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Friendly Conversationalist
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 Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:10 pm
__________________________Ⅰ__◈__ ❝ Snowfall ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅠⅠ__◈__ ❝ Awakening ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅠⅠⅠ__◈__ ❝ Weighting Is Gross ❞ [ a roleplay recap entry ]
__________________________ⅠⅤ__◈__ ❝ Snowblind ❞ [ a quest given ]
__________________________Ⅴ__◈__ ❝ Warning ❞ [ a quest response ]
__________________________ⅤⅠ__◈__ ❝ Birth ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅤⅠⅠ__◈__ ❝ Giftgiving ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅤⅠⅠⅠ__◈__ ❝ Aimes' Spring Fish Festival ❞ [ a roleplay recap entry ]
__________________________ⅠⅩ__◈__ ❝ Can We Fix It? ❞ [ a roleplay recap entry ]
__________________________Ⅹ__◈__ ❝ Harvest ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅩⅠ__◈__ ❝ Song ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅩⅠⅠ__◈__ ❝ Adrift ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅩⅠⅠⅠ__◈__ ❝ Lost ❞ [ a personal entry ]
__________________________ⅩⅠⅤ__◈__ ❝ Found ❞ [ a personal entry ]
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:13 pm
❝ s n o w f a l l ❞ _"Death On The Snowfield ( Terra )"_◈_Nobuo Uematsu / AmIEvil The snow was coming down in full force now.
Ciellas O'Malley pressed a hand to the back window and watched the gentle flakes fall, her face fixed with a long, worried frown. As many times as she had scanned the span of yard between the back of the Wayfarer's Inn and the lake shore, there was no sign of her gray lump of a cat. Roark had been missing since she had arrived home a few hours prior, when the storm had started, and she had turned the inn and tavern upside down in her search, but to no avail.
The wind howled, and her worry doubled with a painful thump in her chest. She turned away from the back window, where her hand left a fogged print on the glass.
'A 'strange coincidence' indeed, pfft.' Ciellas scoffed at herself. It's what she gets for following fanciful notions like that. She should never involve an outsider in her personal affairs like she had earlier that day. Seeing the gypsy woman was a stupid idea.
Saera was a strange girl, only a few years younger than herself. Curiosity had been getting the better of her in regards to.. certain personal matters and a gentleman who had come into her life in the form of a regular patron of the inn, and in a moment of spontaneity, she figured it was worth the shot. She stepped into the wagon, ushered in by the small, blank-faced boy to her seat, and the gypsy was waiting for her.
As she made motions over reading her palm and tossing theories and questions at her with an airy voice, all Ciellas could really concentrate on was the shoddy dye job of this girl's hair and her peculiar bi-colored eyes. But the show was put on hold when Saera tapped her palm.
"Ah, yes... yes." She traced a line cutting across the heel of her hand. "You're due for a series of strange coincidences, mmm, yes. Something unexpected is coming into your life."
Right then, Ciellas voiced her disbelief, and rather loudly. She recalled saying something about how even with her own limited knowledge of palmistry, she was smart enough to know that one couldn't discern certain things like that. A few other names were tossed in there, mostly to mask her embarrassment at having stooped to getting psychic (she used the word loosely) advice on her little situation. However the gypsy just smiled and held out her hand with flexing fingers. "Take it or leave it, but either way I need to be paid."
Ciellas stomped out of the makeshift shop feeling rather embarrassed and annoyed with herself. The storm had started shortly after that, spitting out thin drops of rain that crystallized into snow.
But she had bigger concerns than some crock of a fortune teller's reading - she had a missing cat on her hands.
Ciellas weighed her options. Roark may have been a ham for attention but he certainly wasn't stupid: when the going gets rough, he ducks out of sight until things calm down. He'd likely find himself cover, however she couldn't fully convince herself that this was true. She had to know if he was out there, but..
The forceful wind rattled the shutters on the second floor windows, and it cemented any decision she had on waiting.
"Roark!" Ciellas crossed her arms in front of her face as a gust blew the cold snow in her eyes. The heavy wool coat that had belonged to her brother hung on her comparatively smaller frame, and even now it flapped against her legs. When the wind died down for a moment, she squinted through the whiteness, glancing behind her at the trek she had already made from the warmth of the inn. Ahead of her, the lake shore was mostly blotted out by the storm, but she could discern the treeline of the forest just a few yards ahead.
"Y'stupid cat.. Roark!" She coughed against the rush of cold down her throat, but the woman shook her head defiantly and marched on. Even if he wasn't outside.. even if by chance he was in some unsearched corner of the tavern.. she had to look. Leaving him out here . . .
