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NymiiNym

Shy Wife

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Posted: Thu Oct 05, 2017 9:54 am

[IC] From September 10th, 2017, to December 31st, 2017
The dates below will go by when things take place in his storyline, not necessarily when it happens IRL.

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New Faces | [Solo - Soul Capture p9]
I Don't Get It! | [Solo - Soul Capture p10]
Fine | [Solo - Soul Capture p11]
The Capture | [Solo - Soul Capture p12]
What to Do | [Solo]
Helping a Bee Back Home | [PRP]
Avoiding Reality | [Solo]
What Makes Family | [Solo]
Reconsider | [Solo]
Throwing to the Wolves | [Solo]
What Makes a Sonnet | [Solo]
A New Year | [Solo]
How the Time Flies | [PRP]
For the Love of Books | [PRP]

Posted: Thu Oct 05, 2017 9:54 am

New Faces
September 10th

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“Holy s**t, what is that?!” Sven jumped, snatching the paper he had been drawing on out of Adrian's sight as the other man settled into the chair across from him. Adrian's eyes trailed after the paper, a hand extending to poke a finger Sven's way. “Are you working on a horror story this time?”

Sven snapped his head to the side, exhaling lowly. God, he wished that was it. “It's...” He twirled his hand listlessly in the air before giving it up with a faint shrug, gesturing away. Adrian watched his hand, shrugging absently as he returned to his own interests.

“So, good news and bad news.” Adrian tapped his finger against the table between them. Sven cocked his head to the side, mirroring the movement of Adrian's fingers with his own.

“Good news, I think I like the direction I'm going in this new piece,” Adrian announced. “Bad news, I think I'm going to stop coming by here.”

The surprise flashing across Sven's face was apparent, his head raising an inch. Adrian laughed, a rich and warm sound as he draped a leg over one of his knees. “Oh.” It wasn't as if it was earth shattering, or even upset him any deal. Adrian had his number, and Sven didn't hold too much sentimentality for their Sunday meet ups, but it left a brief pause as he contemplated who else would take Adrian's seat in the future. They had gotten along well over their few weeks together, and now he'd have to share his work with someone else, someone he'd need to explain the finer details to again.

“Oh!” Adrian jumped his fingers in the air, catching Sven's attention. “How'd it go? Did you get it?” Sven scrunched his face, taking a moment to consider what Adrian was asking before an understanding laugh left him. The smile that arrived at his realization suddenly dropped, back pressing against his chair as the wave of memory hit him.

Those eyes.

"I met her, and she sent me on an errand. I-” He cut off, sighing as he slapped his hand against the paper he had hidden against his leg, flipping it over on to the table. “Something was there, Adrian. I went to a graveyard to get her a flower, and I met this woman.”

Adrian blinked, eyes flicking back to the paper. “Is that...?”

“No, she- She had these eyes, and now it's all I can see in my dreams. Every night. She's there. I hear her at night; clawing at my window and screaming for me to come out. I-” He stopped, noting Adrian's eyes widening and mouth parting. He sounded like a mad man, Sven knew that. Adrian was just too kind to say so.

“Wow, I, um,” Adrian stammered, a hand raising to fiddle with his hair. “Are you okay? Do you...?” His question trailed off, hanging in the air between them tentatively. Sven shook his head, glancing back at the drawing.

"No, I'm okay.” Sven raised a hand, head shaking. "No, I- I'm sorry, that was all... just, fccet it.” Adrian opened his mouth, as if to interject only to shut his.

“Okay.” Adrian relented, shoulders slouching against the admission as he pressed against his chair. “Well, you're going to miss me, right?" A cheeky glint flickered in Adrian's eyes, eliciting a low laugh out of Sven.

"I suppose.” Adrian pouted at the response, waving his hand towards Sven with a flippant dismissal. Sven barked another low laugh, trailing his finger over the table. "Tell me about what you worked on since last week.”

Adrian's face lit up, giving Sven all of five seconds to mentally prepare for the barrage of ideas about to hit him.

_______________________________

"Sven, can I introduce you to someone?"

Sven had almost finished the process of packing his papers into his messenger bag, nails dragging across the table at the sound of the group leader. Daryl Giddeons stood before him, dark hair a mess over darker eyes. Sven's eyes trailed to the younger boy beside Daryl, eyebrow cocking at who he assumed was a teenager. There they stood; a lanky boy with warm brown eyes. Their hair was a vibrant red on one side, while the shorter side was a deep black; most likely their actual hair color. Sven nodded towards them, extending his hand for a shake.

"Of course. I'm Sven. Sven Beyer, and you are?”

The boy brightened, a tan hand extending to seize his and give a firm shake. "Diego Quigley!" Sven's eyes narrowed sharply, mouth parting at the name. Something felt familiar, but the feeling faded as he directed his attention to Diego's hand movements. The boy gestured around the room before pointing right at Sven, an eyebrow cocked.

"I'm yer new partner." The words were hurried and muddled with what he assumed was an Irish accent of some sort. Direct; that was the first word Sven would associate with the much younger boy. Nodding, he slipped the final sheet of paper back into his bag, flipping it shut.

"Diego is new to writing. I thought you'd be a good mentor." Sven felt his lips pull into a polite smile, head tilting at the reveal. He had never seen himself as a teacher, but he was older than most who attended these meetings. If Daryl was seeking someone with experience, Sven certainly had it in one way or another.

"Well, I'll do my best,” Sven promised. Diego flashed a warm smile his way, hands shoving deep into his leather pants.

"I'll see ye next week, Mr. Beyer."

NymiiNym

Shy Wife

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NymiiNym

Shy Wife

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Posted: Thu Oct 05, 2017 7:32 pm

I Don't Get It!
September 12th

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Quote:

Mr. Beyer,

I just dont get the assignment! o n o

Quote:

Mr. Quigley,

I've said it before, but I do not like visitors. If you need help with the assignment, I would suggest contacting Daryl.

Best regards,
Sven

Quote:

Mr. Beyer,

But ur my partner! I wont be long, i just need a little help. Can I see what u did????

Quote:

Mr. Quigley,

This is the 4th time I've said no. If you need help, I can offer a phone call?

Respectfully,
Sven

Quote:

Mr. Beyer,

Pls?

Quote:

Mr. Quigley,

No.

Quote:

Mr. Beyer,

Ill do anything, plsssss. My extra credits depend on this!

Quote:

Mr. Quigley,

I will see you next week. Please stop contacting this email.

Posted: Thu Oct 05, 2017 9:00 pm

Fine
September 13th

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Diego stood in the doorway with a wide, unfazed grin, hands clutching onto an old red schoolbag as Sven cleared off his coffee table. Sven wasn't sure how the boy wore through his patience, but he had, and now he was here, waiting for advice Sven had been perfectly fine giving over the phone. Perhaps he had underestimated his tolerance, or maybe Diego had just been that annoying, but whatever the reason was the boy was now standing in his living room, face lit in a triumphant pride.

"Thanks for the help!" Diego chirped, setting his bag delicately on the floor.

"Mhmm.” It wasn't like Sven had a choice. Well, incorrect; he did, but Sven was content in wallowing in his own self-pity at the moment. He settled slowly into the couch, patting the spot beside him for Diego before tossing his legs onto the table. "So what confuses you?”

Diego accepted the invite readily, squirming into the couch with little reservation. "Ye see, me family, it ain't the easiest to track." Diego tugged on his low collar shirt, folding his legs at the ankles as he settled into the couch. "Ye got me ma; still alive and kickin'. But me dad, he died when I was a babe. All I got is a name."

