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 Posted: Sat Oct 13, 2007 10:50 am
Won't You Get ALONG?
(Rothe and siblings try and make Mordread and Patrick start talking again)
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Posted: Sat Oct 13, 2007 10:51 am
A Lesson Learned
Kian was done swimming. The people at the local open pool had gotten used to seeing the dark skinned, stoic young man there. One of the girls had offered him a larger head cap so he could swim faster. Somehow, those mounds of hair had been rolled into a tight bun atop of his head and held down with a skull-cap sort of plastic and his tail fit comfortably over the top of his swim wear. Either way, it was done and he was headed home, sandles flapping on the ground, wet towel and shirt swung over his shoulder and the other clothing on him was a pair of cut-off jeans and.. not much else. His hair was still up in that tight bun... It was hurting. But ah well.
The house was unusually quiet. Kian frowned a bit at the lack of noise as he hit the edge of the driveway but he shrugged, moving further inside.
While Kian was having the time of his life swimming, Rothe had gone out. He was tired of the house, being stuck in there - tired of knowing nobody but his family. So, deciding that he needed to find some 'followers' he took his whip, wound it carefully around his hand and wrist, and had strode off into the distance (which wasn't necessarily distant at all considering it was the playground at the park) to do his 'duty' as a 'better person'. Unfortunately, the entire 'beating people into submission' plan had gone ary. While at home the whip masters were unbeatable (and truely, he was a master with the whip at home...A bit awkward with this new body, mind) here it seemed to be quite different. It seemed as though the way of fighting here was the way of peasants at home - with bare hands and fists. Most unfortunate considering that Rothe had never brawled with peasants before and thus when a punch came at his nose he'd raised his whip to block and have it wrap around the wrist.
Whips did not do a good job at protecting a nose from a closed fist, no matter how you looked at it. Sure, he'd gotten a few good whacks in which would leave deep, gaping holes in the skin forever due to the nasty little poisonous hook at the end of his chosen weapon...But Rothe now had a broken nose, a swollen mouth, several angry bruises all over his body, likely a cracked rib from being kicked and a black eye. He'd barely been able to make it home and he looked a bloody mess. Literally.
Kian faltered a bit when he heard a body come up from behind him. The thick frame twisted around, pausing when he saw a ...rather ugly little boy move his way up. His upper lip curled, head tilting up a bit as Rothe, rather disfigured, slowly ...inched up the driveway. Awesome.
"And what happened to you, Sibling?" All three eyes appraised the figure, Kian drawing himself up to his full height. It was unimpressive, to be sure, but his yellow gaze slid over and assesed the situation. Nose, lips, cheek. Ribs, if the way he was walking was any indication. Eye. Ugly, again. "Did the Mordread finally grow irate with you?"
"No," he spat, though it sounded a bit muffled, "Peasants at the park," he muttered, next, obvious disdain in his voice as he tried to haul himself up into a straighter posture. It wouldn't due to be seen as a weakling by ones own sibling - especially if they were beneath in station and incredibly, without a doubt, his possession. Sigh. The work of a Master was never done, even when he was broken and beaten. "Them and their ways of using their fists. So incredibly...animal like."
Of course he didn't mean it as a dig to Kian, though.
"Says the one who thinks of a child." The dark alien scoffed back, his arms folding briefly over his chest. His face clouded over a bit at that animal like thing, although he had to admit the Creatures WERE rather...animalistic. "What did you do to them, Sibling?"
"I looked for followers, that's simply all I did." It wasn't a lie, really, "And the peasants decided to show me up. I whipped a few of them and they will have beautiful scars, though. Even if they are not under my submission they will always belong to me because of those marks on their flesh. They will never go away." Talking, though, was beginning to be painful and he dropped slowly to his knees. Forgetting, for the moment, that being lower than someone was to be submitting in his world. Should ones head dip below another's...Ah well, he was in pain.
