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 Posted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 10:35 am
Solo #1:
Word count: 662 The moment Waylon Cartier stepped out of the taxi in front of Hillworth Grammar School he had the overwhelming feeling of coming home. The big Iron Gate was the same as it used to be, the foreboding look of the place hadn’t gone away because he’d left and even the counselor who greeted him looked as uptight as ever.
He took one, last long drag of the cigarette between his lips, knowing that in just 2 short minutes, he’d have to jump through hoops to get the smallest amount of nicotine. The stick twitched between his teeth, threatening to fall to the ground from how short it had gotten during his return trip. Waylon pulled the cigarette from his mouth, reluctantly flicking it elsewhere. Had it been in public he might have made an effort to stamp it out but this was Hillworth. Hillworth was supposed to be ugly. One cigarette butt certainly wasn’t doing this place any harm. Besides, who would care if the thing burned to the ground? That’s what the pyro kid took the blame for most of the time. Maybe rebuilding it would do wonder to the place.
“Welcome back Mr. Cartier. We’ve been expecting you.” The counselor paused a moment to push their glasses higher up the bridge of their nose. “Sadly, we were not able to keep your room empty for you like you so respectfully requested…” Waylon couldn’t help but chuckle knowing the state he’d left the room in before he’d left. One day he’d have to ask how long it took them to remove the plastic wrap from the furniture. “Maybe this year you’ll learn how to behave Mr. Cartier. We can’t spend all of our resources on you.”
Not many people could get away with talking to him in such a smug tone. It was just short of a declaration to war when the clock was 5 minutes to midnight. Something was going to blow. However, this was the new Waylon. The improved Waylon as they liked to put it. The hair trigger people feared was more like a stick of dynamite. At least you had a bit of clearance. Waylon closed his eyes as he remembered the techniques he’d been taught for once.
Breath in. Breath out. Count to 10. Imagine them in their underwear and laugh at them instead of violence. He shoved his hands in his pockets, busying his fingers with the frayed lining. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d been drag kicking and screaming at anyone who would give him the time of day through the gate but these were different times. It seemed the counselor was expecting that too as he had stepped back a tad at the first movement Waylon made.
“You ain’t gotta worry. I’ve pretty much learned my lesson.”
“Your uniform?” The counselor looked down his nose, eying the non-school regulation gear Waylon was wearing.
“Ain’t got it no more.” Waylon shrugged. ‘Besides…it’s way too big on my now. Boys do tend to grown you know?”
If the counselor wasn’t used to this sort of banter, he would’ve rolled his eyes and escorted him straight to the headmaster’s office. Instead the red head took a manila envelope from under his jacket, handing it to teen. “This is your new room assignment. I trust you know your way around here. It hasn’t changed much since you were gone.” The counselor once again removed his glass, wiping at the lens with the edge of his white button down shirt. “Oh and do be nice to your roommate. We don’t want anything like last year happening again…”
With that, Waylon shrugged again and carefully undid the tie that held the envelope closed. He looked forward to this year. IF he played his cards right, he’d be out and playing music before they could trap him for another year. Still, the moment he looked down at the room assignment, Waylon couldn’t help but chuckle.
Room 230
Howl Wickham…
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Posted: Wed May 21, 2014 8:41 pm
Solo #2:
Word count: 866 Waylon was curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around one of the novelty sushi pillows the adorned his brother’s overly fluffy couch. The depression was too deep for him too care that his cheek was resting against what amounted to a poorly rendered square of tuna. There was a sprawl of notebooks, pencils and assorted school materials all over the floor in front of him as wells and fallen over in heaps of plastic bags.
Bernard’s happy home had been utterly taken over by his little brother. Or rather, Hillworth had forced him to take it over. The order was written in small Helvetica font across a dismal piece of white paper, the Hillworth seal emblazoned across the bottom and the headmaster’s signature beautifully looped across it along with the school psychologist’s written delicately beneath it. Waylon seethed when he looked at the paper, the bottom right hand corner of it bent and crinkled from where he’d been holding it for what seemed like hours. The teen could almost feel the sick pleasure the officials got from writing the message just from their signatures alone. Wide grins were probably plastered across their faces as they sentenced him to the worst possible punishment he could have ever gotten.
