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 Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 4:02 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2010 4:01 pm
There is a heavy silence hanging over the room – one thick and black, one bloated to the peak with its fill of assumptions.
The Garrion woman repeats herself, slower, mocking the Common folk in the most respectable way one can mock another, “I. Would. Like. To. Adopt. A. Child. Please.” There is an edge to her words, a rusted knife of a tongue. Her eyes, milky jade, flicker from one stone face to the other. The two Commons have their jaws hanging open, the Garrion fancies that she could wedge her clawed fist into the opening… and tear out their quit little tongues. She doesn’t, of course. Where would that get her people? Nowhere, which is exactly where they are, nowhere. But perhaps there is a Negative Nowhere, a Super Nowhere, a Forever Nowhere or an Infinite Nowhere where they will land next.
“Why, so’s you can eat ‘em?” The younger of the two Commons blurts. He’s a ruddy young man, with mud smeared across his face, a gun slung over his shoulder and the glossy eyes of someone who has not been blessed with a proper education. He is, in short, not the sort of man you’d expect to find crawling around an adoption centre. Her fingers twitch, a hunger in her stomach howls, but Eir Quy only smiles a grin full of fangs. He’s only talking rumours, she knows this, but he doesn’t know how right he is. Not that she’s going to eat this child but – Nevermind. The Garrion’s eyes narrow subtly, and she briefly wonders how the Garrion children are treated here. This is the Kingdom, the better of the two countries. Or, at least, it was supposed to be. She bites her lip, an unwise choice for one with sharp canine teeth, and muses over whether this was a good idea. With the slightest of sighs she remains in place, the longing inside is too strong.
Meanwhile the other Common, an aged woman with the sort of sad-but-kind face, has elbowed the male gruffly in the ribs. He yelps in shock before quickly recovering and casting his vision off to the side, grumbling something about the truth and hormones.
“Ignore him,” the Common woman insists softly, “what age are you looking to adopt, we have quite a few in various ranges and –“
“Young,” the Garrion says, a definitive nod confirming this, “very young, no older than five.“ She is curt, she is brief, she has little respect for this establishment, for this city, for the entire country.
“I…see…” The woman mutters, “And are you looking for someone of your species or…?” Her voice falters slightly, Eir suspects that though she wishes to ignore the sour man that is no indication of whether she believes him or not.
She came here on a whim, following the clutch the thought held over her heart. The Garrion lady gave little thought to what species she would be investing in – though her options are slightly limited here, there are no Celph, of this fact Eir is positive. She notes, in the ever-present silence, the stiffness in the other woman’s arm, the way her hand nervously brushes the same patch of brown hair away from her face – even when it isn’t there in the first place. She sucks in the breath as she obverse the way the older woman is faintly shaking. Fear. She has truly arrived in the Infinite Nowhere; they will never be able to dig themselves out.
She does them both a kindness, and puts the woman out of her dread, “Of my species…if that’s alright.”
“Ohyes,” the Common says it so fast her words are a blur of relief. Eir doesn’t even dare to imagine what this process would’ve been like in the United Empire. “And, uh,” the woman clears her throat before continuing, cheeks stained red with embarrassment, “are you interested in a girl or a boy?”
“A…girl,” Eir whispers, her words emerge before she is given time to think them over, and then are sealed before doubt can be made.
“Excellent!” the Common is suddenly all smiles – perhaps she is over-eager for the Garrion to leave, “Right this way.”
Eir is lead through a maze of doorways and narrow halls. Through an assortment of windows she sees faces. They are all Common faces at first, angry Common faces smashing damp block towers in frustration, sad Common faces moping in shadowed corners, happy Common faces blissfully chatting. Common. Common. Common. Co – Garrion.
“Oh my!” The elder lady exclaims, “She’s not supposed to be th –“ Her words come to an abrupt end, but she cannot take them back. A segregated centre, an undeniably racist centre – something tugs sadly at the Garrion woman’s mind, did she really expect any better? But the silence returns, a heavy weight looms over both women as they press their fingers to the glass and watch the events unfold.
