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 Posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 12:21 pm
Clatter, clank, smack!
Books had fallen against the floor, scattering like soldiers after a cannonball fire. Their pages were outstretched, blown by the occasional force of soft wind from the open window. They would settle occasionally, only to again be disturbed and ruffled. At least the number of them had appeared safe; those who had remained trapped beneath the heavy shelf that had found its settlement on the study floor. The remainder, left to the open without cover, were abandoned to stomach the rampaging hooves and fingers. The tearing, the throwing, and the frustrated tantrum of a boy who had possibly been nothing more than a young man at one point in time.
Mortimer had thought it over. Andre had thought it over. Whoever he was, he wanted to move on, but there was dire business left unattended that sickened him with each passing thought. How could he even begin to rest peacefully when he had been swindled? He had been cheated! Cheated a thousand times over from fulfilling his duty as a man. For the longest of time, he had blamed himself and sufficed that his own misery and inevitable death would be payment enough. However, as time grew on, it simply became clear. It had not been his fault, and a masochistic life would not obtain any form of closure for the matter. Neither would erasing his past to live along side some quirky man who reminded him terribly of a mad hermit scientist.
There was an issue with both realizations, unfortunately. He could not pass his grief without the thought of vengeance, and vengeance could not be had within his current predicament. He was a horrid little thing. Scraggily, small, and imprisoned. Every day was like maximum security. Babysitters or Simon, on and off - with the final exclusion of the night. Of the night, in which one teenage girl had been irresponsible enough to leave after Simon too had left. Mortimer had found sweet freedom at last, and the outlets had become as evident as his sudden lack of constraints. While he could not exact justice from the law, nor Gabriel, nor any crook to have stabbed his back upon Ericous - he could, at the very least, exact justice from the man who had prevented him from doing so. He could, at the very least, demand justification from the one who had sealed his face with the unruly note-taker.
And so, with a broken study scattered, Mortimer had grabbed his small pop gun, believing it a worthy weapon. He had fixed his shirt, his vest, and jacket; then he had thrust the door open to leave the study. Down the hall, through the living room, through the front door after shutting off the television set and taking a quick drink of water from a bottle he had settled near the coffee table that afternoon. The house was no longer his cell; it was almost liberating.
No one could have possibly guessed that he would transform into whatever radical rage he had. He had began mildly grumpy and destructive, but the closer he got, the more eager he became. Those thoughts of old torture - those sadistic and terrible thoughts - seemed almost exciting. He anticipated it with ease as he hurried down the road, his tail lashing against the side-walk all the while until he had found the house he had been searching for. How he remembered it? Oh, he supposed there were numerous ways he had looked it up, but he was positive it was the house as he drew nearer. He felt in his stomach.
With caution, he had tucked his pop gun into his pocket. He had kept his fingers on it, skillfully and tenderly attending to it as he came closer to the door. There it was; that point of beginning which had began to haunt him with as much disdain as that for home. His lips had parted as a staggered breath escaped his throat. His awkward wings had fluttered vigorously as he lifted his free hand to pound the door of the man - Archie Saturn.
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Posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 1:00 pm
Archie certainly hadn't been expecting anyone, but the way things had been going lately, he wasn't exactly surprised that someone was knocking on the door. He hadn't been watching whatever channel he had stopped on - just sitting in the soft recliner he had left behind when he had moved, staring off into space and idly twirling the longer fur of his tail between his fingers, like a teenager on the phone - so it was no hardship to switch the television off as he stood and slid his feet into fuzzy slippers.
The knock was loud, so Archie peeked through the window to make sure there were no giant scaly aliens with vile, dripping skin standing outside. Upon seeing Mortimer, a brief expression of curiosity touched his face before he pulled open the door. The kid looked pissed. "Hey, are you lost?" Despite his supposed experience with criminals and the knowledge that a lot of them knew where this house was, Archie still had a soft spot for children and a belief that they were nearly harmless which would likely get him into trouble one day.
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Posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 2:46 pm
Mortimer had never considered himself a criminal. It seemed almost unruly to diminish himself in such a manner. Larceny, robbery. He had done those things, but not murder. Murder had been beyond him; yet, there he was, with the glimmer and intent in his mind and heart. t brought a twitch to his lip. Anticipation and reluctance - whichever it was - beat away at his mind until he saw something in the window. His head had shifted slightly; his lips had made their popping noise as his hold had tightened on the pop gun's handle within his pocket.
