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 Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2010 9:44 am
Ethan’s heart leapt up to his mouth as the snake raevan lurched dangerously out of the window. He was halfway out when his guardian’s fingers found their way into the cloth of his hood and for a few dreadful moments the businessman had truly believed that the frei was ready to launch himself out into the air and plummet to the hard concrete below. Of course, like all raevans e had wings and could float, but Basil’s wings were made of shards of jagged glass and he was certain that the frei’s rune’s propulsion could not suspend him this high up.... As the hooded child was pulled in he rushed over, eyes slightly wild and his fists clenched. He wanted to scold the raevan and guardian even though he wasn’t his place to lecture about parenting ability – it was his house however and he did not want to be responsible for a bloody mess on the street below.
However, before he could issue a verbal attack on the parent or child he felt a tug on his arm and found Vyn had also moved forward and was restraining him. She looked equally distressed but rather than anger in her eyes there was a mixture of exasperation and pity. He tugged for her to let him go so that he could issue his reprimand but she held fast and even floated closer to him, moving her mouth nearing to his ear to say something...
“There’s something wrong with him...”
Ethan arched a brow and crossed his arms. This answered quite a lot of questions – the unusual way that the cobra had been acting and now this random jump for his death. Vyn may well be right and there could be something mentally not quite right with the child. Newborns were immature but they had basic survival instincts – Xiu had never acted this bizarrely as a young frei after all. Sighing he stepped back to allow the boy to glide past. “Keep him amused in here, if you can.” He stated, glancing between the boy and his father. It wasn’t Ethans nor Vyn’s responsibility to care for the raevan’s special needs and if he got the chance he would be raising the issue formally with Mickey after the business was finished.
Lumbered with the task of looking after him again Vyn felt a niggle of dread. Thus far her attempts had only ended up in failure... However, now the boy seemed a little more settled and as she sat down next to him she could sense some basic form of regret... What they did next was up to him. So long as it wasn’t dangerous. So far he hadn’t even displayed the ability to talk in coherent sentences....
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 10:25 pm
Already could Mickey feel the heat on him. The eyes. The pressure. The proverbial thumb pressing against the back of his neck. That burn of tarnish on his reputation. He wouldn't blame the man for tanning his hide when the day was through, and he understood why. His father had beaten a very strong work ethic into him. He had tried to in his brothers. The importance of a job well done and keeping his word. The importance of quality and following through with his plans. Having Basil dangle over the jaws of death was not what he would consider a good recommendation. The highest dishonor.
What had possessed him? What would lead any thinking, sentient creature to move from place to place, willingly endangering itself?
That morning, Basil had been quiet. Morose. Save for when he had approached a car on the street; the only thing to capture his attention ahead of the spoons. Approached by the Rose upon arrival, he had then erupted into a flurry of manic exploration, moving from room to room seemingly without cause for question. Didn't the boy think? Was he dumb? Was he crazy? Damn Genie for leaving him in charge. Damn her for ruining this job and damn her for not preparing him... In a very mean-spirited sense, he could only hope Basil realized just what he had done. He hoped that Basil knew the blow he had just dealt to Mickey's career. In his anger, he hoped he felt terrible for it. But of course... Basil rarely did. Even as he sulked, Mickey personally felt that it wasn't out of any kind of guilt. For all he knew, Basil was only pretending. Oh how he loved to pretend. Mimicking the face and body language of those who pouted. Presenting the illusion of humanity. Straight ungodly is what it was. Sometimes Micheal wished... Well. Never mind what he wished...
Basil moved past the older man as brusquely as he had the Rose woman only a while ago. Again, ignorant of boundaries.
As the Cobra had anticipated, the Rose carefully seated herself beside him. At this he seemed twitchy with excitement, lifting his spirits from what had been a brief and exaggerated display of remorse. It was clear that he had taken a shine to her, even if the feeling was not entirely mutual. If there was any comfort in it, he was an admirer of those with wisdom. Those who aged well, and flourished beyond him, despite the looming threat of envy. The excitement subsided slowly into contentment, hunched above the region where his knees would eventually come to be. Some time would pass before he would speak again, allowing Mickey time to cool off, and some time for Basil's mind to resume normal activity. He made a soft snorting noise before addressing her,
"You're scared of me, huh." He muttered, rubbing a nonexistent itch on his chin. While clumsy, he spoke briefly with a sense of knowing. Not clarity, as if in a sudden realization, but as if he was aware of it the entire time. Knew, but pretended not to, or genuinely didn't. As if he could choose what he wanted to know, and when. But what a strange concept that was. Nobody's mind actually worked that way, did it?
