|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Mar 21, 2010 11:30 am
Prompt 03.12.2010
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. March is drab, cold, rainy. Well, right now it isn't rainy but that's why Sadie's outside, isn't it? She's got her raincoat on and a bright yellow umbrella, just in case. She picked it out because it had a duck shape on it - Sadie likes ducks. She doesn't carry much in the bag with her, but it's enough, and she doesn't figure she'll be struck by a lightning bolt of inspiration but hey anything can happen right? Sadie has been feeling really uninspired recently. It sucks, especially when she has two projects due in just a couple weeks and there is not much she can do to delay the due date - she's always delivered, hasn't she? She's driven over to a slightly-unfamiliar part of town - she's been through a couple times but it's not really her type of place to go; it's a little too posh and formal for Sadie's taste. Sadie is a casual girl all the way. Luckily it's hard to get lost. Unluckily she seems to be the only one in the park, and the upscale "Japanese Zen Garden!!!" she's walking through is pretty barren as far as inspiration goes. Sadie can't meditate, either; she's always sat in her seat and tried but she always ends up fidgeting. Apparently it is not empty of dying angels, however. There are no wings - feathers, though - and no halo and it's not singing Alleluia but something tells Sadie that it's an angel. When Sadie sees it - well, she can't tell if it's a dude or a chick; it's got hair longer than Sailor Moon and she's not about to go looking for certain organs when it's. Well. It can't stand; it's that bad. She thinks it is ridiculously beautiful. It's slumped on the ground in the section you're not supposed to walk on what if you mess up the perfectly-raked layout of the sand underneath, languid, unfriendly. It really is beautiful. "Hey man," she says, and it looks up - it has pretty eyes; cliched eyes like the sky in that they go on forever. Well, it's an angel. "What happened?" she asks. It is silent. "I'm not gonna do anything to you," Sadie adds. "Well, I mean – maybe I’ll draw you. I like to draw; people say my sketches look pretty." It's still silent. Then it glances at her like hey, follow me and begins a ridiculous parody of a crawl toward a big rock they've stuck in the middle of the garden. It creates drag lines in the sand, big clumsy ones that trail after it like a question mark. Sadie walks off the wooden path, feels the sand – wet wet wet – beneath her sneakers. “Need help?” she asks, and offers a hand. It hesitates, nods, and then there is a small cold hand in hers. She walks it to the rock – well, it’s more like dragging – and it sits. They are quiet. Then the angels speaks: it has a soft, beautiful voice – an unearthly voice. “Do you…” It stops. When it starts again it sounds a lot shyer. “I need to…” It’s frowning, like it doesn’t want to say anything. Sadie sighs, shifts a little awkwardly. It really does have long hair. “Here – can you hold this? It’s – I mean, you’re sitting down.” She tries to smile. “Be careful – they’re important.” She stops, watches it slump down a little further on the rock and grab awkwardly at it. It looks almost spineless, crumpled up on the rock and its arms flapping uselessly at its side. “What do you need? An umbrella? Do angels use umbrellas?” It shakes its head. “Come on. I…I can tell you’re about to die.” It’s stubborn. It frowns at her, looks down. “I’m not going to stand here and watch you die!” she says. “Do you have a name?” “No.” That much is resolute, firm. “I had a message.” Its fingers are fumbling in her bag, going through it – there really isn’t anything in there. Nothing life-saving, anyway. There’s a couple sketching pencils and two inking pens – Microns. And the angel’s fingers close around the Copics. There are thirty-six of them, Sketch markers in a rainbow of colors. “Do you draw?” Sadie asks. “Come on, draw something.” It shakes its head, smiles weakly. It looks down at the marker it’s holding. E11. Barely Beige, Sadie remembers. It’s a dark skintone, the one she uses for the shadows when she’s coloring white people. “I’ll look away,” she says, as it rummages through her Copics. “They’re really good markers, you know – gorgeous for blending. They don’t streak.” She’s babbling now. Hesitantly, though, it nods, and so Sadie makes a big show of turning her back on it. She hears the sound of a marker being uncapped behind her, and then another. She waits five minutes before sneaking a peek. It’s gone, and the markers with it.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 22, 2010 11:43 pm
Prompt 3.22.10
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? It has been ten days - well, maybe eleven, if you count the twelfth (Sadie does not). Today is the twenty-second, at any rate, which is twelve plus ten. It's a long enough time, but Sadie can't help but think about - well. The angel. It's stupid. She has two important projects due on the twenty-sixth, which is a little sadistic of her professors but there isn't really anything she can do about it. It's so strange to draw without her Copics at her side - well, she still has a few more sets but she's reorganized them and the ones she has left are the ones she almost never uses in comparison to those other thirty-six. Her box of warm greys has not been touched, for example, since the day after she purchased them. And she has her blenders, and her opaque whites which to be honest do see the most use out of all her markers - but an entire marker drawing in 'opaque white' is a little bit boring for the eyes. Unless it's on a differently-colored canvas, which - well, it's rare to see Sadie use cardstock that isn't white. Copic looks best on white, after all. Besides, these aren't normal art pieces and she doubts her Fashion Illustration professor would be thrilled to see several outfits in entirely white. Or her Set Design professor. Not that her other colors aren't useful, because they are, but - they're not her favorites. They don't inspire her the way