The door had generated its signaling noise as it was pulled open. As silent as ever, he had glanced up at the man - that image somewhat burnt into his mind.
He had felt his blood twitter as his tail curled about his hooves. The hair on his neck had seemed to bristle along with his disheveled hair. He certainly was a mess of a boy, lacking much for of tidiness or stature. It had not phased him much beyond the fixing of the rope that held his hat - which had eventually broken and dropped. He had let it settle on the ground, more occupied with the matter and his lack of words. Lost? Was he lost? Ha!
His fingers had twittered, a look of distress dawning his face as he removed the pop gun from his pocket. He had pointed it promptly, and had breathed again. Words. Words. He had seemed to choke trying to speak, coughing out an occasional noise to give only a hint of a possibly existing voice. Still, he said nothing.
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Posted: Sat Feb 16, 2008 9:59 pm
Was that... a pop gun? Archie would have grinned if the kid hadn't seemed so deliberate, so angry. He also might have reached for the boy, to try to comfort him, if he hadn't been concerned with setting off the fit this child seemed on the verge of having right on Archie's doorstep. The neighbors had long since made it clear how they felt about the Saturns, but still, fit-throwing was best kept off of the streets.
"Would you like to come in?" he offered. "Maybe I can help?" Archie didn't feel particularly threatened for a change, which was nice, but he kept his tone neutral and serious. He didn't want it to seem as though he was making fun of the boy, not when he didn't even know why the child had come. If worse came to worse, Francine was home, but the girl probably wouldn't be much help at all if things got bad.
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Posted: Sat Feb 16, 2008 11:32 pm
His stomach had twittered anxiously; his fingers had rattled with his hold on the little toy gun. Those thoughts coursing throughout his mind were like a speed train threatening to derail. He had this buffoon to blame for his circumstance; he had this man to blame for Simon. He had one lucky night out of a seemingly infinite sum - one night - and it only seemed fitting for him. This person, whose name eluded him --- Archie? --- was his justification for it. His entire, sudden, reasoning for why he was incapable of settling his scores.
It only made him angrier to look at him and recognize the face somewhat. It only infuriated him to hear what seemed like some calm and complacent offering. Come in? Help? Bah!
Mortimer had felt his lip twitch. His finger had tapped the trigger without further hesitation, the little cork flying out and dangling from its string. He had waited, and when nothing had happened, he had began to understand that ... It wasn't a weapon.
He had looked at the toy, mildly disturbed with the sight. Why hadn't it done anything? It hadn't even reached the man! Holding the thing, he had seemed to tighten his grip before thrashing it into the ground. The small toy had given its loud bang, and Mortimer had seemed to develop his steam. His shoulders had rattled as he stared, thinking over the seemingly twisted offers.
He didn't need help! Answers. Closure. Something. Anything, but help was not something he was willing to accept. There was nothing wrong with him. "C...Chh...." His teeth had chatted as he set a hand over his face. The fingers had slowly curled to a fist. "Shh. Shhh..."
Voice? His voice! Was he making sound? He was actually making sound! Such a comfort... Maybe there was something on his side.
"Shhuvt sup!" He had coughed, an awkward accent shining in. "Shhuvt sup! Shhuvt sup! Shut up! It's all your fault!" He had tossed his fist forward, stopping when he lost his balance and staggered forward. One wrong move, at it was off to the floor he went. He hadn't even been capable of savoring the unfamiliar voice to have escaped his throat.
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Posted: Wed Feb 20, 2008 3:17 pm
Backing up as the child attempted to shoot him, and again when he was nearly hit, Archie ruined any feeling of comfort or welcome he had been trying to convey. "Hey! What the hell!" He held his hands out in front of himself. "What are you doing?"
If only Archie had actually looked at the files he had recently moved out of his house, he might have recognized Mortimer as being one of the children he had homed. As it was, he vaguely came to that conclusion on his own and, completely disregarding the boy's shaky command, he asked, "What is? What did I do?"
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Posted: Wed Feb 20, 2008 7:54 pm
There was little focus on his fall. Mortimer had winced. He had seethed a bit, eying the fresh scrapes to his hand. That had been a smooth move on his part, and, as he stood himself up from the ground, he couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed. All the more, he felt agitated that nothing had gone as he had planned.
His own calculating ways had been stamped on; he had failed - again. Again! But it wasn't over. As long as he was standing there, it wasn't over. He wasn't going to let it go. He didn't want to let it go.