With only a second snort as preamble, he then looked to his Sister, sucking his lower lip into his teeth, either to wet it or bite it. He released it, allowing a strangely reassuring smile to crack through, "I like you. Yer nicer about it." He allowed his jaw to tip down and the hood to shadow his eyes. All save the smile. His indecipherable humming and murmuring. The gentle whispers on the cloud of his breath. Certainly his observation was a bit delayed, but it did augur well for him, and for others to be able to see these things for himself. Perhaps the Rose could finally seize a window of opportunity to converse with him. Assuming Basil could maintain.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Aug 05, 2010 4:07 am
For the first time since his unorthodox greet Vyn felt as though the fellow raevan had actually settled into an almost ‘normal’ state. For one, he had spoken an understandable and seemingly genuinely good willed sentence and secondly his lips had given way to a smile. Not a crazed or lunatic looking smile, a simple curve of happiness. Admittedly it was not enough to sooth the girl’s fears; who knew when the boy would fire up again and commit some deranged act of madness! But it was enough to sooth the rose and caused her to lower some of the mental ‘keep away’ barriers and her body language reflected this slight softening of attitude. Closed fists loosened, tensed wings sighed into a more relaxed state and even gave a few meagre beats and Vyn’s ribbon, previously clenched into a tight coil defensively around her rune, released its tension and floated freely over the floor where they were leaning.
Awkwardly Vyn looked at him. Her dark amber eyes rimmed with blackness still had a strong sense of fear about them – she could not ‘unsee’ his violent self abuse, nor his erratic break for ‘freedom’ out of the window – but there was now a shimmer of pity present too. It was obvious that the cobra was sick, but with what... Vyn did not know. However, the shadow got the impression that the malady was much different to the virus she had once suffered from and that it could not be cured in the same straightforward treatment. “I’m sorry that I am scared...” She whispered, leaning forward slightly to get a look underneath his hood and the shadowed eyes inside. “I’ve never met anyone like you...”
Slumping back against the clean white wall she closed her eyes, moving her black nailed hands onto her lap to fiddle aimlessly with the tattered edge of her ribbon. Beneath her hands was her rune, and as she collected her thoughts in this refined and quiet way the haze around it withdrew and the rune gained a higher level of clarity – much like her thoughts.
“Why do you do that stuff – for most people it’s not normal..” She asked, opening her eyes again and affixing him with a genuinely perplexed expression. There was no judgement present... She was neutral. She had taken upon the role of a familiar yet somehow detached questioner. She was in a way a sibling to him, they were both freis, and hopefully he would be less likely to flip when she approached him with a question. The rose had concluded in her moment of thought that hysteria and fear would do nothing positive and thus had removed as much evidence of them from her outwards appearance. The turmoil of negative emotions certainly still remained and would not be forgotten for a long while, but they were... temporarily postponed for the benefit of the here and now.
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Posted: Fri Aug 06, 2010 3:34 pm
Basil shied from her attempts to peer beneath his hood, leaning to his left in order to escape her hand. His smile did not dim however. He then swallowed something thick and saliva-coated at the back of his throat, replying in due time with little regard for the topic she had initially broached, "There're flies in my head, you know... They've got sticky lil' feet and they talk all the time. You probably do too, but mine'r louder. Yers might even be dead... M'sorry." Whether he was sorry for her dead flies, or sorry that he had to subject her to his ramblings was uncertain. He continued, "They're all smarter'n me... Lots smarter." This he said with a bite of regret, "I'd like t'be smart." His voice betrayed him, implying that his yearning for intelligence was as idle and superficial as one would express desire for a boat or new furniture. Lifting his head a bit, he scratched his temple aggressively, raking his fingers against his scalp to soothe the dull ache that lingered there. His most frequent limitation. The headaches. He then offered her a side-long glance. A thick fringe of black hair shuffled a bit, coming uncomfortably close to his lip, which he snorted away. So far so good. He was still paying attention. Her calm, collected demeanor was doing wonders for his focus.
Her next question clearly confused him, though now that he was calm, the pieces were falling together much more quickly. "Mmm... I have trouble listening." He then said definitively, although the word 'listening' was especially slow and broken-up, as if attempting to grasp its meaning as he was speaking it. Most likely it was a phrase he had heard often from Genevieve, rather than a thought he had actually produced himself. He elaborated further, "I don't remember too good... I do what the flies say. And what Genie says. I try with what I remember. I do bad, anyway. I don't know normal. It's hard. But we still try."