the others do. It's stupid to feel angry at the angel. It's long dead by now, and if it isn't she'll kick herself - no one really visits a zen garden after it rains (or none of her friends do, anyway, which to Sadie is the same thing) and markers are nothing. Sadie loves her markers to death but the only reason she's planning on dragging them out after her if her house ever burns down is that they're her only chance of making a living. She's not much good at anything other than drawing, after all, and she needs money to keep living. Sadie doubts the angel was planning to make a living out of her Copics. Angels are not known for their skills at drawing. So it's probably dead, and her Copics lying dead somewhere too, sad and small and trampled and Sadie never puts a return to: label on her markers because they're markers. It doesn't change that she does feel angry. If she could she'd go find it and rant at it and - ugh, Copics are expensive! Thirty-six of them is one hundred sixty two dollars at best, unless you buy them off of ebay where they are probably used. Her friends always tell her, hey, at least Copics can be refilled, right? But they don't get it. They're Copics - Sadie doesn't want a copic with a ruined nib or something because whoever used it before had no idea how to take care of a marker. And they probably didn't - she doesn't know many people who dislike using Copics enough to sell them at a loss. But it is probably in heaven, or wherever it is that angels go off to when they die. It probably isn't heaven, actually, because what is the point of dying when you go back to heaven anyway? Sadie doesn't know. (Sadie has never set foot inside a church, except in the Vatican because she was on a tour of Rome and that is what you're kind of supposed to do. But in her opinion Michelangelo's ten-packs stretched out across the ceiling and over the wall are not quite what they're made out to be, and not just because they're really far away. Also Michelangelo is not Henry Raeburn, which sounds like blasphemy but she has her taste and it's just not most people's.) It's raining outside and she hasn't even got a sketch down that she's satisfied with. It's really getting to her - not just like. She kind of left the angel outside to die, didn't she? She can't accuse herself of murder but she could've - well, she could've at least brought it some place where it could find shelter. But it's in the past, she thinks. That's exactly why she peels herself off the chair and picks up her umbrella and her raincoat and kicks on her boots. She has her bag and her car keys in her hand before she knows where she's going, and she doesn't, really, she's just aimlessly driving around with the windshield wipers on automatic - not that that helps any; the rain's just coming down harder and Sadie is somewhere downtown again. The streets are devoid of Gaians, and when she turns up a corner and down again she can count the cars: one, two - the second one's a UFO and not a car but it still counts. After all, anyone can buy a UFO these days, not just aliens. The Zen Garden is wetter than she remembers, which is exactly how it should be, obviously, seeing as it's kind of storming outside. She is a little afraid to step outside her car at first but then thinks: oh, what the hell - with any luck she'll get something out of this trip. When she first steps out of her car she realizes that it's kind of stupid to go out with her bag on the outside because it's already wet so she ducks back in and switches the layers of her outfit so the bag is on the inside. Then she really gets outside, pushes through the gate boredly (she can't really believe it's open but hey, she's not going to complain either) and kind of stands there. It doesn't look particularly pretty or anything, because Zen Gardens are kind of bleak in Sadie's opinion, but it's not a blemish on her vision or something stupid like that, either. It's calming, peaceful actually. This sounds wrong because it's a storm, and there's no way storms are ever peaceful. But the falling of the rain is like a rhythmic kind of drumbeat, and it isn't stormy enough to be flashing with thunder and lightning yet. So it is calm, and peaceful, and enough. There is no angel. There won't be an angel here anytime soon, and maybe she didn't really see one that day. Maybe she lost her Copics because she placed them on a rock and turned away and someone took them that wasn't an angel. But that's okay, Sadie thinks, and it's not a wrong thing to think that. She hopes it's found its peace somewhere, and that its message is safe, and that it's happy because it was pretty depressed the last time she saw it. And that her Copics aren't completely murdered by now. Sadie stands there and waits until the rain slows to a drip-drip-drip against her umbrella and the sun emerges from behind the clouds like one of those flowers that one of her classmates is always painting peeking out behind a veritable bridal gown of leaves. She is a lot wet, despite the umbrella and the raincoat, because it is windy in addition to rainy, but she is also happy. She's got her mind off her angel, and she thinks she knows where she's headed now, or at least for the next couple days, and that more than anything is cool. Besides, the sight of the perfectly-raked sand of the Zen Garden all ruined and angry like some poor kid's house after a particularly wild party is enough to cure her of artist's block forever.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 18, 2010 7:23 pm
In Which Sadie Meets Michael and Luna ]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."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 27, 2010 11:36 pm
It's a couple days before she even thinks about the angel phenomenon again, despite her words to Luna and Michael. But she aced those finals with the whisper of the angel's long white hair and the echo of thunder against a peaceful garden in mind, and their conversation is still echoing in her mind, and so the next time it storms she goes out. Yeah, it's a stupid idea - no, she's not suicidal. She just feels driven to it.
