grey stone slab that the angel seems desperate to reach. With your help, the Herald climbs upon it, needing something from you to save its life. What will you choose to give it? And what significance does that item hold for you? Is it a family heirloom? Something you happened to have on hand? Something you'd purchased earlier that day? A lucky charm?
You may have noticed that many details have been left off. This is because we want you to have plenty of freedom to develop the scene yourself. Consider time of day, weather, season, etc. when you post.
Luna was walking home from the anniversery service of a friend's death that had been held at the nearby Baptist church. Strange tradition, gathering the day someone had died. Luna wasn't much for things like this, but he had a been a close friend. She carried a simple candle she would place in her living room, just as she always did on this sad day in November. Why did people feel the need to celebrate death? It was a time for mourning, not something that should be brought up every year. She walked down the path that lead towards her house, just as she did every evening when she came home from work. She had an eerie feeling she was being watched, and turned. The hair on her neck prickled at the sight before her. She rubbed her eyes behind her glasses with a finger, and stared. A pale being, clothed in it's own hair. Large, endless blue eyes stared up at her. White feathers surrounded it, dove like feathers. What was it? It was making it's way to Luna's sunset viewing rock, just outside the woods where she lived. It didn't look like it was going to live much longer. Sunset had already passed, and it was beginning to get dark and cold. She could see no purpose... Why was it dying? Where had those feathers come from? In a light breeze, the flame of the candle flickered. Luna sighed, and pushed the glasses back up onto her nose. "Whoever you are, you'll never make it to the rock by yourself." With surprising strength for her lithe form, she helped the angel to it's feet. "You're awfully light," she commented, looking at the poor naked being. "Someone must have dumped you here to die, huh? You poor thing." She carefully led the angel to the viewing stone. "Here we are. There's not much to see tonight, though... The moon's covered by clouds..." And then she noticed that the angel was smiling. Faintly, but smiling all the same. It reached with fragile looking fingers towards Luna's hand, where she was still holding the candle. "You want this?" Luna asked with surprise. "You can have it, just be careful. You have to hold it so the wax doesn't land on your hand and burn you," she felt as if she was talking to a child in a Christmas Pagent. She carefully handed the candle to the angel, with a smile. "There. The flame won't last much longer, because of the wind... but..." Hey. The candle was gone. Luna took a double take. She stared. The angel gave her a serene smile, it no longer had the look of a dying creature. But then... It was gone. She over the edge of the rock, to make sure it hadn't fallen. There was no sign of the pale creature anywhere. Had it been an alien? She didn't think so. Maybe an angel. That would have explained the feathers. A angel had come to her for help, she could only hope that it had found it's way back to the Heavens.
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Posted: Sun Nov 08, 2009 1:09 am
Herald 11.07.09
You sit inside, protected and comfortable as the weather rages outside. The evening meal is on the table, and you're filled with an intense feeling of well-being.
Your mind veers, against your will, to the dying creature that you had come across. It certainly wouldn't be comfortable tonight. What are you thinking? It's probably already long gone. But...what if it isn't?
What's it actually like outside? Do you go in search of the Herald? What do you bring to make it more comfortable, if so? Do you even find it?
Luna had been feeling uncomfortable all afternoon. There she sat, comfortably in a longue chair, sipping hot chocolate, and trying to ignore the maternal feelings she felt for the creature she'd found only a day before. Rain was pouring down, ramming against the windows outside. She was holding a book in her lap, though she hadn't been able to get into it like she usually was. She couldn't help it. She was worried about that angel. She hoped the angel was alright. If it was still out there? What if it hadn't found it's way home at all? What if... She couldn't bear to think of it. If some harm had come to that beautiful being, she would never forgive herself. She knew she would never known what had happened unless she went to find it. She got up from her chair, setting the hot chocolate on the lampstand next to it. 'It'll probably be cold by the time I get back,' she thought. She put on a warm jacket, and took an umbrella. Having been raised in a southern Baptist type home, she knew she wouldn't have bad luck if she opened it inside, still; she opened it as soon as she got onto the porch. It was common sense. She frowned as her glasses her fogged up by the rain, and hastily put them in her pocket. "At least I can see without them," she said aloud. Maybe if she spoke, the angel would come out. She felt foolish, standing on her porch with an umbrella out. She stepped off of it, and began her search. Common sense told her that any creature caught out in a storm would head for shelter, so naturally, she headed for the pines near by the sunset rock she'd met the angel at. At first, she could find nothing. Not even a feather. Then. Brown eyes met blue; the angel had taken cover under one of the smaller trees. It was showing no signs of smiling now. It looked wet, and cold. Luna rushed over to it. "For heaven's sake, Angel!" she scolded. "You should know better than to be out in a storm like this!" Like most parents, Luna was only scolding because she was relieved to see that the angel was alright. She put her jacket over the angel's shoulders. "We're going straight home." Without another word, Luna helped the angel to it's feet. "We're going home, and getting you some hot chocolate. Then you are not to leave the house." Luna sounded stern. The poor angel! Why hadn't it come home with her the day before? It could have saved itself a lot of trouble, and from Luna's lecturing. "I was worried about you, Angel. And You need a name. If you're going to stay in my house, I'll need to know what to call you... Michael. Do you like that? You don't look much like the Archangel described in the Bible, you know. No, he was strong and powerful, head of God's army. I suppose you were powerful once too. Though now, you look like you're in need of a place to stay. And some clothes." Luna said all this as she led the angel inside. "And maybe some chicken noodle soup," Luna said as she sat the angel down on her chair. "You stay there, Michael," she said as she went out into the kitchen to make some more hot chocolate.
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Posted: Wed Dec 02, 2009 11:32 pm
Herald 11.07.09
Time has passed, and your Herald is becoming fond of you and beginning to show affection. You two have grown closer, but that's not the only aspect of growing.
The Herald is maturing into a young child before your eyes. No longer dying and weak and no longer sexless, it now has beautiful angel white hair and dark blue eyes of unusual depth. You may have noticed that the Herald has been scratching and touching its back for a while, and now it's finally explained. The herald's wings have started to grow in.
