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 Posted: Wed Mar 14, 2007 7:03 pm
The silence between them was both unnerving and foreign to Malas. Irlan had a habit of voicing his thoughts, whether it was to fill the silence or he was just crazy Malas didn't know. Her guardian was capable of holding his tongue, she just didn't feel the need to interact with him when he did.
Even back on her home planet there was never complete silence. Certainly when they were in formation they were forbidden to speak. But that was attributed to the fact that they needed to keep quiet to hear the drill sargeant yell out the commands.
But this silence with Mortimer made her feel responsible, made her think she had to take the initiative. It was downright uncomfortable.
"I sorry I no read." She found herself apologizing, "Next time, I read what Etch write." she promised. And Malas took her word seriously. That was one of the few things she knew she was capable of back home, whenever she was tasked to complete something she followed through.
Silvery eyes blinked at the offered toy, did he want her to have a go at shooting? She shook her head, "I no good that stuff." she mumbled, eyes downcast in what might be thought of as shame. "Etch good, yes?"
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Posted: Wed Mar 14, 2007 7:42 pm
Mortimer seemed to have a slight grasping on how uncomfortable it was to be locked in silence. All the more, it bothered him that he lacked the power to emit a sound. Even with his private declaration, he found himself almost willing to move forward a fragment - to speak - if only his voice would allow the manner. Perhaps it was a punishment of some sort? After all, how much of his body had they changed? He could remember, vaguely, Christopher having mentioned a special and admirable punishment for a half-decent individual.
Though he failed to see the wonder and greatness of having been spared for a life of careful watch and documentation, he was filled with curiosity of exactly what had been done. What had happened to him? How many others had the same complication - the same sort of condemnation? He did not question it further. Rather, he had dwelled on the silence, on a way to make some form of communication known to the world about him. Suddenly, he was bothered. Suddenly, the silence was unbearable.
Nodding his head in response to Malas' comment, Mortimer had lifted his head to look up at the sky. His mouth had opened, a few motions being made as if he had been trying to make a sound. Nothing had been emitted - not even a rush of air. With that, he had shaken his head to himself and had given a soft and disappointed smile. One finger had pointed to his toy gun - then to himself - and he had given a firm bow as if to signify that he was, in fact, good with the item. It was an extension of his body as he saw it. He could load and fire, then reload, with great speed if he dedicated himself to the task. That was an accomplishment in his eyes, for he had only ever worked with a sword before his awkward relocation.
Hesitating a moment, Mortimer had twirled the gun in his fingers, grasping it afterwards and pointing it up before firing, reloading, twirling it once again, and stuffing it within the pocket of his black jacket. With that he had set it aside, erased it, as well as the entire idea of shooting or robbing anyone.
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Posted: Wed Mar 14, 2007 10:10 pm
The emerald-haired girl watched carefully as Mortimer demonstrated his prowess with the toy gun. She gave him a small admiring smile and clapped, though her palms lightly touched against each other as an arm was kept wound around Squbb's wooly neck.
Mortimer both annoyed and inspired Malas for some strange reason. Annoyed because he was like her in some ways, trapped in a form not his own, exiled from his home world, and he even had a bigger handicap than she did! She just no longer could use her abilities, but she could remember using them, remember the taste of each hope, dream and memory she devoured, remember what it was like to be with her own kind. There was little reason for her not to think they didn't do the same to him andthey made him incapable of making so much as a peep.
How was it then that he was able to resist the urge to give up?
The notion simply baffled a coward like 'Las who always sought the path of least resistance. Still, she couldn't resent Mortimer for managing to find something he was good at, he wasn't her after all.
"What Etch want play?" She asked as he put away his gun. She considered it a valid question, after all why else would he return his gun to his jacket?