Sadie's driving and yes, there is the Zen Garden, but she does not want to see it storm-ravaged again. Even if the angel's supposed to show up there. It's a little funny how whenever she passes by it's raining or it has been raining, and she doesn't know what that's supposed to say about her but there's probably a moral-of-the-story in there somewhere. Everything is grey all around her, except for most of the cars and the faint rainbows she can imagine when she drives through a particularly deep pool of water, the ones that splash up all around her and bathe her car in dirt and water and litter and dirt. When she keeps driving the litter and a lot of the dirt just slides back down, but she can see a few specks hanging on in her mirror, which incidentally she never uses except to check for zits. She's not very concerned about cleanliness, though, and just makes sure her windshield wiper keeps going like the absolute machine that it is. Bravo, windshield wiper! she thinks, and hopes to God above that if she dies she won't be reincarnated as one.
When she turns off the main road and into the residential area, it doesn't really get less grey. The lawns are not really tended to, a little wild and most of them are about one quarter yellow. The houses are kind of mostly drab blues and peaches and pinks. If Sadie is ever rich enough to buy a house she wants one that's bright and cheerful and non-depressing.
There is a STOP sign ahead, stark red with four capital letters. Sadie stops there, and waits. All she can hear is the steady drumbeat of rain, and occasionally the fanfare of thunder following four, five seconds after the white-blue snap of lightning. On the street someone is walking up to each of the houses in turn, knocking at the doors and peering at the windows. Sadie's eyes slide over them, and then double back when she realizes they aren't wearing a raincoat, or holding an umbrella. They've got to be more insane than she is.
(Not, you know, that she's insane or anything)
No one is answering their doors, and Sadie can't see any faces pressed against the windows. Sadie doesn't know why, until she looks a third time, and sees - well.
The hair is long and white but definitely unkempt, and the skin is ridiculously pale and maybe a little bit dirty. Angel, she thinks, and frowns. Because it's not quite an angel any more, and also because this has got to be the hugest coincidence in just about ever. She raps on her window. It doesn't turn to look at her, just backs up down the street and - oh, s**t, there's nothing to be done. She rolls down her window maybe an inch and the rain's already pouring in. "HEY!" she shouts. There are five or six seconds between lightning and thunder now, far enough that she's not worrying about being struck but it's wet wet wet. She grabs her spare raincoat and drapes it over her window, and rolls it down some more. "HEY!" she shouts again. She is drenched. Her seat is drenched. The angel looks over.
She's not sure if it's her angel but she thinks it is, because it's holding a marker in hand and sniffing it like it's a lifeline. "Those are alcohol-based," she says, and unlocks her doors. "Get in, but - but - uh, just get in. I'm not a kidnapper, I swear."
It takes awhile for it to comprehend - a couple minutes while the rain finds ways around the raincoat and begins to soak the dashboard and ugh she's going to have to spend ages cleaning her car out, won't she? But by the end of those minutes it's fumbling with the passenger door and then it swings open and the angel jumps back, wide-eyed like it had no idea that was supposed to happen. Do they have cars in heaven? Probably not.
Her seats are totally getting murdered while it stands there and stares. "My seat covers aren't totally invincible, you know - they're already getting wet and I don't think - s**t man!" A particularly mean blast of wind just blew rain all over her hair. And, you know, the front portion of her car. Damn, she hopes her dashboard is safe enough to get her back home. Then she can get her car looked at or something because you're probably not supposed to soak it with rainwater. "Get in, sit down, pull the strap with the duck on it over your chest and stick the metal end of it into the little thing by your side with the - yeah, that's it. Also close the door; my mom's going to kill me when she hears about this." It was technically her car, right? Even if her mom had paid for it.