To the parents of Waylon Cartier,
We regret to inform you that your son will not be graduating in the year 2011 due to the lack of his psychological advancement. This is not a decision we take lightly. We at Hillworth Grammar School like to follow the 4-year program in which troubled youths can grow, improve and become influential members of society. However, when a student demonstrates a lack of mental security or becomes a threat to the safety of others, we cannot grant them a diploma. Enclosed is a copy of Waylon Cartier’s final grades and a copy of any requirements that must be met before graduation. We look forward to working with him in the coming school year.
Waylon hissed at the last few lines. He’d passed everything. Hell, he had a 3.7 GPA. There was absolutely no reason for him to be stuck there another year until he flipped to the other side of the form. Scribbled hastily on the back with his psychologist’s characteristic red pen were various notes and concerns about his condition. Fighting and temperament had been underlined and highlighted numerous times.
The excerpt that had most concerned his nearly inconsolable mother had read:
Waylon must be supervised at all times or face expulsion. If he fails to enroll in the Anger management class course hosted by the school, he will be eligible for imprisonment after his graduation due to the numerous assault charges the school has withheld and fought.
That was when he was shipped to Bernard. His brother had been waiting for him just outside the Hillwroth gate, absentmindedly practicing for whatever recital was coming up due to the loud humming that accompanied him. After all he’d done, after all the trouble he’d been in, Bernard still greeted him with a wide smile. It infuriated him. It was like the man was a robot programmed for kindness.
“You’re going to enjoy living with me for the summer.” Bernard always seemed to sigh when he spoke. So different to the harsh and uninviting accent the younger normally sported. “Just no girls, alcohol, parties or friends that I haven’t met before are allowed.” A loud tak tak continued until he finally looked over at the boy in the passenger seat. He sighed for real when he noticed Waylon has burrowed into himself and scrunched his entire body up against the window, typing erratically on the once confiscated phone that the school was obligated to give back the second he left the grounds for summer break.
Bernard hesitated for a moment, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel before finally opening his mouth. “Look…Waylon. I know it’s hard but all you have to do is graduate. You know Mom and Dad only want to see you succeed. Is it so hard to just do that one simple thing?”
Waylon didn’t need to be told. He never needed to be told. His brother never once thought that his brother’s posture and lack of talking were from anything other than anger. Bernard couldn’t see the tears that refused to be held back, dripping over his fingers, the keyboard and screen of his phone until he had to vigorously wipe them away to forget they had ever been there. What Bernard thought was his little brother explaining the injustice of the situation to his friends was a particularly difficult game of tetris as the buzzes and beeps of his friend’s texts and calls went totally ignored.
Waylon didn’t want to look at his brother. He didn’t want to face the fact that he was actually regretting his actions. The boy who’d always taken life by the horns was actually regretting the idea of running with the bulls the second the gate had been opened.
He crumpled up the letter in his hand, throwing it as far away as he could in the tiny living room of the condo.
It was going to be a long summer…
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Posted: Wed May 21, 2014 8:47 pm
Solo #3:
Word Count: 798 To say he had a rough night was an understatement.
The trip back from Parthenope was uneventful but the experience had already taken it’s toll. His head was pounding and he was sure the overwhelming feeling of nauseas wasn’t entirely from the trip back to earth. It seemed to take hours to get comfortable. The bed felt like it was moving, uncomfortably shifting between feeling like concrete and liquid. Every time he opened his eyes, it looked like the world was spinning. It made Waylon wonder if he was even sleeping at all; Stuck in a perpetual lucid dream. Darkness was bleeding through the walls, staining them black. It dripped into the smallest cracks in the wall. The cracks buckled and crumbled around sheer white points as they protruded through the dry wall.
Teeth
Hundreds of them.
The undulated along the wall, wetness dripping off the pearl white enamel. Waylon was completely frozen on the bed. Was all of this real or not? The mouth hadn't been real. Iris hadn't seen anything. But how was this happening again? He wasn’t even on Parthenope this time. Maybe if he just curled up and went to sleep. Maybe is he just slept through it. It seemed to take a painful amount of effort to turn and curl himself up. Like all of his joints had been frosted over with ice. He brought the blanket up around him, twisting under it until he was in a perfect little ball of fabric.