Sven nodded faintly. It was a plight he was accustomed to. The assignment had seemed simple to most; ask your parents about their childhood and imagine yourself in their shoes. It was insensitive to those who lacked parents, or those who didn't maintain contact, like Sven. However, Daryl had asked for opinions, and none had protested. Sven had a few stories — most from his father — to share, but it hadn't occurred to him that the young Diego might not have met his father.

"Why not ask your mother?” It seemed like a simple solution, if she had known his father.

"She.... she don't like it when I ask about dad." Diego's nose wrinkled, a low exhale leaving his nose. A sore topic, most likely. Sven briefly wondered how he would feel if he had married and lost his partner. That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, reminding him of the failed marriage he had tried so hard to erase over the years. That was a memory best left cast at sea.

"You could settle for just stories from your mothers time. It isn't a school project, you'll be fine.” Diego shook his head sharply, a nervous chuckle twisting free.

"Err, the thing is, my grades ain't that good. I gotta do this, and do it right, or I'll fail my English class. Daryl's.... me teacher. It's like extra curricular." Ahhhh, that made sense. Sven had wondered why someone so irresponsible with their emails would come to such a class. Granted, not everyone socially typed the same way they wrote, but still, it had seemed awfully strange at first. Sven snorted in faint amusement, slapping a hand solidly against one of his knees.

"So you want to offer as much as possible, okay. What was his name?”
"Harrison Quigley."

Sven faltered, eyes fluttering wider at the reveal. Harrison Quigley, hadn't that had been the name on the gravestone? The name the strange woman had been crying over? It suddenly clicked, an euphoric relief igniting in his bones. What if — could it be...? What if she was seeking someone lost to her? Someone he could help her reunite? What were those women called.... He faintly remembered a myth of women who wailed for their lost ones; a story of grieving mothers. Wait, he remembered the name.

Banshee's.

He released a breath he hadn't realized he had held, tension drifting out of his system. The woman who wailed outside his home had grown louder over the past few days, as if counting down the days until she could finally accomplish whatever it was she sought. Yet, fate had somehow brought to him Diego, someone who could possibly help.

Wait.

His eyes narrowed, body faintly registering that Diego had begun rambling about his mother. What promise did Sven have that bringing Diego, or anyone else of that matter, would help the banshee? If she was dead, which he assumed she was, what state of mind was she in? What kind of mother had she been? What type of grief consumed her? Would she feel any relief seeing her blood kin, or would a new hurt ignite? If her grief had contorted her into an undead creature — one who had tried to kill him — who knew what damage he could inflict by exposing Diego to her. Sven's own mother was destructive enough as a living human being, what pain could a banshee inflict?

"Mr. Beyer?”

Sven's train of thought crashed into a halt, head snapping towards the young voice. No, he couldn't mention her to him. Not unless he knew for a fact it would do anyone any good. If a banshee could be cured so easily, then there wouldn't be any. It wasn't that simple, and he knew that, but he wasn't experienced in this field. He was a simple and humble writer. He didn't even know who would know anything about banshee's.

No, that was a lie. Lorenzo. Lorenzo would either know enough or know someone who did. Sven's nose wrinkled at the thought, mouth biting back a sigh. He could stop by Lorenzo's work, but that seemed ridiculous for a five minute conversation. No, a phone call would be better, even if he detested the idea. He should do that immediately, considering how he already was struggling with focusing on what Diego was saying now that he made the realization that Diego and Harrison were related to the banshee (or so he assumed). Tapping his knee again, Sven offered a small smile towards Diego.

"Ah, I apologize, I realized I fccot to do something important. Here, while I make a quick call why don't you borrow my laptop and see what you can find on Harrison? I'll return quickly." Sven stood, traveling to his office before Diego could protest and returning with a small, silver laptop. He set it on the table, producing his phone from his pocket as Diego gingerly opened the laptop.

"Do ye want me to stay here?” Diego questioned. Sven nodded, glancing back towards his office.

"If that is agreeable with you. I'll be in my study for a moment, please knock if you need me."

_______________________________

Sven dialed the number before he had a moment to hesitate. Luckily for him, Lorenzo picked up immediately. Sven launched into his reason for calling, painfully aware of both of their displeasure for the phone.

“Hey, Lorenzo, are you free for a moment? I… something came up and I don’t know who else to ask.”

“Is this Sven?” asked Lorenzo on the other end of the line. “I’ve got time if you need advice.”

“Yes.” A short pause followed until the sound of Sven clearing his throat was audible. “The other day I… I think I met a banshee. I think I know who the- she was mourning. I think I met someone of the same bloodline.” He stopped, taking a moment for Lorenzo to dissect his words.

There was a pause from Lorenzo’s end of the line. “Banshee…” he murmured. “It’s a bit outside of my area of expertise, but I can try to find you a specialist to consult with.” As Sven mentioned the bloodline issue, he intervened, nearly interrupting in his haste, “And are they familiar with the banshee?”

“I don’t think so,” Sven answered quietly. “I haven’t asked them yet… should I?”

Lorenzo hesitated. “Having a banshee in one’s family is personal business. Even if they know, it could be a sore subject, perhaps even a traumatic one. Do they seem to have any experience with the supernatural, or are they a layperson, like yourself? It’s no guarantee that an exorcist or a necromancer or the like will take such inquiries any better, but they are at least better equipped to handle them.”

“I don’t think they know anything. They’re a kid…. Like… a teenager at best.” He paused, again, swallowing thickly. “She’s following me,” He admitted, sitting slowly into his office chair as a low sigh left him. “At night, I hear her outside my window. I thought, for a second, that there was something I could do to stop it. To help her mourning. But…” He trailed off, going quiet. Lorenzo was right, this was personal; he couldn’t tell the child.

"I'll need the name of the specialist, yes."

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Lorenzo said, “I’m not involved in this situation. But I would advise you not to tell the family member if they are a teenager. Teenagers tend to be impulsive and reckless. This is a situation which calls for extreme tact. Banshees are tied to this realm by strong emotions towards a lost loved one- yearning or bitterness. We don’t know which, and regardless of which, there’s no telling what a spirit tied to the mortal plane like she is might do in her situation. It was the same with the rusalka who serves as Vesna’s soul- whether their ties to this plane are heartbreaking or spine-chilling, these undead entities, which a layperson might refer to as a monster, aren’t able to reason in the same way we can, because they are perpetually trapped in the most painful emotional moment of their existence.” He paused, and on his end of the line there was a sigh, and a rustling of papers. “Where you should be at…. There’s a specialist on genealogical necromancy named Brigid Chen. I met her once briefly. She should have familiarity with banshee and various other celtic wraiths. I’ll text you her email and the name of her university, she’s doing a dissertation right now on spirits in Irish mythology. She should be able to lend you a hand, or at least direct you to someone in the area who can.” He paused, making a mental checklist. “If you want to tell the relative,” he hesitated, “I would contact Brigid first. It’s best to have a professional involved. Or at least someone impartial. If you want to help the banshee, it’s best to start from there. And don’t feel bad that you can’t help her with your own power. As I alluded to earlier, her situation is complicated. If laypeople could solve these problems, we’d have less rusalki and banshees and the like in the first place, but as it is, they’ve been a headache for necromancers, exorcists, and mediums for generations. Er. At least for the generations that were trying to practice their magic ethically and responsibly.”