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2010 5:59 am
What the peculiar boy revealed to Vyn was completely and utterly alien to her. Flies in his head? She was certain that wasn’t possible, yet the tone of his voice made it seem as though he was completely serious, coupled with the description of the sticky little feet fleshing out his statement... Well, either he was a surprisingly good liar, telling the truth (and Vyn’s basic understanding of how the body worked was incorrect) or he was mad. Unsurprisingly the rose was starting to lean towards the latter as her conclusion.
Something was definitely unhinged in the other raevan’s mind and she felt awfully sorry for him. Her question about why he strayed so far from normality had been responded with an off-track answer and he seemed to have little awareness of just how unusual he was... It was saddening; he couldn’t help it, yet, what with his comment of wanting to be smart, she couldn’t help but feel that he wanted to fit in or have a shot at being accepted rather than being shunned for his abnormalities. Then again, it was possible that the rose was jumping to her own conclusions. Many months ago she had felt the repercussions of being an alien in normal society – her eyes, even being a raevan had been somewhat of a burden; especially following her rehoming. She could on that level draw parallels with Basil and now that they were sitting down talking and she had refreshed her approach to him; becoming calmer and more objective... Yes, she felt some compassion towards the perhaps ‘unfortunate’ rather than ‘outright reckless’ frei.
What had it taken to cure her of feeling so rejected and miserable for that time? Cheesy as it sounded upon reflection... the easiest answer would be – a new start and the guidance of people who cared for her... Looking at Basil she knew that she couldn’t do that – underneath her facade an element of fear still coursed through her – but she could give it a go.
“Flies...” She murmured... Nodding with confirmation she bowed her head and raised her hands. Cupping them over her sloped ears to block out extraneous sounds she closed her eyes and listened for her own flies... Would they be obvious? With the dark behinds of her lids and slightly swirling movement of light filtering through she could sense no alien insects in her head.... but perhaps... “I think mine are dead...” Her black orbs flicked open again and she looked apologetically at Basil. Perhaps... Just maybe she should ask him to listen to his flies – or at the very least... ask him if he could relay what they were saying.... Yet at the same time as this thought flicked through her head she decided against it... It wasn’t right to pry around in others minds uninvited. If he wanted to share he would’ve done so already, or at least he would have offered. Plus, if they drove him into doing the peculiar acts of violence and madness exhibited thus far – did she want to hear them?
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Posted: Wed Aug 11, 2010 7:45 am
It was here that Basil observed her with an intensity that was cutting and severe. She humored his babbling with a near saintly sincerity and open-mindedness, allowing her own understanding, as a young rose, to traipse briefly towards what it might be like to see as he saw. Endure his daily experience without fear, and listen for the flies. She listened with the best of intentions, and there was little more he could ask from her. It was more than most were willing to do in his interest. Even as she returned from the inner realms empty-handed after a hard period of reflection, bringing back no spoils save lament (and perhaps relief.) He mumbled a note of contemplation, turning his half-body to her, determination in his eyes.
Without explanation or warning, the cobra reached for her, clasping his large hands against her brow. The palms were broad and un-calloused, the fingers unnaturally long and deft. Holding the width of her skull like a cage, the pointed pads of his thumbs settled comfortably on the sheet of her eyelids, urging them down gently. Ever so gently. As if cradling something helpless and delicate that could be crushed. After coaxing them closed, his thumbs caressed the surface of her eyes gently through the skin, exhibiting the slightest ounce of painless pressure. His intent was clearly not to harm her, performing a circular motion before they trailed upward to rest against her brows. His skin smelled earthy and foreign. a scent few would describe to be pleasant. His own eyes would come to close, concentrating. Savoring the gentle thump of her pulse through his fingertips as if savoring an orchestra from a luxury box. Searching for her flies. Imagining their tiny, feminine voices hissing at him, and indulging him of their secrets. He leaned in somewhat, as if to listen, his breath slowing to a gentle huff.
Many spoke of the correlation between madness and artistic talent, a very fine line dividing the two. Could it be that both shared a greater capacity for detail? An extra faculty of observation? Given Basil's earlier antics, this couldn't possibly be correct. The boy seemed to be as aimless as a cat without its whiskers. All the same, it was made quite clear after a period of waiting and awkwardness, that his findings were at best, inconclusive. That there was something within himself that she did not possess... His fingers withdrew, like eels recoiling into their watery burrows. "Yep. Dead." He concluded solemnly. He offered her an expression akin to pity, then glanced across the room to rest his sights on the spoons, still glinting in the broken light.