How do you deal with the child's discomfort? Do you have any remedies to ease it? How does he/she react? How do the wings reflect the item given?
Luna had become accustom to Michael's presence in the two weeks since she'd first invited him to stay with her. His condition had improved with time, plenty of chicken noodle soup, and Luna's expert care. Maybe not expert; she'd never taken care of an angel before. "I still don't understand it, Michael," she muttered, crossing the living room to the guest room the angel had taken sactuary in. She had grown accustom to talking to herself and acting as if she was speaking to the angel, as well. "I don't see why you were sent here, of all places." This was a commonly brought up subject; though, of course, the angel never answered her inquiries. He didn't seem to say much of anything really; giving Luna more room for curiousity. She was carrying a bowl of soup, which had been set on a wooden tray with care. A single spoon had been neatly wrapped into a napkin, and saltine crackers were laid in a decorative circle around the bowl. She stepped into the guest room with equal care. "Michael? You hungry? I've made you some more soup." Michael never complained about Luna's cooking, another thing she liked about him. She glanced about the room. She couldn't see Michael. This was something, because the angel was rather difficult to miss with his pure white hair, and the brightly colored clothes Luna had bought for him. Was he playing hide-n-seek? She didn't think so. She set the tray down on the bedside table in Michael's room, before walking out. "Michael? Lunch time!" This was strange. In the two weeks Luna had known the angel, she had never known it to--never mind. It had done this before; the night Luna had first met it. Was this a repeat of that episode? Now that the angel was healthy, had he disappeared on her? Luna hoped not. She had grown rather close to Michael; and, if she was honest with herself, had intended for him to stay quite some time. Then she heard it; a whimper. If the woman had been more observant, she would have noticed that the guest bathroom's door was open; barely, it was true. She made her way to the small bathroom near the guest room. "Michael, are you in there?" She inquired, as usual, she didn't expect a reply. She pushed the door open with ease. The sound she had heard prompted her; normally she would have knocked. "Michael, what are you doing?" Was the inquiry, before she took a moment to study her surroundings. There was a small boy there, in the place of Michael. He was tearing at something that vaguely resembled candle wax coming from his back. Luna stared. The first reaction that came into her mind was logical; Michael had left, and sent this boy to keep her company. The second one wasn't much better. Luna stood back, and looked at the child for a moment. Same eyes; the endless tidal waves of blue, the eyes that never seemed to want to let her go. Same snow-white hair, though it seemed like some of it had fallen out. She saw the evidence of that on the floor. Why hadn't she noticed that before? Luna carefully knelt down to the child's level, and gave him a smile. "Your wings are growing back, aren't they?" The look she recieved was so full of pain, of confusion, she knew he had no memory of his past. "Mommy... Hurts. They hurt. Itchy." He reached a hand around to point, his small arms couldn't reach his wings. The surrounding skin was looked inflamed, the shoulder blades underneath; swollen. Luna's smile fell. Why did the first words Michael ever said to her have to be those? She had always imagined angels getting their wings in a painless way; like how they showed it in cartoons, with another angel pinning a button onto their clothes. This couldn't have been any more different. "Here," Luna said, opening the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. She knew she had some lotion in there somewhere. Ah! She picked up a half used bottle of aloe. "This'll feel cold," she warned him, before squirting some onto her hand. "Hold still." Michael did as he was told, though he was obviously in quite a bit of pain. Luna gently spread the lotion around the rash, taking care not to touch the newly forming wings. She hoped it'd work. She took Michael onto her lap. "Don't pull at them anymore, alright? You'll make it hurt worse." Michael nodded, craning his neck back so he could look at her. His blue eyes were full of graditude. "Thank you," he said. "Feels better now." Luna took his hand, and led him into the guest room--well, she supposed it was Michael's room now. She took a pair of scissors from her sewing kit she conviently kept on top of the dresser. She pulled out a white t-shirt from one of the drawers. She neatly cut two wing sized holes. "Hold your arms up." Michael did. The shirt was gently pulled over his head. With care, the new wings were guided through each hole. Luna stood back to study her handy work, and smiled. There. Now he really looked like he belonged.
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Posted: Mon Dec 14, 2009 9:37 pm
Herald 12.04.09
Your Herald has been acting strangely all morning, sneaking around the house, and jumping at every small noise. The cause of this behavior is discovered shortly; you find that a priceless object has been broken and it would appear that it was your Herald that broke it.
What is the object and what is its importance? How do you react to this? Do you punish them or let them off with a warning? How does your Herald react? Was it your Herald that broke the object or maybe s/he was an observer to the act?
Luna walked into the living room where Michael was watching tv. The angel in minature was watching Tom and Jerry, sitting on the couch cross-legged and his hands folded in his lap. Luna was holding a plate of cookies, and made her way over to him with ease. She set it down on the coffee table in front of him, and was surprised when he flinched. "You okay, Michael?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. She sat on the couch next to him, brown eyes scanning his face. "I okay Mommy," he responded after a moment's hesitation. He forced a smile, keeping his eyes on the television. Something was troubling him. She had never known him to behave in this fashion; he was usually bright eyed and cheerful. His wings seemed to be reflecting his mood, the flames on the tips of each were small and flickering. Like a candle that'd been out in the wind. Inwardly wondering what this meant, she took a cookie from the plate on the table. She took a bite of it, relishing the sheer warm gooeyness, while carefully watching her son. He was jumpy, visibly twitching at the smallest of movements. "Do you think you've come down with something?" "No," he replied. "I okay." As if to prove his point, he took a cookie. He hoped she wouldn't find out about the vase. He had never seen Mommy mad, and he didn't want to risk it. He knew she would be mad, because it was always the one with the prettiest flowers inside it. He knew she would be mad because she had once told him it had been a present from her mother. He knew--he just knew-- "Aren't you going to try it?" Luna asked. "Do you want a glass of milk to go with it?" Michael shook his head, but it was too late. Luna had already stood up and headed for the kitchen. Oh please, don't let her look at the table! He silently prepared himself for a sound scolding. It never came. "Oh Michael, did you make this?" Luna was holding up a piece of paper. Michael gave a sigh of relief, before walking into the kitchen. Maybe it had all been a bad dream. But no, there the vase was, pieces still on the floor. They were being swept up by Luna. "I mean the drawing, it's lovely. You've really got an eye for art," she said as she continued to sweep up the broken glass. "You should have told me about the vase though; if you'd come in here with bare feet, you could have gotten hurt." Michael stared at her in disbelief. How could she not be mad? "You're not mad?" he asked, watching as she dumped the vase's remains into the trash. "No, I'm not mad," Luna said, looking at him seriously. "A bit dissapointed. Really, you should have told me. It was an accident, wasn't it? And you've already made up for it," she said, putting the drawing onto the fridge. "You've given me something special," she paused, seeing his look. "Anyway, I never liked that vase much. Too dull; didn't you ever wonder why it always had flowers in it? I suppose it cost mother quite a bit--but anything you make is worth ten of it." Luna had figured out the mystery. Michael had been acting frightened because he had been afraid she would be angry with him. She took his hand, and pulled him into a hug. "Next time, don't be afraid to tell me when something happens alright? Nothing you do could make me love you any less. You're worth more than any object I possess."