Of course Lorenzo had the answers. Or, rather, most of them. Sven scribbled the name down on the nearest notepad, humming absently. Brigid Chen — she’d help him. He couldn’t tell Diego. Sven had once been that age, he knew how curiosity worked. Tapping the end of his pen against the desk, Sven coughed nervously. “Err, thank you,” He breathed shakily. “I… that helps a lot. I’ll avoid telling the family member, and I’ll approach Brigid Chen immediately. Thank you.”

“If you need anything else, feel free to contact me,” Lorenzo replied. “I can’t be of too much help with a banshee, I’m afraid- I specialize in the corporeal undead. But for general advice, I’m happy to help.” He paused. “Good luck, Mister Beyer. I wish you only the best.”

_______________________________

"Oh, welcome back." Diego murmured softly from behind the computer screen as Sven made his presence known in the doorway. The german gave a faint hum of a greeting, body pressing against the arch of the doorway as he watched Diego. He had made up his mind; he wouldn't tell the boy. It would only serve to either shake the teenager, or encourage him to seek out the banshee — something he didn't like the idea of. If the undead woman was stalking a complete stranger, he didn't want to imagine what she'd do to someone of her own bloodline.

“Did you find anything?” Sven returned to his spot on the couch, sinking into the cushions with a low and tired groan. Diego tossed his head side to side lazily, humming absently.

"He wasn't a famous man, ye know. Found his obituary. He grew up in Durem, met me mom in highschool, was a pilot. Nothin' big." Diego paused, turning his screen towards Sven. The older man glanced over, a rush of dread rushing through him as he was met with the image of a young woman. "Found me grandma, though. Real beaut, came right from Ireland to Durem. Dahlia Quigley. Apparently she went missin' right after dad passed."

It shouldn't have been of any consequence. The Quigley's were not his family, and yet the image struck him numb. There she was, alive. Dark hair framed her face and sharp blue eyes stared back at him. Eyes which had once had life in them. Her skin lacked the faint purple tone to it, and a smile graced her features. It looked alien, all he could remember were her blood red eyes and dark sclera piercing through him. How had someone so beautiful become such a wretched woman? Someone who now wanted him dead.

Sven cleared his throat, head turning slowly away from the screen. “If there isn't any information of use to you online and your mother can't help, I doubt you'll receive negative feedback on what you do offer.” Diego slid the laptop screen back to himself, eying the screen before cocking a half smile.

"Ye know, I never was interested in my blood til now. I think I'll do some more lookin', later. Thanks Mr. Beyer, for the advice and all. I'll try the Durem records before headin' home." Sven bit back a desire to state that all of this could have been done over the phone, instead offering a stiff nod. It shouldn't have been that surprising; to be undead one must have once been alive. He had just never thought he'd see who she had been before now, and it left a pit in his stomach. Something had happened, something so terrible it had changed that woman into an entirely different entity unto itself. What if that happened to him when he died? What kind of pain did one need to feel to become a banshee?

What kind of hurt had she felt seconds before turning?

The thought left him feeling physically sick, eyes clenching shut as Diego closed the laptop. Relief washed over him as he heard Diego stand and begin cracking his bones. He wanted nothing more than to be alone right now. In a few hours the banshee would return, and Diego needed to be gone before that happened.

"I'll see ye in a few days, then!" Diego chirped. Sven opened his eyes, offering a polite smile in Diego's direction.

“Next time, lets do a phone call.” Diego laughed, nodding as he tugged on his shirt.

"Yeah, sorry! I shoulda listened to ye, huh?" Sven stood, gently trailing after Diego as the boy headed towards the door. He hastily opened it for Diego, leaning against the wall as the teenager slipped past. "Thanks again, Mr. Beyer!" Diego gave a small wave, a beam spreading across his face when Sven returned it. Almost as if he had been holding onto a ball of energy, Diego broke into a jog from the door. The door closing was a signal for Sven to let out a low and exhausted sigh, head thumping against the door. He had a call to make.

As he headed towards his study he failed to notice one minor detail that would save him a world of trouble about to follow; a small, red schoolbag remained within his living room, waiting patiently for its owner to return.

NymiiNym

Shy Wife

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NymiiNym

Shy Wife

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Posted: Thu Oct 05, 2017 10:13 pm

The Capture
September 13th [Night]

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Sven woke with a scream stuck in his throat. Flashes of claws and blood stuck under his eyelids as he sat up in bed, palms pressing into his eyes until all he could see was a blinding white. His breath trembled, hot and shallow in the cold air. His damp shirt clung to his skin, suffocating him as he shivered in the dark.

Her. She was all he could see in his dreams, tormented by a nightmare that would soon become reality. Brigid Chen had not answered, nor had she called back, although he didn't expect a call until morning came. He only hoped that tonight wasn't the night the banshee decided to stop her game. Just one more night, that was all he needed to get through.

It had begun; the faint crying echoed through the night air outside his windows, alerting him of her presence. His hands slid down, head raising as her voice lifted. It was the same sound, the same cry that had become embedded in his brain. It was maddening; consuming him as he slid slowly out of bed. Her wails paused and a sob choked out. It's heavy, reminiscent of a pain Sven can't quite put a finger on, but he felt it. His heart breaks for what felt like the millionth time, crumbling into ash as he stood in the middle of the room, head turned towards the window to dully watch the shadow of her shape against glass.

Their eyes met.

He knew it was a mistake to look over, and yet he did, just like every night. Her gaze fell upon his and he felt consumed by a hopelessness that tasted like whiskey. Her eyes led him into despair each night, sending a jolt through his system. It was her eyes, something about them drove him madder each time. For a moment, Sven felt himself step closer, fingers twitching against the pull of her gaze. Tonight was the night; he'd give into her. She could have him — all of him. His reason was swallowed whole, replaced by an utter loss he had never felt before. Was it her pain? Her sorrow? His hands raised, fingers brushing against the glass above where her own hands rested. Her wailing softened, eyes raising to follow him as soft lips closed. Their fingers slid, hands meeting against glass and framing one another. All he had to do was open the window and let her in. He needed to; he felt it in his bones. Had her eyes been tearing away at his will over the nights until there was nothing left? Did it matter? Did he care?

His hands drifted, resting on the edge of the window frame, tightening around the handles. He felt numb, unable to stop his hands as they began to lift the window. There was nothing in him anymore, nothing that could resist the agonizing and heavy grief that washed through him. This was it. This was the end, and he'd allow it to happen. He didn't have a choice, after all-

Ring!

Sven's phone chimed loudly from beside his bed, vibrating against dark wood. The banshee's head snapped towards the sound, eyes releasing Sven. The german felt the pull snap, a loud gasp escaping him as a weight left him. His hands pressed against the frame, slamming the window shut with all of his weight. His mind reeled, whirling back into a frantic hum as he stepped back from the window, stumbling. The banshee jerked her head back to him, a horrifying scream leaving her as Sven jerked his head to the side to avoid her gaze. Fear mutated into a hot rage, his mouth tightening as he realized that, just seconds ago, he had almost died. Eyes wild, he tightened his muscles, hands balling into tight fists as he fought the urge to look at her again.

"Leave me alone!” He bellowed, howling against her scream hoarsely. The banshee broke into another sob, hands clawing at the window violently as Sven jerked forward, tossing a nearby chair in his own frustration.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it!” His volume matched hers, hands trembling as he fought the urge to look at the creature who had haunted him for so long. She was driving him mad; he couldn't do this anymore! He never asked for this! His hands flew to his ears, attempting to block out her screams.

Ring!

If he had just looked at his phone, perhaps he would have realized that Diego stood outside his house that very moment. Maybe he would have realized his door was unlocked, and his doorbell remained still broken. Perhaps he could have prevented the next course of actions. But he didn't look. His head threw back, eyes screwing shut as he listened to her screaming. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't do this anymore!