Gotosleepgotosleepgotosleepgotosleep
He screwed his eyes shut even tighter when a strange almost electric hum sounded throughout the small place. The familiar voice once against started to echo around him in incomprehensible gibberish. It grew louder and louder. He could her the sound of ripping cloth, splintering wood and cracking dry wall, swelling in volume with the voice. The door began to creak and moan before rattling on it’s hinges. An orchestra straight out of his nightmares.
Just when he thought it couldn't get louder, it stopped. Entirely. There was nothing but the soft noises outside the window and his own ragged breathing. Maybe he’d finally fallen asleep? E blinked once. Twice. Finding nothing but darkness under the blanket. Gathering as much courage as he could, Waylon slowly brought the blanket down. Everything was in place. The darkness and teeth were gone along with all the damage they’d done. Nothi9ng in the walls or the floor or the bed.
Waylon blinked, rubbing his eyes to try and adjust to the darkness. Even though his body felt like jelly, he slowly lifted himself out of the bed, padding past the mountain of clothing in his path to the doorway. Nothing out of place. He touched the handle on the door, wincing slightly. What had he expected? For it to be burning hot? The door slowly clicked open, revealing nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
The floor that should have been beneath him had given way to darkness. Lights flickered in the distance. Voices started chiming with little bursts of light. Waylon jumped backwards, clutching the door to try and keep himself from falling. Could he fall? Was that even possible? He was quickly broken from his thoughts when he felt fabric.
His gloves?
The thick black fabric of Parthenope’s gloves had seemingly appeared without his knowledge. He’d never powered up without his pen before. That wasn’t possible. And never before had the cuffs led to bare skin. Parthenope looked down, wondering if any other pat of his outfit had changed but nothing was visible outside the light of the room; Only the heels of unfamiliar boots and a flash of black tights that were caught by the moonlight.
Before he could take a few strides into the room to fully reveal what ever he had become, a puff of air breathed hot on his neck. His gaze was drawn to the hulking mass that made it. The large maw poking out from the darkness, massive teeth a mish mash so large that it’s lips were drawn back, forever unable to close. Parthenope stood there, transfixed by the creature. The creature was just as transfixed., nostrils flaring as it slowly drew itself forward and into the light. It towered over him entirely. It’s head craned and bent to fit under the small doorframe. There was an odd moment of serenity before the set of jaws opened. Rows and rows of teeth barreled down on top of him.
He could hear himself screaming but the pain never came. Instead, the senshi bolted up in bed on the tail end of a loud, high pitched scream he wasn’t entirely sure his voice was making. Waylon sprang upright, his breath shallow and inconsistent as he tried to find his surroundings.
Nothing.
It was just the same room as always.
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Posted: Wed May 21, 2014 9:42 pm
Solo #4:
Word Count: 559 The most important thing about crashing at someone’s place was to know when you wore out your welcome. The fact that he’d had nothing but terrible nightmares at Ellie’s house since the trip to Parthenope was definitely a factor in his decision to leave.
Even though he knew he had to do it, standing on the nearly empty street fel odd. He’d spent so much time living in what amount to luxury for the past week or so that it felt odd standing there with his suitcase wondering where to go. There was no more Hillworth. No more dorm. Everything was up to him at this point. The sounds of the suitcase’s wheels were like a metronome, setting the pace for him as he stalked through the city. There was only one person who would take him back at that point. One person that might shelter him for a night while he got himself back together. It would be a long walk but he followed the setting sun towards his destination.
The soft hues of pink and orange had already given way to the inky blue-black of the nighttime sky by the time he reached the large condo complex. He typed in the entry code, which thankfully still worked, and sauntered inside. No one there looked up or even regarded him as he made his way towards the elevators. It wasn’t often when he thought that elevators went too fast but it seemed to only take a second to reach the designated floor. He seemed to reach the door even faster.