Kian simply stared at him. The third eye rolled a bit and Kian, made strong by exercise and by swimming, took a step towards the boy. He swooped down and picked the boy up with ease. The alien was careful about his siblings rib wound, however, and shifts him closer and more comfortable. "You are such an idiot, sibling." His voice was a grumble, Kians wet towel falling onto the driveway with a damp plop, and the two started their trek inside. "You think of people like you do toys. Beings with souls do not appreciate being treated as such and the fact that you claim them with scars is deplorable."
"They are less than me, Kian," Rothe muttered under his breath, thankful that his brother was at least being careful with him, "If I do not claim them, someone else shall." He missed home. At home he had...hundreds of slaves. So many to listen to him, let him dominate them. They were beneath him, yes, but he took very good care of his things once they were wholey and completely his. Why purchase something only to wreck it? The initial breaking, of course, not withstanding. Some of them just needed to be completely broken first...That was fun, but it was for their benefit more than his! They should know their place, shouldn't they?
"No, sibling." His voice was a brief rumble at that, pushing himself inside and carrying his brother back into the depths of the house, and then up the stairs. "That is not the way, here. Beings do not posses another and they are no less then you. You have no more value to the natives here then they themselves have. They were here first. You are simply a convict."
"It is my way," Rothe insisted, "And nothing will change that. Just as you and this family are my things. I take good care of you. I protect the little ones, do I not?" Was it really so bad being under his power? Really? He did not beat them, as he had his slaves in the past for mouthing off. In fact, he'd been quite lenient. Well, to everyone but Mordread but the feline boy - definitely could not be called a man by any means - had it coming. He was just so...weak. And useless. It was no wonder that Kian's father left him really! Scum on his shoe.
"You forget I wage war on those who caged myself and my people." His reminder was spoken in a soft tone, one strong leg moving to kick the bathroom door that seperated their rooms for one another. Kian shouldered their way inside, his mind briefly brooding. "I would fear belonging to you, I think. But I bite back and, now, my tails makes a much better weapon then your whip. I believe we've discussed this."
Despite the amusement in his teasing and despite the seriousness of the words, Kians movements were gentle as he set Rothe down on the toilet seat, frowning at him. "We will need to bind your chest, yes. And something for your face."
"But you do belong to me," he said with a smirk, "Everyone in this house belongs to me. They are mine. Perhaps you will never understand - perhaps nobody here will. But it is what I have always known and what I will always see. I take care of my things, though." Indeed, his room was immaculate. To be otherwise would be to be unworthy of owning them! Rothe had the strangest way of thinking. Anything that wasn't his meant nothing to him. Lives to be snuffed out as undeserving. Cold? Of course. Rothe was an incredibly cold creature. There was no known emotion that was undoubtedly good. All he knew was bad, and Mordread helped none of it.
The comment about the tail made him roll his eyes, "It seems here my whip is not something that I can particularly rely on. But I do not wish to lower myself to peasant way of combat."
"The only being even close to being worthy of claiming me as their own is 'Tsu, sibling. Apologies." Rothe got a fond little pat on the head as Kian stood and started to rifle through the cabinet. A few bottles and bandages were pulled out, Kians voice rather distant as he spoke, concentrating more on the matter of getting the bloody boy... less so.
"There is always the staff. It can be lethal, when used properly."
Rothe truly was being a stubborn git considering each breath hurt - he didn't even bother hiding the last one though, as he snorted which was followed by a huge wince. Note to self? Don't snort with a cracked rib. It doesn't work very well! "I really would prefer it if you stopped calling me sibling," he said a moment later, trying to recover from that show of weakness. It was Kian, after all, and it was bad enough that he was showing this weakness in front of his 'rival' wasn't it?
"Why?"
He didn't try to elaborate more then that, moving onto one knee before his brother. Kians fingers, despite the nails, were able to nimbly pull the shirt off of him without cutting it. Clawing Rothe in this situation would be bad; his nails caused enough damage otherwise. The growing bruise above his rib was eyed cautiously before he smeared a liberal amount of salve against the damage, fingers prodding at his flesh. It didn't seem to be out of place...