She broke through the trees, and the ground before her was littered with hidden dips and broken tree branches. For a moment, she hesitated, and her teeth chattered. But again, she shook her head to orient herself and trudged on.
'I'll check the clearing before I call off the search.' She made the deal with herself, stubborn as she was to give up on this mission. There would be no use in her freezing to death in the storm if she could return to search in the morning, but she had to put her doubts to rest.. at least for the time being. The trees were thickening as she pressed on, as though to discourage her from completing the pact she'd made. She called as she went, but the cold scratched her throat and stung her eyes, making them water. But she couldn't give up yet. The clearing was just ahead.
Only a few more feet . . she had to know . .
"Roar--" Ciellas stepped into the clearing and the call died in her dried throat. As she crossed the threshold of the trees, she didn't feel the oppressive force of the wind in her face. On the contrary, the entire clearing was free from the storm. Here, the sky was a light gray while the snowflakes fell lazily, slowly, taking their time. There was not a noise to be heard in the area, and the eerie silence hung thickly in the air.
She stood transfixed by the scene for a moment. Just how on earth was this possible? These trees weren't tall enough to block a storm of that caliber . .
But something glittered against the root of a tall, handsome pine, and it was doing so fiercely enough that she couldn't look away. Acting on impulse for the second time that day, she pivoted in the snow and walked lightly towards it. Her damp skirt hem made sweeping patterns in her wake on the surface of the untouched snow while her leather boots plowed shallow grooves. As she approached the soft mound of white, she tucked her skirt around her legs and knelt, her eager fingers reaching out to grasp the half-covered object.
The way it was placed in the snow seemed as though someone had dropped it - perhaps a wayward traveler. But there was no sign of footprints in the unbroken surface, other than hers, and there wasn't enough of the powder on the ground to indicate they had been covered by a fresh coat. The birds in this part of the country liked to collect shiny objects to decorate their nests, and her gaze drifted upwards towards the sprawling branches, but they were too nettled together to see anything properly.
Ciellas plucked the bottle from the mound and a few stray flakes fell off the glassy surface. It felt light in her hands. But just then a gust of wind blowing in from the depths of the forest came howling through the trees and hit her full force, startling her out of the queer mood she was in upon arriving in this clearing. She raised her arms against the flurry of kicked-up snow and stumbled quickly to her feet. That's right; this was a storm. Her fingers and face were numb with cold, and her skirt soaked through with freezing water. She had to hurry home.
She decided she would resume the search in the morning for her companion, and hope for the best. It was all she could do now, even though the sinking feeling in her heart wouldn't cease for this decision.
To Ciellas' great surprise, the storm had died while she was in the clearing. The clouds were still dark with the approach of nightfall, and her soaked clothing froze her body and made her teeth chatter furiously. With the bottle clasped in her cold-numbed fingers, she headed home with a heavy heart.
She stepped out of the path she had made in the previously-undisturbed snow and shook her coat and skirt free of the clinging snowflakes. The door slammed behind her as she barred the cold from entering her home. The fireplace had done a good job of keeping the place warm, and she welcomed this heat fully, although her teeth were still chattering.
A rapid pattering on the stairs drew her attention, and her weary eyes glanced towards the handrail and widened - there, peeking out between the posts, was Roark, with yellow eyes curious and welcoming. Her heart eased back into her with great relief, knowing that it had been some oversight on her part, before it hammered once in fierce annoyance. He trotted up innocently and rubbed his large, fat body against her wet legs.
"Cat," she hissed through gritted teeth, kneeling down to pat him hard on the rump. "If I weren't so glad tae see ye, I'd smack ye silly right now." Her fists clenched at her sides, and in doing so she was greeted with the feeling of sharp coldness. Unclenching freezing fingers from around the peculiar glass bottle she had discovered in the woods, she examined her find. It was still surprising how light it felt in her hands.. well it must have been, if a bird had been able to pick it up. That was the story she was going to believe for the time being, at least until more solid evidence came along.
But that wasn't the main thing that concerned Ciellas. The entire time they had been in the warm hallway, the bottle had remained stubbornly cold. A smattering of snowflakes clung to the glass, unchanged by the temperature increase.
She goes out in search of a cat, and instead finds a bottle as light as fresh-fallen snow.
Stranger circumstances she couldn't recall. 