"Just come inside!”

Abruptly, it became silent. Sven stood there, eyes fluttering open and breath shakily exhaling. He stood there in the cold, open air, heaving as he listened intently. Silence; beautiful and clear silence. His chest shuddered, a breathy and relieved laugh escaping him as he slumped to his knees, hands pressing up into his eyes. It was over. Neither a cry or wail could be heard. Had he finally done it? Had the magic words just been on the tip of his tongue, waiting to free him?

"Are you okay?!" Sven snapped around at the sound of a familiar and frightened voice, hands lowering as he stared up at a lanky figure in his doorway. His mouth parted, a confused stumble of words leaving his mouth with no reason or rhythm. How had Diego come inside without him hearing? How long had he been there? Sven opened and shut his mouth, shifting to stand. Diego made a move to help him, stopped by a single raised hand as Sven grunted in disagreement. It was then, as Diego bended, that Sven saw it; two red eyes peered through the darkness behind the boy.

"Stop!” Sven screamed, throwing himself towards Diego as the red eyes bolted closer. He slammed the boy into the nearest wall, replacing where the boy stood with his own frame. Before he could react he felt her on him, tearing and clawing as a shrill and violent scream left her. They fell to the floor, winding Sven as he crashed against the hard wood. Diego yelled something he couldn't understand, scrambling towards the blur of movement. The banshee lashed out and Sven heard a splatter of blood hit the floor as Diego howled in pain, tripping backwards. She was on Sven again, tearing at anything she could get purchase of as Sven covered his face.

"Cover her!” Sven shrieked under the woman, struggling to free any limb in hopes to push her back. Diego scrambled, reaching for anything he could find. Something grey flew in the air before landing on the banshee, covering her for a brief moment. It was enough time for Sven to manage to roll out from under her and slid onto his hands and knees. Something glass hit the ground, rolling towards Sven. It took him a brief moment to realize what it was; his soul bottle. Diego must have thrown the cardigan he wore earlier that day. Panic rushed through him — he couldn't let the soul bottle get damaged! Instinctually, he swiped for the bottle, faltering as the cardigan slid off the banshee. He recoiled, mouth opening to scream a protest as the banshee crawled after him. She twitched across the floor, dragging herself after the retreating german with intent. Sven threw his arms up as she lunged, tightening himself into a ball in preparation for her attack.

It never came.

The room fell into an unnatural silence, interrupted only by panicked breaths. Sven didn't dare look up, not immediately at least. His body, still prepared for a fight, wouldn't move, stuck in a defensive cradle.

"Mr. Beyer?"

Diego's voice crashed through the air in a hurried panic. Hands were on Sven, prying at his arm hastily. Sven relented, lowering his arms as brown eyes peered through the darkness. Diego instantly tugged at him, checking Sven's cuts and scratches with a nervous tremor. Sven gazed past him, eyes searching for the banshee. Nothing; they were alone.

"Where is she?” He croaked, pushing the teenager off of him. Diego stumbled, wincing against the pressure as he turned to join Sven in his pondering.

"She just vanished," Diego deadpanned, head snapping towards Sven. "What was that?! Who was that?!"

Sven ignored him for the moment, slowly unraveling himself. He stumbled upright, testing his legs before traveling around the room. Where had she gone? Surely she couldn't have just left without any warning? He didn't trust it; she had to be somewhere nearby. He wandered across the room, halting as his foot kicked gently into the fallen soul bottle. Blinking as the bottle rolled, Sven crouched down to pick up the fragile bottle, fingers freezing above the glass.

Something grey swirled inside.

It took him all of five seconds to piece together what had happened, and what had become of the banshee. His fingers flinched away from the bottle, eyes widening as he stared at the angry swirling smoke inside. No, it couldn't be. He - no. Sven slumped back down, staring at the bottle numbly. Diego shifted, clutching at his side cautiously as he approached.

"What is that?" Diego questioned softly, strain reaching his voice. Sven tilted his head towards him, eyes stuck on the bottle for a second longer before he swiped his gaze towards the teenager.

"You're hurt,” Sven noted numbly as he spotted blood seeping through Diego's side. The teenager looked down, lifting his shirt to reveal a long but otherwise shallow cut.

"It's fine, I get worse all the time. What was that?" The question was insistent; a firm demand. Sven turned away, staring at the soul bottle once more.

"A banshee.” He couldn't bring himself to touch the bottle, hands stuck to his sides. Suddenly, it clicked. Diego had let her in. He had entered Sven's house and now his bottle had the soul of a creature who had wanted him dead. His head snapped towards Diego, a new found rage rushing through his veins. "Why are you here?”

Diego held a hand up in defense, a corner of his mouth twitching into an apologetic smile.

"I called, a lot, and texted. I left me bag here. I need it for school, alright. I heard ye screamin' and... " He trailed off, his sentence speaking for itself. Sven bit back a response, eyes closing against the weight of it all.

What could he say, really? If he had visited Ellie and heard her screaming, he would have rushed in, too. He couldn't blame the boy, although again Diego lacked boundaries. If Diego hadn't stopped by- no, if he had simply picked his bag up before he left then none of this would have happened. If Sven had noticed the bag, then maybe...

His eyes rolled open, locking back on the bottle. Dread rushed through him, a heavy and metallic disgust touched his tongue. He couldn't do this right now. He didn't know what to do with the bottle. That bottle had so much promise within it; he had been going to have a child. Now, if he turned it in, what would it produce? Would he create someone hellbent on murdering him once more? Someone filled with a furious grief that would consume him whole? He... he couldn't think about it. Not now.

"Why was a banshee...." Diego trailed off, jolting as Sven abruptly stood.

"We need to take you to the hospital.” Sven nodded towards Diego's side. The boy shook his head, mouth opening to protest. "Diego, we don't know what a cut from a banshee does. I'm not taking that chance.” Diego's head lowered, mouth tightening as he stared at the ground.

"Alright...."

Posted: Fri Jan 05, 2018 12:18 pm

What to Do
September 14th

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"Ma wait! It wasn't his fault!"

CRACK!

"You stay away from my son."

Sven's cheek stung under his fingers, head turned away from the woman who stood before him, her hand frozen in midair from her strike. Diego stood behind his shorter mother, hands on her shoulders as the dark-haired fury stared up the blonde. She had arrived hours ago, fretting over her teenage son as stitches were sewn into his side. The minute Diego had been released from his hospital room she had whirled on Sven, and he was grateful for her anger. It distracted him from the lone bottle back home. It jerked him from his dissociation and straight into the guilt he wanted to feel. His fingers pressed into the already bruising skin, a spark of electric pain igniting across his face.

He deserved this.

Even if Diego wasn't supposed to be there, he should have protected the boy better. He shouldn't have met the witch for a quick fix. He shouldn't have adopted the Raevan. All of this? It was wrong. Who was he to think he could be a parent? He couldn't even keep Daffodil's fur clean, or protect a teenager. He couldn't protect anyone, and this was proof. He wasn't as fierce as the mother before him. He wasn't meant for any of this.

"I shouldn't have been there! He didn't kno-"
"Diego, get your things."

The teenager hesitated hands nervously leaving her shoulders to fidget in place. "But-"

"Now." The venom in her voice was enough to send the teenager scurrying to grab his things from the hospital room, the sound of his sneakers against the floor vibrating through Sven's skull as he lifted his head to meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry,” He began, hands lowering from his swelling cheek. The woman shifted, hand lowering as her hardened stare remained on him. "I will leave before he comes back.” He needed to leave before Diego tried to argue more; to just vanish from the child's life. He didn't want to see Diego limping back — didn't want to address the fact the bandages under their shirt was his fault.