"Because it is not my name. I refer to you as 'Kian' and not something else, do I not? I'd like the same courtesy." The only time he preferred NOT to be called by his name was when someone was calling him 'Master' or 'God' or something equally as lovely. Not sibling. He twitched a bit as the shirt was pulled off and felt a wave of...modesty? From Rothe? Dear gods, heaven had opened up and sent down chocolate rain or something. It was short lived, however, when Kian's fingers probed the injured area and he let out a very undignified yelp.
"Luckily, sibling, your rib does not seem ut of place. No, it is right where it needs to be. All I must do is bind it. The salve will help with the bruising. Yes." He murmured this half to himself as one large hand captured the bandages and he started to wrap the smaller man. It was slightly akward, as he had to press close with each movement about him. "Sibling is what you are, it is a title. Kian is not my true name either so what does it matter-" His third eye glanced up to look his brother right in the face, "Rothe?"
Rothe...did not like being this close to Kian. It made him uncomfortable. Highly, highly uncomfortable - especially when his chest was, you know, naked. "My only title is Master, Kian. And Rothe is not my true name either, but somehow I do not believe my true name would be appreciated in this place and thus I keep it to myself." He looked at Kian for a long moment, meeting that gaze with his own. "Thank you." It was said only after Kian used his name and though he was tempted there was no crack of smile on that stern face.
"You are no master here, brother." He rumbled that out with a soft chuckle, finishing with the tying to tie the knot gently. His attention went to the other injuries on his sibling. Mainly, the ones on hi face. Kian clicked his tongue a bit, lips pursing as that same salve was applied to the bruises on his brothers face, head cocked to the side briefly. "Would you commit your crime again, if you had the chance to do it all over? Or do you think being here has been worth it?"
"I committed no crime," he said loftily, closing his eyes as the salve was applied to his face, "The old b*****d was just upset that his daughters were stupid enough to fall in love with me and I didn't return the favor." Oh, yes. Rothe was always the innocent one, wasn't he? Nothing he could ever do would ever be wrong. Everyone else simply got the facts incorrect or was doing something the wrong way. Rothe was always, always right. And of course that b*****d had to order his precious face to be marred - much like it was now, actually, he thought with a scowl - and let them take his pretty. Well, he'd gotten his in the end, hadn't he? "So I suppose the answer is yes. Without a second thought, I would."
"Somehow I do not think that is the whole story." Still, Kian didn't press the issue any. He continued t care for his brothers busted face, frowning briefly as he contemplated. Rothe was not bad. His heart was hard and needed to defrost, but he was a good man. Inside. "Are you sure you will not join up with the unit, Rothe?It could be enjoyable and if I return to my home planet, you will at least have others like us to continue speaking with."
"A story for another time, perhaps," Rothe answered, not so sure he wanted to share his lifes story with his rival. At least Kian knew when to shut up. The frown was not noticed but when Kian opened his mouth and began to talk about the unit again, he opened one green eye and looked at the other criminal, "I suppose you still mean for me to take orders? I don't take orders, Kian. I give them and expect them to be followed. It's bad enough I have to listen to the cat-b***h who's so damned...stupid. And so easy to screw with." he smirked then, though it hurt and he winced. Grah.
"It's not even about taking orders, Rothe." All three eyes rolled as he said this, finishing with his face. Kian leaned back, studying his brother. Well. He was patched up as well as thekiller could make it. Either way, he kept talking. "It is a group so we are not alone. There are no orders from anyone, to anyone. We only have one mission as of now, although I suppose you would be uninterested in findin the illegal ones like us."
"...What is the point of being in a group if there is no leader, no orders?" Rothe's brain couldn't comprehend a group that had no structure. Structure, he'd learned from his father (and probably the only good thing to come out of the old a*****e's mouth), was the single most important thing in life. And their family always had been at the top of the structure, looking down at all the lessers who built it for them. The sign of a good leader, to his family, had always been perfect appearances. It showed no hard work had been done thus the family was plentiful in slaves and worth more.
