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 Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:10 pm
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xxxxx『 〄 Myths and Legends 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Eli literally runs into Friday at the library. He first learns of Dusts. x
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:25 pm
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xxxxx『 〄 The Wintertide Festival 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Eli attends his first festival in Aimes. Tesla helps him uncover more about the dusts.x
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:26 pm
xxxxx『 〄 A Rather Large Mess 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Siren shore, a bit of a walk from the Deith Forest : Eli's new housexxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ A few days after the end of the Wintertide Festivalxxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ so cold Eli thought the sea might freeze overThe weathered house, charmingly situated on Siren's Shore near the deep, dark forest, felt empty. Newly painted shutters blinked warily at the sea, their windowpane eyes unseeing even as the wind ghosted through them. One lonely chimney pierced the sky unforgivably, no grey-black plume of smoke softened its harsh outline. It seemed even the seagulls had deserted this cold stretch of sand; their calls could only be heard faintly, muffled by the restless sea. The house looked unlived-in, forgotten. And until recently, it had been. A chill wind rattled the green shutters, like the house was drawing in breath, a living creature shuddering back to life. Inside, a lone man shivered and cursed.
"Dammit." Eli let out a few choice words as his already cold toe collided with the even colder door frame. He shivered and shrugged into a tattered shirt, the oldest he owned. Today, Eli was a man with a purpose. Rolling his wide shoulders, he walked past his cheerily yellow kitchen in the library. He stared balefully at the fireplace. Treacherous beast. The blasted thing had belched forth smoke the last (and only) time he had tried to start a fire. Eli had been quick to fling open windows and extinguish the flames, but several of his precious books still bore the lingering scent of wood smoke. His walking stick leaned nonchalantly against the door jamb and he grabbed it, approaching cautiously, as if a demon would fly down the chimney. "In perfect repair, my a**," Eli muttered.
He paused and rubbed one long-fingered hand over his stubble-ridden face. Maybe he should have enlisted someone's help. Eli knew next to nothing about cleaning fireplaces. He thought briefly of the farm nearby. Wasn't that where Tesla lived? A smile quirked his lips as he recalled the woman and her taciturn charge. He really would have to visit them one day. But today was not that day. Eli could do this! Ignoring his still-throbbing toe, he brandished the oaken length of his hiking aide in front of him. Clearly, the chimney was clogged and Eli had determined that this would be his last day without a functioning fireplace. It was time to get down to business. to defeat the Huns
Humming a few bars of Mozart's's "Dies Irae" solvet saeclum in favilla. dissolve the world into ashes, Eli stuck his staff up into the fireplace and wiggled it about. A small shower of soot greeted his efforts, but nothing came free that could be blocking the flue. He grunted and stepped back. There was no recourse; he would have to take it on, mano-a-mano. His bare feet slipped a little on residual ash as he folded his long frame into the fireplace.
Eli tried straightening up, but the cramped space forced him into a comical crouch. Wincing as a splinter pricked his foot, why, of all times to forget his shoes, why? he looked up. Honestly, he wasn't sure what a flue was supposed to look like. In the dim, shadowy light he could see... something caught in the sooty build up. It seemed to glimmer dimly, invitingly. Briefly, Eli wondered if some previous owner had a habit of stashing things in the fireplace. Sturdy but mismatched, the fireplace was nothing special; it looked almost as if the house had been built around it. Impossible, he chided himself. Who would make only a fireplace with no house to warm? The unstyled tips of his hair brushed the sides of the chimney as he shook his head in disgust. Woolgathering again, Eli.
He poked his staff up at the blockage with renewed vigor. Ah, ah, there! With a terrible shifting noise, the black mass fell down and outward. Eli scrambled back wildly, coughing as the floor of his library was enveloped in a black cloud. Something clanked and smacked into, of course, the same toe he had abused earlier. Eli sat on his bum, bewildered, in the middle of the floor. A laughable sight, soot covered him from the ends of his hair down to his toenails. His hawkish eyes squinted through the soot, searching for the shiny bauble that had been clogged in the flue.