There are two Common boys –looking eight to ten in years - and one small Garrion girl, no more than four. One laughs, waggling a chest above the girl’s head – turn upside-down by the other boy. They laugh together in slow cackles, shaking the young Garrion and the separate trunk as the thunderous sneers roll off their tongues.
But then something happens. It should be noted here that Eir is quite aware many things happen every minute, no, every second. Yet this moment was different for the adult Garrion, it was an event that would have an impact on the rest of her life and one that she would be forever smitten with.
For the young Garrion girl had let out a scream, bunched up her small, slightly clawed fists and punched the Common boy square in the gut. The laughter was blown straight out of him, his face grew pale and his hands released her grasp on the girl, who landed on her feet. The other boy dropped the tiny chest to run to his friend, which the young Garrion swiftly collected and proudly clutched in front of her chest.
“I want her,” Eir said, the sudden decision sounding calm, as if it had been deliberated for days. Hesitation was wiped from the Garrion woman’s mind. She had no doubts that this was the right choice.
Word Count: 1,047
(I really have to stop writing in the present tense, it always shifts back to past OTL)
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Posted: Sat Jan 09, 2010 4:57 pm
Eir Quy didn’t hear a word he said. Perhaps she could’ve, but she was much too preoccupied staring into the child’s face. Four years old, she had determined, four years old and the child had already done something remarkable.
She had almost killed a boy eight years her senior.
Myr, the young girl, had punched the boy – Eir had witnessed that herself – but she had not realized what exactly had happened to the boy. Somehow, the wind, his very breath, had been knocked straight out of him. Between a doctor and herself they had managed to restore the boy to a breathing state, but it still baffled her somewhat. Oh course, it shouldn’t have, the strange marking down the child’s spine only confirmed it. The woman’s clawed fingernails traced the raindrops that clung to the window. Someone would not be happy about this, many would not be happy.
“Miss.”
Eir head jerked downwards, where the young girl looked up expectantly at her. The Garrion woman had insisted on seating Myr on her help – some sort of motherly instinct she had determined.
“Miss, you s’udn’t ‘ ‘ave givin’ t’at boy not’ing.”
Eir blinked, “He was dying, you don’t…just…leave them there…”
The child seemed incredibly confused, “W’y’s not?” Myr pouted slightly, “S’a war isn’t it? Peoples dies all t’e time!”
“Yes,” The Garrion lady tried to be gentle, “But killing senselessly isn’t right. A war isn’t right…”
“T’en w’y’s it ‘appening?”
“Because, Myr, lots of mistakes happen… Lots of bad things happen.”
And she left it at that.
The carriage had dropped them off at the end of the makeshift street, and had left all too hastily – he had forgotten his payment. Which was perfectly fine for Eir, the more coins in her pocket the better. One hand carefully brushed the top of Myr’s shoulder. Eir would’ve preferred to hold the girl’s hand, but both were wrapped tightly around her wooden trunk, making her movements sluggish. That was fine, Eir mused, breathing out a slow, shaky stream of fog. It was cold here, somewhere after the houses the life ended, the warm glow faded and there was only barren, cold land. Only Shrow knew how he lived out here.
From her own bag Eir drew out two bundles of fur, draping the two cloaks over both their shoulders the elder Garrion nudged the youth forward.
“W’ere are we goin’?”
“North.”
“I know’s t’at,” the child lied, “But who’re we goin’ to see?”
“Trouble.”
Myr let out a mighty sigh, a gust of thick, misty breath poured out of her mouth. Eir could only offer a faint smile, the child had a right to know, but words could not properly describe a shaman. It was better to let the shaman himself explain – by visuals Eir could not produce. She was merely a humble craftswoman – the sort that made frivolous trinkets that Commons prided themselves in; she made simple things, things that were worn one night and then disposed of – like all Common dealings.
“Sure’s a lot of trouble for Trouble,” Myr muttered, flashing a grin up at her new guardian. Eir laughed politely – as all mother do.