"Because equals will fight for another equals cause." His reply was smooth and the dark alien dipped down to pick Rothes shirt up, offering it to his younger sibling. "It would be...be like Masters f the same rank, coming together to protect what was theirs against a world that did not understand. And to bring in like members into their homes as theirs. Children are falling, brother, without Archies knowledge. They do not know what they are or what is happening to them. At least we had our Parentals to help us and as much as we disliked one another as children, we had each other. They have no one. There is nothing worse then being alone."
"Even amongst equals there is a leader. There must be or nothing gets done." It was still a difficult concept for Rothe to grasp and his eye twitched a little (though it was hard to see beneath the swollen-ness of it) as he tried to process the information that Kian gave him. Rothe wasn't stupid - he was just very stuck in his ways and very, very stubborn. "Why should I care about these children that are falling, Kian? What affect does it have on me? Does it take food out of my mouth, warmth out of my bed, quality out of my clothing?" Oh, and let's not forget selfish. "Do they affect my family? Will the babies be in danger, should I not do this? Give me a reason that I can understand, Kian. I do not do things for others unless it has a gain to myself." At least he was honest in that. Rothe didn't believe in lying. It was a waste of his precious time to do so.
"I would be considered the leader then, Rothe. Autsu follows my orders and the house is under my supervision." He shrugged, pausing as he took in everything his sibling was saying. At last he was honost. Kian expected nothing less. "They affect me. You may be surprised but I am not the best hand to hand combat alive. With his speed, Autsu can floor me. Give you a reason to understand, brother? No one in this family believes you are a master, save for the furry one. No one out there thinks you are worth it - none have even heard of you.I think you learned this yourself." Rothe earned himself a firm poke in the chest at that one. "How is holing yourself away, gaining no favors or fear, going to help you win the status you lust for? You are selfish, Rothe, but do you think people will blindly fall at your feet because you used to be important? Power and status make you important here, and right now? You are nothing more then a beaten up, eleven year old boy with long ears."
Rothe grit his teeth as the older boy poked his chest, "It is preparing me," he growled beneath his breath, "Because I am stuck in this horrible and unclean and ridiculously ugly body, as a child, no less. I believe my experience today has shown me that I am clumsy in this body." It was the first time he'd let out his insecurities about the body he'd been forced into, "I need to train and get past this clumsiness. You are right. Nobody will follow a child, and that is what I am here. Even though I am smarter than other children and am, mentally, a two hundred and fifty six year old male." he took a deep breath. s**t, it'd been too long since he remembered his age. It was rather depressing, going from a fully functioning male who got sex on a regular basis to a clumsy, horribly ugly child. The words did sting, though, and he looked up at Kian, "I will join your 'unit'. But you must give me second in command."
"If you want second, you will earn second. Second belongs to Autsu, as he is strong and trustworthy and he can take me down with two punches." His voice was still low, that aggravating monotone that Patrick always complained over. So DEAD, they claimed. Ah well. "We are both horrible and ugly, Rothe. That is the punishment part. I am short and fat and disgustingly dark. You re slightly blue with long ears and little markings. Those are interesting however." He shrugs a little bit, straightening up and letting his back pop in a few places. "We will have training sessions at the house. We will learn one anothers style of fighting. 'Tsu used to have a tail such as mind. He will be showing me. I shall be able to show you the staff. So on, so forth.." His hand waves. "Stop the power trips. You are not a two hundred year old male and I am no longer a revolutionary leader with thusends of lives on his hands. Not just yet. Not until we go back. Stop being weak and relying on power you are not priviledged to posses just yet."
Well, technically, in Earth years....Rothe was only sixty four. K'rahar worked on a one year was ninety earth days schedule. But semantics! "Yes, you are," he answered with a firm nod of his head. No use of lying to the man - he was everything that his planet would call unworthy. Dark skin tone, not long and lean (at least he'd kept that!). And he felt no remorse saying it, either, since Kian had all but agreed with him on his being ugly anyway (not that he expected any different.) "They are not interesting. They are disfiguring." Which was why, on his planet, tattoos were strictly for the peasants. The sign of good breeding was no visible markings on the body. Perfection. However, one point of Kian's words caught his attention, "That is where you are wrong, Kian. We are these things. Perhaps in another body, perhaps being punished. But in the heart of hearts, we are these things. And this is why it is so difficult. Because we are restricted."
