|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Dec 25, 2008 6:08 pm
Reserved - Secret Santa Stuff
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Dec 25, 2008 8:44 pm
**Never-Never**
Christmas had come and gone. In a few days it would be New Years, and Ophelia could feel a change in the air. Her father was frantically cleaning the attic for some unknowable reason - Ophelia had peeked, and been rather surprised that the attic wasn't just a crawl space, but an actual room with sloping ceilings and a window. Already today he had taken five cardboard boxes to the car, and there were three more waiting by the door. Ophelia took the opportunity to see what exactly it was he was getting rid of.
It was clothes. A woman's clothes. Ophelia bit her lip. She'd always suspected Prosper had kept his wife's belonging somewhere, even after her death, but had never found any of it. There was a fine layer of dust covering the top layer of fabric. It all smelled dusty, and under that, a bit floral. The ghost of perfume, she supposed, and felt like she had seen something she shouldn't have. Ophelia swallowed the lump in her throat and closed the box.
She wandered around the house for a bit before deciding to practice her painting. Following her conversation with Wisp, her feelings about growing up were a bit mixed - on the one hand, she'd be older; on the other hand, she'd be older. That in mind, she thought about where it would be fun to go, somewhere not too hard to summon, and her train of thought kept going back to Peter Pan.
Well, thought Ophelia, why not? She set up her easel and her paints, and with her mood of defiance in mind, began to paint. Strangely, the world the flowed from her brush looked a bit like when she painted 'Home'. When it was about half-done, Tink fluttered in from the next room and began to flit about around her head, investigating. Ophelia smiled at the fairy and kept painting, letting the world form as it liked.
"Never-never," she said, setting down her brush. The painting warped and sharpened into hyper-realistic clarity. Ophelia grabbed her backpack, then reached up and cupped Tink to her chest with one hand and pressed her other palm to the portal. There was a flash of light, and then the quiet of the study dissolved into the chatter of a jungle.
"Cool," laughed Ophelia, pretty impressed that it had worked. She released Tink to flit along beside her, and began to walk. It seemed like this world was a lot quieter than the Never-neverland from the book. Maybe because the pirates had been defeated and all the Lost Boys had gone off with Wendy? She'd always thought Wendy was a bit of a spoilsport in that respect... And it was her middle name, too. That was a bit of a mixed blessing, in and of itself.
She made her way further into the jungle. It didn't seem like there was anyone around - maybe this wasn't really Never-never? But it felt like Never-never. The air was abuzz with youthful defiance.
A bird squawked in the bushes and then took to the air. Ophelia jumped, startled. There was something else in the bush - it was still rustling. Curious, she approached it, only to be greeted with a cry of, "Oi! What are you doing here?"
She took a step back. "I - uh--!"
The bush rustled some more, and then a boy, her age or perhaps a bit older, poked his head out. "Hey, wait a minute," he said when he saw her, and proceeded to climb out of the bush entirely. He was rangy like a feral cat. His reddish-blonde hair stuck up at odd angles. He wore the most unusual collection of clothing - ripped jeans, thick leather belts, a frayed green tunic - that she had ever seen on one person before. "Wendy?" asked the boy.
Ophelia blinked at him and proceeded to shake her head. "No," she said.
The boy looked puzzled. "Then who are you?"
"My name's Ophelia."
The boy stepped towards her and circled her, clicking his tongue. "Are you sure? You look just like her."
Ophelia's heart lurched. Had she done it? Was this really Never-never? Was this boy- "Peter?" she asked. "Peter Pan?"
The boy's face lit up. He nodded vigorously and crowed like a rooster. "The one and only!" he declared. "So you've heard of me? Are you a relative of Wendy's?"
Ophelia shook her head again. "I don't think I am," she said. "I read about you."
His attention had moved elsewhere. He had noticed Tink and was poking at her. The Fairy was not amused - that much Ophelia cold tell. "What's this?" he asked.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ophelia, "Tink! She's my... my fairy."
Tink objected, rather loudly, that she did not belong to anyone.
"That's not what she says," said Peter.
"You can understand her?" Asked Ophelia. She had never met anyone besides herself who understood what Tink was saying.
"Anyone can understand Fairies if they listen close enough," he said, and, nonchalantly added, "I had a fairy named Tink once."