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:15 pm
 
Ciellas took a deep breath of the thick, closed-in air and nearly coughed, but she smiled amiably at the older gentleman seated at one of the bar stools. Drumbeats pulsed through her and the lilting jump of fiddle strings sang across the room, which was packed to a heavier capacity than it normally saw. But this was always good news to the young woman; festival days meant good business. Good business meant she wouldn't be scraping by when it came time for mortgages and other amenities. Good business meant she kept busy. Indeed, the call of the patrons was cheerful but urgent over the heads of others, trying to drown out the loud music playing in close proximity and the din of conversation. The atmosphere was chaotic, hot, and busy; this is where she thrived best.
But something kept Ciellas from completely losing herself in the bustle of the moment and being as productive as she normally was. That "something" came in the form of a bottle, sweating nearly half of its contents, and now sitting inside the small icebox underneath her bar. A worried glance in its general direction only did well to increase her anxiety.
"Oi, Ciel! Another rum!"
"Alright, alright, comin' up sir!" A deft flick of the wrist brought the glass from the overhead compartment and down onto the countertop, where an emptying dish of chipped-off ice chunks and the bottle lay in wait. She moved fast, eager to deliver her best, tossing the last of the ice in and tilting the liquor into the glass. A quick swipe with a clean cloth to rid the outside of her fingerprints and it was nudged down the table, into the eager hands of the client. She winked and moved along the bar, picking up the empties as she went and began to wash them in a basin of clean water she had set up for the occasion. The glasses were quick work and soon set in the overhead slots to finish drying until they were needed in duty again, but as she reached to clean the ice dish and noticed it empty, her eyes fell upon the icebox door, and a fleeting frown crossed her features.
There was no reason why the bottle's contents had begun to disappear, so to speak. The weather had been temperate, the chill in the air refusing to give way to spring's warmth just yet, and a mix of stormy and cloudy days had succeeded each other. There had been no re-occurrence of snow since she had found it the night Roark had gone missing, and in fact the only reminder of that strange ordeal was the bottle itself, which did nothing else but just be. It sat on the bar during cleaning days, rested in her bag on trips to the market, and pretty much was kept on her person. The idea of opening it had crossed her mind, but she wasn't quite sure yet; it felt lighter than a bottle made of glass should be, so what's to tell what it contains that makes it so? The idea of seeking the gypsy's advice marched quickly after, but she immediately stomped that one into the ground. Ciellas was a proud creature, and if anybody was going to find out what this thing was, this thing that she had found, then it was going to be her - not some hack of a fortuneteller who made end's meet through vague phrases and deception.
With the approach of the town's Spring Festival, however, it was as though the object sensed change in the air. The woman was busy running errands, preparing for one of the busier days of her season, when the bottle, as though feeling neglected and throwing a tantrum in pure theatrical fashion, began to sweat profusely. With so little time to worry about it but a gnawing anxiety that she would lose what she had been so curious to see in the fat droplets that formed and ran down the curved exterior, it found its place among the large slab of ice in the icebox beneath the bar in a moment of quick thinking. Here it was left while she ran her errands, but she checked it whenever she returned for any signs of change, although none came. Time waited for no one, though, and the festival arrived. The tavern filled with new and old clientele as usual, and the band of lads from down the street had set up on the floor to play for the people's entertainment. Ciellas' thoughts strayed to the item locked in the icebox as she washed glasses and doled out alcohol, along with a wayward stare, but she decided to shake them off. 'No, no. Maybe a little more time will help..'
"D'you got any more ice in there?" A younger gentleman tapped his glass on the countertop, and the blonde woman nodded eagerly, taking the glass and dipping out of sight. If anything, this gave her a chance to check on her little object of curiosity. She reached a hand down and tugged on the handle of the icebox, and was met with a fierce resistance. Leaning in further and giving a harder pull did not help her cause, so she put her mind to better use than resisting the urge to kick the darned thing and set to examining the perimeter.
The door was frozen shut. Her mouth tugged into a small agitated frown as she scooped her skirt under her legs properly and squatted down, leaning forward on her left hand while the right pulled the door. It made a loud creak and a muffled crinkle, but the door would not budge. Immediately her heart hammered. Had she done it wrong? What if the bottle had burst in there and frozen the door shut? The urgency of the thought drove her to fall back onto her rear end and rest a foot against the back wall of the bar cabinet and pull the handle with two hands. Two shakes did nothing; one pull also gave no results. One fierce tug initiated with a sharp kick to the back of the bar (admittedly startling some of her clientele) pulled the door free.
The music changed gears as the drums were joined by a pipe player and a fiddler, the beat changing into one that invited those light on their feet to dance. As with the events in the forest when she had found the trinket abandoned in the snow, Ciellas watched the icebox transfixed. Curls of mist drifted from the interior and wrapped around her flushed face, the exposed forearms that were covered in a thin layer of sweat. Even more vapor trailed from the handle of the door, where a coating of frost had crept out from the inner area of the icebox. It covered the inside of the door, crept up the sides, and caked the bottom. The bottle in question was elevated on a small snowy mound as though presiding over all. But this wasn't what amazed her.