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Posted: Mon Apr 16, 2007 1:50 pm
Mortimer found particular pleasure in demonstration of skill. It had been a pride he had developed long before his incarceration in a rather queer figure - one of which he had learned to kindle quickly. It was every outlaw - every bandit's - legacy and life to pride themselves on their accomplishments and talents. Unlike the lot of riled fools he had left within his home planet, he had mastered something new. A gun. Something not a single one of them, even Gabriel, had likely ever heard of.
A brighter smile had glinted upon his face as he had patted his jacket and his trusty steed. The moment he had done such a thing, Malas' words had reached him - with extreme clarity. Play? He had looked at her in shock - as if the idea of a game were too childish for someone of his stature. He was a man of work and ...
Mortimer's thoughts had frozen at the thought of play, of fun, of joy. He had felt himself shrivel and recoil from a fragment of memory - good memories, the sort of which stung when proven to be short-lived. With nervousness in his gut, he had swallowed it down. He had looked at her. He had looked all about him - that unease within his features, until it broke to confidence and sureness. Determination filled his body. Games. It didn't hurt to play a game, did it? Perhaps she would have an idea of something ... Rough?
Motioning to himself, and then to Malas, Mortimer had pointed at a distance - to the playground set. In a bout of charades he had attempted to depict the idea of getting onto it and taking the bridge to the monkey bar handles. Why his mind had veered towards such an activity, he could not guess. He had never seen anything like it before, and the children fiddling about with it seemed to be having great fun. It didn't hurt to try?
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Posted: Mon Apr 16, 2007 7:30 pm
Malas noted the change in Mortimer's demeanor when she asked him to play. She mentally chided herself for asking such an idiotic thing. What had she been thinking? Obviously he didn't want to play, he wasn't really a child, he was just in the form of a child. The apples of Malas' cheeks took on a dark blue tint, an indication of her embarrassment.
She didn't really know why she asked, it just seemed like a valid question as they were in a playground after all. Besides, she didn't like the idea of being alone while out in the open. If they were moving, it would make it more difficult for them to be targets for ridicule.
Malas blinked when the horned boy started motioning towards the playground set. Thankfully he seemed receptive to the idea of playing, at least Malas hadn't completely humiliated herself.
"Okie, we play." She nodded, giving him another small smile before she started for the set, arms wrapped tightly around Squbb.
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Posted: Sun Apr 29, 2007 3:55 pm
The very concept of play had been both familiar and obscure. Mortimer could recall certain practices being entertaining, which, he supposed, constituted as play. However, he had always harbored a secret sense of stiffness within his looseness. The lessons one learns as a child, after all, are not so easily ignored - at least not within his mind.
The boy seemed utterly bemused. His face had lit up with the memory of things he had done as a young child - things he had not been able to do when he had gotten older simply due to size restrictions. He was smaller. He could probably do those things again - but what if it did not work? He had not been confined to two twig legs during his original childhood. Brushing off the misgiving as if it were a few wood-chips from the playground, Mortimer had sucked in his gut and followed off after Malas, determination in his figures. He could do it. It would be fun. Fun? The thought had made him pause with guilt for a moment. What horror had they wished on him?
As if realizing, for a moment, the tragedy of his mourning, Mortimer had lost the glimmer. As soon as he had lost it it had returned. A shake of the head had occurred; what may have been a laugh had squeaked from his throat. With such notions he had moved on. The would play. He would play.
All at once Mortimer had gone into a dash - flailing about like a frenzied fish while trying to get to the playground quickly. More often than not, he tripped over himself, or his tail drug him back, but it had not stopped him. By the time they had reached the playground set with the monkey bars, he had been at a decent waddle pace. Knowing that, he had tried something - jumping. of course, at that moment he found he could hardly jump to reach the bars and even try to figure how he used such a contraption.
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Posted: Fri May 18, 2007 6:24 pm
Malas would glance back over her shoulder every so often to see whether or not Etch was still following her. She didn't want to seem paranoid, but memories of her childhood would sneak in without warning. She'd recall asking the other abandoned children if they wanted to join her for a game and while they all agreed, none of them ever intended to actually play the game with her. They had instructed her to go on ahead and they'll be right behind her.