The first thing Myra noticed about him was that he walked with bare feet. The second was that he had a large whole in his floor, and the third was that his house seemed much too warm for its location. Had they not just trudged through acres of snow? Were not her cheeks a stinging pink? Did her feet not ache and feel bitter and brittle? She was, to say the very least, annoyed. Myr had just endured all this pain to find someone who didn’t live it in! Later on, the child would reflect her thoughts were irrational and irrelevant, certainly the made little sense. At that moment though, she didn’t care.
It had seemed smaller on the outside, a dilapidated wooden shack. Someone had taken the effort to drape bones and charms over the doorway with red string. Myr had not been that impressed.
But inside, inside it was rather lovely, that she had to admit. The walls were covered in shelves where rotting carcasses were shoved in glass jars, wrapped in various furs. Every couple shelves a larger jar, containing strange glowing bugs sat, illuminated the rooms in a cold, blue light. It seemed rather silly, she thought in quiet breathes, to use these bugs instead of the fancy lamps in the city – but it certainly gave a sort of feeling – though she could not place nor name the exact feeling that was stirring inside. It was a nice one, the young girl decided.
“This way.”
Eir had gently pushed her towards another makeshift archway in the house, into a new room. Which was where she saw him – and his gap in the floorboards.
He was pale faced; his skin seemed an eerie white, tinged blue by the strange insects. Thick black hair was short and messy, with a set of antlers sprouting from the dark mess. They had been dyed white, which was only detectable by the small swirls of grey – areas that had been missed. Small glass jars hung from his antlers, and there was a long, silver pipe in his hand. The body itself was wrapped in grey furs and he sat on his knees, looking into the hole. Behind them, three faces – bright blue dye riddling their bodies – were sprawled along the back wall, they looked bored and out of place.
The hole itself was interesting; Myr assumed there had been water there for now it was a clear circle of frigid ice. There was also a pair of intestines lying on top of it.
The whole room was silent as the man sucked in a breath, his head tilted upwards – eyes, a bright blue, met the two visitors for a brief moment before he exhaled towards the sky – leaving a stream of smoke to dance above their heads.
“What?” His voice seemed to echo in the small room. Myr’s head tilted slightly. What was the sort of word asked with impatience or agitation, but he said it loosely, like a bird you couldn’t hold. There wasn’t a proper adjective she knew that could describe it – but Myr knew few adjectives.
She needs…inspecting…” Eir murmured, and Myr realized her guardian suddenly seemed very small in this strange location.
“Too old.”
“Not yet.”
Another plume of smoke mingled in the Garrion noses.
“What makes her so special?”
Eir then slowly recounted the punch, the lack of breath, the incident of almost death – Myr, on the other hand, had finally put down her wooden box. The girl hesitantly wandered along the bloated walls, fingers greedily hovering above each treasure. The child’s small claws delicately picked up a silver chain littered with the bones of various tiny creatures, and shoved in her pockets before innocently glided back to her guardian’s side. Myr could’ve shown one of the strange blue-painted faces had seen her, but they were all silent.
“Come, child,” The man beckoned to her, one pale hand stretched out in a friendly sort of gesture. His other arms adjusted his furs so they hung snugly over his now crossed legs. His teeth surrounded the pipe, and he snorted slightly as Myr obliged, sitting quietly down in his lap. Cold hands pressed against her back, peeling away the layers of clothing to trace her spine.
“Huh,” was all he said, a soft grunt of acknowledgement. “… She does,” he began, words harsh and disgruntled as he spoke with his teeth still clenched around the pipe, “bare the proper signs.” Frigid hands pushed Myr and she stood sharply, scuttling back to Eir’s side.
“They will not be happy.”
“You are not happy, I am not happy – are any of us happy?” Eir responded, her voice a quiet lull.
“No,” the shaman conceded, “Bring her back in a year’s time.”
He waved his hand, and that was all. Myr smelt of smoke days after.
Word Count: 1,402
(Blah, hm, not completely happy with this - I also need to see if random!shaman is okay with Glam.)
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Posted: Sun Jan 10, 2010 9:15 am
The house was quiet, and Myr was bored.
Eir wouldn’t dare to leave the young child alone, but someone had passed by and that someone was a something and somehow Eir had ended up outside, chatting. Of course, the Garrion lady could’ve peered through the small window behind her at any point to check up on the child but Eir was much too intertwined in the new conversation to think of such things.