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 9:14 pm
Quote: It is the holidays. What do you do to celebrate? How does your Herald react? Do you have to explain much detail? Does something go wrong; if so, how do you and your Herald handle the situation? Christmas, Luna's favorite time of year. It wasn't for the colors, the gifts, or Santa Claus either. It was the time of year she felt closest to God. She was glad it had come at a time when Michael was still young enough to learn about the reason for celebrating Christmas without the fanfair and pagantries that the celebration of Christ's birth had become through the generations. Of course, that didn't mean she wouldn't be following tradition. "Michael, want to set the tree up with me?" she asked, glancing towards her son. After thinking about it, maybe having Michael near a tree wasn't such a good idea. After all, he did have flames on the tips of his wings; that was a fire hazard if Luna had ever seen one. "Never mind," she said, giving the confused toddler a smile. "You can help me with cookies in a few." It didn't take her very long, setting up the tree by herself. She had done it for years; ever since she'd moved out of her parents' home. She stood back to admire her handiwork. There, the once plain ever "Looks good, doesn't it?" Michael was silent for a moment; if he hadn't been confused before, he certainly was now. He stared at the tree, his face was filled with wonder. Only one word could sum up what he was thinking now; "Why?" Luna paused, and looked to her son. "Why?" she echoed, perplexed. Realization struck her like a thief in the night. Michael wouldn't have learned about Christmas traditions when he'd been an angel; and if he had, he hadn't shown signs of possessing any memory of the past. "Oh. Well, Christmas trees are symbols of hope. They're like arrows, pointing to Heaven. Where you came from. The star on top--" she gestured to the gold one she'd placed on the top of their tree, "is supposed to be the star that appeared when Jesus was born." Thinking that she had explained it well enough for his satsifation, she fell silent. For a while, the silence stood. Michael broke it with an identical question to his last. "Why?" At first Luna wasn't certain of how to answer his question. Why? Why what? What did he want to know? She took her Bible off the coffee table and turned to the book of Luke. "I can do better than answer your questions," she told him with a smile, sitting on the couch and pulling Michael into her lap. "I'll read the story of what happened the night Jesus was born." She rested her chin on his head, and began to read. "In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. And everyone went to his own town to register. So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn." Luna paused in her reading, as she did when she was teaching Sunday school to see if Michael had a question. As she had expected, he did. He was looking at the color picture in the Bible of the nativity scene. He pointed to one of the wise men, who was bowing and offering gold to the baby. "Why?" "The wisemen gave Jesus gifts because he was a king," Luna explained, looking down at Michael with a smile. "But you'll learn about that later, want me to keep reading?" It was a good strategy, asking a child if they wanted you to continue. The answer was always yes, even if they were just about to fall asleep. Michael nodded, though he continued to stare at the picture. Luna had admired it herself; it was one of the few colored images in her New International Version. She guessed he might have been a little young to understand the fullness that was the story. "And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.'" She paused, and looked down to her son. "What a manager?" Michael asked. Predictably, he mispronounced it. Luna paused; how could she explain to a toddler that the King of Kings had been born-- "Well it's like a box they used to feed animals," she tried. "Oh." Luna decided to continue, realizing Michael wasn't going to say more on the subject. The toddler was unsuaully soft spoken today; she hoped the holiday wasn't overwelming him. "Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.'" "Can we make cookies now?" Michael asked, plaintively. "Please?"