"I am not Koreshan Jo'nas here, brother. No one would listen to what I have to say. I have no cause to say anything at all! We have different lives here, despite the minds remaining the same." He shrugged briefly, moving overto the sink to wash his hands off with a small hum to the depths of his throat. "I do not mind being here. On my home planet, I lived in fear of being captured during a raid or simply hunting food. They would take me back to where I was raised, cut of my ears and castrate me. I like living without that fear here."
"Different for different people, I suppose," Rothe murmured softly, lifting an arm and brushing it through his hair. He needed a damn shower. "You lived in fear, and that is understandable that you would wish to come here. But I was one that caused fear. I was one that...Had nothing to fear. I was, as you say...Untouchable. At least until Elder..." he shook his head. No, would not think of that b*****d. "Nevermind. Here, I am simply Rothe White," He refused to take Mordread's last name. While 'King' was fitting for one such as Rothe, it was worthless to him coming from an ex slave. "But there, I was..." His voice lilted into a rather beautiful, flowing tongue, "Trenril Drathir." Rothe...still loved his name. He'd prefer it over 'Rothe' that was for sure. Such..a plain name. Rothe.
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Posted: Sat Oct 13, 2007 10:52 am
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 2:55 pm
Escape To The Library
Gage & Rothe RP
The building wreaked of old age. Gage sat at a long, oak table with his head bent over a manuscript of an impressive width. HIs orange eyes flickered over the words on the pages at a steady speed, as he did his best to absorb all of the information he possibly could. As he'd grown at an accelerated rate within the past few months, the pink skinned little boy had begun to recognize the importance of mastering the language and words of this planet. He had always prided himself on his intelligence and, while his exile to Gaia hadn't put a stopper on his cognitive abilities, Gage found that his ability to understand a lot of what was going on had been inhibited by his Yurupean origins.
Being around Green had done a lot for his language skills. He'd learned a lot from her, and was thankful for that fact.
However, it hadn't taken Gage long to realize that he ought to take responsibility for furthering his education. So, practically every day, but never at the same exact time and only after tormenting the neighbor's dog, he would slip a simple canvas bag over his shoulder, bike into town and settle down in his favorite corner of this very old building. It was a giant place with suprisingly poor lighting for a place where people were meant to read. From what he'd read so far, Gage reasoned that it'd been modelled after the older english, gothic fashions.
It wasn't a place that Rothe tended to be at very often, but his own collection of books had been devoured and committed to memory long ago and while he sincerely doubted this place would have any texts on what he was dying to know, he had to get out of the house. Mordread was 'cracking down' again, trying to get the younger children ready for school and trying to play daddy to the criminal. Rothe hated when the ex-slave decided to play Daddy after a sudden epiphony that took place a week or two after being holed away doing god knew what. He'd never been the same after the split from Patrick. Rothe found it pathetic.
But at least 'going to the library' seemed to be a fitting past time and he'd managed to escape the house unscathed by a million and three questions about what time he'd be home. The library appealed to the man who he refused to call 'father' and since he knew the b*****d would likely go there checking in on him in a bit, he had to go there. At least until the cat showed up to make sure that was where he was. So, dressed in his finest - fueled by money that he'd stolen from his poor excuse of a guardian - he walked himself to the large, old building that appealed to his specific tastes. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The architecture was satisfying.
He was in the middle of heading toward one of the restricted areas - he wouldn't bother getting any kind of pass - when a familiar sight caught his eye. There was no mistaking pink-skinned cotton-candy boy. A smirk touched his lips as he sauntered over to him, "Trying to better yourself, Cotton Candy?" he questioned, voice silky, smooth. Low.