"What happened to her?" asked Ophelia. This part of the story had always bugged her. Peter shrugged.
"I don't rightly remember," he said. "Did you fly here?"
Ophelia shook her head again. "I don't think Tink is that kind of Fairy," she said.
"She is," Peter assured her. "They all are. I can teach you if you like."
Ophelia considered this for a moment. "I'd like that," she said.
Peter smiled charmingly, and then furrowed his brow like he was deep in thought. "If you didn't fly here," he said, "How did you get here?"
Ophelia tried to think of a way to explain it that would keep with the magical feeling this adventure was beginning to take on. "I fell through a painting," she answered. Peter's eyes widened, and he laughed.
"You're a funny girl," he said.
"Why's that?" asked Ophelia, alarmed.
"Most girls never figure out how to get here," he chortled, starting off into the woods and motioning for her to follow. "They're too busy trying to grow up."
"I'm not," replied Ophelia.
"You," said Peter, "Are definitely not Wendy."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Dec 26, 2008 6:28 am
**I'm Flying!**
As they walked, Ophelia became aware that the path was going uphill. Only slightly at first, but it became steeper as they walked. Her painting had been an aerial view, so she knew there were cliffs on the island, but she wasn't sure where they were in relation to her arrival place. Calculating exactly where you would arrive was tricky... Prosper could do it, but she wasn't quite sure about it yet. The two times she had been to Urbanie, she'd gone to different sections of the city entirely.
And then, suddenly, the jungle split away in front of them. Peter held out an arm to keep her from going too far past the edge of the trees too quickly, and she saw why - about three meters away was a sheer drop to the jungle below. A waterfall roared a few hundred meters to their left. Ophelia's breath caught in her chest.
"Neat, oi?" asked Peter.
"Very," she nodded.
"This is the best place on the island to learn to fly," he said happily.
Ophelia gulped. "You mean we're jumping off the cliff?"
"You're not chicken, are you?"
"No!"
He laughed, an utterly birdlike laugh, like a kookaburra, and declared, "I brought the Lost Boys here for years to learn to fly, and never lost a single one."
That reminded her of something. "Where are the lost boys?" she asked him.
"They grew up, and then new ones stopped coming," he answered, shrugging.
"And you didn't?"
"Fourteen forever, milady," he answered, smiling charmingly. Ophelia couldn't help but smile back. "Alright, time for a crash course in flying. Without, of course, the crashing." Tink seemed to have taken a liking to this boy - she said something along the lines of 'he knows how to treat a fairy ' - and allowed him to catch her briefly.
"How's this work?" she asked, looking at the hand that had briefly held Tink. A sort of shimmery residue was left on it.
"There are three things you need to fly," explained Peter, circling her. He was ever the attentive teacher. "Faith, trust, and," he raised his hand to his mouth and blew on it, so the powder scattered and clung to Ophelia's clothes and skin, "Pixie dust!"
He laughed and clicked his heels together, and suddenly he was airborne, floating a bit above the ground and moving through the air like a swimmer or an astronaut. "Now you try."
Ophelia grinnned at hip and tried clicking her heels like he had. It was harder than it looked! She hovered for a second, and then fell back to the ground. Peter clicked his tongue at her. "You're thinking too hard about it," he scoffed. "You can't think about it too much."
Ophelia tried again. She really wanted to be able to do it! But she was still thinking about it too much. Peter sighed and offered her a hand.
"Here," he said. Ophelia took his hand and he pulled her up. It was such a strange feeling, like standing on marshmallow carpet. But now that she was in the air, she felt like she could get into it herself now. Sort of like riding a bike. "You'll get your sea-legs soon," he assured her, tugging her towards the edge of the cliff. It was a bit like roller-skating. "Come on, let's go flying."
And with that, he pulled her into a steep dive. Ophelia tried to shriek, but the sound caught in her throat. Her vision blurred as the wind raced past her face, but the wind was also pushing them from behind. They were riding the wind.
This, thought Ophelia, was almost exactly like surfing. And if she could surf, then surely she could do this.