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Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 12:25 pm
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Posted: Sun Feb 07, 2010 2:05 pm
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Posted: Sun Feb 07, 2010 4:51 pm
Quote: It's now time for your Herald to learn about the birds and the bees- and how hard they sting! What a neglecting guardian... How does your Herald react to a bee-sting, and how did it happen? It was bound to happen, with Michael's curiosity. It was bound to happen, given the fact that they lived in the woods. Luna had expected it, but not quite so early in the year. She might have been wary if it had been September, when the bees were running out of food and tended to be angry. The thing Luna hadn't expected was simple; she had never thought to explain to Michael not to pick up a dead bee. She thought it was common sense. It might have been, but not for a toddler with an endless amount of curiosity and a thirst for adventure. That is, until he got stung. A small surge of guilt went through Luna; a small one, for she felt she should have warned him. Michael was shaking his hand in pain, biting his lip and quite obviously trying not to cry. Luna had never yet heard him cry, and she didn't look forward to it. To hear an angel cry must be a horrible thing indeed. Angels were supposed to be happy creatures. Always praising God, always celebrating. She took his hand gently, and looked it over. She spotted the stinger embedded in his thumb. She took hers and gently rubbed over it, taking the stinger out in a professional fashion. "There," she said, kneeling to the sniffling boy's level. "That's why we don't touch bees. Even when they're dead, they can sting. Don't worry though; you're not allergic. You'd be swollen like a balloon." She held her breath and puffed up her cheeks, in hopes this demonstration would cheer Michael up. It did. A giggle escaped his lips, and a cherubic (no pun intended) smile made its way slowly across his face. "Dun wanna be a balloon," he confided. Luna shook her head and chuckled. "No indeed," she agreed. "You'd make a rather good hot air balloon, though, with your wings," she said, glancing at them. They had become increasingly candle like. They felt more like wax than the original feathers Luna remembered seeing strewn across the forest floor when she'd first found Michael. She had decided that his wings were being reformed based on the candle she'd given him. The loss of his wings then, had been the cause of the angel's hurt. Michael broke her train of thought. "Mommy," he said, "it still hurts." The complete faith he had, in the fact that his parent could make everything better made Luna wonder. Perhaps there were undiscovered memories, just hidden beneath the surface. When Luna did nothing, Michael became more insistent. "It still hurts." Luna took his thumb and pressed it to her lips. It was an universal cure; and one she knew well. "I'll get an ice pack," she told him. She left her son in the living room to fetch one from the freezer. She carefully wrapped it in a washcloth so it wouldn't be too cold on Michael's hand. She hurried back to Michael, who was presently sucking the stung thumb. "Don't do that Mickey," she chided him. "Here, this will make it stop hurting." She hoped it would, anyway. She pressed the ice pack into Michael's hand. "Don't press too hard, or it won't help," she told him. "Tell me when it starts melting, and I'll get you another one if you need it." Michael seemed to be enjoying the attention he was receiving; and so Luna was not at all surprised when he climbed onto the couch. "Tell me a story," he said, looking up at his mother with the endless blue eyes he knew she was never able to resist. "Tell me a story 'bout a prince fighting a bee! The bee gotta have a s'ord though." Luna smiled. A story about a brave prince who had fought an evil bee. That she could do. "Alright. Once upon a time, there was a prince named Michael..."
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Posted: Sun Feb 07, 2010 5:59 pm
Quote: What is your Herald's favorite food(s)? What happens when s/he refuses to eat anything else? Thali's taken the liberty to add to this prompt: Why is it your herald's favorite food? Because of the flavor? Because of the color? The texture? What is it about this food? Michael was normally a healthy eater, he generally wasn't very picky, either. He had an agreeable disposition and never complained. Though, if he had, Luna was the kind of person who would make a separate meal for a child if they said something about disliking what was on their plate. She was the kind of person who would let a child pick out their meals, three times a day, seven days a week, as long as it was healthy. Meaning, Michael could not simply choose to eat cookies or candy, or whatever he pleased. He had to pick something within the realm of the mealtime. He had developed three favorite dishes, not just one. Three. In the morning he liked to have Captain Crunch. Every morning at nine sharp. In the afternoon, around twelve thirty, he liked to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with apple slices on the side. And around six o'clock, every evening, he insisted on having an old favorite. Macaroni and cheese, with a side of vegetables; he didn't seem to mind which kind those were. He had only recently become picky; the peanut butter had to be crunchy, or he wouldn't so much as look at it. Likewise, the jelly had to be exactly the right flavor on a given day; on Monday, he insisted on strawberry. What Michael especially hated was when Luna tried to switch up the flavors of his macaroni and cheese. It was supposed to be cheddar. It had to be cheddar. Every night, at six o'clock exactly. Luna knew enough about children to have realized that Michael was rebelling. He had always been such a sweet child, always so easy to please. She was no expert in childhood psychology, though she had firmly decided that this was a phase and that the best thing to do was to go with it and it would soon be over. Unfortunately, Michael seemed to have learned what she was doing, and it had gotten worse. This phase was not the experimental stage children fell into when they were first discovering what they liked. This stage wasn't the one where children focused on one thing and refused all others. Luna's wealth of knowledge due to the vast amount of books she had read told her that Michael had simply hit what some parents called the terrible twos. He was testing the limits; the rules of the house. Luna decided it was time to take up her job as parent and inform him that what he was doing was wrong; not to mention annoying, expensive, and a waste of time. So while Michael was eating breakfast, Captain Crunch for the seventh time that week, she sat down with him. "Michael, I'm tired of making the same thing every day," she said. "Why?" Michael asked, spoon halfway to his mouth. He looked almost comic, if Luna hadn't been so annoyed with his antics during the past week, she would have laughed. "Because. I don't want to go to the store to buy only Captain Crunch, PB&J's and mac and cheese," she said. "I've had them so often lately--" she sighed. "You can't always have what you want, Mickey," she tried explaining. "Life is about spontaneity; it's like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get. Sometimes it might be something you don't especially like. Maybe it'll be something you've never tried. You won't know until you try it, though." Michael had wisely decided to place his spoon back into his bowl. He watched the swirling contents for a moment, before looking back to his mother. His question was predictable, his face was as easily read as an open book. "Why?" "Because, Mickey. You can't have your entire life planned out. It's impossible. Things happen to change plans, and God's ways aren't always our own, see? We don't even know if we're going to be here tomorrow; don't worry about what you're going to eat! You never did before. Don't I always provide you with something? I'm not going to let you starve--nor poison you," she teased when Michael looked at his cereal doubtfully. Instead of the three lettered question Luna had come to expect every time she spoke with her son, Michael gave her a smile. "Okay," he said. "Can we have pizza 'night?" "As long as we don't have it every night."