It felt strange, but Eli needed to find out what that faint glimmering had been. An undeniable urge rose up within him. His mind blanked, narrowed to just one thought, that glimmer. He clambered to his feet, ignoring the sooty mess sprawled around him like the entails of some smoky dragon, and stepped on something oddly warm. Eli, being a man of stout character, immediately jumped back a foot, not realizing that it was merely a bottle. The glimmer: he knew it instinctively, in that place deep in Eli's gut that clenched in fear and anticipation. Wide-eyed, sooty hair tickling his brow, he watched as the bottle rolled on its side towards him. Haltingly, yet inexorably, it came. It bumped into the leg of his favorite plush sofa, rolled back, and changed course, continuing onward to Eli. The grey bottle stopped only when it touched one grimy toe. Eli's mouth fell open. What the hell?
Stiff with trepidation (or was it excitement? when adrenaline pools on the back of the tongue, it all tastes the same), he leaned over and gingerly picked up the bottle, holding it using only his forefinger and thumb. Shockingly, pleasantly, warm, it was small enough to easily cup in his palm or slip comfortably in a pocket. A golden stopper decorated the bottle, but the bottle, no, inside the bottle... Lifting the hem of his old shirt, he rubbed at the dusty filthy glass, and gaped. His hand fell lose at his side, taking a small strip of torn shirt with it. Twisting, turning, the small glass container was filled with smoke. Ever-moving, it was hypnotic; Eli frowned and turned the bottle upside down, shaking it. How did the smoke not just turn into soot and clear air? Squinting his ale-colored eyes, he shook the bottle again and stared into the shifting vapor. It tricked and teased his eyes into seeing patterns, fractals made of smoke. It was as if the tiny bottle contained all the smoke of all the fires of the world from before this moment, a compendium of time trapped inside glass. He could see each curl of smoke of each fire, he swore. Tar fires, wood fires, the fires that ravage the dry brush in the summer... each flame had it's tendril of smoke, and they were all here. Here, in the palm of his hand.
Eli blinked owlishly.
"Hmm... what are you, you pretty thing?" haltingly, he spoke, reverently, his words cracked as if from disuse. Talking to a bottle. To be honest, Eli did a lot of talking to himself, it went hand-in-hand with his distracted nature. Both his hands cupped the bottle now, the smooth glass warmed his fingers, bringing the cold tips painfully back to life. There was something soothing about the bottle. What a marvel. Ever-moving and heat-generating? "Oh, you're going to be my favorite pocket-warmer." He smiled at the swirling grey. This bottle was important. Somehow, Eli didn't question the fact that he was talking to it. A disquieting thought skittered across his brain as he remembered Friday and Lemon, Tesla, and Nolan, whose blue and black eyes had been both human and inhuman. This odd bottle, children born from bottles... Hah, nah. No way. A neat little marvel of a bottle, no more, no less. Snapping his eyes from the hypnotic curls of smoke, he looked around his library and groaned.
He slipped the small bottle into his pocket. As he began the long process of cleaning up his library, the bottle warmed his skin gently. Eli smiled. Fantastic. 
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:28 pm
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xxxxx『 〄 Celestial Bodies 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Curious about her lectures, Eli heads on over to one. Then asks the girl out for coffee.x
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:29 pm
xxxxx『 〄 Silent Smoke 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Siren's shore, a bit of a walk from the Deith Forest : Eli's new housexxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ the day after Eli meets with Magnolia, late afternoonxxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ finally warm, thanks to the now-working fireplaceA teetering stack of books finally leaned too far and toppled with a resounding crash, startling Eli. Dust flew from the fallen tomes to dance in the afternoon sunlight. Swirling briefly then dying, their golden sparkle was strangely hypnotizing. Patterns, patterns in everything. Everything was predictable, he mused. The weather, people, how long this old house would last: mathematical statistics could be applied to anything to determine their probability. It wasn't even difficult math. Eli's brain spun off wildly, predicting possibilities. If he pulled one book at random from the shelf what was the chance it would be a mystery? That it would have the letter e in the title? While Eli believed in probability and chance games, he was wary of fortune tellers, who wove their probabilities into lies and made people pay. They was no true fortune-telling, Eli was sure. He shouldn't believe in fantastical creatures either, but he couldn't quite give up the stark romanticism. And all myths had to have begun somewhere, he reasoned.This sentiment was what had driven him to his books this afternoon.