The forest floor was approaching, and the wind was changing, petering out, but they weren't losing momentum. A moment of panic flashed across Ophelia's mind, and then she realized that, if she really wanted to, she could probably control what direction she was going in. After a few awkward mental and physical midair twists, and managed to pull herself out of the dive and glide to a hovering stop a few feet above the canopy. Peter arrived beside her a moment later, laughing his kookaburra laugh.
"You're a natural!" he said.
Ophelia looked around, scanning the immediate area. "Where's Tink?" she asked.
"Probably back up on the ledge," Peter assured her. He turned around and began to kick his way back up towards the top of the cliffs, graceful as an olympic swimmer. Ophelia followed, trying to replicate his motions and amazed at her newly-discovered weightlessness.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Dec 26, 2008 9:53 am
**Thimbles and Chewing Gum**
They found TInk back up on the landing, and then Peter lead her off back down the hill, on foot this time. He was intent on showing her the whole island. Below the forest, past her portal (still surprisingly open, but also undisturbed), there was a beach that looked out on a crystalline lagoon. Mulit-colored tails flashed out amongst the waves.
"Mermaids," said Peter. A woman's head and torso appeared out of the water. She waved to Peter. He waved back. "They're only nice when you're not in the water," he whispered to Ophelia.
"Are there pirates on the island?" she asked.
"Pirates?" he repeated, laughing, "No. Not anymore. But there ship's still here." He kicked into the air and pulled her along behind her. They flew a ways up the beach, to where a huge pirate ship was beached in the sand, slowly giving way to the ocean that lapped greedily at its hull.
"Can we go aboard?" asked Ophelia. They landed a bit of a ways from the ship and walked up to it. She reached out to feel the hard barnacles on the hull, curious.
"It's not a good idea," replied Peter, showing the first sign of fear. "Old ghosts on there. Have you ever seen a bubblegum tree?" he asked, changing the subject brightly.
"Bubblegum grows on trees?" asked Ophelia, surprised. They kicked off again and flew back towards the forest. Peter motioned for her to land in a clearing. The trees around them were heavy with pink fruits the size of cherries. The boy strode up to one, picked and handful, and gave a few to her.
"Don't swallow them," he instructed, popping one into his mouth and chewing. A few moments later, he blew a large pink bubble that would rival any store-bought gum. Ophelia popped one of the fruits into her mouth. It tasted better, too. She chewed it until the consistency was right, and then blew a bubble that popped over her nose.
Peter laughed, popped another piece of fruit into his mouth, chewed, and blew a bigger bubble. Ophelia followed suit, and it went back and forth for several repetitions. Finally, the bubbles were easily bigger than their heads. Ophelia's popped, sticking to her face. Peter chortled his bird-laugh and helped her peel it off her skin.
"I think you win," he said, spitting a wad of bubblegum into the dirt. "Can I kiss you?"
"What?" asked Ophelia, caught off-guard.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
It would be a good story, she thought. "Okay," she said.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. She did. Something cool and metal was pressed into the palm of her hand. "Open them," he said.
Ophelia stared down at her hand, where he had placed a shiny sliver thimble, and laughed, remembering the story. "That's not a kiss," she said.
"Then what is it?"
"It's a thimble," she explained.
"What's a kiss, then?" asked Peter.
Ophelia thought about it, and decided that it couldn't hurt to show him. After all, she'd been ready to let him kiss her just a minute or so ago. She took a step towards him. "Close your eyes," she said, and he did. She gave this a moment's consideration, suddenly not so sure, and then leaned in to press her lips to his.
While she was kissing him, Peter opened on eye and stared at her. That was awkward. She pulled back, a bit surprised at her own audacity.
"I thought that was called a thimble," said Peter. She shook her head.
"No, it's a kiss."
"Well, I kinda liked it. Can we do that again?"
"Okay," said Ophelia, and they did. It wasn't as awkward a second time. They started walking back through the woods, and eventually wound up at the curiously still-open portal.
"I have to fall back through my painting now," she told him.
"You should stay here," replied Peter. "People grow up when they leave here."
"I promise I won't grow up," smiled Ophelia, who was pretty dead-set after her day in Never-never that twelve-and-a-half was the age to be.
"Can I keep Tink?" asked Peter. "As collateral?"
Ophelia winced and looked to the fairy, but the fairy seemed to like this idea.
"All right," she said.