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Posted: Sat Jun 05, 2010 6:03 pm
Quote: Your child wants a pet. They have been bothering you about this for quite some time. Is it reasonable? Does the creature in question even exist, or a manner of an over active imagination? What is it? Will you give them the chance to be responsible and take care of it? Or do you have to explain that you don't think they're quite ready? Reserved
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Posted: Thu Jun 17, 2010 10:51 pm
RP With Thypope The woods were pretty, and inspiring, but not quite the type of place Sadie frequented - for one thing, she had been born in the city, and she had been raised in the city. She liked seeing grit on the buildings worn by pollution, bright, unnatural colors and the funny curves and straight lines of modern architecture. Hey, she was all for going green, saving the world and all that but what they had was nice and it was different. She'd miss it, if they ever moved past that stage. Sadie turned, tucked her duck-patterned scarf closer to her neck, and smoothed out her shirt. Nothing changed the woods' natural beauty, though - they were peaceful, and the whisper of the wind through the leaves and the twigs snapping underneath her sneaker-clad feet were nothing like her home city's paved streets. "Hello, hello~" she called into the forest, probably startling a few squirrels and birds out of their carefully-chosen positions. Yeah, she was far from home, but that didn't mean she couldn't have fun! Luna was walking down the path from her house, relishing the sunshine that had been so rare that spring. "Come on, Michael! It's not raining!" she called to her son. Michael had a phobia of all things wet--for good reason. His sacrifice had been a candle, and though Luna had assured him that he would -not- go out like a flame, he didn't seem to believe her. She was heading for her favorite sunset rock when she noticed something. "Do you hear something, Mickey?" she asked, straining her ears. Wind, twigs snapping, the sound of someone walking... someone calling. "I wonder who that is," she mused. She was too used to living alone in the woods, really. She took Michael's hand and started to make her way towards where the echoes were coming from. Maybe they'd make a new friend. Conversation was an unmistakeable sound. Sadie doubled back, trying to figure out what she'd just heard - it wasn't the sound of anyone she knew, that was for sure. Then she realized she was headed in the opposite direction of the voices, and she stepped toward the path with some trepidation. The voices sounded friendly, at least - and the people coming toward her on the path looked like they were, too. "Hey!" she called toward them, belatedly noticing that one of them...was he wearing costume wings? With flames? Luna waved in response, well so far, the woman seemed friendly. "I didn't know anyone else lived this far into the woods," she commented once she reached the woman, "I'm Luna Watson, and this is my son, Michael." She gestured to the toddler, who was presently looking around with wide blue eyes. "Mommy!" He called. "Maybe we'll find someone like me!" He glanced around again, before evenutally noticing Sadie. "Hi! Are you looking for an a'gel too? I'm an a'gel. Mommy says so." Sadie blinked. "Uh - I don't actually live in the woods at all. I'm from the city - just, you know, hiking," she admitted. "Sadie Beake," she added, offering her hand for a shake. "It's nice to meet you. I saw an angel, well - awhile ago. I don't know...what happened to it?" She blinked, speaking the words as if she was unsure. She tilted her head at the child. "Are angels common around here? It was a few miles off - in bad shape, though. Long white hair and sky-blue eyes, and lots of feathers." She gestured vaguely. "Oh, hiking," Luna said. "How do you like here compared to there? Big difference, I know. I used to live in Barton," she said, shaking her hand. Then she stared for a moment. "You saw an angel?" she asked. "Did you try to help it? Did you give it something?" she looked at Michael for a moment, as if willing him to be silent. "I found Michael in the woods here--as a dying angel. He's been looking for them ever since he changed," she shrugged. "I suppose he wants to help them too." "It's peaceful, I guess," Sadie began. "Not as rush-y, you know - I'm from Aekea, personally, but the forest is always beautiful, and definitely a change of place. There's no place like home, though." She paused to take in the new onslaught of information. Woah - she hadn't known that dying angels were that common! "I...you could say I gave it something. A whole box of markers - Copics, you know, so - uh, sorry, they're, uh, art markers. Really pretty, um." She glanced over at Michael again. "Michael - did...I mean, was Mich - did Michael look like this when you found him?" Did angels abandon their children to die, too? She'd assumed the one she'd found was old, but... "Helping them is good, though! Totally cool!" she grinned, raising her hands in defense. "I didn't know anything about angels until recently." "It's prettier here," Luna mused, looking around. "Rather lonely, but beautiful. Markers?" She paused and considered this. Michael's wings had become like a candle, the item she had given him. "I gave Michael a candle," she explained, before shaking her head at the woman's next question. "No, he didn't. He was..." she glanced at the toddler. "Well, an adult. At least, I think he was. He looked more human too, he'd lost his wings--longer hair. I thought he was dying, so after I found him the next time, I took him to my house." "Yeah - I color almost everything with markers," Sadie nodded, and raised her eyebrows at the comment about Michael's apparent age. "It's good to know they don't abandon their kids to die, then," she said, and then, "I wonder how the candle - " Sadie glanced over at Michael. "Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, kid," she murmured. His wings looked a lot like candles, in fact. "I haven't seen, uh, the one I saw since, unfortunately - it was a little...I went back to look and it just." She spread her arms, shrugged her shoulders. "There was no one there." Michael seemed oblivious to the two adults' conversation, as toddlers tended to do, he had tuned them out and was animately talking to a squrriel that was several feet up on a thin branch above him. "You should go back," Luna said with a nod. "Where you found him. Michael disappeared on me too. He was there one moment, and then--poof. Gone, with the candle. I think you'll be able to find your angel too. Poor kiddo, I found him in the middle of a storm, you know? He shouldn't have disappeared on me... I would have taken care of him." "Mine ran with my markers, actually," Sadie giggled. "I don't know - I did go back to the place, it was one of those...you know, Zen Garden things? It was leaned up against a giant rock and I went back and it just wasn't...there, you know." She paused, running her hands through her hair. "Maybe I'll have a go again someday," she murmured. "I hope I can find the angel. It was...it was a gorgeous sight, even...tragic, but gorgeous." It had definitely been an inspiration, at least - although every artist was inspired by angels at some point, she supposed. Luna blinked. "Yours was in better condition than Michael then," she mused. "He could barely crawl, but it seems rocks are a common theme. I had to help Michael to his--I wonder what they use them for... I thought he wanted to see the moon, or something." Michael had at last lost interest in the squirrel and turned his attention to Sadie. "Go back. 