Grateful and trusting, Knott had done as they said but when she arrived at the designated area, she realized they hadn't actually followed.
She was both pleased and mildly uneasy that Etch had actually stuck around. Was he planning on something else? No, he couldn't, after all he had the gun and he didn't move to shoot her. Though it could all just be some ploy on his part.
And then he dashed past her.
Malas stopped, stunned that he had actually kept his word. He was going to play with her! The criminal didn't know what to feel. Happy. Excited. Embarrassed. Scared. Worried.
And perhaps the child within her, the child borne from this juvenile form, stirred. She sped after him, dragging her large toy on the ground as she tried to keep up. Etch had taken to the monkey bars, and 'Las remembered being forced to swing across a similar contraption. This time, there were no goals, no measurements, no tests. She was going to swing across because she wanted to swing across.
The thought scared her. "Etch want help?" 'Las asked, kneeling and cupping her hands over her legs. Hopefully the silent boy wouldn't be too heavy.
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Posted: Fri May 25, 2007 3:04 pm
Mortimer's tail had flapped against the ground vigorously in defeat prior to Malas' arrival. His eyebrows had knitted together and a sense of 'it is rigged' flew all about him - anger, rage, resentment. It was a kid-like antic of all things. What grown adult would grow angry with a piece of equipment? Playground Equipment!
When he was about to turn around and make a final dash in his defeat for the bars, the little girl had emerged once more - bearing the funny new name. Etch. At least it sounded better than Mortimer. He had smiled coyly over the thought, and then his focus had returned. Noticing the inference of using her as a stepping stool, the boy had blinked several times. He had glanced down at his feet - their stubby little hooves causing him to dwell on the idea of stepping on people. They made a clatter like stones when he walked along the side-walks. They left heavy imprints within the ground, kicking up dirt. Whatever they would do to a person was beyond him - but, did he want to even risk an attempt like that? Holding someone up with a pop-gun was one thing. Stepping on them was entirely different.
As if fueled by his desire to reach the bars, and his anger for that inability, Mortimer had given a firm nod. Swiftly he had moved around, his tail flittering up and down as he attempted to use Malas as a stepping chair. His hooves had left many imprints in the ground from the toddling dashes, and yet he still had not been deterred. Working quickly, he had stood on her, and he had managed to grasp the bars. The smile on his face had grown double-fold! He'd reached the bars! He was dangling from them! He was ... Falling from them? As soon as he may have grabbed them, Mortimer's hands had let go, and he had fallen, dropping on his back. Wood-chips had flooded his hair as he rolled over to get up.
And then there had been the motion of laughter.
If he only could, he would curse the bloody thing.
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 7:45 pm
Malas wobbled beneath Mortimer, she wasn't the strongest child, but she wasn't as weak as when she was still known as Knott. She felt the weight lift from her hands and peered up to see the horned child dangling from the bars. While she didn't mimic his smile to its exact size, 'Las was certainly displaying that she was pleased with what was happening.
Until Etch fell back to the ground.
'Las, wide-eyed, stared in a mixture of shock and horror. She wasn't concerned whether he was hurt or not, but more of whether it was her fault. Would he blame her for falling? Was she to blame for his descent? She replayed what little of the blur she saw in her mind. It could have been her fault.
It must have been her fault. She hadn't continued to hold him up, she hadn't let him stand on her shoulders while he was hanging from the bars. Trembling, she knelt before him, "I sorry." she spoke, eyes downcast in shame, "Etch mad?"
She prepared herself for a blow, expecting one to come as one had always did back when she was still Knot.
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Posted: Tue Jul 03, 2007 7:20 pm
There was a grave sense of bemusement to Mortimer's face over the ordeal. The brief stinging pain in his body from having hit the ground left him feeling slightly twitchy, but it was scarcely enough to concern him. What concerned him was the feeling of laughter within his stomach, the feeling of utter bewilderment. He had fallen into the ground. He had been pinned by the hands of gravity, and he felt no distinct feeling of rage over the ordeal.