"Promise me you'll come back," said Peter, holding up a pinkie. "I so rarely get visitors. Maybe you can fly here next time. Second star to the right and straight on 'till morning."
Ophelia linking pinkies and shook on it. "Promise," she said, and then she stepped through the painting and arrived back in the study.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Dec 26, 2008 2:53 pm
**Peanut butter/Haircut**
The first strange thing was that the clock suggested Ophelia had only been gone five minutes, even though she knew she had spent almost a whole afternoon in Never-never. She got out the hairdryer and aimed it at the painting. She set it on high, and stood there drying the paints until the clarity faded.
Prosper came in from cleaning and froze.
"Ophelia, what's in your hair?" he asked.
"What?" asked Ophelia.
"Is that bubble gum?"
Ohhhh. She remembered the huge bubble that had exploded over her head and nodded. Prosper sighed and steered her towards the kitchen. He motioned for her to sit at the table and got a jar of peanutbutter from the pantry. "Age old remedy," he explained, taking a gob of it and starting to rub it into her hair. The smell was overwhelming. She felt nauseous.
"Hmm," said Prosper, perplexed, "It's not coming out."
He guided her over to the sink and stuck her head under the faucet. "Close your eyes," he said, and washed her hair with dish soap. And after all that, there was still gum in her hair. "How did you do this?" he asked.
"I blew a really big bubble and it popped," Ophelia answered, starting to get scared.
"Where did you even get bubblegum?" he asked, rubbing her head with a dish towel.
"Never-never," she replied. "It grows on trees."
"Never-never?"
"The world I went to today," she explained. "I met Peter Pan. We were having a contest."
Prosper groaned. "Was today the first day you painted an inhabited world?" he asked.
"Wisp and I went to Urbanie a few weeks ago," she answered. "Someone was stuck there. Joshua Baobab. He said he knew you."
"So, a few weeks now?" he asked.
"Is that bad?" asked Ophelia.
"Just inconvenient," Prosper muttered, rummaging through drawers. He came back with the kitchen scissors. "I'm going to have to cut this out."
At that moment, a portal popped into existence in the middle of the kitchen. A man in regal, but clearly servant's, attire materialized out of it. He bowed sharply to Prosper, and Ophelia decided he looked remarkably like a mouse. "Michael Prosper, World Painter Master Class, as recognized by the High Council?" he asked. Prosper nodded. The man extracted a scroll from his coat and handed it to him. "You and your student are hereby summoned to the World Painter's Five hundred and twenty-eighth Assembly, to be held a month from today on the world of Bellamaria. Your student will be expected to appear before the council for the Apprentice-level recognition exams."
He stepped through the portal, which promptly closed. Prosper clicked his tongue at where it had been.
"I try to avoid those," he sighed, picking up a section of sodden and sticky curls and beginning to surgically snip pieces out. "I'll take you to town to get this cleaned up tomorrow. And then we have work to do if you're going to pass those exams."
"He was talking about me?" she asked, watching ringlets of wet, pink-encased hair fall to the ground. Her hair. Holy s**t, that was her hair. A lot of her hair!
"If you're summoning inhabited worlds, it means you've passed the Sub-Apprentice Rank and have to take the Apprentice level exams," explained Prosper. Ophelia watched more and more hair drop to the floor, feeling the dread at the pit of her stomach grow. And this day had started out so good.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Dec 27, 2008 12:12 pm
**Hips Don't Lie**
It had happened again. She'd woken up taller. And with hips. And utterly lacking a chest - a mixed blessing. The changes weren't as dramatic as they had been the last time this had happened, but it had definitely happened. She tripped over her own feet getting out of bed, and discovered she had definitely shot up a foot overnight. What were these strange appendages attached where her legs used to be? They were too long, too elegant to be her legs, her knobby-kneed bug-bitten scabby legs. But they were!
She stumbled over to the mirror for a better look at herself. Tall and thin - Wisp hadn't been this tall, had she? With her short hair, if not for her newfound assets, she decided, she would have looked like a boy.
Yawning, she forced a brush through her hair and rummaged around to see if any of her clothes still fit. Most of her shirts were okay, if a bit short, but all of her jeans and shorts were way too short and tight. She eventually found a pair of cotton shorts willing to stretch enough.