The calls went up again asking for more, but Ciellas could only focus on the bottle, and the waltzing snowflakes that dipped and spun in time with the music. They swirled playfully around the outside with the drums, rising with the swell of the violin and moving faster with the pipe. They were everywhere at once, although they truly remained close to what could only be making them - the bottle. They were so light, dancing with the enthusiasm of a newly-engaged couple.. it almost seemed as though the bottle were happy. Truly happy. When the music slowed, the snowflakes became lazy, but as soon as the beat marched at a faster tempo they picked right back up where they were last, as though making up for lost time. By now there were no doubts to her about the bottle now, her head beginning to spin a little with the very thought and she sorely felt like a drink herself.
The bottle was not ordinary.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:16 pm
❝ weighting is gross ❞Located here for your convenience.__←_ Weighting Is Gross Milk, cloth, vegetables...
As she walked down the cobbled pathway of the crowded street, Ciellas' gaze drifted upward as she tried to recall everything that she needed. The weather and a shortage of basic amenities had called for a trip to the market, and if anything she was grateful to get away from the inn. The sun felt good on her skin - nice and warm.
A sharp, heavy coldness pressed against her leg. She glanced at the knitted sack slung around her shoulder, which thumped softly with every new step. The strange bottle she'd found recently had been an object of curiosity, for both her and Roark. The freak warm spell they were having seemed to have a peculiar effect on the object, where condensation would gather and roll down the sides as though it were a filled ice-frosted glass. The bottle gave no other unnatural signs, however, other than remaining stubbornly cold against the 40-degree weather. Perhaps, Ciellas thought, she should visit that gypsy again. The woman may have been a hack as far as she was concerned, but she was the only authority on the paranormal that she knew. That was the plan. Market, see the gypsy, then back home.
That was the plan, until she heard the wail. It was a child's cry, certainly, but there was no sign of the usual want in it.. instead there was a subtle tone of distress. She frowned and whipped her head around to catch a glimpse of the source. Her eyes settled on a rather.. peculiar looking boy, blindfolded and left to feel his way around. The gray skin and shocking white hair was definitely a sight to see, but while her eyes were drawn to these features, her mind bubbled with questions and a quiet agitation.
Is this.. some kind of game? Does he have friends he was playing with who left him behind.. ?
Whatever the cause was, it didn't sit right with her. There were no children his age in the immediate area, nor any person who looked to be his parent. Ciellas felt awash with sympathy and made her way through the hustling crowd, muttering a few "pardon"'s and "s'cuse me"'s as she went. The frown remained fixed on her face when she narrowed her eyes at the people who has stopped to stare, but not offered help. Honestly, what has the world come to? As she approached, she hoped that she wouldn't startle the poor thing - things went more smoothly when all parties were rational and calm, after all.
"S'cuse me, little one.. are y'alright there?" Her tone receded to the sweet one she used to coerce her crying brothers and sisters. She bent down at the waist and pressed her hands to her knees; the sack around her shoulder flopped forward and hit her forearms. "Did ye lose someone?"
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:17 pm
Original Life Dust Quest Repost
Snowblind
(Dust Spin --> Child Quest*)
Everyone knows what hypothermia is yet few people actually can admit to having suffered from such a condition and living to tell the tale. Brutal on the body and soul, mind and senses, it's a condition that the cold grasp of winter has left on those unlucky enough to find themselves without a safe place to rest.
The bar has been getting cold at night, unbelievably and unbearably actually, and it's almost to the point where Ciellas cannot believe that it's early summer outside. Doors and windows have always been open for the past few weeks, and talk has actually turned to lighting the fireplaces to get the place warm. The fires only help for so long before they too give in to this mysterious (and now scary) unknown source of the cold, and Ciellas may soon have to move outside . . . that is, unless she can stop the source once she discovers what it really is - that bottle she has kept hidden away in the ice chest.
*Please note, there's a minimum word requirement of 500 words for this quest.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:19 pm
❝ w a r n i n g ❞_"Juliet`s Funeral & Death"_◈_Sergei Prokofiev ( from Romeo & Juliet ) She had first noticed it when the glasses adhered to the drying racks and refused to budge. The older man who liked to spend his lonely evenings in the company of the pub voiced an irritated complaint at Ciellas for taking so long with his drink, but she merely shrugged, just as confused as he was.
Well, that wasn't entirely true.