In a way, his mind gave him a jolt and declaration of it being fun. Like childhood games of the first youth-hood he had ever had, it was accidental and exciting - so exciting that he could feel his head spinning over the idea of trying it again. However, just as he was contemplating such a thing, Malas' voice had entered his mind. He understood the words as those of an apology - something Simon often did. Further, he grasped the concept. Mad? Mad? For a time, his mouth had seemed to open, but had closed once again with a hopeless feeling. Instead, he had shaken his head to signal that he was not mad. One hand had been lifted, the fingers pointing up at the bars. A cool look had befallen his eyes as he glanced from them to Malas, as if trying to explain that it had been interesting hanging there. Truly it had.
To his dismay, Simon had not disappeared from his life for the day, and the quirky man with his disfigured fingers on one hand had been within proper visual range to capture the ordeal. Mortimer's contentment had almost shattered when he had caught sight of the approach. A look of dread had spread across his face and he had felt his hands grappling for his pop gun as a defense if need be. He did not want the man touching him. He hardly wanted to be seen by him, for that meant questioning - or it meant some awkward analyzation and note-taking. He had just found something distracting and pleasant from the morbid thoughts of the past - now they were being crushed by Simon's sudden interest in his playground whereabouts? A scowl had formed on the boy's face. He had left his gun alone and had remained where he was. Watching. Listening.
"Mortimer, are you alright?", Simon had inquired - a certain look to his eye as if he were startled by the idea of the boy having fallen from the 'prodigious' height of the monkey bars.
Naturally, Mortimer had not answered. He had brushed Simon off, glancing back at the monkey bars with intrigue. His lips had seemed to pucker, and a popping noise had flown from his mouth. Maybe if he ignored the man, he would leave?
But Simon did not. He had stood Mortimer up and had checked him ridiculously - pausing only when he had realized that another child was within the midst. More miraculously, it dawned upon him that Mortimer wasn't branching off alone. The boy had always seemed to meddle silently in activities, a certain disinclination showing for socialization. Had it been broken? Oh! A notebook. A notepad. He needed paper to write the date down! "Oh. Uhm." He had stated, seemingly a bit flustered, although the awkward grin on his face displayed a certain joy in Malas' presence.
Mortimer, however, had wasted no time in moving himself away from Simon. A snort had been given. His hairs had seemed to stand up as a look of dissatisfaction settled onto his face - a clear signal for the man to leave him be. When that had not happened, he had simply set a hand over his eyes and had waited for whatever pathetic round of questioning would occur.
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Posted: Wed Jul 04, 2007 10:30 pm
Malas, eyes screwed shut, awaited for irate sounds, angry yells, any indication of the other child's rage and disappointment in her. Moments passed and yet the silence was still there, sporadically broken by breathing. The emerald-haired toddler dared to peek at what was going on. Perhaps "Etch" would rather strike her when she was aware?
She recalled some of the commanding officers had that preference when dishing out punishment. Both eyes were open, blinking every now and then in confusion at the horned boy. He was pointing upwards at the bars an odd look in his eyes. It wasn't odd really, more unfamiliar.
Malas had never seen anyone look at her with those eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat in fear. She wasn't frightened of Mortimer exactly, it was more uncomfortable than any.
Her ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps and instinctively turned to its direction. An adult approached, and to her distaste it was someone who looked a D'lawan. Her face became blank, completely unreadable. She didn't like the fact that Etch's attitude suddenly changed. Was he embarrassed to be seen with her? Yes, that made sense. It didn't seem to cross her mind that the cause of Mortimer's switch was this adult.
She stood and approached the horned child. Her face still blank, eyes a careful mask of her thoughts, she leaned in to whisper into Mortimer's ear. "I sorry. I go now."