"Y-you!" He had breathed, trying to close his hand again. The scrapes had only left a sting. "I said shut up!" His voice had twittered, quaking with the same vigor as his legs and hands. If anything, he resembled a walking time bomb. Something just waiting to go off. "Y..." His throat felt dry, tight. The louder he spoke, the harder it seemed to pull the task off, and so he was reduced to a medium tone against his own desires.
"W...W...What is? What is!" He had laughed bitterly, smudging the back side of his hand against his cheek. "Everything. Everything, you bl...bll....bllid..." He had smudged his cheek again, his face twisting from the difficulty. The words were not hard, but the lip motions seemed so foreign. His mouth was different. It wasn't shaped the same, and that made it all the more complicated - whatever the similarity between the language on the weird planet compared to his home. "It's your fault."
He had tucked a lip against his teeth, biting down. "You're responsible for this, aren't you? you handed me to him - you just delayed me. Delayed! If it weren't for you, I'd be back. I'd be there - and things would be right. It'd be right - he'd be dead and she could..."
But he had been a ball of fat and weakness. What good would it have been if he had 'been back'? What strength could he have possibly possessed? The logic was elusive. It was simply easier to blame it on someone else. "It's you're fault. I can't kill him! I c-c-c-ccaaa... Caa. Caaaan...." His voice had sputtered. He had thrown his hands in the air, stamping a hoof. He was only making things worse, which was obvious. "CAN'T. CAN'T. She's dead and he killed her! He killed her! He did it, and because of you I can't kill him!"
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Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2008 3:39 pm
Archie did stay quiet then, at least for a little while. It was clear now that this young man wasn't young at all, and that the actions Archie had taken when he had landed had been... well... wrong somehow, at least according to this boy. Archie had never really cared all that much about what happened in a criminal's past, since his own had been so horrid, and he had certainly had never tried to send a child back where they came from, but it was becoming clearer and clearer as time went on that not everyone made a clean break, not everyone was happy here, not everyone cared to start anew.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and searched for the right thing to say, but nothing came. Finally he settled on, "Sorry?" He backed up a bit. "If it's any consolation, I don't know if there's a way to send you guys back when you first get here." He rolled his eyes slightly at his slip back into hesitation and fear and continued with more conviction. "Anyway, it's not my fault really. Would you have been better off just sitting in your pod until someone else took you home? Someone who didn't know what you were, or at least what you used to be?" He took a breath to speak, then sighed it out again. Someone was dead, and this child/man/whatever was obviously very upset about it. "You could go back," he said, reluctant to encourage people to murder each other, but only trying to help. "If you could get a ship. Maybe they wouldn't recognize you," he added, having completely forgot what the child known as Mortimer had once looked like. His people probably wouldn't even know what he was, let alone who.
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Posted: Wed Mar 19, 2008 8:37 pm
The heated feeling of his blood boiling drove him wild. He felt himself shaking. He felt himself growing frustrated, and more so by the moment. It had seemed so perfect. Exact revenge somewhere. It would make it all better. It would make it go away, and then he could possibly sleep at night with a good feeling. A good dream in tact. He couldn't have what he wanted; the next best thing had sounded plausible. Perfectly plausible.
Yet, standing there, he almost felt like a fool. Sorry? Sorry! He felt his tail lash the ground roughly, awkwardly. There was an almost familiar, foreign feel to it. "D-d-did you even talk to him?" He had set a hand on his head, tapping one of the horns with a bit of thought. He felt his own knees buckling. "That thing you c-c-c-call..." Words. He kept tripping up and choking on them. "He's as guilty as you are; that crazy thing - the little thoughts. Guilty! Y-you both thought I was guilty, didn't you? He does - and..." He let out a low growling sound, covering his eyes with his hands and shaking his head.
Wasn't making sense. He wasn't making sense - but his mind felt right. All of the anger and hate. It seemed so easy to let it out, and so he stamped his hooves and lashed his tail in his own little tantrum. What was he going to do? What could he do?
Go back!
Hack!
That was what he wanted, but, was that not a ludicrous thought? What would await him there in such a misshapen figure? The law, Gabriel, the old crew in all their boisterous and vile nature. He'd be an outcast to his own mother - surely. So what was he gaining, standing there? What was he accomplishing? He didn't know - only that yelling felt good. It felt wonderful, yet, at the same time, the memory of her face and of her laugh. Her words.
She would have hated him at that instant.
Quietly, he allowed his legs to fall from beneath him. He sat on the ground and felt himself heave, a light and sad laugh ringing from his mouth. Lost. He felt lost.
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