'ave him. Gonna die, if you dun. He gonna die. A'ways die." He said it in such solomn tone that Luna stared at him. Why did the toddler sound like he was speaking from experience? How would he know if the angels died or not? "If angel falled, they gonna die. Someone gotta help them "Well, I don't know if it ran - I'm using it as an expression - it just kind of disappeared when I wasn't looking. With my markers." She sounded crazy, even to her own ears. But not... She turned to Michael. "Are you sure he'll die?" She didn't question that Michael knew the angel's gender. "I mean...death's a little morbid, right?" It had been left out to die, though. It had been dying when she'd seen it, saved it. "I mean..." She frowned, obviously taken aback. Michael nodded, looking up at Sadie. "If no one 'ave him, he gonna die," the toddler said. "Gotta find him. He falled, he die. 'Less someone 'ave him." Luna frowned slightly, before taking her eyes off the toddler. "He's never said anything like that before," she commented, almost to herself. "I don't know if he really knows--he never seems to remember anything..." She fell silent, feeling awkward. "I can only suggest you look for him as soon as you are able." "That's..." It was frightening. Sadie took a breath, glanced up at Luna, and took a breath again. "I hope he doesn't die - I'll. I'll look for him, really." She didn't know if he was dead. Dead was a lot of effort - markers wasted, she thought to herself, and then winced. That was insensitive. "I hope he's not dead." She wasn't prepared to deal with death of any sort - she was a college student - an animation major! She did silly cartoon doodles on Saturdays and death was something she banished to the back of her mind unless she was watching a Disney. "I promise I'll try to find him." Michael gave Sadie a smile, before hugging the woman around the knees. "Good," he said. "Tank you. Come see the sunning rock with us? Mommy says there's a nest of baby robins!" And just like that, the toddler had changed the subject, oblivious to the shadow it had put over the two women's conversation. "Maybe we can see them!" Michael was off, toddling and stubbling his way over to the christened "sunning rock". Luna grinned, and looked to Sadie. "Might as well humor him. Maybe it'll give you inspiration, you said you were an artist, right? It's a beautiful view." He was...ridiculously adorable, although the death thing was more than a little frightening. But, a sunning rock? ...well, it was worth a gander. "S-sure," Sadie shrugged at Luna, still more than a little weirded out by the conversation topic Michael had brought up. "Baby robins are cool, but I don't think you're supposed to touch them!" she warned, chasing after Michael with a grin. Maybe she ought to come back to these woods more often. "I'd never touch one!" Michael said, pausing and turning to look at her. "Then their mommies might leave them!" He was apparently horrified at the very thought. "Come on!" Luna followed after Sadie with a smile. It seemed they had made a friend, and Michael certainly seemed to like her. "Are you coming?" Michael demanded, looking at his mother. "Mommy! You're so slow." "Well - " Sadie paused awkwardly, and shrugged as she followed him all the way. She was still limber, but not in top shape or anything. She didn't have the toddler's apparent boundless energy. The Gaian brushed a hand through her hair, cropped short as it was, and gasped as the sunning rock came into view. "Holy s**t..." she said. "I mean, um." Michael shook his head at Sadie, grinning. "Dun say bad words. Mommy might get mad, she has a whole list of words I can't say. Like 'tupid," he warned her. "It pretty, isn't it?" He sat down on the smooth sunning rock. "Come sit." It wasn't long before Luna had joined them. She wiped her forehead with her shirt sleeve, before grinning at Sadie. "Like it? I come here to see the sunset. It gives me ideas when I have writers block. Do artists get blocks? I don't know what you do for them." "Yeah, I'd imagine you're not supposed to...say words like that." Sadie coughed, waving at Luna. "Sorry we left you behind, Luna!" She stretched her limbs out, and spun around to get a fuller perspective. "Whooo! Yeah, we get artists' block sometimes. I mainly just sit around, hit up Google, wait for a storm. I like storms, I don't know." "I dun like s'orms," Michael said suddenly. "They're wet, and noisy and scary, and cold." Perhaps it was his experience in the storm he'd been found in that drove his dislike for them, or perhaps it was simply his phobia of all things wet. "Lightening storms are always pretty," Luna mused. "Dangerous, but pretty. I like watching them from inside." "They are, when you're outside, but - they're rhythmic, kind of. And lightning makes gorgeous patterns." Sadie grinned. She didn't go out in storms too often - or she hadn't, until recently. Maybe it was meeting the angel that had made her so willing to risk her life. "But sunny days are lovely too."
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Posted: Sun Jun 20, 2010 12:57 am
Thaliawen Messenger Reborn-Child- Prompt 8- The Littlest AngelYour child wants you to read him/her a story, and will not stop pestering you until you do so. What book is it? Why does your child want you to read it to them, why this certain book? Is it an old favorite, or new? Is it a bedtime story, or a seemingly random request? Do you read it to them? A favorite story of Michael's, despite it being no where near Christmas, had always been 'The Littlest Angel' by Charles Tazewell. Luna had indulgently, lovingly, and patiently read the book to him so many times that she no longer needed to look at the words to know what they said. She had memorized the entire children's book, and while some might have said it was impressive, and others might have admired her memory, she found it bothersome. It wasn't that she disliked the book--it was a cute story, it really was; but after reading even the best book several times, you begin to lose your love for it. Of course, being the mother she was, she was quite willing to read it each time Michael asked. He had that perfect look toddlers tended to do, after all; the adorable smile and unblemished, dimpled skin that made it impossible to refuse. "Read me a s'ory?" the toddler asked, climbing into Luna's lap as he always did right before bed. He head up his hard cover copy of the book Luna dreaded so much. Luna sighed inwardly, before smiling and taking the book. She held it in front of him so he could see the pictures, resting her head on his so she could read. "Once upon a time--oh, many many years ago as time is calculated by men--but which was only yesterday in the celestial calendar of heaven--there was, in paradise, a most miserble, thoroughly unhappy and untterly dejected cherub who was known throughout Heaven as "The Littlest Angel". He was exactly four years, six months, five days, seven hours, and forty two minutes of age when he presented himself to the venerable gatekeeper and waited for admittance to the glorious kingdom of God." "What ven-er-able?" Michael asked, breaking the word into syllables. He usually picked out a word and asked a question about it, perhaps unknowingly increasing his vocabulary. Luna thought about it. Venerable, someone deserving to be venerated. Someone who was respected because of age, character, and what they had done. Someone who carried the impression of being old and kind. How could she explain that to a toddler? "Well, a venerable person would be someone old, wise, and kind," she tried. Michael was silent for a moment, before turning the page to look at the next picture. "Like my 'unday school teacher?" he