That voice was familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it quite precisely, but Gage knew that he'd recognize the face it belonged to. The wavy haired boy didn't look up immediately, and held his hand up, signalling that he wanted to finish his paragraph before shifting his attention to conversation. It wasn't that he didn't to talk to Rothe. As it was, Gage didn't particularly care. Rothe could wait two seconds. After all, it would take a lot more than that dangerously silky voice to make him feel threatened.
His skin may have been the color of cotton candy, but it was a hell of a lot thicker.
He toyed with the idea of flipping the page and cotinuing his mental exercise, but thought better of it after a moment's hesitation. Encyclopedia's were loaded with information, but he wasn't particularly interested in absolutely everything they had to say.
"What if I am?" he said casually, and finally turned his head to look the older boy in the eye.
"I'd say that you were doing a rarely intelligent thing," he answered, arms coming to cross over his finely clothed chest. At his side, as always, was his whip, looped about for easy access should he need it (and it was visible, too, with it's barbed edges) which usually caused people to raise a brow. Rothe had learned early on that the weapon wasn't a generally accepted one, and he was determined to show others that it was a formidable weapon, indeed. He just hadn't had a chance yet. This damn body...He hated it. Loathed it. But that was neither here nor there at the moment.
"Though unfortunately, for the likes of you, the chances of becoming more than a milkman are severely low. I do, however, wish you luck in your endeavors." A smile that did not reach his eyes graced his lips - almost cruel.
"Puh-lease," Gage scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips curled upwards in an expression that might have been described as awkward amusment, "most milkmen live honest lives. Obviously, you know nothing about me. Why strain yourself by assuming that you do?"
Lies weren't something he made a habit of but Gage, who was formerly known as Xerxes, had never completed an honest day's work in his entire life. Nor did he have any intention of doing so. He did like to fix things, and was naturally very good wtith his hands, but the objects and things that he created were usually... of a dishonest nature. There was nothing the alien liked better than coming out on top, or making something easier.
When he noticed the whip at Rothe's side, his eyebrows flew upwards in surprise, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. Gage tried not judge. What the taller boy decided to tote around with him was his business and of no real importance to the pink skinned kid.
Still, even as he swore he wouldn't ask, Gage felt a bubble of curiosity start up in the pit of his stomach. What the hell was Rothe doing with something so ugly?
What Gage would have thought as ugly, Rothe adored and called his beautiful, his precious, his lady and the only one that he'd ever deal with outside of his sisters. "Are you saying you live a dishonest life?" Rothe toned, raising a finely groomed brow and moving to lean against the table, that gaze almost unsettling staring at him, unblinking, "I may be in a child's body," he hated it, and his voice nearly betrayed it - but didn't, thankfully - "But I am much older. Take my advice, Cotton Candy," he murmured before leaning down low and brushing his lips against the kid's to whisper, "You don't want to let that particular cat out of the bag."
He slowly pulled his head away and smirked at him. Kids bodies, yes, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that any of them actually had a kid's mentality. Everyone he'd met remembered fully their lives before this wretched planet was forced on them. "You have too much to learn. You're green. That much I DO know, and with that, I know you will never get anywhere in life."
"I'm saying that you don't know enough about me to make such assumptions," Gage hissed in annoyance and leaned backwards in his chair as far as possible, completely put off by Rothe's close proximity, "I do not care about the conclusions you make about the type of person I am. Not everybody cares what you have to say, msyelf included."
Rothe was too close. He was stepping out of line, and Gage wasn't about to just sit there and let him cross it. He had no way of proving that he wasn't younger than Rothe, but as Xerxes he'd seen more than his fair share of death and turmoil. Back then, he'd been untouchable. Now, in this world, where he was surrounded by unfamiliar words and unfamiliar buildings, Gage refused to be intimidated by a body that was only a little bit larger than his.
"Life is unpredictable," he chuckled and gestured at their surroundings, "look at where we are now. You're far too quick to judge."