He gave a cautious glance first to Ethan, and then to Mickey before launching himself from the wall to fetch them. Mickey, fearing another unspeakable catastrophe looked up from his work-table, shouting huskily, "Basil! Y'better not be fussing or I'll come over there and give ya' somethin' t'jump about! Hey!" Stooping down just long enough to collect his items, the cobra retreated nervously back to the wall, having retrieved his prize unharmed while glancing ashamedly at Mickey to ensure he would not be approaching to reprimand him. Or God forbid confiscate his possessions. When it was clear that he would remain at his post, pointing to Basil in an gesture of warning, he sighed softly to himself and held one of the two utensils out to her, "I guess you don't need 'em." He began clumsily, his head tilting askew, "Your flies are gone, but you have new things now. Maybe... when I get smart, my flies'll die. Mmmmmmnnn. Think better. Remember better. Do better at normal." At this, he seemed eerily hopeful. Holding the second spoon for himself, he smiled wearily, "I like these... but you can have one." He assured her. A present to her in a token of good will.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sat Oct 02, 2010 1:50 pm
The rose quivered underneath his assured touch. He was displaying no signs of aggression now and she felt relatively safe with him holding her head like this... Yet the image of his fists striking his scalp earlier haunted her. With broad palms placed on her temples she could almost believe that this eccentric, mad, child actually believed that by some miracle of nature he would find flies flitting around in her head – her private thoughts somehow diffusing into his mind through the skin to skin contact. His fingers being ever so gently positioned over her eyelids was perhaps the most unsettling part of this ‘mental reading’. It would only lack a short lapse in his sanity for him to dig his finely crafted fingers into her sockets and damage her midnight eyes... Yet after a brief yet awkward silence he withdrew and stated that her flies were indeed dead.
Relieved she nodded as he proceeded to explain his findings. It was sad in a way. It seemed as though her lack of those chattering sanity cracking voices had launched her so far ahead of him in progress that he yearned after that blissful silence of her own consciousness... She had always taken it for granted. “I hope...” She mumbled, feeling an unexplainable and admittedly unsettling wave of grief for the boy, “Your flies do die off...” Somehow this forced encounter had opened her eyes slightly... Not enough to not be unsettled, but enough to acknowledge that his crazed actions previously – though unforgivable – were not by any fault of his own.
Thus she accepted his odd gift with an amiable smile. Rubbing the curve of its head absentmindedly she decided to peer into his life. He seemed to have a good grasp of language at the moment and it wouldn’t hurt to try and prompt more (semi)intelligent conversation.
“Who looks after you?” She looked over to Mickey.. “He’s not Genie is he?”
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Posted: Fri Feb 25, 2011 5:27 pm
Keeping her thoughtful wish in mind, Basil nodded, as if in understanding, clutching the spoon tighter. Having reclaimed his seat beside her, his disposition had seemed to improve in spades. Maybe it was just nice to have someone to talk to. Nice to be talked to, and not talked at. Sometimes when Mickey told him things, Basil couldn't be sure that Mickey was so ready to hold his gaze as if he were a person. More like a small animal in a carrier on its way to the vet. Basil didn't blame him, but the anonymity of it did become grating on one's nerves after a while. Genie never made him feel that way... She never wanted to give him an excuse to feel as though if he did something wrong, no-one would be watching. She wanted him to feel like a person, because he was, and it was something to celebrate. So far, the Rose had seemed very much the same.
She spoke to him in simple sentences, which helped the conversation hold its own. As usual, he paused before replying, idly watching as Mickey replaced each pane of glass in the frame, never rushing. Always secure. Basil quietly mused at how talented he was, and shook his head, "Not Genie. Man of Genie's. Brother." He had to fumble a bit for the correct word. He elaborated, "He watches me when Genie's gone. I like 'im. He's nice, but he's scared of me too. Really scared. He thinks I don't know."
He smiled warmly, "I do. I hear it in his body."
He seemed to be pleased. Not for being glad that Mickey was so intimidated by him, but for having something that he felt only he knew, and others didn't (with the exception of the Rose, who was now an accomplice.) Secret-keeping seemed to be a trait worthy of smart people. Having a secret made him feel smart too, in spite of the many things beneath the surface that he had yet to be made aware of. It was then he sighed sadly to himself, "He's gonna yell at me when we leave. I know that too."
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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