"Wait." Her voice froze the lanky man as he made a move to turn, his head turning to view the smaller woman. "He said there was a banshee." Was that a faint tremor he heard? Did she know? No, if she did then she'd ask more questions. It'd all loop back to the bottle, somehow. How could he explain he captured a banshee? Someone who had once been alive. Someone who had a family at one point.

Someone a part of her family.

"What did they look like?" There it was; that tremor again. Sven felt his blood run cold, mouth drying under the weight of the question. If he told her and she knew who it was, what would happen? Maybe he could give her the bottle; make it her responsibility. Return the creature to their original family. She had to know there was a banshee in her family, why else would she sound so scared? He could admit it all now. He couldn't take care of it, he knew that. It had tried to kill him. Yet, Lorenzo's words echoed faintly in his head. How much pain could he cause by revealing that someone within their bloodline had turned into an undead? Not only that, but Diego would probably only grow more and more curious. What if the banshee ended up hurting him, again?

No, this was his fault; all of it. It was his responsibility now.

"I didn't get a good look at it,” He lied, ignoring her stare as he turned. He was grateful as she let him leave, his hands reflectively searching the inside of his coat pocket. He didn't want to go home and look at what was left of the banshee on his bedroom floor, but he had to. He couldn't just leave it there, waiting for someone to remember it.

He needed to figure out what to do.

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Posted: Mon Jan 22, 2018 6:40 pm

NAME HERE
September 15th

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place holder for RP with lorin and claire

Posted: Mon Jan 22, 2018 7:30 pm

Avoiding Reality
September 20th

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Quote:

Is everything okay? I heard you quit the group without any explanation. I know you went to the witch. Did something happen?

Adrian

Sven closed his email, pushing away from his desk with a low sigh. He hadn't contacted Adrian; hadn't filled him in one the events that had unfolded. He couldn't dwell too long on it, mouth drying at the thought of the witch and the bottle tucked deep under his sweaters in his dresser. He wasn't ready, and he wondered if he ever would be. If the purple and clear bottle would ever leave his dresser. He knew it was wrong; the bottle was probably capable of some sort of emotion due to how angrily it swirled when he chucked it in the dresser. It responded to him; he wasn't blind. He was just... scared. The creature that had tried to end his life was inside that bottle — waiting. The "what if's" piled into his head, gently coaxing out paranoia he already knew was unfound. The bottle would become someone different, someone unique from their original soul. Someone who would depend on him. A child.

A child who hadn't asked to be part banshee.

The guilt swirled in his stomach as he forcibly removed himself from his desk. He knew that deep down the child who came from that soul wasn't the banshee from that night, regardless of what helped create them. It still didn't stop the image of the screaming creature on top of him, red eyes burning into his soul. What would he do if they had the same dark sclera and ruby red eyes? How would he cope?

Could he?

BRIIIIIIIIIING!

He was grateful for the piercing cry of his cellphone, digging it from his pockets as he slid out of his office. Ellie? When was the last time they had spoken? After all the chaos it had been awhile. He hadn't even filled her in on capturing the soul. Oh great; she was going to kill him.

"Hello,” Sven sighed into the phone as he drifted towards the stove, placing a purple kettle on a burner. The sound on the other side of the phone was a mixture between a huff and a groan of frustration, her voice low and clear.

“It's been forever,” She accused playfully. “What have you been up to?” Sven debated the answer to give. 'Hey, I met an undead creature who ended up haunting me, maiming a child who shouldn't have been in my house, and is now trapped in my drawer waiting for me to love it,' was not exactly something he could get away with dropping over the phone. The silence was noticeable, he could feel her squirm on the other side. He was screwed; she was going to crash his house any second if he didn't find a plausible reason for the hesitation.

"Writing,” He felt the lie leave his lips before he could stop it. s**t, that was far from the truth. Writing? Who? Him? Actually, for the first time in months writing had been the furthest from his mind since the day the bottle was filled. Ellie released a short, excited chirp from her end of the phone, the sound of paper rustling echoing through the speaker.

“Really? You're kidding me, really? When can I see?”
"No, I... I kept deleting everything, but soon? I should have something out... soon.”

Disappointment; he felt it seeping through the phone and into the air. “Sven,” Ellie began, inhaling sharply before what he assumed was about to be another gentle lecture.

"Anyway, actually you called at a terrible time, I'm about to head out!”
“Sven wait-!”

He hung up before she could continue, tucking his phone immediately into his pocket. He knew that'd only delay the inevitable for another day or so; she'd be stopping by and Sven didn't have an excuse as to why he suddenly wouldn't be home for an unforeseeable time. Vacation? He could vanish on a cruise and avoid the questions, but knowing Ellie she'd find her way on the boat within a days time.

And, when he really thought about it, a part of him was looking forward to the awkward visit. His eyes drifted towards the entry of the kitchen, mouth tightening. Maybe it'd be nice to have some time with a friend, not worrying about the bottle or his future.

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Posted: Tue Feb 06, 2018 3:49 pm

What Makes Family
September 25th

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“You're insane.”

The words seethed from Ellie's mouth as she folded her arms, legs tucked neatly under her as she perched on his couch. His mouth twitched at the comment, a dry laugh catching in his throat. He had been right; it only took her five days before she was hammering down his door. She was sure she had most likely stopped by earlier, too, but Sven had made a habit of avoiding his home for the past few days. The conversation was already causing an anxious swirl in his stomach as he pressed his back into his chair, a look akin to a child being caught in the cookie jar crossing his face.

"I'm aware,” He sighed softly, rolling the bottle in his hand. He hadn't touched it much after the capture, his hands brushing against the thick glass as his eyes trained on the swirling soul. It angrily jumped and spiraled, as if silently screaming at their captor for leaving it tucked away in the dark. His jaw tightened as he slipped it back into his cardigan, eyes flicking up to see a distraught Ellie.

“She really slapped you?” Her hand raised to sympathetically touch her cheek, eyes fluttering to the ground. “I... Sven, why didn't you call?”

There it was; the pity. He heard it thick in her tone as he adjusted himself, eyes diverting to look towards the wall as his hand tucked neatly under his chin. "I don't know,” He admitted softly, voice forlorn. "It's easier not to.”

“Sven, you can't do everything alone.”

He turned his head to narrow his eyes at her, mentally challenging her statement. He could, he always had, but the look she fired back caused him to relent. It was easier to do things alone, but if he was going to raise a child-

He flinched at the thought, a physical reaction he couldn't stop. Ellie seemed to notice, her eyebrows knitting together in thought. “Are you going to keep it?” The question seemed strange to Sven at first. He had an option, he knew that. He could just keep the bottle and never return it. He could send it in and ask to not receive the child. He could unscrew the bottle, even. Yet, all these options didn't soothe him. Maybe because a part of him understood he was afraid, but still wanted the child. He didn't know how to feel anymore, he was just... afraid.

Sven shook his head, setting his hand into his lap. “I don't know, honestly.” He had to fight the urge to pull the bottle back out. “I think... I need time to think. It doesn't feel right to decide now.” That was the truth; it didn't feel right. This choice wasn't something to be taken lightly. He didn't want to live with regrets. If he sent the bottle back to be dealt with how they pleased, he might end up regretting the chance to meet the child who would come from it. If he kept them without considering fully, he might regret that choice, too.

He wanted to be sure.