"One needs to be quick to judge," Rothe countered, not shifting from his current position at all, and not moving his eyes from Gage at all. "If one takes their time to analyze, it could be their last seconds they are using. Snap, accurate judgements are key to one's survival. You implied that you did not live an honest life by the way you responded to my comment. I simply gave you advice. Judging by your reactions to my words, I've hit home, or you would not be so disagreeable or defensive. People skills, Cotton Candy. Perhaps you should learn them." He smirked, then, yet again - though as before there was no mirth or laughter in his face. Just distance. Cold, hard distance.
"Life is unpredictable, but if you are intelligent, you can predict to a point what will happen. For instance." His eyes swept along the library, toward a woman who seemed to be carrying a large pile of books, seemingly steady, "She will drop all those books within the next five minutes. Can you tell me how I know this?"
"Not all judgements made within a span of five minutes are correct," Gage countered easily and shifted backwards once more. The reestablished distance between them made him much more comfortable, and he was once again able to meet Rothe's gaze head on, "Besides, I didn't ask for your advice."
He decided this time, for both their sakes, to ignore Rothe's comments about his past. The taller, pale skinned boy couldn't possibly know anything about him. So, Gage decided to try and bring his little guessing game to an end. At their core, that's all judgements were anyways. Guesses.
"Don't talk to me about people skills," Gage snorted in disbelief. He wasn't the one who'd started this little tug-of-war. Rothe had interupted his free time. It wasn't the other way around.
"No," he rolled his eyes again, and then glued them to the unsuspecting lady, "but, I have a strange feeling you're going to tell me."
"Some have to be."
The statement was simple, but it was obvious, if you were looking, that Rothe meant it. He shrugged his shoulders, however, choosing not to comment about people skills further nor make any snarky remark about how his advice wasn't asked for. It wasn't something that he truly wished to respond to, anyway. Not that he had a response ready for it. "Indeed, I am. Only because I'm feeling nice today." If this was his version of nice, well, he supposed Gage didn't want to see him in a prickish mood, either.
"She seems steady, her walk is sure of itself. Like she's done it a million times. Taking one look at her, you'd think she could handle that load. But if you notice, she's not watching the floor - and a few yards away, where the check out is, there is a small bit of raised carpet. Her fingers are also twitching slightly, indicating that the books aren't properly placed in her hands. She may be able to save them, but she will stumble and at least half of her books will spill on the floor."
A few moments later, Rothe's prediction came true. Her sure foot wasn't accounting for the raise in the carpet, and she stumbled forward - six of the ten books in her arm scattering against the carpet and several of them passing through the electronic things by the door and setting them off. He laughed.
Rothe's ability to examine his surroundings and predict the outcomes of various situations made Gage uneasy. Admittedly, the thing with the lady and her books wasn't exactly the most magnificent analyzation. He was sure that it was something any particularly observant person could have noticed, regardless of their cognitive range. Still, as his eyes slid from the poor lady and back to Rothe's laughing facing, a chill flew down his spine and pooled at the tips of his toes.
Unpredictability was something he'd always relied a great deal upon. Granted, he'd always had the ability to see what was going on behind him, which had made life as a thief and a criminal a hell of a lot less complicated.
"Nice call," he shrugged simply and did his best to look unimpressed, "I wonder, if you can tell me what I'm thinking? Or what I'm going to do next?"
"You're hoping that I can't," Rothe said, turning his attention away from the lady who had a bleeding lip from her stumble, and who was now scrambling trying to pick up her lost cargo. Rothe seemed almost delighted in her pain, as if he savored it. Adored it. Craved it, even? It was hard to tell. But it wasn't nice, and it wasn't sunshine and roses, that much was for sure.
The subtle changes in Gage's body language made him smile, "You're hoping that it was a lucky guess. And I'm making you uneasy with my ability to see things that most people take for granted." Slowly, the blue skinned young man pushed himself off the table and stood tall again, hands trailing over his body to smooth out what wrinkles leaning against furniture had caused his precious suit. Seriously. A kid who willing worse suits. Definitely not normal.
"And you're hoping I leave."