She had noticed something amiss when she had woken in the late springtime months in the middle of the night, her body wracked with shivers and fog itching her nose and face beneath the covers. Excursions outside shook her of the idea that it was a cold spell in weather; on the contrary, the sun was shining happily and many families were sporting lighter clothing of cotton and short sleeves. Ciellas was confused, even doing so much as to test the idea by standing half and half in the doorway; one side was pressed with a growing chill, and the other accepted the warm sun happily. The cold lingered throughout the building like an unwelcome guest, and Ciellas shrugged it off when her customers complained. An old building, she apologized, they tend to get drafty. She pulled a sweater from her wardrobe and said no more of it, but there was no denying that the temperature was rather uncomfortable.
The decline was rapid, and within two days of the first temperature drop, The Wayfarer's regulars left, only telling the confused woman that they would return when her problem was fixed. The day after, Roark was gone, and Ciellas was notably more distressed about this development, recalling when she had thought she had lost him last. A peek through the fogged back window assured her of his whereabouts, where he made a temporary home underneath its sun-dappled branches, peering at the exceptionally cold house with distaste. But the dwindling number inside did little to help, and if anything the temperature continued to drop. On the fourth day, she awoke to find a number of her glasses broken from the cold. What in the world could be causing this unnatural cold?
Unnatural.
The word clicked immediately, and she berated herself for having been so dense. The cold must have been fogging her senses. A heavy frown affixed to her face, she rounded the corner of the bar and crouched down. The door to the little icebox proved less difficult to open than the last time she had checked on the strange object, but the thing had certainly been to work. It now sat upon a small mound of crystallized ice, as though presiding over the events from a miniature throne, but the woman was stubborn.
"I know what yer doin'." It seemed silly to speak out loud to an inanimate object, but given the strange behavior it was displaying lately, she wouldn't be surprised if it could hear her. Either way, it felt good to be imposing over this.. this thing that threatened to run her out of home and business. If they were to cohabitate, Ciellas O'Malley wouldn't be shaken off by a temper tantrum. "I know. And don't think I won't do anything about it. This stops now." She gave it a serious nod, out of habit from reprimanding many a younger relative. The door was shut with a decisive flourish, and it seemed to her as though the temperature warmed just a little.
'See? All it took was a talk to set things straight. Just like a child brought tae reason. By tomorrow morn, all should be well.'
The bottle, on the other hand, appeared to have changed its sentient mind overnight. Ciellas awoke the next morning sore and shaking, struggling to open her eyes and annoyed at her abundance of confidence yesterday. There was a chorus of crackling when she sat up in her bed and a shower of ice crystals fell from her hair. Her panicked hands touched her face, barely feeling at all, and wiped her eyes, where the rapid motion melted the ice that had formed on her lashes. She blinked the last of it away and glanced around in surprise at her room, where every object was covered in a thin coat of frost. Puffs of vapor trailed after her as she pushed the quilt aside and nearly slipped on the slick floor. Trembling in her warmest flannel nightgown and teeth chattering, she clenched her cold fists.
"ALRIGHT! THAT'S ENOUGH!" And Ciellas had truly had enough. Something had to be done.. something. Anything. The bottle had to get out of the house. There was a moment of wrestling with the wardrobe door, and she dressed as quickly as her sluggish and uncoordinated limbs would allow. A pair of woolen gloves were pulled on, followed by thick socks covered by her trusted leather boots.
The door was slammed open and she tromped heavily down the stairs, making distinct cracks in the ice that had begun to form. The last step was especially difficult, and her angry stomps almost landed her on her backside, but a scramble to hold fast to the rain saved her from that. Taking more care this time around, she slipped behind the bar and eyed the icebox. More ice had crept along the exposed shell of it and decorated the metal handle, and bits of broken glass littered the area - a glance towards the drying rack showed her that her serving glasses had broken from the sudden drop. But she was not going to let this stop her. A struggle began with trying to jerk the door open, but by planting herself on the ground, with one boot fixed on the side of the box and two hands on the handle, she succeeded in ripping the door open and sending ice shards everywhere. There the bottle sat, elevated closer to the top of the container than it had been before, the snowflakes that danced around it whirling rapidly as though working double time to make a mess of Ciellas' home.
Her glove-wrapped fingers gripped the bottle and yanked it from the icebox, where its icy throne cracked to release it. However she had definitely not anticipated the sharpness of the chill, and gave a quiet yelp when it seeped through the woolen material that protected her hands. They pulled open and she nearly thought she would drop the bottle but to her surprise it clung to the fibers of her gloves, frozen snugly with frost that crept over them. A wave of panic surged through her; memories of men from the mountains coming in, displaying frostbitten, discolored skin made her innards squirm. The tingling and subsequent numbness told her of the beginnings of frostnip, and after that..