The angel closes the door, closes its eyes, too, and says, "I should've thanked you earlier."
Sadie glances over at it as she begins driving again - her wheels have obviously long since slowed to a standstill. It looks half-dead, sure, but that has everything to do with it being caught out in the rain (ugh, she really must be suicidal - maybe she'll sneak one of her mother's self-help books out of
the house the next time she drops by for a visit) and nothing to do with her leaving it out with only a few markers. That is, if she's right and this really is her angel. Was Michael telling the truth that day? There's no way to tell except by asking.
"...so someone I met...recently told you, uh, you - you might die. If, I mean..."
The angel's body jerks forward and its eyes snap open, but she keeps driving. "I doubt...I mean, I would've died."
She's silent for a minute. Then she turns and gestures awkwardly with her chin at the two or three markers on the angel's lap. "...did I give you those markers?" (Ugh, Sadie's going to smack herself something new for using so many ellipses in this conversation - she sounds like an idiot.)
Its hands clutch at the Copics as it nods, gazing out the window to avoid looking at her. "Some sacrifices take awhile to absorb. I can survive without you." It's a lot stronger than it was all those months ago, Sadie notices.
"Do you have a place to stay?" Sadie asks. It's definitely avoiding the question.
The angel's headshake is almost unnoticeable.
"Then I'm taking you in. Sadie Beake, nice to meet you."
"It's not necessary," the angel exhales.
"Gaia's not...it's not heaven, or wherever else you came from. You have to live somewhere, eat somewhere, sleep somewhere with a roof that isn't a canopy of trees or something." Sadie grips the wheel tighter and turns a corner - she's lucky she remembers the way what with this angel here. "Besides, I gave you those markers, so you've got to be my responsibility or something. Tell me your name."
The angel shakes its head, and Sadie is about to start talking again but it interrupts. "If I have one I've forgotten," it says, and Sadie knows a surrender when she sees one. It leans its head back. "I was a messenger. Now I'm nobody."
"I can't go around calling you Angel," says Sadie, because duh. "That'd be retarded and my friends would assume I'd taken a new lover or something. Not that you're bad-looking or anything, just - well."
"You could just choose one," Sadie points out.
"I don't know anything about names," says the angel. "What name are you comfortable with?"
To Sadie the easiest to remember name in the world is Sir Henry Raeburn's. Henry sounds like an old man's name, so she goes with the other one: people name their kids surnames all the time now, right? "Raeburn," she says. "I'll call you Raeburn."
The angel nods and leans back to sleep.
Later she'll worry about where she can stick her extra futon (obviously she hasn't thought that far ahead, and her friends never stay the night) and how she'll cook for two people when she can just barely manage not burning half of her own meals (she refuses to live on instant ramen for the rest of her life), but right now she feels like a hero.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 06, 2010 1:07 am
Prompt 7.05.10
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? Raeburn grows fast. Maybe that's not the right word for it, since he's not getting any bigger. Sadie's sure that he's male now, though, because she has to help him into his clothes all the time now - it seems like he's learning all over again how to live. She's also pretty sure he's less than half the size he used to be by now, and sometimes over the course of the past few days he chopped off all his hair or something - it's so much shorter than it used to be. She has no idea where it went, though - it's just gone. He's the size of a toddler now, which is strange because he's way more well-spoken than she was back when she was a toddler. He's no longer painfully thin, and he's become a lot more irritable than the passive, unblinking angel she helped into her car. Shrinking pains, maybe? She's already had to invest in a booster seat and new clothes for him - who knew raising a kid could be so expensive? She's glad he seems to come potty-trained, because she definitely couldn't handle that part of raising a kid. They're on the way back from a shopping trip when she glances in the rearview and realizes that he's actually squirming. Hey, yeah, signs of life are always welcome, considering how still and uncaring he was when she first picked him up. But now he also looks downright pissed. It's strange; usually he follows her around and offers criticism on the color scheme and designs she's chosen for her current project (he doesn't like ducks at all, which is so unfair). But normally he's less agitated about it, with a blank or lofty expression. Now he's rattling off a litany of insults - that CLEARANCE! sign is too far to the right in that window, that oversaturated department store ad is too chaotic and the brushes splashed all over it look trite, that model in that billboard looks thin enough to be lifeless (Sadie is inclined to agree, but that's really not that point here). The frown on his face stands out, like he's offended that not everyone in the world adheres to his personal aesthetic standards. "Is something wrong, Raeburn?" she interrupts, figuring that he's pissed that she has to go out for class so much and leave him with a daycare center or something. He hasn't mentioned it or anything, but it's likely - he never talks to