Roth was correct. To a point. But that was something that Gage really didn't want to dwell on.
"I could careless whether you left or not," the pink skinned boy informed his taller companion casually, "You might be a pain in the a**, but you're not boring."
Unlike the pile of encyclopdia's that sat on the table in front of them. It occured to Gage that he should swap them for some other, much more interesting fiction stories soon. There was nothing he enjoyed more than curling up in the barn, amongst the hay and the animals, with a good novel.
With a sigh, the pink skinned little boy stood up and brushed passed Rothe. He stopped beside one of the books that the poor lady had dropped and bent down to retrieve it for her.
"Well, thank you for pointing out the obvious. I strive to be both." He actually laughed at that one, shaking his head and moving to sit down at the table across from the blond, reaching out to look at what drivel the boy was reading, "Ugh. Useless facts." He tried not to show his disgust at the encyclopedias and somehow managed it. It wasn't hard for him to hide things on his face - it came from years of being forced to do so - but he hated cleaning himself up for others. However, he did enjoy appearing perfect and the look of disgust didn't suit him very well currently.
When Gage got up to help, tlady thanked him profusely, reached out for the book, and managed to get her blood on Gage's hand. Which, unfortunately, burned. Badly. Poisonous blood, it seemed, and Rothe tilted his head as if he'd known it all along. He didn't, of course, he had no pregcognitive powers, or powers of any kind. It was simply amusing to see Gage get bled on.
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Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2008 3:38 pm
Interlude
Rothe's cameo appearance with talking to his favorite sister
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Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2008 10:46 pm
A Little Push "Rothe, you can put the dishes away tonight." The panther told his son, hands furiously scrubbing at some caked-on grime from the dishes that hadn't been properly cleaned. He really did have to teach Dax how to do the dishes properly - the problem with that was getting his son to sit still for longer than a few minutes.
"Don't think so, Cat," Rothe responded, setting the dishes he'd gathered up - all six of them - on the counter beside where his father washed, "Did my part. Have Morgan do it, or something. I have better things to do."
"Did you find a new way to torture innocent babies?" Mordread retorted, swiping the now clean dish under fresh water and setting it in the rack to the side.
"Nope, new way to torture fathers." He smiled, though it wasn't a real one, before reaching behind him and pulling a crumpled piece of paper out from his pocket, "This doesn't belong in the garbage, Cat."
"Of course it does." Another dish was being scrubbed now, perhaps a little harder than necessary, "I don't even know why I filled it out to begin with."
"Because deep down you know you're a pathetic little man and you need the help. You're sending it off in the mail tomorrow." It was spoken in that 'no nonsense' tone that somehow managed to always break his father down. Hopefully it didn't fail this time.
Mordread paused at cleaning his dish, setting it down and turning the running water off before rotating on a heel and staring at the boy who was, unfortunately, a good five inches taller than him. "Put it back in the trash, Rothe," he said softly, "I don't want to send it off."
Tsking, the blue skinned criminal smoothed the paper against the counter and began to fold it neatly, producing the pre-addressed envelope from the same pocket it had been removed from before putting it inside, bringing the flap to his lips, licking it, and sealing it. "Then I will."
"No."
Rothe laughed, "Excuse me?" Voice dropping to below freezing, the letter was tossed onto the newly cleared table where the younger children simply stared. This couldn't be good. "You have two choices the way I see it, Cat. I can drag you upstairs and into my room, tie you down, and beat the living s**t out of you...OR you can send the letter off, stop being a pathetic little p***y, and I'll babysit. Personally, I think the second option would sound more appealing to you but if I get to whip you, I'm all for it."
Morgan flinched, Dax didn't seem to notice, and Kayleigh and Gabriel were oblivious to what Rothe was even saying, though they did seem to sense it was bad. The Panther's reaction was to simply stare at the boy in front of him, taking a deep breath.
"I'll send the damn letter out."
"Good choice," Rothe said icily, "Now. Morgan, Dax, go do your homework."
Neither dared to do otherwise, each making their way up the stairs as quickly as possible.
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