Ciellas scrambled to her feet, feeling the dampness of cold sweat break over her shuddering body. The bottle had to go outside, somewhere warm, into the sunshine. The cold air in the tavern suddenly shifted and chilled further, and the object in her hands trembled. It was urgent now; the bottle did not want to be tossed so unceremoniously out of the house!
"Well, ye b-brought it o-on y-y-yerself," she grumbled through blue lips to the item in her numbed hand, stumbling along the hallway wall towards the back door. "A l-little s-s-sunshine oughta c-cure that attitude o-o' yers."To be continued / concluded in ❝ Birth ❞ .
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:21 pm
❝ b i r t h ❞_"Waltz of the Snowflakes_◈_Pyotr Tchaikovsky ( from The Nutcracker ) Ciellas' brown boots skidded on the slick boards. Her arms stretched to steady herself but she kept on, one hand affixed to the bottle and her dominant one ready to pull the door open.
Outside. I have to get it outside.
The door was wrenched open and she made a sharp turn on the small back porch. Her legs decided that they could not continue anymore, and the boots gave way once Ciellas reached the stairs and down she flew into the sun-warmed grass. Her body was wracked with violent shivers but she struggled to stand again, sluggishly moving past the garden tools resting against (and now frozen to) the outside wall of the house, past the door to the outdoor icebox with her arm shaking but outstretched. As soon as the summer sun touched the bottle's glittering surface, a droplet of moisture collected quickly and rolled off the rounded side, but Ciellas had no time to marvel at it as her free hand fought with the glove on the occupied one. There was a crinkling sound as the glove wrenched free of her fingers, and then the bottle was flying from her hands, landing and bouncing on the green grass before coming to a stop. The rounded bottom of the bottle was exposed to the sun, where larger drops of liquid quickly formed and rolled down into the dirt. Ciellas fell forward onto her arms with her face towards the ground, smelling the freshness of the spring grass but shaking her head. The immediate danger had passed.
Still.. why did she feel so guilty?
"I'm sorry." What an odd sight it must have made; a near 30-year-old woman sprawled on the grass, apologizing to a bottle wrapped in a glove. But for some reason, the sight of the sweating bottle arose a pity in her just as it had when she had made the decision to put the poor thing in the small icebox in the first place. She rose to sit on her knees as the other glove was removed and she immediately began rubbing her stinging hands. "B-but.. ye can't muscle me oot of my own home." The panic of the moment was still churning in her stomach uncomfortably, but the bottle seemed to take little notice and two fat water droplets rolled off the surface. She swallowed, unsure of what to do. What does one do with something like this?
At last the pity overrode any lingering notion to leave the bottle alone to sweat in the sun. She had rescued the blasted thing from the forest - she might as well make sure that it didn't completely melt away. Struggling to her feet, she approached the sweating bottle and wrapped it firmly between the two gloves, then turned and moved stiffly back towards the house. The reach of the abnormal frost, already beginning to melt with its creator in such distress, luckily managed to avoid the outside icebox so with sore fingers and diminishing strength she wrenched the iron door open. It creaked loudly on rusted hinges and dregs of vapor whirled into the daylight. Mounds of the frozen blocks stood in a scattered mess around the closet-sized room.
That was when the stopper popped out and hit the cement floor with a sharp clack. The mixture of the warm air and the cold of the icebox came together quite suddenly and immediately the room was filled with vapor. A loud hiss accompanied the vapor and she dropped the bottle in surprise. It made a louder clink on the cement floor before rolling out of sight behind a stack of ice blocks. The air thickened and the only thing Ciellas could hear was the hissing and the sounds of outside, as though from a distance. Her ears were ringing with dread.
Oh no. Ohhh no, oh no, oh no. Her hopes plummeted to a point where she felt it in her stomach. This is it, she had definitely messed up this time. But what did she have to go on? The bottle had dropped into her life with great fanfare, and only succeeded in causing problems. By any means she should feel relieved that it was out of her life now. But she had so anticipated seeing what would become of it. All her care for nothing? She didn't want to even think of that.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated, her hands firmly clasped together over her beating heart. The hissing dissipated and the only sound was her harsh breathing and the pumping of her heart in her ears. "B-but I had tae do what I had tae. Y-Ye could've killed us." But justifying her reasons to an empty room and a bottle whose contents were likely destroyed by now felt empty.