Long ago, something inspired every myth. Even if there was simply a man behind the monster, Eli didn't care. That wasn't the point. He needed the origin story, the beginning. And every single thing on the planet living, dead, or even hinted at: it began somewhere. Yet, despite his substantial collection and excellent organisational skills, Eli found very little on odd glassware. His brown eyes slanted to the left, where his bottle, his little dark conundrum rested on top of several mathematical theory books. Dry and dense and beloved, they made a sturdy table for the slowly swirling bottle. Ah, the causation of his research. Eli had approached a scientific mind about the bottle: its heat and never-still smoke trapped inside, but alas, Eli was unsatisfied. Huffing irritably, he snatched the bottle up and plopped into an armchair near the fire. His knee squealed out a protest. Getting old, Eli, too old to be playing games with bits of glass.
Strains of Saint-Saëns Le Carnaval des Animaux - Aquarium filled the room as Eli sank into the plush green pillows. He tossed the glass bauble absentmindedly hand-to-hand, staring unseeing into the fire. The flames flickered and licked upwards, reflecting into the glass, patterns opposing the smoke within. Sadly, there had been next to nothing in his books. Of course genies had been prevalent, but his bottle didn't feel like a genie. If Eli had gently rubbed the smoke-filled trinket, will, there was no one else around to bear witness. Of all the stories, only one had caught his eye.
Deep within the land of sand, where no sea touched and no river flowed, a Sibyl, a prophetess of great beauty, lived. One by one, all the Eastern gods sought her favors, lusted after her. They promised gifts beyond measure and riches untold but she refused all except one: the dark god of fate. His gnarled, bony hands shook as he touched her.
Drawing up a handful of sand, she agreed to his advances as long as he fulfilled her one wish: for each grain of sand she held, she would live one more year beyond her normal means. Eager, the god of fate agreed. He took her and granted her wish, but for one thing, the Sibyl had not asked for youth.
Growing older, year by long year, she began to despair. As each year passed, the Sibyl grew smaller, until she merely lived within a glass bottle crafted solely for her. When asked about her wish, the Sibyl would only respond "I wish to die..."
And so she lived on.
The melancholy of the story shivered along Eli's skin. Instinctively, he knew that this was not the bottle's story. He felt that story simmering deep below, yet to be written. In the curling smoke, Eli could see the fading impressions of fires millennia past. But there was more to tell, he knew, knew it in the same way he knew the sun would rise tomorrow. And so, no matter where he looked, Eli could find no answers but silence.
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:30 pm
xxxxx『 〄 As the world spins 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Siren's shore, a bit of a walk from the Deith Forest : Eli's new house. specifically, his bedroomxxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ early dawnone morningxxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ chilly and dreary, it might rain or just produce damnable mistEli awoke with a strange sense of uneasiness. He remembered times before, when a sight, a sound, a smell had triggered some sense of memory. The flutter of robins' wings, the deep smell of the forest: Eli could never put a name to the emotions, the half-recalled memories certain sensations dragged forth. They tickled the end of his tongue, teased his ear like whispers of of a faraway conversation. He could never explain why the sound of garden shears calmed him or why the smell of baking bread caused his heart to ache. These half-forgotten memories haunted Eli. Right now, he was filled with a profound sense of companionship.
He stretched one long arm; the pillow near him was cool, unslept on. Did he expect it to be warm? The muttering fragments of dreams spun in his fuzzy morning head as he stared into the dim light. Why had he woken up? Then it drifted to him fully, the scent he'd been smelling all along, a faint lingering smoke. Eli threw back his velvet comforter and hissed as his feet touched cold floor. He nearly bolted from the room in a panic, but something stopped him. This wasn't the brash, heated scent of an ongoing fire. Eli sniffed the air speculatively. It was old, older than him; this smoke had a deep dark wild long history. He shifted uneasily, still half in bed. The dawning light filtered through the shutters and illuminated his room dimly. If it wasn't fire, what was it?