"Tink?" she called, looking around the room. She opened the shutters - sometimes Tink got stuck between them - but didn't find her.
"Tink?" she called again, and then remembered. She'd left Tink in Never-never. With Peter. And her promise.
"Oh," said Ophelia, backtracking to the mirror. She chewed her lip and examined her reflection. Peter had said he was fourteen forever... She didn't think she was much older than that, was she? She bit her lip, trying to decide.
"Peter, I'm sorry," she said to her reflection. "I couldn't help it."
Then, curiously, she did a sort of hop-skip and clicked her heels together. Now airborne, she did a quick victory lap around her bedroom. "I can still do it," she said happily, coming in for landing on her bed. She called up a few star-glows, just to make sure that talent was still in-tact, and then decided that she should probably go talk to her father about getting some new clothes.
Prosper was in the kitchen already, drinking coffee and talking on the phone. He raised his eyebrows when he saw her, but held up a hand for her to be quiet. She helped herself to cereal and toast, and then sat at the table to wait for him to finish on the phone and to eat. She hadn't felt hungry when she woke up, but now that she had something in her stomach she was suddenly ravenous.
Prosper finally got off the phone.
"Yes?" he asked.
Ophelia put down her spoon. "Can you, uh, take me to the mall?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Dec 28, 2008 5:29 am
PRP You kissed WHO? - Ophelia and Wisp decorate Ophelia's room. A mirror is dropped. Ophelia exposes that she can fly. Wisp makes weird noises. Secrets are shared. Wisp makes more weird noises. Popcorn is consumed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 8:30 pm
**Vegetable Divination is a Lost Art**
Dama handed Prosper a wooden mug of tea and sat down across from him. "You look well, my friend," she said, smiling warmly at him from the other side of the rough-hewn table. "How is your daughter?"
"Flourishing," replied Prosper. "Her kind grow so fast. I've been teaching at the school where the other children like her attend, and they all grow so fast." He sipped his tea. "I am a bit worried, though," he continued, blanching a little. "She already looked like she was about a year and a half when she was... born... and she's got the appearance of a teenager in under a year. If she keeps growing at this rate, I'm scared she'll be old and gray inside of four or five years."
Dama nodded sagely and swirled the leaves in her cup. "I think," she said, "That you will find that children such as her mature, but do not age."
"I hope you're right," said Prosper. Dama raised an eyebrow at him.
"Something else is troubling you about her," she declared.
Prosper massaged his temples and then took another sip of tea. "The Council wants her to take the Apprenticeship exams next month at the Assembly," he explained. "She's painted inhabited worlds, but I feel like she's too young to test for that. She's learned it all fast enough, but she's so young..."
"It's a chronological issue," replied Dama, like she understood. "I wouldn't fret over it. Her physical appearance, mental capacity, and strength as a painter are all at the level for the Apprentice-level exams. But there's something else bothering you."
Prosper lifted his satchel onto the table and laid it sideways. Out of it he slid a large, leafy cabbage. Dama raised an eyebrow at it. "It's from the same lab as Ophelia," he explained. "I want to know what's in it. I know you can do it, Dama."
The woman smiled and extended a hand towards the cabbage. "This isn't a vegetable," she said.
"It's some kind of biocomputer," agreed Prosper. "I don't fully understand it."
"The spirit of the ocean is in this," she said, rubbing her fingers across the leaves. "Masculine," she continued. "Ocean magic."
"How specified?" asked Prosper.
"Water alignment. His powers have already been decided."
Prosper nodded. "He won't be able to paint," he said, sounding a bit dejected. But then he brightened a bit. "One apprentice is enough," he declared. "Thank you, Dama."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jan 04, 2009 5:59 pm
PRP Boy meets... Slightly older Girl - Ophelia and Levi. Ophelia gets scared of the jerk managing her favorite surf shop. Levi promotes violence. They make a run for it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jan 13, 2009 4:23 pm
**The Meaning of 'Master-Class'**
Ophelia raised an eyebrow at the cabbage that had spent the last few weeks hanging out in the studio. Was that what she thought it was? Nah... "Still life?" she asked her father.
"No," said Prosper. He was at the sink, rinsing out some brushes.
