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 Posted: Wed Jul 30, 2008 3:16 pm
  Name: Harbor
Stage: Shard
Gender: Male
Eyes: N/A
Hair: N/A
Distinguishing Features: N/A
Reflection: A Seventeenth-Century Quill-Pen in a Bizarre, Eclectic Antique Shop
Guardian: fictionalfact
Likes: N/A
Dislikes: N/A
Mate:None
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Posted: Mon Aug 04, 2008 5:05 pm
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Posted: Mon Aug 04, 2008 5:27 pm
name.Georgia Maye gender. Female age. The big three-oh. Joy. My twenties are out the window. personality. smirking, witty, sarcastic, slightly bitter, joking, playful, afraid of commitment, likes solitude, intelligent, easily annoyed, messy, protective, possessive, stubborn hair. Red, brown, orange, yellow... who knows? It's usually tied up in a messy bun, with strands often hanging in her face. It's thick and wavy. eyes. Blue. 'Nough said. occupation. Starving violinist.relationships. Psh. Yeah, right. The guy I last gave my heart to pretty much threw it on the floor and rammed his heel into it, so I'm flyin' solo for a while. My folks live a good continent or two away, and they seem rather happy about that. My younger brother has been to prison once or twice and I haven't heard from him since we were kids. species. Human. My great-grandfather was a satyr, though. No joke. height. About 5'7", I guess. Just an inch or so above average lady height. likes. Orange, chocolate, fruit, music, passion, the violin, nightshirts, going on walks, books, information, strange things, warmth, scented candles, canines, fish dislikes. Effing bloody wrinkles, sour food, the ocean, the dark, burning, makeup, manikins, sequins, most men, self-pity, apathy
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Posted: Mon Aug 04, 2008 6:09 pm
name.Harbor.
gender. Male.
age. Well, just a child, I suppose...
personality. calm, gentle, unnervingly intelligent, kind, naive, credulous, curious, good listener, creative, communicative, thoughtful, likes to be held [ha ha, get it? cause he's a pen? Ha ha... ha...]
hair. Inky black. Messy. Straight-ish. In his face often.
eyes. Orangey yellow, like parchment.
occupation. Um... a Shattered?
relationships. The only person he knows is his mother right now.
species. Well, er, Shattered, I guess.
height. He's just a child, so about three/three and a half feet or so.
likes. Music, the piano, stories, boats, the ocean, candlelight, ink, pirates, people, people-watching, animals, pretty much everything
dislikes. Scissors, big buildings, most modern technology, pollution. He can find it in himself to romanticize almost everything besides those things.
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Posted: Mon Aug 04, 2008 6:13 pm
Journal-
Day 1
I expected the clerk to be ancient. What with the swirling shafts of orange light stabbing from above, the ancient and crumbling pages of yellow books, and the violet and bloodred and vanilla candles strewn about the place, I expected him to look like he had been here for centuries. I expected his smile to look like crumpled paper, and his skin to look like it been carved. I expected his walk to be slow and shuffling and hunched, and for his hands to look like the knobbly roots of trees. I expected him to be the Curator. The Guardian of the Cemetery of Lost Books.
“Hello, Miss. We don’t get many customers... especially ones as lovely as yourself.” Oh, that voice definitely did not belong to anyone who I would call a Curator. That voice was young and smooth and sickly sweet, and as I peered around a shelf teetering with trinkets, I noticed that his skin did not look carved. In fact, it looked as smooth as ceramic glaze. I raised a dark eyebrow.
He replied with a thin, suggestive smile, and I narrowed my eyes in reprimand. He was an interesting specimen. He was well-built and very tan, and judging by his liquid brown eyes and mocha skin, I would have definitely classified him as someone of some variation of Spanish descent. But, I judged, that wasn’t quite right, because his hair was very thin and very fair. Interesting specimen or not, though, I didn’t like playing games.
“I’m looking for a book.” I said, my voice guarded, my hands still resting on the delicate, intricate shelf, my head still peeking around the side. His smile became amused.
“Well, we have plenty of books. We also have vases and clocks and china and porcelain figures, if you’re interested.”
“No, no. I just want a book.”
“Any particular century?”
This question surprised me. Century? So, they had things from... from like the eighteen-hundreds and all that? I could practically feel my eyes glittering with curiosity. Why were they selling those things in a little corner shop? Stuff from earlier than eighteen-hundred would probably sell for hundreds in a museum, or to any avid collector. What was this place?
“Er... the oldest century you’ve got, I guess.” And with another simmering smile, the young man slipped silently out from behind the counter and melted into the shadows of the back room, leaving me to explore. And, being slightly more curious than the average person, I certainly did explore.