Eli's ale-colored eyes scanned the room, all sleepiness washed away. Something moved in the dark, shadowy recesses of his oaken bookcase. Well, the far dark-colored one; he had three in this room alone. Whatever was moving... it shifted and twisted, obscuring the spines of books on folklore, blurring his mystery section. Quietly, he slipped out of bed; his bare feet padded noiselessly over the cold hardwood floor. The cool air in the room pricked his flesh. Eli rubbed his hands on one arm, vainly hoping the friction would warm it. Eli, as always, had slept shirtless. He rolled his shoulders as he walked.
Peering at his bookshelves, he frowned. The smell was stronger here. Grimacing a little, Eli bent down and grabbed a candle and flint from the bottom shelf, knocking over a few stacks of paper. The smooth wax was cool under his fingertips, comfortingly familiar. Fumbling a little, he lit the candle and squinted at whatever was moving. "s**t!" he cursed as the blasted candle slipped from his fingers. What in the world? In that brief flare of light, he had seen glass and smoke. This was getting a little too weird, Eli thought sourly. Stretching out, Eli reached into the shadows. Something brushed against him, heated air whirled around his fingertips. In the center of the smoke, for it was smoke, Eli's questing fingers touched glass. His bottle. He grasped it and lifted it up into the morning light.
Smoke. Swirling, curling, twisting all around the bottle like a small, lazy tornado. Eli squeaked in alarm and dropped the glass bauble. It bounced with a clang and rolled along the floor, eventually bumping in the leg of Eli's four-poster bed. He watched in horrible fascination as the tiny bit of glassware abruptly stilled and then began to roll backs towards Eli. His mouth dropped open: he had thought that was a fluke, a onetime occurrence! "What the hell? Aevah save me, not again!" Eli danced backward, glancing about wildly. This was too much. This crazy bottle was something different and Eli was gripped by an incomprehensible panic. You know what this is, what it means. Eli desperately ignored the insidious voice clamoring in his brain. His secret bottle was usually so charming, cute in its own way, but covered in smoke it had transformed into strangeness.
Eli's faltering hand grabbed a basket, tossed haphazardly against the bookcase. He crouched low and angled the basket, wide-eyed in anxious anticipation. ...Success! The glassy container had rolled right into it's new woven prison. Eli hastily flipped the lid closed and exhaled: one loud breath of relief or wonder. The little dark bottle rolled about a bit within the basket and then stilled, waiting.
His thought racing frantically, Eli tossed his bundled onto the bed and hastily drew on clothes. He never noticed that his socks were mismatched and his cravat forgotten. A pulse beat wildly in his exposed throat. Eli needed answers. Shoving a hand into his disordered hair, he stared at the basket. The niggling suspicion in his mind flared painfully to the forefront of his brain. Suddenly, he knew exactly where to go. Snatching up the basket, like an older masculine red riding hood, he banged out of the house. His coat waved forlornly in the breeze of an opened door, forgotten.
She would know.
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:31 pm
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xxxxx『 〄 A Somewhat Unexpected Truth 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Smoke is coming from his bottle and Eli needs answers.x
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:34 pm
Life Dust Engulfed.
(Dust Spin --> Child Quest*) It's a beautiful, clear winter day outside, picturesque with smoke curling out of the chimney -- but the problem is, there's no fire lit. Inside Eli's house is wall-to-wall smoke, thick and cloying in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Closest to where the bottle is, it's dense enough that it can almost be felt tangibly, the ashen color pouring from the bottle like water. With the essence of his bottle soaking into all the fabrics in the house and seeming to have no end to the amount of smoke it can produce, what does Eli do? What does he do to breathe through the cloying air? Can he get the bottle to stop its expulsion, or can he find some way to contain it? And most importantly, will he ever get the scent of smoke out of his curtains? ┊ Siren shorexxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Afternoonxxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ briskly chill, but not enough to keep Eli indoorsThe sea shell had a light peach sheen, and the cold winter sunlight made it glow, casting spiral designs across Eli's roughened hands. Paper Nautilus shells were his favorite; the pattern and shape reminiscent of sine functions, a circle winding perpetually around a spiral. The size would fluctuate, periodically change just like the mathematical equation, forming a corrugated shape. Eli's fingers couldn't resist tracing each ridge. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, ... he counted each one auntil his face broke into a slightly crooked grin. Multiples of three, fantastic!