That, and sometimes, when he considered sending the bottle away for good, his heart tightened. He had spent so long dreaming of what would become of his bottle... could he just abandon it? Deep down, the answer whispered to him, but Sven wasn't ready to hear it.

“Whatever you decide, I'm here for you,” Ellie promised softly. Sven looked up, a smile teetering on his lips. He knew that. She was perhaps the most supportive person in his life, ever.

“What would you do?” He found himself asking the question before he had time to acknowledge he even wanted to. Ellie looked surprised, head cocking to the side as she considered it.

“Well, I wouldn't have found my way there in the first place, but... I guess I'd keep it?” The answer surprised Sven more then he thought it would. She had been so adamant at first with her disapproval of the entire ordeal, claiming it was dangerous and could end in harm, yet she'd keep it? His surprise must have shown, as Ellie immediately began to raise her hands.

“I'd be scared, of course, but, I feel like it's the responsible thing to do. You took their life, you know? I know you didn't mean to, but it happened, and I think the right thing to do is see this through.” She paused, shaking her head. “But I'm not you, and maybe the right thing for me isn't the right one for you.”

Sven mulled on her answer. Of course it had crossed his mind he owed the banshee to continue the process, but also... what if he couldn't ever get past his fear? The child would live in a house constantly against it. They deserved a parent who wasn't afraid. Someone who would cherish their every breath. Was he that person? Could he be? Or would he rob them of a happiness they deserved?

He didn't have an answer, frankly. Not yet.

“I need more time,” He feebly managed, drained already. Ellie nodded softly, hands weaving together in her lap. She released a restless sigh; of course to her this was exciting and she wanted answers now, Sven knew that. But he just couldn't find the answer right now, no matter how hard he tried.

“I'm here.”
“I know, thank you.”

He sighed softly as he looked up at his friend, a genuine smile on his features. He was grateful for that, at least. He had Ellie. He had someone on his side, and that felt nice. It felt like family, which was something he had lacked for so long. His eyes drifted to his lap, mouth tightening.

Family....

Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2018 8:28 am

Reconsider
September 30th

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He stared at the bottle, hands clenched at his sides as the foul taste of fear twisted in his mouth. How many guardians had failed? How many had sent their bottle back with no indication they wanted it to be returned? How many guardians had dropped out of Lab? Would he be the first? No, that couldn't be possible. He couldn't be the first to realize he didn't want this, right? The project had been active for awhile, they must have a procedure now for his cases.

.... Did he not want it?

When had he started seeing the bottle as an it? When had he changed his language? The second the banshee soul settled? When had they stopped being a future life and become something so impersonal as an it? Guilt rolled, collecting at the bottom of his chest as he stared at the angrily swirling innards of his bottle. It probably felt just as trapped as he; swirling rapidly with each intake of breath he took. Angrily. Did it know his thoughts? His desire to just lock it away forever and never look back?

He remembered what Claire had said, but it didn't soothe his panicked heart. It didn't erase the scars forming on his body. It didn't make the claws of the banshee suddenly not leave physical reminders on his skin.

It didn't make the tears forming stop.

He felt like a failure. As if he had been assigned an important task and destroyed it — well, he had, actually. He had taken the life of another creature when he swore he wouldn't. It didn't matter that the banshee was trying to kill him, well, wrong, it did, but not in that sense. Fear and guilt ruled him. He had stolen their life, and now he had the soul of his attempted murderer inside the bottle, stuck in a tiny glass container thanks to him.

It was his fault.

He felt the sting in his eyes as he rubbed at them, pawing away at the tears as he bit into his lip. Guilt. It was a popular theme this week. If he hadn't been so greedy and gone to the witch this never would have happened. He'd probably still be trying to find a soul, still looking for the perfect stone instead of staring at the life he had taken. The life he didn't know if he wanted.

The life that certainly hadn't wanted him.

Yet, when he tried to grab his phone to call Zeke or tried to grab a box to send away the bottle he just couldn't. Something stopped him. He really wished that was enough to answer his dilemma, but it didn't. He couldn't either give the bottle up or keep it, neither option sat well with him yet. He wish it was that easy; that something would tell him what he really wanted, but it just wasn't.

It was all just too much. He needed at least until his wounds physically cleared before he actually had any idea.

He hoped he'd figure it out that soon, at least.

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Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2018 8:42 am

Throwing to the Wolves
October 5th

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"Babysitting? Me?"

Ellie nodded as she adjusted her position against the counter, one leg raised over the other as her hands cradled her shoulders. He noted the withdrawn stance, eyes narrowing as he leaned back to pour hot water into his mug, setting a tea bag delicately into the glass before turning back to his friend. She took this as a signal to continue, shifting her weight.

"My brother is visiting Mom, and he didn't want Jack to see her for the first time when she's bedridden. I guess his wife is going, too."
"What about you?"
"I'm visiting with them. I figured I might as well since this might be one of the last times we'll be together with her..."

Ellie trailed off, a painful silence lingering after her words. Sven shifted this time, feeling the awkward urge to laugh building in his throat; panic. He didn't really know what this was like — he was sure if he had been placed in this situation he wouldn't remotely as torn as Ellie. It wasn't like he had the best relationship with his mother; or any, really. He sympathetically nodded, hands sliding deep into his mauve cardigan.

"It's just for the evening," Ellie added hastily, as if that was the last bit of information Sven needed before agreeing. "We'd pick him up around 6, most likely. Maybe 8, at latest." Another pause. "They'd pay, too."

Sven snorted at the last comment, hand waving absently to shake off the offer. Money wasn't the worry here, he was more confused on the situation in general. He knew nothing of her brother; why would they trust a complete stranger? He wouldn't, honestly. He doubted he'd ever let his kid stay over the house of anyone he didn't know throughly, but then again he didn't know how he acted as a parent.

Maybe he never would.
Ouch.

"And they know about me?"
"Yeah, I mentioned you needed practice since you're adopting, and I said you were a good friend. I gave a good word."
"Why?"

Ellie looked up, eyes narrowing as if the answer was obvious. It wasn't, but he wasn't going to say otherwise. "Have you ever babysat before?" She asked, nodding towards the man. Sven shook his head reluctantly. "Well, if you want kids, I think this is a good way to get to know what it's like. Especially if... well, you know... aren't they going to be 'older' then a baby?"

Sven winced against her words, body tilting away as he softly exhaled a lifted sigh to confirm her question. He didn't bother adding the 'if' that heavily rested in the air, and Ellie didn't chase for it. She had a point, though, and he was willing to hear it. It was better then what he had been up to lately; sulking. That and, if the bottle became his future child he would be grateful for a little experience under his belt.

Even if this raevan thing didn't work out, Sven doubted he'd kill the idea of ever adopting a kid. Either way, this would probably help, in some way or another.

"His name is Jack?"
"Jackson, but I call him Jack. He's... he's a good kid, he really is, but he has a temper and prefers to do his own thing. He'll probably stay to himself. It should be easy. Feed the kid and leave him alone; he's never been a problem for me. I had to babysit him a few times this month while my brother went job hunting."
"When would he come over?"
"I'd drop him off around 10am since his dad has to go to an interview around then right before the hospital, and his mom is going with."
"Age?"
"Sixteen."

Sven whistled sharply, an incredulous look stretching thin across his face. "Sixteen? You're just going to throw me to the wolves?"

"Oh, he's not that bad, really," Ellie snorted in his direction, a smile threatening to spill over. "Like I said, he's low maintenance. Promise."