asked. Granted, the man who taught his Sunday school class wasn't over forty; Michael was at the stage where anyone who appeared older than his mother was considered old. They read two pages more, before Michael interrupted his mother's reading. "What ether-real?" he asked, mispronouncing the word. Luna had been ready for this question. "Heavenly," she explained with a smile. "Beyond the world." "Oh. Like me!" "...No, silly. It usually means you can't touch it." Michael considered this. "Like bubbles?" he asked. "Bubbles pop if you touch 'em." Luna decided to end this discussion; perhaps Michael was too young to understand such a word. She continued to read. "Although these flaws in behavior might have been overlooked, the general appearance of the Littlest Angl was even more disreputable than his deportment. It was first whispered among the seraphim and cherubim, and then said aloud among the angels and archangels that he didn't even look like an angel! And they were all quite correct. His halo was permanently tarnished where he held onto it with one hot, little chubby hand when he ran, and he was always running. Furthermore, even when he stood very still, it never behaved like a halo should." "I dun have a halo," Michael observed with a frown. He even looked up to see if the halo was hiding somewhere over his head. "Why dun I have a halo?" Luna thought about it. Michael was a herald, a messenger. Did angels even actually have halos? They seemed to in all the movies and cartoons she'd seen. "You know, Gabriel was a herald, just like you," she said, having considered this and poking his nose. "And he had the the most important job of all, telling people to prepare for Jesus. Maybe some angels have halos and some don't. Maybe heralds don't because they deal with people." She paused, and smiled down at him. "Because, you know, most people would be pretty frightened if they saw someone glowing." Michael was content with that, at least for the moment. They continued to read; they were nearing the end of the book, to Luna's relief. "And the voice of God spoke, saying; Of all the gifts of all the angels, I found this small box pleases me most. Its contents are of the earth and of men, and my Son is born to be king of both. These are the things my Son, too, will love and cherish, and then, regretfully, will leave behind him when his task is done. I accept this gift in the name of the child, Jesus, born of Mary this night in Bethlehem." "But why?" Michael asked, as he did every time they came to this part of the book. "Why did he like the little a'gel's gift best? All the other a'gels' gifts were better." "Were they?" Luna asked. "Were they really? The little angel's gift was best, I think, because it was all the little angel had to give." When Michael made no response, she continued to read. "There it shone on that night of miracles, and its light reflected down the centuries deep in the heart of all mankind. Yet, earthly eyes, blinded too, by it's splendor, could never know that the lowly gift of the Littlest Angel was what all men would call forever, 'The shining star of Bethlehem'!" Finished with the book at last, she set it down on Michael's bedside table. She looked down at her lap, to see if he had any more questions. She smiled; the toddler had fallen asleep. She gently placed him on his bed, careful not to wake him, and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Goodnight, my little angel."
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Posted: Tue Jun 22, 2010 3:40 pm
Thaliawen Messenger Reborn-Child Your herald is being bullied by someone they know. Is the person older or younger? Why are they bullying your herald? How does your herald feel? Do they talk to you about it? Can you comfort them, if they're upset? Do they have a plan to stop the bullying? Do you? Do you have any advice for them? Do you tell them a story about when you were a child? Michael had come home unhappy for the third time from his Tuesday and Thursday preschool. The teacher was christian, and well known to Luna, so the woman had had no hesitation in sending him. Something about his expression made her consider something she hadn't thought to before. Were people bothering him at school? She decided to sit the toddler down and question him, and of course, she knew the best way to do so. She had set a plate of warm, gooey, chocolate chip cookies on the table, with two glasses of milk. As she had figured, the toddler headed straight for them. Once he'd climbed onto his chair (which was really a wooden chair with several books and a cushion under him so he could reach the table), Luna took her place next to him. "So something's troubling you at school?" she asked. Michael was silent as he took a cookie and bit into it. He pointed to his mouth, implying that he didn't want to talk with his mouth full. "Is someone teasing you?" Luna pressed. "Do you have friends? Is someone being mean to you on the play ground?" "No," Michael said evasively. "No to what question?" "No. Someone's not tea'ing me." Michael avoided further questioning by taking another cookie. Finishing it, he said, "Why?" Luna studied him for a moment. Was her son lying? His features weren't giving any signs of dishonesty. Either he thought what the other children were doing wasn't teasing, or they weren't pestering him. "Then why have you been so quiet since you started going?" she asked. "You hardly say anything. That's not like you, Mickey." She took the plate of cookies out of his reach to keep him from avoiding more of her questions. "What's bothering you?" Michael hesitated for a moment, another strange thing for the toddler. He was usually so bubbly, so full of laughter and inquisitiveness. "They think I'm weird," he confessed. "They stare. They watch me when I move. Someti'es I hear them w'ispering." "And what do they say?" Luna prompted. Michael was silent for a long moment. So long that Luna thought he wouldn't answer at all. "I'm diff'rent," he mumbled. "They call me 'bird' and all sorts of stuff. Not nice..." He reached for a cookie, and this time, Luna let him take one. "Did you tell them you're an angel?" she questioned, eyebrows furrowing. If children were bullying her son, why wasn't anyone stopping them? Why wasn't the teacher punishing the children for bullying? "If they're teasing you... Maybe you shouldn't be going," she muttered, as if to herself. Michael took a bite of his cookie, chewed, swallowed, and then frowned at his mother. "But I like going," he said. "I got f'iends. And I like learning," he added as an after thought. "Like bein' with people and stuff. Just not... bein' called a bird. I'm not a bird. They say I'm a bird that can't fly," he explained, finishing his cookie and pouting. "You're an angel," Luna said with a shake of her head. "I'm surprised they can't tell the difference," she mused, as if questioning the childrens' intelligence. Surely even a preschooler could tell the difference between a bird and an angel, right? "Well, you know, I know a secret about bullies," she said in a hushed tone. "They might be jealous, because they don't have wings. They might be trying to hurt your feelings so you don't know that they want them too." Michael looked doubtful. His eyes lowered from his mother's face and settled on the cookie in his hands. "But they act like wings are bad," he mumbled. "Diff'rent." Luna sighed, and placed a hand on his head to ruffle his hair. "What do you think should matter more? What people think, or what God thinks? He created you--he certainly doesn't think you're weird or different," when the toddler smiled, she continued, "He loves you, just the way you are. And so do I. Wings and all."