After all, if he didn't want to be seen with her, why would she want to cause him any more trouble? She felt no regret, no bitterness, she was far too accustomed to this sort of events back home. She'll look for her guardian, wherever the frell the grahd-damn b*****d was.
Irlan was a little ways away, seated on a bench. His arms were folded across his chest that rose and fell in a quiet rhythm. His eyes were closed as if asleep. In truth, the Silarian was merely feigning sleep. He was awake, senses sharp and alert for any attempts at pickpocketing him. He could sense 'Las had changed her position, her scent had grown faint as it mingled with another child.
This other individual didn't seem to pose any threat to his charge, he would have smelled it easily even in the slightest change in 'Las's physical condition. He had snuck a quick look to establish the girl's exact location, a smirk threatening to crack his lips at the sight of Mortimer falling.
His lips stayed the in the grim line as the man -whom Irlan guessed was the boy's guardian- approached the two children. He observed Mortimer's demeanour as well as his own charge's but made no motion to get involved. After all, 'Las needed to learn what it meant to express herself and call for help. She might not always receive help, but at least she'd learn to grow a backbone.
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Posted: Wed Aug 08, 2007 12:38 pm
Malas' words had echoed within his mind like a terrible omen. Something within him did not want her to leave. He had been enjoying himself - almost. Her seeming bravery and solid nature was influential, and it had conjured something in him. Though he knew, most certainly, that it was not to be compared to love, he knew it was powerful. Playing. It filled him with eagerness. It filled him with joy.
Such feelings he had deprived himself of. He had not dared explore anything. Yet, as if he had been compelled, he had found himself experiencing it once again with the aide of another. The childish games of youth had revived. Between the moments of holding his gun to her and falling from the monkey bars, Andre Rolenti had began to disperse. The pain. The rage. Everything that he had felt had began to fall into oblivion. Gradually, it had been replaced with something new.
Mortimer Grey.
Even so, his hatred for Simon had not subsided. It had grown even greater when he had witnessed Malas leaving. Instinctively, he had blamed Simon for the entire ordeal and had depicted it with the firing of his pop gun, the cork hitting the man weakly in the stomach. In truth, the boy had known it would cause no harm. However, it had brought an immense amount of satisfaction to have witnessed Simon flinching. One popping noise after another had been made, and soon Mortimer had attempted to place his hat on once more.
He wasn't going to lose an individual who had brought him joy because of a man who had a habit of worrying or taking notes. He would not be treated as a test subject.
Leaving Simon in the dust, Mortimer had turned to go after Malas. With haste and determination, he had reached for her arm - as if to try and hold her in place.
Simon had been stunned by the ludicrous nature of being shot with a pop gun. It had piqued and interesting analysis, though. Mortimer certainly did not approve of him or his care. Even further, Simon was apt to say his temper was incredibly poor. All he had done was check to make sure the fall hadn't caused any harm. After all, the boy were only a mere toddler!
Silently, he had shaken his head. A hand had been set to his forehead. His eyebrows had raised and had fallen. "I take that as an 'I'm okay'", he had murmured to himself.
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Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2007 1:26 am
Malas hadn't taken more than a few steps when her ears picked up the sound of someone chasing after her. It was an unmistakable sound, the heaviness as they landed and kicked against the soft sandy surface of the playground was different from human feet. She knew they were hooves, but she was never certain of anything involving another individual.
Did she dare to glance back? Her grip on her toy's neck tightened, it was fortunate that Squbb was an inanimate object as opposed to a live creature. From Malas' vice-like hold, she would have caused the poor thing to die of asphyxiation. At the very worst, the doll would burst a seam.
Malas wasn't aware of what was going on with her toy, she was oblivious to it in fact. All she knew was her heart was pounding faster and a cold sweat had broken over her skin.
And then she felt it.
Fingers winding around her arm. They held her firmly, not rough like Irlan would, nor painful the way the commanding officers had back then. She stiffened and risked to look over her shoulder.