Sven lolled his head side to side in thought, finding less excuses to reject the request then he could find acceptable. He wasn't excited, but okay, sure. Why not? He didn't really have an actual reason to say no, not beyond "I don't want to," and that itself seemed pointless. Why not? Why not do this just once? See how it went?

"Okay, I'll try it out," He relented. "But you need to keep your phone on in case there's an emergency." Ellie nodded nonchalantly. 'Of course', the look on her face said. 'I know you won't,' the look on his answered.

"Tomorrow, then?"
"Mhm, thank you. So much. It'll be great, I promise."

Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2018 1:04 am

What Makes a Sonnet
October 6th

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“Do you need anything?”

The boy stared at him with a look Sven could only assume was irritation. He didn’t want to be here, and for reasons Sven could only agree with. One stuck out to Sven the most; the boy was sixteen. He didn’t need a babysitter, but he had gotten one anyway. For what reason? Sven didn’t want to assume, but the ideas spiraled out of control before he could stop them. Perhaps the boy was trouble; setting fires in his wake and destroying houses left and right. Maybe he was anxious and needed supervision to feel safe. Or, maybe, and this one seemed the most logical, the parents to this child were simply overprotective.

Yeah, that probably was the reasoning. Sven couldn’t say he understood, really. His mother could care less what happened to him when he was a child as long as he didn’t bring her any shame, and his father, while loving, always had his head in the clouds. Affectionately absent-minded. Then again, how overprotective could the boys parents be if they had just thrusted him onto a stranger? Sure, Ellie had given him a good word, but was that enough? No, not to Sven, at least. He wouldn’t have let his raevan be watched over by just anyone.

Oh, there it was again; the confusing protective instinct he felt to a creature he wasn’t sure he wanted. That in itself should have been a sign, he supposed, but Sven didn’t like to play things simple. Worrying was second nature to him, followed quickly by the pit of anxiety in his stomach.

“No,” The boy — Jackson, now that he remembered — curtly clipped back. His blue eyes were cold; nothing like Ellie’s. Sven wondered where he got it from; Jackson’s parents hadn’t even been the ones to drop him off. Sven didn’t have the chance to compare boy with parents.

Jackson leaned back into the couch silently, his eyes locked on his small smartphone. Dark black hair framed an oval face, strands dipping over icy blue eyes. He looked like a sullen child with an independent streak. Really, why did he need a babysitter?

“Do you want to watch something?” Sven tested the waters delicately, watching the tall boy tug on his striped sleeves for comfort.

“No.” Jackson didn’t even look up this time, sucked in by whatever flashed on his screen. “I’m not allowed to,” The words were spoken with a careful venom, placed around each word in such a way that Sven could only guess the boy was trained perfectly in how to successfully mask his words but lacked the desire to currently. Contempt was obvious, and Sven felt his lip twitch. Ah, that he understood. Unsatisfactory parents were something he could relate to.

“I see,” Sven murmured softly, pushing himself free from his chair. “Tea, then?” There had to be something the boy liked. If he didn’t like tea then Sven couldn’t even call the boy a person — everyone liked tea.

“Sure,” A reluctant agreement at best, but Sven would take it. He smiled faintly at the boy before slipping away into his kitchen to tend to the boiling kettle, plucking two purple mugs from the cabinets. It still baffled him why Jackson was even here. He seemed low maintenance enough, if a bit gloomy. It was probably a mystery he’d never solve. When did he even need a babysitter? Now that he thought of it, Sven had been left home alone at a fairly young age, once again attributing to the fact his father was often too absent-minded to consider the fact that a young boy might need supervision.

His nose scrunched at the thought, fingers rhythmically drumming against the counter. What would he do if he accepted the raevan? Would he take them everywhere? It wasn’t often that Sven really went anywhere unfit for a child, and honestly? Now that he really thought about it, could he just let anyone take care of the child? They’d need protection, he was sure. He had absolutely no clue how the banshee soul would manifest in them, and being so young and with powers? What if something happened that they couldn’t control and he wasn’t there?

There he went again; thinking about the child as if it was a given. As if the ‘what if’s’ didn’t matter anymore. It felt odd, honestly, to acknowledge that the barrier put up was self brought. He could, at any time, give in and send the bottle to the lab. No one was forcing him to dwell. He wasn’t performing in some game or play. The feeling that he had to remain torn was a self inflicted punishment. As the days went on he began to wonder… what if he just did it?

Perhaps he was getting too comfortable with being uncomfortable.

Sven didn’t remember picking the mugs up, but within minutes he was traveling back to Jackson and handing the mug over. The boy accepted his without remark or glance, taking an immediate sip. The heat didn’t seem to disturb him. Sven settled back into his chair, legs tucking under him as he set his cup down on the small table beside him.

“You have a nice house,” Jackson murmured, a hint of disinterest still in his tone. Sven wearily smiled at the boy, knowing full well small talk was only due to the boy thinking he had to somehow entertain the man. Still, Sven was grateful for the distraction.

“Thank you.” A tired sigh left Sven as he leaned into his chair once more, eyes closing as he listened to the soft pitter patter of fingers on a screen. The silence that followed this time wasn’t interrupted by either, although Sven found that preferable over a forced conversation. That, and the sound of the boy fussing with his phone was eerily like white noise.

The sound of the boy existing within his space was soothing. After the weeks of trauma and stress it was almost cleansing to just have a moment of normalcy. His home wasn’t a warm one; a comment Ellie often made when she visited. It lacked life. Sven wasn’t one to move around much when left to his own devices. He occupied his office and that was mostly it; the rest of his home usually remained mostly untouched. The living room wasn’t for living, it was just there, waiting for company to settle in it. Sven had a nasty habit of allowing himself to become stagnant, which most likely was the cause for his writers block know that he thought of it. While Jackson was just a stranger who happened to come by due to circumstance, the boy brought with him a warmth into the house. Sven had a reason to make tea and sit in his favorite chair now, as if he needed company to indulge in such little things.

The sound of an abrupt hiss interrupted Sven’s peaceful pondering, causing his eyes to snap to the offender on his couch. Jackson scowled at his phone, pressing down on the home button a few times before tossing it to the side on the couch. His eyes met Sven’s for a moment before they flicked to the wall, settling on defeat.

“Dead?” The answer seemed obvious enough and didn’t need articulation, but Jackson offered the briefest of nods. Well, s**t. This was where conversing skills would need to come into play, and Sven was an old man to this boy. He didn’t have anything of substance to offer. Unless…

“Hmmm. Do you like to read?”

Jackson stirred slightly, interest sparking as his eyes lifted and brows relaxed. Sven stood promptly from his chair, fccetting the tea in favor of a new task. “I have a few books I can offer. They’re in the attic, if you want to come with me.” There also was the miniature library in his study, but Sven was rather particular of who could and couldn’t enter his writing space. Jackson nodded with interest, pulling himself from the couch and carefully tucking his phone into a pocket before following after the moving Sven. They wandered into the hallway before heading straight upstairs where the fccotten attic laid. It was dark and cluttered in various boxes, the air heavy with dust and age. Jackson immediately sneezed, sheepishly rubbing his nose as Sven gently murmured ‘gesundheit’.

“Most of these boxes have books in them that couldn’t make it to my bookshelf for one reason or another. Mostly space. They’re all good, so just grab whatever you’d like.”

Jackson had begun to settle himself in the middle of a group of boxes, hands tugging at the dusty boxes with wonder at the excitement of surprise that were buried within the box. Sven cocked a smirk as he took a backward step down the stairs, leaving the boy to his task for the moment.