her about anything but art, anyway. He shuts up fast, glaring out the window instead of opting to respond. The Herald lifts a shoulder, then shakes his head and brings his left hand up to...scratch his back? Dude, is he an old man now or something? She chokes when she sees a snowy white feather on the seat and almost swerves into the next lane. Someone behind her honks, so she sighs and signals before pulling over to the side of the road. She sets the gear to park before checking for oncoming traffic and unstrapping Raeburn from his car seat. They're in public, so she just glances over his back. Funny, she could've sworn... "Where's your back itching?" she asks. Raeburn hesitantly moves her hand somewhere halfway down his back. He’s wearing a white shirt, and around there there’s a small paint stain – probably because this isn’t one of his shirts, but actually one of her old ones. She rubs her hand over the spot, wondering if it would be safe to give him a massage, since he's so small - wait, why is there a lump under his clothing? "Raeburn, let's get back into the car and I'm going to take off your shirt," she warns him, in the most authoritative voice she can manage. Oh Gaia, she has no idea what's happening right now - what's happening to her kid? Because that's what he is now, she realizes - he's her kid, and she wants to make sure that everything's all right in the world for him. "Oh my god," she breathes when she finally sees what's going on, and Raeburn twists around to try to get a glance. He’s surprised, too – because on his back, Raeburn has two little tiny wings, fluttery and feathery and small. They’re not white like she’d think angel wings are (okay, Sadie knows all the stereotypes) – well, they are white. Mostly. But they have stains of color on them, too, like Copic ink blooming over Raeburn’s wings. She moves her hand to touch them – are they real? They’re on Gaia, she reminds herself – anything can happen here. They’re soft to the touch, but a little firmer than she’d expect a feather to be. Kind of like the super brush nib of a sketch marker is firmer than a brush is. They’re a little wet, and they give way when she pushes them, too, and – no way! Sadie stares at her fingers. Where she brushed the spot of a pretty reddish pink on Raeburn’s wings (RV29 Crimson, she thinks faintly to herself), a small stain has formed on her finger. “Huh,” she says. “So that’s where those Copics went.” It also explains the quickly-spreading multicolored stain on Raeburn’s shirt. “I guess I’ll have to cut holes in your shirts or something.” Raeburn tilts his head at her. “What’s a Copics?” he asks, voice brimming with curiosity. “A Copic,” Sadie corrects. “Don’t you remember? I gave you a set of Copics a few months ago, when you were – “ He’d really taken the Copics from her, but he didn’t need to know that. “Nope,” says Raeburn. He doesn’t remember? But he remembered perfectly fine, oh – a week ago. “What’s a Copic?” “They’re markers,” Sadie answers. She doesn’t want to elaborate – she’d loved those markers. Sure, she had more. But she’d owned those the longest – she’d kept them for seven years now, refilling them over and over when they ran out of ink. They were the ones with stains on the casing because she wasn’t always careful putting them back together – they were the ones she’d carried to cons so she could do commissions. She feels empty without them by her side. “Come on, we need to get you something for that itch.” She pulls his shirt back down over his head, and hesitates a moment before ripping little holes in it (the shirt is flimsy, but it’s a good thing in this case) and pulling Raeburn’s wings out through them. Her fingers are stained now – but the colors in them are like old friends. When she starts driving again, she – yeah, she heads for a pharmacy. She buys some general use itching cream, since Raeburn doesn’t have bug bites, or zits. It’s not anything amazing, and she’s sure to run into problems with it, because she’s pretty sure an angel reacts to substances like hydrocortisone cream differently than Gaians do. But it’s the best bet she’s got, and she still has extra Various Ink in case the issue’s his wings being out of ink or something (who knows? They’re pretty much uncapped markers in feather form, right?). She’s not completely prepared, but Raeburn can probably appreciate what she does do for him nonetheless.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 10, 2010 7:35 pm
Raeburn meets Luna and Michael 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.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 11:18 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 11:19 pm
Nuisance ValueIn which Raeburn meets Lucy. And then they run off. Oops!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 11:20 pm
A Hesitant WaveSadie is an irresponsible parent and leaves Raeburn to guard their beach towel alone. Fortunately, he meets Avery and Kingfisher.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 11:21 pm
Poor ScanningIn which Raeburn runs off in a bookstore and meets Guinevere, a very confusing lady. At least she's pretty.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 11:22 pm
Not AloneRaeburn's building a model in his sandbox when along comes a buck-toothed girl named Alice. Who likes art and color-coordinating her clothes!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 11:23 pm
Not Quite a Starbucks...Raeburn meets Leslie, a boy with no sense of propriety, in his opinion, when he tags along to Sadie's school.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