His fist hovered over the door. If he wasn’t let in, there was nothing he could do. It was an instant rejection. Simple as that. Still, he knocked. The soft voice coming from the other side of the door brought a small smile to his lips. At least he was still there. The smile faded instantly when the door opened. Both men stood there at a standstill, unsure or what to do until Bernard’s trademark smile widened. Waylon found himself scooped up in a large bear hug. His hand clutched tighter on the handle of his suitcase even as Bernard pulled him flush against his chest. The brothers rarely hugged. Bernard kept his distance and Waylon never felt the burning need to do so. The last time they hugged voluntarily, Waylon’s age was still in single digits.
“Where have you been little brother? I was worried about you!” Even though Bernard’s voice stayed even and calm, the hold around his shoulders only got tighter. Almost impossibly so.
Waylon could feel the sting of tears at the corner of his eyes. Sharing space with his brother had felt restricting for the both of them. They spent much of their time trying to move around each other. Friends were forced into awkward small talk, volumes had to be constantly adjusted and knocking on every door possible to announce your presence was a way of life. Waylon never thought his brother actually wanted him there. He felt more like a burden in almost every way. But knowing that his brother worried about him, missed him, made him feel something else entirely. Going back with his parents felt like giving in. Going to Hillworth felt like prison. Going to Ellie’s felt like running away. Going back to Bernard felt like home.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 8:08 pm
Solo #5:
Word Count: 590 The message was simple. Cut your hair. Get a job.
Even after the phone went quiet and his mother was no speaking in her quiet, measured, unapologetically authoritarian voice, those last two sentences stood out more than anything. Cut his hair? Get a job? He hadn’t even been at Bernard’s for more than 24 hours before his mother was once again charting his course for “success” or whatever she called it. But his hair? Why cut his hair? It could be braided, pinned up, kept hidden away. It had started long ago.
In elementary school, it hung over his eyes. He’d yelled and screamed like a banshee whenever someone got within a yard’s radius with scissors. In middle school, it was tied up in a neat pony tail half way down his back. Instead of screams, kicks and punches threatened anyone that would even try to threaten his locks. In High School, he’d gotten lectures about being a “proper gentleman” which included talking about how he “presented himself” but they rarely went so far as to try. By Hillworth, they all stopped trying entirely. All but one. His mother still tried to get him to cut it. Every time he told her he never would. Besides, it was well groomed. Perfectly groomed even. Why did it need to be cut?
2 weeks worth of interviews was starting to change his mind about the hair.
The first interviewer kept giving him sideways glances, scowling as she looked him over.
He’d kept it in a loose ponytail then, the ends perfectly pressed.
The second kept making snide remarks about hair care products. It all seemed fun and games until his hair got caught in the door. It had been in a much higher ponytail.
The third seemed nice enough until they got to the point about the dress code. It had been pinned up and braided that time.
He dragged his feet all the way back to Bernard’s apartment, replaying what his mother had said. It may not be impossible to wrap his hair up to the point that it wouldn’t be an issue but it would certainly be easier without it. Maybe that’s what she meant all along. Maybe she’d just been looking out for him.
Waylon sighed as he stared into the large mirror, scissors laying next to him on the bathroom counter. His reflection stared back at him with it’s own hair hanging like a curtain behind it. He watched as the reflection grabbed the hair tie and pulled it back into a high, tight ponytail. Even then it still hung like a curtain. Gold eyes glanced at the scissors, shining silver and perfectly sharpened.
“I guess it’s now or never…”
Waylon picked up the scissors, hand shaking as he lifted them off the counter. It wouldn't be too hard. Just a few snips and it would be over. His eyes darted between the scissors and the reflection for what seemed like hours.
“Okay. Maybe the bangs first.” He nervously lifted the scissors to a small piece of hair that hung over his face. He wanted to close his eyes but considering that he had blades in his face, he thought better. A snip later and he was watching strands of his hair fall into the sink below. The scissors quickly followed the hair with a loud metallic bang. He quickly but carefully pulled the tie from his hair to let it rest naturally down his back in thick brown waves.
“Nope. Never again.”
No more cutting. Only trims.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 9:01 pm
Solo #6:
Word Count: 485 A job. That was the second order.