"Etch? Some'n wrong?" she stammered, trying to ignore the fluttering creatures that suddenly took flight in her stomach. Her ears twitched nervously, instinctively searching for signs.
Signs of what? Malas wasn't certain. Anger? Disappointment? Confusion? A myriad of possibilities buzzed in her mind.
Irlan's eyes were completely open now, one brow quirked in mild interest. "Well I'll be..." he snickered beneath his breath. It struck Irlan that his charge wasn't as anti-social as he first assumed she was. Either that or the horned toddler had an affinity for people whose personalities matched that of a brick wall's.
Still, he remained seated on the bench, one arm suddenly a hand that tried to reach for the pocket his wallet bulged in. There was a faint splintering sound followed by a howl of pain as the pick-pocket quickly retreated, nursing his now-broken wrist.
Irlan didnt' even look at who it was. He was too fascinated by the interaction going on between Malas and Mortimer.
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Posted: Tue Sep 18, 2007 6:06 pm
Mortimer's face had become distorted with the frustration of a lack of words. He had been fortunate enough to catch the girl, who had become his sudden distraction. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could truly do to express her stay beyond that. It was a complicated scenario that forced his head to spin down strange paths.
How could he explain Simon's quirky, paranoia and note-taking without words? In a hasty manner, Mortimer's gimpy wing had fluttered. His expression had become soft as he had released the girl. Suddenly, his stiff face had seemed to become well-mannered and lite. His small fingers had grasped the rope of his hat, tugging it upward until he had settled it onto his head. Meekly, he had tipped it in the fashion he had seen within his beloved old films, and a contented smile had been spread across his deathly pale face. At the sound of her question, he had shaken his head with confidence before pointing towards the odd contraption they had been playing near previously, as if to single out Simon for the explanation. He had even gone so far as to make a circular motion about his ear to try and explain that Simon was a loon to him, and often made him angry.
It was the truth.
Everything he did was always accompanied by notes and inquiries, or worries. The man never talked to anyone other than the time they had gone to that dreadfully large building to meet a hump-backed old man. Even then, Simon had been taking notes - as if it were a nervous tick he could not control. It drove Mortimer wild to be anywhere near the man. He felt like a ... A criminal.
He was no criminal.
He was. He wasn't. It had been his fault; it had not been his fault. Had anything been his fault?
The young boy had flicked up his hat. His eyes were distant, yet a sparkle of warmth seemed to reside as if he were attempting to settle some matter, feed the childish impulses within him. A popping noise was made as he smiled, removing his pop gun from his pocket to point it in a direction. In an abrupt way, he had jerked it up, then backwards - as if he were attempting to ask if she wanted to ...
The gun had been pocketed; his face had seemed melancholy a moment before he had waved it off with a shrug of his shoulders. The smile had returned as he had folded his arms across his chest. Part of his posse. The girl intrigued him - and if anyone could fascinate him enough to not fire the pop gun at them he knew they deserved that role. It took character. Not only did it take character, but ... Connection? He knew nothing about the girl, yet he felt, inwardly, that there was a common trait they shared. A common predicament.
" Al Be." Simon had murmured under his breath, observing the two from a distance. He had been momentarily afraid that something bad had happened over the course of the fall. He had been even more afraid that conflict would break out. He had never truly seen his boy lash out at anyone, but he had always suspected. The solitary ones always had their quarrels. Was it ironic of him to believe that? His fingers loosely stroked his naked chin in thought. It was a pleasureful thought to realize there was no confrontation, but something far more ... intriguing. He could recall Mortimer's immobility as an infant. He had laid on the floor like a dead little doll; he had scarcely even taken a bite of food - and he had cried. Nightly in silence. To witness a quirky metamorphosis into actually attempting to hold someone to interaction was remarkable!
"That's a nice change. We'll have to come here more often..." Shaking his head to himself, he had retreated, though he had never allowed his scrutinizing eyes to wane from the two children.
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