Today was a relaxing, do-nothing sort of day. Eli had let his mind go numb, and wandered the shore, and had not thought about the past or the future. He had not thought of Kieran or his life in Helena or his family back home or the girl he might always miss. He had not thought of homesickness or loneliness. He just walked along the shore, cold and alone, but content. It was cold, yes, and he was alone, but nothing more than the sea made up for that. Glorious and rolling, the sea stretched and stretched onward and was constant like no living thing could be. In the same way the number three was almost always three, so was the sea. Eli had missed the sea in Helena, where there had only been lakes and ponds; they were nothing like the crashing northern wildness of the sea in Faleen. This was different too, not wild, but inexorable, as if it knew that one day it would reclaim the land. The sea could wait forever for that day; it had forever, was forever. Nothing could conquer or diminish the sea. Eli imagined his house filled with octopuses having tea and chuckled softly.
Sadly, his leisure was at an end. The late afternoon sun lazing down told him it was time to go home and get to work. Shivering, he headed back to his house, kicking pebbles and sand up as he went. He kept his gaze on his boots, loathe to glance up and see man-made things, to see the natural state of the land change. Eli fumbled with his keys and finally looked up. How strange. The sky was so blue it burned and a dizzying rush enveloped Eli, like he might fall up into the expanse of cerulean nothing. Grey smoke plumed out of his chimney to drift and consort with the few wispy clouds who dared to live in the loneliness of the sky. He frowned. He didn't remember having lit a fire, how wasteful. Eli's fumbling became panic as he realized that smoke was not only coming from the chimney but also lazily creeping from cracks in the shutters, even from under the front door! Slamming the keys into the lock, he twisted, turned, pulled. The door groaned open and a black cloud of billowing smoke rushed out. It nearly knocked Eli over and he coughed wildly before pulling his scarf over mouth and nose.
Oddly, the smoke wasn't hot. It rolled over him, only as warm as a child's embrace or a summer breeze's beginning. In the entryway, the smoke was already leaving smudges on the walls, dark spots the swirled in an unidentifiable pattern: a painting by a madman or a child. The twisting smoke was dark and cloying; it hung in his throat like thick medicine. If only he could chew and swallow his way though, but the vapor poured into his lungs, drowning. No one could swim this dangerous sea. Somehow, Eli knew that this was caused by no regular fire, and that scared him more than anything. His panic gave him speed but not finesse; his squinted eyes were not enough to keep him from crashing into walls. At least one thing had shattered to the floor, leaving a thousand unseen spines to stick in Eli's shoes.
Eli struggled onward, his footsteps dogged and heavy. It was harder to breathe now. The grey smoke seemed to seek him out, to stick to his body like a second deadly skin even as he searched for the source. Entering his bedroom, he knew. A bubbling, roiling wave of black smoke slithered and poured from his night stand. Barely visible was the yellow stopper he knew so well. But why? If the small wisps from before had been some sort of rebellion, this was an assassination. Eli couldn't think of any reason for the bottle to react so dangerously. He had held it, glass-to-skin, talked to it, even named it: Kieran, the little dark one. Plunging his hand into the sea of thick smoke, still only lukewarm, he grasped the small bottle and held it aloft, hacking against the smoke. "K-kieran," he coughed again, his smoke-roughened voice rasping over each word. "Why? Please stop, you're hurting me!" The glass never changed, still belching forth a never-ending wave of smoke, disregarding his harsh plea.
Eli was getting light-headed from the tainted air that continually assaulted his lungs. He thought fatalistically that he could feel them growing blackened and heavy with the smoke, screaming for real air. He blinked and spots swam before his eyes. And then, Eli began to get angry. This bottle, this piece of s**t shiny trash was trying to hurt him! How dare it? He had cherished it, was fond of it, in the way someone could be fond of a favorite book or a lame spaniel. Eli was past the stage of reasoning, debating the finer points of a cause for the damnable bauble to suddenly expel its contents. Intentional or not, he was in danger, and his survival instincts took over. Eyes streaming from the heavy smoke, he stumbled back towards the door. The oxygen deprivation made his knees shudder and his head swim madly, but his grip on the bottle never loosened. It had come to this: either Eli Haddock or the bottle. It had to go.