Considering how much of an issue he’d had beforehand, that seemed like a tall order. A very tall order. It seemed like his choices were dwindling faster and faster. It wasn’t just the hair. The second they saw he graduated from Hillworth, they were instantly more suspicious of his abilities. He couldn’t really blame them. While many underprivileged youth went there as well, it still had a reputation for bad boys. It just so happened that he was one of said bad boys that gave it such a bad reputation. It just felt wrong somehow. He’d been spending the last few weeks trying to better himself. He’d started to shape up, ate his vegetables and even tried to be in bed by 10. Okay, maybe 10:30 but the point was that he tried. Everyone just seemed to be shutting doors in his face left and right.
So here he was, walking downtown in an attempt to find help wanted signs. If there was one thing he’d learned, “hiring” meant stuffy suits and judgment while “help wanted” was more desperate.
The mini mall he’d found himself in was a good enough target. Malls normally needed help and there were all kinds of stores. It was almost a job free for all at times. As he walked through the mall contemplating the different options, something caught his eye. It was a completely normal thing in a mall. Normal in almost every way. As normal as normal could possibly be. What it represented was the issue.
Waylon came face to face with a giant tooth outside an unassuming dentists office. The “enamel” was chipped and cracked, paint caked and flaking from the amount of times graffiti had been glossed over. It may have even been another color at one point as a bright pink color shown under thinner areas.
All he saw was the giant creature it could have been attached too though it’s teeth had been long and sharp causing him to shrink back from the large object. The familiar darkness started to shrink his vision. It felt like it was harder to take a breath, something constricting his chest as the darkness crept closer to him. This was how it always started. Teeth out of nowhere, screaming and then that horrible thing would come after him. It was hard to imagine it with a mouth full of gigantic molars and even harder to get that image out of his head. Grinded or ripped apart, whatever it was would still be eating him with it’s…teeth.
On another day before the trip to his asteroid, he would have passed it by without a second glance. Hell, he might have even painted something himself if he had the urge. Today, the 100% harmless statue of a tooth sent him in the opposite direction.
The mall wasn’t the only place that had jobs.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 9:47 pm
Solo #7:
Word Count: 629 He screwed up big time. Everything hurt. Absolutely everything. Even his pride throbbed like it had been physically hit. The entire situation had gone to hell in a hand basket. After they’d gotten Iris out of there, he’d stalked off by himself. More like limped off by himself. Parth didn't want to be around the other asteroids. He didn't want to even see any of the asteroids. It was better to limp slowly hope than it was to have any of them around him.
Questioning him. Scolding him. Yelling at him.
He wasn’t sure how much they knew but, the second he’d look into any of their eyes, they’d know.
They’d just know.
The senshi was distraught, weaving along the side walk like he was intoxicated. His eyes were wide and stared straight ahead, only blinking when the dryness became too much to bare. His hands were held out in front of him, fingers twitching as he stumbled down the road. The lights ahead of him began to dim, flickered before being snuffed out. The darkness around him writhed. The same voice began to whine and call out around him. All of his surroundings melted into nothing much like it had been when he’d opened the door. Lights, so alien and unfamiliar to street lights, flashed in the distance. He heard growling from all directions, small white points jutting out from the darkness.
No!
They only grew in size, becoming the large incisors he knew all too well.
No no no no no NO!
The teeth started shifting, forming into the same massive shape that confronted him in the doorway. This time, it seemed larger than life. Parthenope just stared at it with a look of horror. It had never happened when he was awake. Never when he was out in the open. A street light flickered bright enough that one large claws foot was revealed. It scrapped along the ground, putting deep rents in the rock.
Rock?
The street lamp flickered again before the light spread out around him. The ground was indeed black porous rock. It was nothing like the cream colored sidewalk. He could even feel the uneven surface underneath his boots. Parthenope looked down only to be greeted with a body he was sure wasn’t his. The deep brown, stark white and bright yellow hues were the same but everything felt wrong. Like he was living in someone else’s skin.
Who is this?
This isn't me!
“Who is this?!”