"I know that I came out of a cabbage, but I really hope that's not what this is," she replied, frowning at it and trying the idea of having a younger sibling on for size. She guessed she could get used to it, but still she watched Prosper, waiting for him to deny it.
He nodded, which was not the response she had wanted.
"Why?" she grumbled.
"Curiosity," shrugged Prosper, flicking excess water out of the brushes and turning them upright in a cup to dry. "I already asked Dama what's in it."
"Oh," said Ophelia thoughtfully, investigating the cabbage. Its leaves were oddly thick. "Like a sonogram for vegetables?"
Prosper laughed. "Something like it," he said passively. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she heard him pick up something off the counter and come up behind her. It was a spray bottle. He gave the cabbage a few spritzes of water. "She said he won't be able to paint."
"No magic?" asked Ophelia. Most of her friends had come out of cabbages, she was pretty sure. A lot of them had magic.
"Specialized magic," corrected Prosper. "Focused from birth. You can't learn world painting if you've already specialized in other forms."
Ophelia played with one of her stars thoughtfully. She supposed that made sense. She was a bit nervous about the apprentice tests she had coming up, but Prosper had been making her do extra training.
"Dad?" she asked. "The messenger from the council called you Master-Class. What does that mean?"
Prosper sighed and set the bottle down. He rubbed his temples and pulled out a chair next to her. He sat down. "There are worlds - dark worlds - that no mortal being should ever try to paint. You can lose yourself to the painting, fracture your soul into tiny pieces, or die from exhaustion before you even come close to completing the painting. There are worlds that should never be painted."
Ophelia watched him expectantly.
"I was much younger than I am now, and in the proper state of mind. I painted a world no one should ever try to paint. I should have died, and instead they made me a Master."
"When we go to Bellamaria," he continued, "You will find it is a title that demands respect and fear, but it is not a title anyone seeks to earn for themselves unless they seek power above and beyond what is ordinarily afforded to painters. It is not a title I would ever want you to have to earn. No good can come from painting that world."
"What world is it?" asked Ophelia, drawn into the story.
"I will not tell you its name, but the world is Death itself."
A hush like the grave came between father and daughter. Prosper got up to go start dinner, leaving Ophelia to stare at the cabbage and wonder what would have possessed him to try to paint Death at all.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 21, 2009 7:51 pm
PRP Fashionable Babble - Ophelia meets Manuela and learns of the other's health woes. They talk about fashion design and exams for a bit and Ophelia encourages Manny to talk to Antony about tutoring.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jan 26, 2009 7:35 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Feb 08, 2009 12:47 pm
**Arrival in Bellamaria**
The portal to Bellamaria set Ophelia, Prosper, the cabbage, and their suitcases down on a wide walkway next to a canal before sealing behind them with an audible vacuum pop that certainly wasn’t natural for painted portals to do. Prosper muttered something about enchantments on the world limiting travel in and out of it and took a few quick steps towards the canal. He held up a hand, and a few minutes later, a gondolier was helping them load their things into his boat.
“My rank allows me to keep a residence here in Bellamaria,” explained Prosper, once they were settled in the boat. Ophelia was only half listening – the other half of her attention was devoted to watching the city as it whizzed past them. It looked like Venice out of her social studies books, except cleaner and in a better state of repair.
“This is something of a collective Home world for all world painters,” continued Prosper as they passed beneath an ornately carved bridge. Ophelia nodded intently, like she was paying attention, which she was. Sort of. “The council controls who can and can’t enter, and where portals can be created and where they can’t be.”
“Which is why we can’t go straight to the house?” asked Ophelia as she contemplated what would happen if she trailed her hand in the water. It looked clean enough.
Prosper shook his head. “I want you to see the city,” he explained. Ophelia nodded. She was seeing the city, and she liked it.
The canal widened into a wider thoroughfare, and their gondola joined a channel of dozens of other boats rushing this way and that, in and out of smaller ‘streets’. They passed a huge plaza that fronted a large building. Shimmering banners indicated the numbers “five”, “two”, and “eight”.
“We’ll come back here later tonight,” said Prosper. Ophelia grasped that it was an important building. “There’s a ball tonight, and then they’ll begin taking exam groups in the morning. You’ll be given your time and room assignment when we arrive this evening.”