Bursting from the house, he gasped greedily and the sweet cold air burned his lungs. He was so weak, Eli almost dropped to his knees there, on the doorstep of his smoke-drowned house. But smoke still rolled off the bottle; there was no end, though all of the contents should have been expelled long ago. "Stop. Stop it!" He shook the bottle haltingly. Eli was so angry, and so so tired and afraid, and nothing changed. Shaking, he shambled down to the edge of the water, trailing smoke, pleading, begging, demanding the bottle stop. He plopped down in the sand, exhausted beyond reasoning, a middle-aged man arguing with a piece of glass. He would've laughed if it hadn't been so pathetic. The waves of the sea lapped over his toes, soaking his shoes and freezing his heart. "Just stop. You're not supposed to hurt, just help or something. I don't even know! You're killing me." The last word seemed to sap the remainder of his strength. Eli couldn't take anymore; the bottle still bled smoke incessantly, until Eli sat in a pool of twisting vapor on the shore. With an inarticulate cry of fear and anger, he weakly threw the bottle into the sea. It bobbed once and sank beneath the waves: the sea reclaiming one bit of man.
Suddenly, the wisps, the seething pool, the dark mass of smoke was gone. Vanished. The cool, sweet air returned to his lungs and they expanded painfully, but healthily. His hands suddenly clean and soot-free, Eli blinked as the horrible revelation blossomed in his mind: he had essentially just thrown a child into the sea! Mouth hung open in shock, Eli tumbled into the gentle waves, sloshing about. Adrenaline pumped new strength into his worn-out body and he dived headfirst, eyes painfully open despite the grit floating into them. Where was she? Eli's mind babbled to itself, a mantra for Kieran's safety. Please, please let her be okay, be unbroken. Please let me find her. Aevah, what have I done? His boots weighed him down clumsily and he struggled to kick them off, breaking their shoestrings in his haste. Ale-brown eyes looked glassily around. Under the water, everything had such a cold, murky tint and he thought that the sea might not be such a wonderful thing as he'd thought before. His lungs burned again in a different way; Eli had preferred the smoke to this frantic, watery search. Someday, the sea would rise up and reclaim all the land that men had spoiled. But not today, Eli thought fiercely.
Something glimmered darkly on the sea's floor. A cloud of sand shifted, obscured his vision, but he knew that glimmer. With renewed vigor, Eli pumped his arms furiously, coat floating around him, a personal net of seaweed and failure to slow him. Stretching an arm out, he struggled and touched the glassy surface. Slipping a bit, he finally grabbed the bottle. Kieran! A bubble of air slipped from twixt his lips and black tinged his vision. Air, air. Fighting upwards, he clawed out of his bedraggled coat, the cloth ripping and twisting around him like a hurricane. Finally breaking the surface, he gasped in the salty air. Eli was so desperately weak that he had to concentrate to keep his hold on Kieran. If only he could float and drift away forever. Would it be so bad to let the sea claim him? No one would miss one middle-aged accountant with nothing great to his name. But Kieran... Kieran hadn't even had a chance to live. Groaning brokenly, he haltingly swam back to the shore. The short distance seemed like miles, eons. He huffed out a short breath, only dragging himself enough out of the freezing water so that he would not drown.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered to the swirling smoke inside the glass. "Please, don't ever do that again. So dangerous. I cannot breathe you. I'm sorry. I promise I will never put you into the sea again. Promise..." Eli traced the shapes of smoke wearily on the small glass. "Promise me, little one, that you will be careful. You should try to help people, not do something that might harm them." He sighed and curled his fingers around the bottle. Reassuring and full of life, he felt the same warm pulsing he had felt before. Somehow that small warmth gave him the drive to move; he smiled softly in relief. Shivering uncontrollably, Eli rose weakly and hobbled back to his house, wet clothing slapping against his skin.
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:47 pm
OH GOD IT WAS A KID
WOW ELI WHAT A s**t
[kieran turns from bottle to child]
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:50 pm
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xxxxx『 〄 And the Rain Hammered Down 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ A certain deliveryman arrives with books for Eli. x
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 7:52 pm
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xxxxx『 〄 Sheltered 』xxxxxxxxx〆 ┊ Kieran takes shelter from a storm at Cadaver's home & finds her love??!x
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