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Posted: Wed Jun 30, 2010 3:18 pm
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 12:32 pm
Quote: Sadie still couldn't get over the fact that Raeburn was a kid now. A kid with rainbow-colored feathers on his wings (wings!). She had no idea what to do with a kid - mostly she entertained him with coloring books and how-to-draw-Neopets manuals, printed out from her computer. He loved to draw and color more than she had when she was younger. It was difficult to get him anywhere without art supplies, and she'd only just managed to do it now - they were back in the woods where she'd met Luna and Michael, since it was probably them that she had to thank for her new charge. "Are you painting here?" Raeburn asked, giving the forest around them a critical eye. "There's not enough light." His wings fluttered as he spoke, a small frown on his face. "Not..." frowned Sadie, and sighed. She'd forgotten to ask for directions to Luna's house, and there was no guarantee that her friends would be on this path anyway. But if Raeburn wanted light - well, there was that sunning rock that they'd visited last time. There was a much higher chance of running into them there. She headed for it, yelling a "Come on!" over her shoulder. "There's a gorgeous view right about...here." Michael was out in the woods, playing. He had intended on finding some animals to make friends with, but instead he had heard voices. And of course, being the typical curious child that he was, he followed them. One of them sounded familar, like he had heard it before. The other voice was a new sound; though it had the sound of someone who was more likely to play with him. Someone around his age. "Hi!" he exclaimed, when he caught sight of Sadie. "Sadie, Sadie! I grew!" he moved to hug her around the waist. "I've missed you." Luna of course, had been following her son from a distance. She wasn't quite ready to let him explore the woods by himself. When she heard him, she took several paces until she was at his side. "Sadie's here?" she asked, before catching sight of the woman. "Hello," she said with a smile. "Back to draw?" Sadie blinked. Wow, lately her life had been full of coincidences. "Hey - woah?" The kid whose arms were fastened resolutely around her waist looked nothing like Michael, save for the memorably flaming candlesque wings. But that was definitely Luna who was following him around. "Hi, Luna! I'm...not actually here to draw, I - is this really Michael? He looks so different!" She bent down to make sure their eyes were level. "And you're taller, too!" she grinned. Raeburn cleared his throat behind her, which was a comical sound mostly because he was still a tiny kid, and hadn't gone through, uh. Angel puberty yet. Did angels go through puberty? "Yes, Raeburn, in a - you guys were right!" She whipped her head around, clearly excited. "It's a little overwhelming because I've never had to feed a child before, but uh - oh my gosh, I'm rambling." Sadie placed her hand on her cheek and took Raeburn's hand, bringing him into view of Luna and her charge. "Luna, Michael, this is Raeburn. Raeburn, that's Luna, and this is Michael." Raeburn glanced over the pair and gave a small, solemn nod, bright blue eyes wide open. "It's me!" Michael assured Sadie before his mother could respond. "It's really me!" he hugged her again, before grinning. "I am!" he said proudly. "I've missed you!" He paused, pulled away from her, and glanced at Raeburn. "Hi!" he said cheerfully. "I'm Michael. You're Raeburn? Cool name." He smiled at the younger boy. "Want to play?" Luna grinned at her friend, before nodding as Michael spoke. "It really is," she said. "Is this your angel?" she asked, looking down at Raeburn. "Hello," she greeted him. "Oh, Sadie, he's precious!" "Henry Raeburn was a painter," the little angel said loftily. "I know because she's always talking about him when she's drawing." He gestured at Sadie, and then cocked his head at Michael. "I don't know anyone else named Michael." Indeed, Raeburn didn't know anyone besides Sadie and Luna. "Playing with fire's dangerous," Raeburn added with an air of knowing. He stepped closer anyway, sizing up the other Herald with a small frown of concentration. "It's very pretty fire, though," he said after awhile. "Can you control it?" Clearly Raeburn had some sort of weird priorities, Sadie thought. But Michael was a really bubbly little guy, wasn't he? Sadie grinned down at him. "I missed you too!" she said. Well, if you could call it that - it was a relief to see that he didn't look like he was about to spout something morbid today. Backing away from the kids, she nodded to Luna and spoke again. "Yeah - I finally found him about a week ago." It felt like such a short time - but he was little now, and he didn't seem to remember any of the words she'd exchanged with him. "He's really cute; I didn't know angels were supposed to be so cute!" Sadie giggled at her friend, then reached out for a hug with Michael's mother. "I really have no idea how this parenting thing works," she confessed, wringing her hands worriedly. If Michael had grown bigger...that would probably mean Raeburn was going to, too. "I guess I'll have to play it by ear, huh?" "I'm named after the archangel Michael," Michael said conversationally, not having noticed Raeburn's lofty tone. "Mom says he was a very powerful angel." He paused, and considered the younger herald's question. "I don't know," he confessed. "I've never tried. The flames get bigger when I'm really happy or excited though. It doesn't burn me," he added. Was that what Raeburn meant? "Do you want to play?" Michael asked, hopefully. "I won't burn you or anything, promise!" He looked to Sadie and gave her a bright smile. "I knew you would!" he said. Luna nodded and smiled. Sadie's experience sounded like her's. "I didn't know angels were cute either," she confessed with a grin. It widened when Michael looked up at her indignantly. "We're not cute!" he insisted. His attention went back to Raeburn as Luna returned Sadie's hug. "I didn't know anything about parenting either," Luna added. "I think it's something you learn from experience.
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