Ophelia nodded. “Are the exams the same every year?” she asked.
“Roughly,” shrugged Prosper. They passed out of the wide channel and into a sunny side canal lined with elegant townhouses painted in pastels. “They change some of the content, but not the structure or the bureaucracy of it.” He leaned forward and spoked to the gondolier. “This is our stop.”
The gondola stopped in front of a sky blue house with crisp white plaster trimming around the windows and doors. The gondolier helped them with their luggage and Prosper paid him with some strange, heavy coins and then he was off back towards the main channel. Prosper took a key from his coat pocket and opened the door.
Once they had all their luggage moved in, Prosper went about the house opening shutters and letting the light come in. There were only windows in the front and back of the house, the sides being flush up against the neighboring buildings. Once illuminated, Ophelia could see that the house was decorated with a certain simplicity and cohesiveness that was lacking from their home.
“This is nicer than our house on Gaia,” she observed. Prosper sighed in a way that made Ophelia suspect that his wife had been involved in decorating. “It’s so clean!” she exclaimed, walking further in. “You’d think there’d be dust…”
“There are enchantments to repel bugs and vermin,” said Prosper offhandedly. “And I arranged to have things freshened up before our arrival.”
Ophelia nodded but didn’t ask more. She knew her father well enough to know that he would tell her if she needed to know.
“You have a few hours to get settled and get ready,” nodded Prosper, motioning to a door off the main room. “You can use that bedroom,” he said. He seemed stiffer than usual. Maybe he was nervous. Ophelia had mostly silenced her fears about the exams, but perhaps Prosper hadn’t quite managed to.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2009 7:25 pm
**A reappearance of Joshua Baobab**
Ophelia reasoned that she would feel better about this whole ball thing if she knew people there besides her father. Dresses were a sore point for her, as a general historical fact, and she was feeling a bit uncomfortable in formal wear. It wasn’t that she wasn’t having a good time, it was just that she was utterly useless in a situation like this. Hopelessly shy and all that good stuff. She’d practiced for the exam portion, but no one had bothered to prepare her for the niceties of pseudo-Italian society.
She elected to stay close to her father, because he seemed to know people, but he seemed to be uneasy about certain people in the crowd. Every so often he would catch sight of someone and abruptly tug her off in another direction.
“Is that you, Michael Prosper, you wise old dog?” asked someone, and clapped Prosper on the shoulder. Ophelia froze. Her father turned around and laughed, tugging her in a circle with him. This wasn’t one of those people Prosper was afraid of, then. “How’d they get you back here? Haven’t seen you one at these in ages. I was starting to think you thought you were too good for us.”
Ophelia studied the man intently, trying to place him. A bell tower? An empty city? He was tall and dark, the tallest and darkest man she had ever seen, this time wearing a white tuxedo instead of traveling clothes. It was on the tip of her tongue—
“Joshua Baobab,” laughed Prosper, breaking into a smile.
“None other,” laughed the man. Ophelia still hadn’t managed to place his accent. “Is this your lovely student?” he asked, motioning to Ophelia.
Prosper nodded. “My daughter is sitting the apprentice level exams.”
“Your girlie got me out of a spot of trouble a few months back,” nodded Joshua Baobab, looking up and down. “I got myself stuck on Urbanie. She was littler then.”
Ophelia felt herself blushing. Joshua Baobab laughed. “Ey, girlie,” he said, “Where’s your friend?” Ophelia murmured something about Wisp not being able to make it. Baobab laughed again. “My nephew’s sitting the apprentice exams,” he intoned. “Maybe you’ll be in his group.”
He lowered his voice and leaned in. “Jonah was going to see about a get-together later, just some of the folks from the old days. We didn’t think you’d be here, but since you’re on the world, you ought to stop by. You know the place.” Prosper nodded and murmured a word of thanks. Joshua Baobab vanished back into the crowd. Ophelia gave her father a questioning look.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Prosper, leaving Ophelia to reflect on the casual easiness that he had had in his conversation with Baobab, even as everyone else treated him with a certain grudging respect. She didn’t dare ask him about it, though. There were certain things that were off-limits, and Prosper’s past was one of those. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her.