".. Sorry." Ciellas opened her eyes wide and paused, listening for a moment. Whose voice.. was this? The soft voice was unlike any that she had heard, barely above a whisper.. the words felt like an echo. She had probably imagined it, and she shook her head to clear her rattled brain. The stress of the day, the contrasting temperature extremes on her body, yes, that must be it.
But the sight of a child peeking around the ice blocks made her drop her hands from her chest in shock. Piercing eyes like dark ice watched her beneath soft mounds of black hair that waved freely over her exposed shoulders. The pale skin that was visible from behind the ice blocks held only slight traces of pink, and Ciellas watched her in surprise. The child must have been frozen near to death, having no clothes on her frail body, but her hands remained on the ice calmly, no signs of exposure or frostbite to be seen. Her lips were healthy, no blue tint to her extremities. And that was when Ciellas noticed the etchings of frost that curled from beneath the child's fingertips to spread over the surface of the ice.. and the clear wings that made a crinkling noise as they fluttered on the child's back.
"... My god." This is what the bottle had become. Relief washed over her - she hadn't ruined things after all! Before any thoughts could reach her voice, the child spoke again in her whisper voice. The words were less like an echo this time, as though she finally realized what she were saying, and a note of apology for everything that had happened lingered quietly in her tone.
"I'm sorry."
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:23 pm
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:24 pm
❝ aimes' spring fish festival ❞Located here for your convenience.__←_ Aimes' Spring Fish Festival Ciellas had told her that it would be good for her. She had made mention of the people she could meet, the sights to see, things to buy. There was many a mention of festivals gone by and memories that still brought a smile to her face, as she hurriedly tugged her boots on her feet and made sure the dustling was properly dressed and presentable.
What she had failed to mention, however, was the thickness of the crowd, the lingering fishy smell of the docks that stung her nose, and worst of all the heat of the collective bodies. And Anouk hated her for it.
So here she stood in the shade of one of the stands, arms crossed over the front of her dress and wearing a look of utmost displeasure. She cast a look of longing at the sea and wanted to go into the waves to at least escape the heat of the crowds and had said as much as soon as they arrived, but her guardian would have none of it. With one glance at the pouty-faced little girl, Ciellas had taken her by her profusely-sweating hand and pulled her deeper into the crowd, promising her the relief of an ice cream. The icy wings on Anouk's back fluttered in protest as they hit passing people, and her guardian made a comment along the lines of being thankful it was a festival day. The dustling didn't quite see what she meant, and instead continued to hold her sour mood as the morning lingered on.
"Here." A dripping vanilla cone appeared in front of her face, held aloft by Ciellas. She took it in both hands, careful to mind the melting ice cream, and licked at it quietly. "There, feel better?" Blue eyes peered up into the chipper green ones, and she gave a small nod of the head. It was a lie, surely, but her complaining had gotten her nothing. When the stall attendant caught her guardian's attention to hand her her own ice cream and accept the payment, Anouk's eyebrows creased moodily. The ice cream dripped on her fingers and she frowned at the sticky feeling on her sweating skin.
"I do not want to be here anymore." She said this under her breath with a sigh, and watched the crowd. She waited, wondering if she could slip away for a while. Perhaps there was a cooler place she could hide out until her guardian got this "must be among masses of people" business out of her system.. maybe there was a private stretch of beach away from those rushing to feed the fish at the docks. Either way, she wanted to be away from all of this heat. It was stifling.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:25 pm
❝ can we fix it? ❞Located here for your convenience.__←_ Can We Fix It? Anouk felt so strange being around such a large group of people. Loud conversations echoed over the sound of hooves and squeaky wagon wheels as they rode over the hills towards their destination. Ciellas was on her right-hand side, and Anouk glanced uneasily at the boy seated on her other side, who chatted amiably with one of the older, broad-shouldered men across from him. The man caught her eye and winked at her, causing her cheeks to burn and her gaze to avert to the floor of the rocking wagon.
They may have been Ciellas's family, but she did not approve of being carted along on this hot, crowded work trip. The long frown that had drawn over her features had gotten her guardian's attention, who grinned down at her and patted the large basket that rested in her lap. Anouk's feet tapped the secondary basket that was stowed under the bench, keeping a messy cadence with the horses' steady trot.
At last, the house appeared around the bend. The drivers of the three wagons eased them into an easy position to unload and the chatter between the men died down. Anouk jerked forward as the wagon came to a halt and she found herself grasping Ciellas's arm. She approved even less of traveling by wagon. There was already a plethora of supplies waiting for them, along with another man - quite obviously the owner of the small manor.