The warm feeling of breath on the back of his head and suddenly everything enveloped him at once. The voices came back with a vengeance, screaming in what seemed like a random pattern until they slowly began to converge together. The voices seemed to change in pitch and octave, briefly harmonizing before converging into one solitary voice. The breath grew hotter on his neck and, eyes even wider than before, he was forced to look straight at the creature. He could see it form in front of him in the light. The massive neck muscles taught from holding it’s jaw closed, clawed feet clutching the rock as if it was more adapted to navigating that territory.
Parthenope felt like screaming, crying and running all at the same time but he was stuck on the spot. He didn't know what was more frightening: the creature or the fact that he could no longer tell if he was dreaming. The screaming grew even louder around him and it was only then he realized it was coming from him. His throat felt raw from it and he could hear it ringing in his ears. Though the fact that the voice wasn’t his own had no bearing as the mouth creature lunged downward and all he could see were teeth.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 10:12 pm
Solo #8:
Word Count: 469 Iris’s punishment may have been kick in the teeth but talking to ********* had felt like a nail in the proverbial coffin. He had to do it by himself whether he wanted to or not. Still, all he could think about were the nightmares. All he could think about was that creature slithering out of the darkness. It may have been trying to get him or trying to taunt him but it was definitely doing it’s job.
Every time it got a little closer. Every time it wrapped him even tighter in his clutches. He couldn't even fight it. Even as Parthenope, it still caught him in it’s jaws. He couldn't do anything about it but stand there and be devoured piece by piece until he could no longer distinguish between being awake and dreaming. He was stuck in a lucid dream, walking around like a zombie as he went through his day.
If this was what being a senshi was then maybe it was a good thing Iris told him to stop powering up. Maybe the nightmares would go away. Maybe his life would go back to normal. Maybe he could get so sleep. In all honesty, being a senshi had begun to scare him. After that night, they just kept getting more real. The monster just kept getting larger. He was useless as he was no matter what state he was in. He was a useless senshi, terrified of something no one else could see and a useless man that was terrified of something he always saw. Even after being powered down for a week, the nightmares still happened. His sleep was constantly interrupted by something he couldn't fight.
How could anyone even help him with that? Would Iris even understand? Would *********? Could they?
Those questions replayed in his head over and over. He knew that they would help him if he asked but how would he go about asking? Even though they all had hurdles to overcome, it felt like his was wholly unique. Something that none of them had dealt with before. None of them seemed starved for peace of mind. None of them seemed to struggle just to stop an indescribable force from overtaking them. If that was normal, he was sure someone would have told him. Maybe that’s why he couldn't get any more powerful. Maybe his mind was too jumbled. Too confused. Too scared.
He said he could do it himself but not with the nightmares. Not when that creature loomed over him like a perfect storm, threatening the drown him with little to no effort as he stood there completely aware of the water filling his lungs but unable to do anything to stop it.
Maybe it was time to fight back.
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Posted: Sun Aug 17, 2014 8:36 pm
Solo #9:
Word count: 645
The night after was nearly as bad as the lucid dreams. He was constantly on edge in his own bed, twisting and turning as he slept until his eyes were forced open by an overwhelming feeling of dread. Waylon laid there waiting for something to happen. Maybe the bed would shake. Maybe he would feel the low hum in his chest before he could hear it. Maybe he’d feel the slight p***k of teeth around midsection before it vanished into thin air, leaving only the ghost pain behind.
The routine was always the same. Get in bed. Try to sleep, Fail miserably. Rinse. Repeat.
It was a constant cycle though now the imaginary creature had turned into an imaginary feeling. The monster was dead and had been for thousands of years at this point. He’d overcome the darkness but, no matter what he did, it still haunted him.
Waylon stood at the foot of his bed, looking down wearily at the comfort it advertised. Everything from the quilt to the arrangement of what seemed to be half a dozen pillows were perfectly arranged after Bernard had gotten to it. The green and white motif of his comforter as welcome and familiar as always. It was obvious that great care had been taken to make the bed look as picturesque as possible and, he had to admit, it almost looked good enough to run in an advertisement. It was a shame that such an inviting image harbored such ill intent. There was a muffled thud as he flopped heavily down onto the soft mattress. Hell, it even smelled good.