My careful fingers drifted over old golden watches, piles of bronze gears, strange stone statuettes, heavy gargoyles, old metal airplane toys hanging from the ceiling, unnervingly realistic little carved animals, various fish jaws, and all sorts of other pointed and round and shining things. They were fluttering over a sharp canine tooth of some poor creature’s separated jaws when one of the muted orange lights above flickered mysteriously, and something on the ground winked in the light.
My eyes found the bright thing automatically, and almost of their own accord, my legs took a step toward it. It was bright and clear and the light seemed to almost gravitate toward it, and I could just catch the crisp image of an old quill from a higher shelf reflected on the surface.
A piece of glass? Where did it come from? As I took another step and knelt next to the shimmering thing, I glanced at the shelves around it. Nothing was broken, as far as I could tell. All the valuable trinkets were organized in an orderly chaos, and my eyes scanned the shelves but found nothing out of place. I turned my head to the counter and my auburn hair fell out of its loose bun again, but I didn’t really notice. This abnormally large piece of glass had caught my attention.
Oddly, I felt like I had just been let in on a dangerous secret, and with quiet breaths, I peeked my head up to peer over the counter into the open door to the back room. If I stopped breathing I could just catch the sound of rummaging inside... good, the boy was still looking. With the deft hands of a thief, I plucked the glass off of the red, dusty wood and pocketed it, rising quickly and sliding over the counter as though I had been there, quite casually, all along.
Within seconds, the tan boy came out, an ancient book cradled in his arms.
“It’s not in English.” He warned, setting it delicately on the counter, his light eyes exploring mine with interest and curiosity. “But it’s the oldest we have, just like you wanted.” Was that a little smile crawling up his face?
“I’ll take it.” I mumbled, trying to sound confident and boisterous but still feeling a bit odd about the bit of glass. I was turning it over with careful fingers in my pocket, and with every touch, I felt like more of a strange sort of criminal. Was this piece of glass from a mirror from the Titanic? From a pirate’s compass? A queen’s vase? In this little shop, everything seemed possible. Without any real reason to, I enveloped the entire shard in my palm–it fit, just barely–and clutched it protectively. I didn’t let it go until I got home.
And even then, I practically had to pry it from my own fingers before I could set it delicately on the table. And then, when my thin digits finally let it go, it began to fade away.
I’m not really sure how to explain what that piece of glass did, but it wasn’t like anything I’d seen before. The piece just sort of separated–one little particle at a time–until it was evaporating away into the air in a feathery, dark, black mist that trailed away in odd shapes until it just mingled with the air. Not a single sound fluttered from the mist or the glass, but when the smoke cleared, there was a child on my table. A child wearing what looked almost like a pirate’s costume from the Halloween store, short, shaggy, inky black hair, and large, inquisitive golden eyes. He turned to look at me from his awkward position on the table, blinked a few times, and looked down at the table. He ran a small hand along the wood, excitement and fascination suddenly brightening his little face.
I didn’t know what to do. For a moment, I was in shock. But after my thoughts screamed at me that I must be hallucinating, I felt strange and dizzy and just gawked at this boy who had magically appeared in the middle of my house.
“Is this a table? Quite a glorious table it is. What a lovely wood! Such a deep brown and red... It’s quite like being in the middle of a forest. There’s even some nice green accents from that couch over there, and the pillows... Yes, very forest-like.” Experimentally, the child wiggled to the edge of my table and let his legs dangle over the edge, his yellow eyes bright with delight and curiosity. Out of pure womanly instinct (after all, hallucination or not, he was a very convincing-looking little boy), I took a step forward and set my hand on the table about six inches from him, just in case he decided to experiment further and fall off and smash his face in. The child stopped kicking his legs back and forth, and his open-mouthed, bright-eyed grin closed in and became soft. He turned his head and looked at me, and for a moment, he seemed to be analyzing me much the way he had done my table, but his eyes never left my eyes. It must have been just a second, though it felt much longer, before his eyes crinkled and broke from mine and a white, toothy grin took over his expression. Without another word, and before I could draw back, the child lifted his small, pudgy hand and set it on mine, his smile gentler now.
“It’s alright. My name is Harbor, and I just want to help you, okay?”
It took a moment for that to sink in.
Help...? When was the last time anyone had offered me anything, let alone help? I was an single, old maid with messy hair and bills to pay, and therefore a relative nothing. No one wanted me. No one wanted to help me. It was as though someone had burst through my door and told me that I was beautiful and wonderful and that they loved me more than anything and wanted nothing more to take care of me for the rest of my life.
Help.
I wanted to cry right then, just out of pure relief.
But instead, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around this small, bizarre child, holding him close and entangling my hands in his inky black hair.
I didn’t care what he was. So what if he had materialized from a piece of glass? He could be a hallucination for all I cared.
I liked him.
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