"Ah, there y'are, sir!" The tall, broad-shouldered man jumped from the wagon with a welcoming grin, approaching Alexander and grasping his free hand, the other clapping him happily on the back. "Name's Danny O'Malley, head o' this lot here." He jerked his head back at the groups dismounting from the three wagons and beginning to unload their tools and extra supplies. "I believe y'spoke to my brother the other day so we haven't had the pleasure 'o meetin' yet!" He turned towards the house and put his hands on his hips, appraising it. "So this is what we're workin' with? Handsome ol' house, it is. Where'd y'want us tae start?" Anouk stopped paying attention to him when Ciellas tugged at her elbow and helped her off the wagon, hoisting her like a toy and setting her gently on the ground. She looked at the dustling with an expression that still held a lingering look of amazement.
"Hoonestly, child, seems like ye'd blow away if ye weren't tied down." She laughed, and Anouk frowned more deeply. "Pick up that second basket and follow me." She pulled the extra basket from under the bench of the wagon towards her, while her blue eyes turned towards the house. She made a small noise in the back of her throat to voice her distaste. Who in their right mind would want to live in this dump of a house? As the crew set about organizing themselves, Anouk reckoned that was the reason they were there, in order to make it livable. It honestly needed it.
When Danny and the others had their assignments, he led them towards the house, armed with what was needed, and Ciellas took this opportunity to approach Alexander. She held out a free hand to shake, the large basket tucked under her arms. "I'm the caterin' for today so to speak. Name's Ciellas. This is my daughter Anouk." Anouk's pale cheeks flushed at the use of the word "daughter". The past few times she had been introduced to others, her guardian had introduced her as such but with a little difficulty evident in her voice. To hear it roll off the tongue so easily now made her heart skip a beat. "Anywhere for us tae sit out o' the way while ye lot work? If y'got any kids we'd be happy to help keep 'em occupied, since we're both useless when it comes tae heavy lifting so might as well make ourselves useful somewhere!" She laughed loudly and smiled at Alexander. "Just direct us where y'need us tae be."
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:26 pm
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:27 pm
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:28 pm
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:29 pm
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:30 pm
❝ f o u n d ❞_"The Mist Doors"_◈_Bruno Coulais & Kila Safe. Thank the gods they were all safe.
The child's porcelain back shone starkly from the mouth of the cave, the firelight throwing her in and out of shadow. Ciellas rose slowly to her feet and made her way towards Anouk. From the original distance she was uncertain if the dustling had stopped breathing, but as she neared she saw the tiny body trembling. The wings were shaking droplets of water free onto the cave floor.
The dress still clutched in her hands, Ciellas leaned down with a smile, hoping to ease whatever tension the girl was feeling. They were all safe, and that is what mattered, wasn't it?
"Darlin', what're ye --" Her hand rested on the child's bare back just above her shining wings, only to feel it immediately covered in water. Pulling her hand away in surprise, it was then that Ciellas noticed the state of Anouk's icy wings - a large puddle surrounded the child, small streams trailing down her back and dripping from the crystallized wingtips. They had grown smaller since the search party had found them. "M-my god, Anouk!"
"I-I am s-sorry." Anouk hiccuped as large tears welled in her eyes and spilled over her pale cheeks. The droplets froze on their journey towards her chin and shone like crystal. "I-I di-did not m-mean for th-this.. i-it was o-only.."
"Ye.. were jealous of them?" She could understand that kind of jealousy, having had much of it growing up among many.
"I-I am so s-sorry." She buried her face in her knees and left it there, refusing to look at Ciellas. Her tiny arms were encircled around her legs so tightly they were trembling. Her guardian's face softened with sympathy and she knelt down, disregarding the large puddle of water.
"But what're ye doin' in naught but yer skin?"
"I d-did this. I-if they got too cold.. y-you w-would not like me a-anymore." She waved pathetically towards the back of the cave. "They d-do not like cold l-like I do, so I m-made it not cold a-anymore." Ciellas' eyebrows scrunched in confusion before her sight traveled upward, and her mouth formed a soft, astonished O. The sideways-blowing snow had stopped at Anouk, as though by some invisible force. Her surprised gaze fell back to the child. "B-but it is so hot." She glanced over her shoulder, staring at the small fire that Fiona, the oldest of the children, had made. "I-I am so s-sorry. I w-will not do it again. D-do not hate me." The little girl seemed to have taken her silence for disdain and began to sob so hard she was nearly hyperventilating. Danny looked over from the fire ring with concern, but it went unknown to Ciellas whose affectionate gaze was only for Anouk. In fear of overheating the dustling, she did not embrace her, but placed a loving hand on the girl's water-soaked hair and stroked.
"There now.. don't cry, love. Ye've done what y'can so we'll take it from here. There now. Yer a good girl."
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