Maybe tonight I’ll get…
The man sighed, fingers curling into the comforter. His eyes scanned the contours fo the bed around him. Everything still looked normal at least. Not teeth. No monster.
“Well obviously that’s not going to happen…” he grumbled as he rolled himself over, pulling half of the blanket with him. All sounds of the outside world slowly faded until all that could be heard was his soft breathing and the ticking of the small clock sitting on the windowsill. The monotone, even spaced ticking kept him grounded in reality. As long as he could hear that, he was awake.
He was awake…
Waylon snapped up when a loud noise rang out, breathing heavily as gold eyes frantically darted this way and that, checking his surroundings for threats. He expected to wake up to darkness caused by night rather than hallucinations and the dull ticking of his clock. Instead, his room was bathed in a blue hue and the soft ticking was replaced by the loud ringing of his alarm. The man let out a breath of relief as he rested his head in his hands. He hadn't even remembered falling asleep.
Wait…
Light shown through his curtains, causing the blue hue. It was morning. Waylon groggily shoved the blanket off of him and wobbled to his feet. Somehow, he shuffled over to his clock and turned off the loud ring. Before he could open the curtain, he hesitated, hand hovering with the corner of the fabric in his hands. Maybe it was a trick? Maybe this was going to dissolve into an antagonizing anxiety attack in the middle of the night?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
He pulled open the curtain, expecting something to jump out of him and wake him from this dream but all he saw was the city beginning to come alive. People were walking on the sidewalks, sitting at cafes with their coffees and walking their dogs. Cars were speeding down the street in the frantic rush to get from here to there. Nothing ominous.The scene outside was typical, every day life in the city.
As the streets became clogged with people, Waylon couldn't help but chuckle as he watched. For the first time in a long while, everything was peaceful.
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Posted: Wed Sep 17, 2014 5:42 pm
Solo #10:
Word count: 530 Parthenope continued on his way with Ellie in his arms until he was sure that they were out of harm’s way. It had been a rough and confusing purification but at least they all got out of it unscathed. More importantly, he hadn't screwed anything up. It wasn’t like he had ever willingly participated, on account of being neither a Prince nor a dark senshi, but he always felt a bit sick to his stomach when he thought about it. Not just what happened but what happened when it went wrong. Seeing it go right, seeing Iris like that, made him feel better if only a little bit.
Soon enough, there was little room for hiding in shadows and keeping to rooftops though the small smattering of people walking down the streets probably wouldn't have paid them any mind. It was best to not take any chances with such precious cargo. He went about powering down, choosing a small alley between two popular shopping centers to get the job done. The alley wasn’t well used at night but it wasn’t too farfetched to think someone would go through it even with an unconscious woman on their back. They’d probably think he was carrying a friend, girlfriend or possibly even a sister that got a bit too tipsy. They were near a few bars and they did look old enough to drink but no yet know their limits. He rolled up the blanket, tying it around his midsection like a sweater before trying to rouse the barely conscious Ellie onto his back.
The process was slow but eventually Ellie was situated on his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. Waylon was accustom to carrying his little sister like this. The little girl had gotten harder to carry as time went on and she grew. He figured Ellie would have been almost unbearable to carry in such a way but he found that she wasn't much harder to carry.
“Maybe I am getting stronger,” he mused as he started walking down the street, Ellie in tow. The awkward looks became fewer and far between as the night grew darker and everyone seemed to be leaning on someone else as they made their way to their destinations. Though looking ridiculous was the least of his worries as he carried on through the night. All that mattered was getting her home safe and sound. That’s what she trusted him to do. Feeling her warmth against him reminded him of that.
With her home finally in sight, Waylon began to relax just a bit. All he needed to do was get her back to her room and everything was over. The night would be a complete success barring Vespa’s ridiculous mistake. Before he could dwell on the experience, he heard Ellie groan ever so slightly. “Don' worry. You’re almost home.” The girl mumbled something incoherently, obviously still in the clutches of sleep. She nuzzled against him, resting her face in the crook of his neck as her arms wrapped tighter around him. Waylon doubted her dubious affections were on purpose but he couldn't help but laugh.
“You mus' really be outta commission, Ellie."
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