About an hour later, room assignments were distributed for those sitting Apprentice and Journeyman exams. Ophelia’s slip indicated she was expected back fairly early the next morning, and Prosper took it as an opportunity to excuse them from the festivities. He found a bored gondolier waiting in the square and arranged for him to take them back to the town house.
“You should get a good night’s sleep,” he said, in what passed for ‘concerned parent’. He sounded distracted. “The apprentice exams are exhausting if they’re anything like they were when I took them.”
Ophelia nodded. “What happens if I fail?” she asked. The question had been eating at her for weeks.
“You’ll study and take it again next year,” said Prosper, without hesitating. Obviously, he had been thinking about the answer as much as she had been thinking about the question.
“Okay,” she said, and sat back to admire what the city looked like by gaslight.
They neared the house.
“Are you going to go to that meeting?” asked Ophelia. Prosper nodded pensively. “Who are they?”
“Likeminded friends of mine,” he intoned. The gondola brushed up against the side of the canal. Prosper got up and helped her out, but he motioned for the boat to wait. He opened the door for her and motioned her inside. Ophelia stepped inside, but waited at the door until he got back into the gondola and set back off down the canal again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 11, 2009 7:29 pm
**Cigar Smoke and Cheap Ale**
Someone less familiar than Prosper with the back alleys and dark corners of Bellamaria would have had trouble finding this place. He had the gondola drop him off and took the last block on foot, finding the familiar environs a bit comforting. The pomp and circumstance of his most recent visits to the city frustrated him like nothing else was able to, and he longed for the distinctly Italian thrill of his earliest adventures there.
Tonight the streets were deserted, and Prosper made his way to the door undisturbed. A single gas lamp illuminated the sign on the door of the tavern – its name was “The Brushstroke”. Prosper steeled himself and pushed the door open, descending once again into the smoky underworld of World Painter society.
“Michael Prosper!” someone roared, and he found himself forcibly seated between an Eskimo and an Albanian. He was offered a cigar, which he politely declined, and squinted through the smoke at the far end of the table to see Joshua Baobab folded into a winged armchair.
“We were just talking about you,” said the Eskimo on his right, Jonah Irniq. Someone handed Prosper a mug of ale, which, in true manner of cheap, back alley taverns, tasted like paint water. “Joshua said you were in town, but we all figured you were too good to come see a bunch of Artisans like us,” continued Jonah. “Don’t you have some kind of Masters reception to be at?”
Prosper glugged down a mouthful of his drink and shrugged noncommittally.
“Then you haven’t met the newest master yet,” said the Albanian, in English that was only slightly accented. Ioreg Drake, Prosper recalled. An old friend.
He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I haven’t.”
“They say she’s as powerful as you were in your prime,” said Joshua Baobab from across the table, his Australian twang sounding distinctly out of place. “Eleanora Crispin. She’s only thirty-two, but she’s third on the council. She just attained master rank this year.”
“She hasn’t got your gift for names,” said Ioreg, as if trying to console Prosper, despite the fact that Prosper did not give a damn. “And she didn’t receive a wanderer sentence. I doubt she could manage one.”
“You think a wanderer sentence is a sign of power?” asked Prosper. “I was given five years of hell as punishment.”
“You’re still far more powerful than any of us,” pointed out Ioreg. “We’re all going gray and you’re the only one with the power to summon the Nevermore.”
“I called it once,” said Prosper sharply, “And I have not done it since because what I saw there should never be called.”
“Then why is it the mark of a Master?” asked Ioreg.
“Because the council controls the Masters,” snapped Prosper, “And when they couldn’t control me, they tried to kill me. The Nevermore is an abomination. We should abandon the practice of painting it altogether and devise a different test for the Master rank. I regret that I painted the Nevermore. I have never fully lived a single day of my life in the fifteen years since.”
“The council’s been changed that way,” nodded Joshua Baobab, who at this point was little more than a wraith ringed in smoke. “You’re not as cold as them.”
“I didn’t paint the Nevermore for the sake of power,” answered Prosper, who suspected this to be the difference. “I painted it because I was desperate and I wanted to die.”
It was fifteen years ago. He could talk about it without flinching now.
“The council lives only for power,” Prosper continued. “I found other things to live for.”
He drained his drink. “The truth is, I would renounce my Master rank if it would allow me to forget what I saw in the Nevermore.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