_______________________________

Sven had tucked himself away in his study for the better half of an hour as he listened to the gentle thumping of boxes from upstairs. His door was left open a crack, letting the boy know where he was in case Sven was needed while also maintaining some level of privacy. Despite the attempt, Sven had begun to doze into a light sleep, startled awake when a gentle knock met the entryway to his study. He jolted upright in his chair, nearly falling out of it with an embarrassed laugh. Fingers curled around the edge of the door as Jackson peeked in, a book neatly snug in the crook of his arm.

“I found something,” Jackson murmured with a hint of apology. Sven quirked a smile onto his lips as he gracefully left the chair to approach the boy, hands extended and open for the lucky winner. Jackson delicately placed the book within his hands, immediately withdrawing his own hands deep into his sleeves as Sven rolled the front over.

‘What Makes a Sonnet’ stared back at him. His mouth parted, head snapping up as a short, surprised laugh left him.

“I wrote this,” Sven announced, but that much was clear; his name was written in white text on the front for all to see; Sven Beyer. “It was my first published book. It’s… it’s not that good, you know. I don’t even know why I have the thing. Maybe you should pick something else?”

Jackson shook his head, extending his hand for the book. “I read a few pages. I like it.” His praise was blunt and void of emotion, however his fingers stretched for the book; demanding. Sven hesitated, looking down at the cover.

Boy, did that bring back memories. He could remember being a young 21 year old, churning page after page, chasing inspiration at its heels. When had that stopped? When had writing become so difficult? His first book, published shortly after he turned 22, had been met without interest. Sales were abysmal, and Sven had almost quit the idea of writing. It wasn’t until his trilogy under a pen name until he found success, and only under that name. Sven Beyer the author had never been successful.

He couldn’t deny the brief giddy twist of his stomach as Jackson looked up at him, waiting for the book. Something about handing someone who wasn’t even born when the book released felt nostalgic. It felt even flattering for someone so young to be showing such interest in his first “failed” book.

“Would you like to borrow it, then?” Sven placed the book into Jackson’s hands, noting the brief nod from the boy. Jackson looked past Sven, eyes narrowing in thought at the study before pulling away, wandering back down the hall. Sven peeked his head out to watch Jackson settle on the couch and open the book, tucking his legs under him.

Well, if the boy was preoccupied, that left Sven time to answer some emails.

_______________________________

“Thank you so much for watching over him!”

Ellie threw her arms around a tired Sven, her grip tight and suffocating despite her smaller size. Jackson stood behind her, arms awkwardly held to his side.

“It wasn’t a problem. We had fun.” A glance was exchanged between the boy and man before Jackson cleared his throat, stepping closer with book raised in hand. Sven gently placed his palm on the back, pushing it delicately towards the boy.

“Keep it. I always believe a book should go to someone who wants it instead of remaining untouched.” Sven breathed. Ellie swept past him, patting Jackson on the back as she opened the front door.

“Did you have fun, Jackson?” She cooed towards the boy who was clearly too old for the tone she offered. Jackson shrugged without commitment, brushing past her and through the cracked door. Ellie shot a bemused grin at Sven, hands raising absently. “Kids.”

“Hey, if you ever need a babysitter again, let me know,” The offer surprised Sven as it left his lips, but really he didn’t mind. The boy was welcome to the fccotten books in the attic, and if it meant getting slowly rid of books that needed homes why not? The evening had went without a hitch, really.

Ellie beamed wide, fingers curving around the universal ‘ok’ sign. “I’ll let them know, thanks Svey.”

“Don’t call me that.”

The door closed, but not too fast for Sven to miss the teasing wink sent his way.

NymiiNym

Shy Wife

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NymiiNym

Shy Wife

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Posted: Wed Apr 25, 2018 5:22 pm

A New Year
December 31st

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Days passed, each day seemingly quicker than the last. By the time the holidays came life was a blur. Halloween was the first rush, full of pleads from Ellie to come visit and a night eventually spent babysitting a bored Jackson. Little happened on that spooky night, but Sven would forever distinctly remember the guilt he felt when he glanced over at the bottle and noticed how slowly the soul spun, as if it mourned the holiday it would not partake in.

Thanksgiving was there before Sven could count the days. He had become consumed with a new idea, fingers pouring over a keyboard only to delete that days work by the time the clock hit midnight. That thursday had been spent with the only person he considered family; Ellie. Heaps of food found its way into his stomach and fridge and Ellie had left only when the idea of helping with the dishes had been presented. Overall, it had been a good holiday, although Sven didn’t chance ruining it and avoided the bottle.

Christmas came when Sven least expected it to. He had stopped counting the days, becoming lost within his own thoughts as he tackled the attic. Something about winter made Sven clean, and the attic was a slow project. Each time he opened a box he’d find something inside to distract him for the rest of the day. Jackson had ended up staying over one night due to some issues at home, although Ellie wouldn’t explain and Jackson’s parents held tight smiles when requesting Sven’s help. The boy returned home with a few boxes of books and a restrained smile towards the unexpected presents, and then it was Christmas. Sven never liked the holiday; it reminded him of forced smiles as his father called his mother and poorly baked bread. He wasn’t sure why nostalgia came into effect that night, but a burned loaf of bread was later handed off to Ellie.

The bottle was, again, avoided that day.

With each passing holiday Sven found that the guilt grew heavier. The bottle had lost the violent vitality it once had. Sometimes he found himself wondering if the bottle knew he had shoved it back into his dresser and now it was nothing more then the thing under his socks. The thing he had begun to no longer fear but instead grow complacent in his neglect towards. Christmas had come and gone, but not before reminding Sven about his own family. About the neglect of his mother and the dim witted forgetfulness of his father. The bottle had been, once upon a time, wanted. It had been a symbol for his future and what would become a child he had promised to take care of and love. Love more than he had been.

Yet, it had been tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.

Sven spent the days to New Years with a frown. Each day he stood before the dresser and wondered what it was exactly that stopped him from making a decision. He could toss the bottle back to the lab and forget it existed. His problems would be fixed. He’d try adopting again. It would all go away. And yet, when he thought of losing the bottle his heart clenched. How could he just abandon this soul just because it wasn’t the “ideal” vision he had once? He’d be no better than his mother at that point. Who could guarantee the bottle would find a better home, even? What if they never were awoken? What if they were forever trapped inside the bottle without their second chance at life? What if they did find a new home and it was as bad as Sven’s family?

Wait — when had the bottle become a they?

The days counted by until New Years came. The fourth holiday passed, but this time the bottle wasn’t ignored. This time, the bottle found their place back beside Sven’s bed; delicately set on a purple cushion. This time, Sven turned the light off for bed and whispered a quiet goodnight to the bottle.

He had decided, for the upcoming year, he was going to try this time. He wasn’t sure why, or when his hand had found its way around the bottle, but he knew he’d wake the next morning to a new year and a new hope.

It was time to stop being a coward.

Posted: Wed Apr 25, 2018 5:27 pm

How Time Flies
February 6th

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After months of deliberating and fear, Sven has finally realized what he should have months ago; the child was not going to be a monster. Now equipped to understand and handle his new life, he has reached out to Nina to meet her again! He also has heard Nina's daughter finally came and is quite excited to see the new lab addition.

NymiiNym

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NymiiNym

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Posted: Wed Apr 25, 2018 5:30 pm

For the Love of Books
February 15th

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Sven meets Dani and Magda at a bookstore. Dani and Sven instantly hit it off and he leaves with the realization he's made his first confirmed friend within Lab. Not only that, but he's sure his future child will find Magda's company reassuring, as they're both very similar in origin!

Welcome to Gaia! ::

Gaia Guilds

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