Myr, meanwhile, had her own troubles to worry about. All the way home from the furred man’s hut her pocket had vibrated, and Myr could’ve sworn there had been a soft but shrill sound echoing in her ears. Eir, however, had not seemed to notice, and Myr hadn’t dared to shatter that fragile wall of naivety. But now, with her guardian outside and the house quiet, Myr didn’t hesitate to drag the necklace out of her pocket. The thick scent of smoke loomed in the room. Those strange, pale eyes hovered over her. Myr bit gnawed at her lip slightly, it was eerie – creepy. Small fingers held one of the chained skulls up to the light, tiny claws inspected the features. Was it all in her head? Had there really been that ringing, that small hint of a screech? Myr huffed quietly; maybe it had always been in her head –
It screamed.
She jumped, her limbs quickly jerking backwards, her body landing harshly against the wall behind her. The necklace clamoured against the ground, their voices – loud and piercing – filled the room. The smoggy air grew heavier, the prickling feelings raced down her spine, sharper and sharper. There was a cry, one of her own, caught in her throat, a thorny snare in her mouth. Nothing came out. There was only the smoke, the sound. The sound. It echoed in every corner of the room, it was sharp, hollow - it seemed to slap the girl across the face. Each note of their melancholy symphony sent her ears aflame.
The girl’s eyes narrowed, and her mind rushed with the most natural thoughts a little girl could think. This. Was. War. She slid against the wall of the small room – circling the squawking thing at a safe distance. She had to get rid of this thing – and fast. Myr had no guarantee how long her guardian would stay chatting, how long it would be until Eir realized that Myr had taken something from the fur man’s shack. The skeleton eyes – sunken black holes – followed her as she ducked and dodged her way around the imaginary circle.
How could she make the stupid thing shut up?
She just needed an opening, she just needed it to ignore her, to stop watching her – then she could strike. Hours seemed to pass, and yet the dead bones were unflinching, their gazes solid, locked on her every move. She sucked in a breath. It felt cold and frigid, empty. Myr hadn’t even been aware air could feel empty. But then again, she hadn’t known skulls had hidden vocal cords. Her knees bent, she crouched, bundled herself into a tight, little ball and – rocketed to the centre of the room. The pounce – it was exhilarating – for a brief moment she was a bullet, fast and lethal as lightning. It felt godly, for a second everything was sharper, every action intensified, Myr felt powerful, dignified.
And then there was chaos.
She stomped, she hacked, she pounded – booted feet (thank havens she had forgotten to take them off) smashed at the ornament. Her raw knuckles connected with the bone heads. Thunder howled throughout the room, earthquakes ensued underneath the necklace, the whole house rattled and shook. She strangled them, listening to the thick skulls as they shattered and eroded into measly fragments. It was vulgar. It was fuming with hatred. It was electrifying. A grin spread across her face, the feeling of power nudging at her again, of being in control. It was a different one, but it was a strong one, an enjoyable one.
Bruised and bloody hands swept the white dust into a tidy pile. Her hands circled around it and the Garrion child’s eyes darted feverishly around the room. Myr glided through the doors, there had to be somewhere to hide this evidence - somewhere, someone, something, some place. She could hear the door slide open. Her heart beat furiously, she hands quivered –
“Myr?”
The girl thrust herself against the wall, limbs flailed and scrambled and – with no other options- she plunged the pile of dust and bone chips into the vase next to her.
“Myr? Oh, here you are, I’m sorry I was out so long – are you okay?”
The Garrion girl nodded furiously, and quietly, tugged at her sleeves, hiding her stained fists.
“I hope you weren’t too bored.”
“S’okay, nut’in’ ‘appened.”
Word count: 802
(Hum.)
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Posted: Mon Jan 11, 2010 2:22 pm
The first hour of her formal training had passed in silence. She had watched as her mentor had paid no regard to her in the slightest. He had just stared at that odd floor-hole of his. There hadn’t even been any organs or smears of blood on it – just a clear pool of ice. It had been rather boring. The girl, now five years in age, twitched now and then, but tried to remain as still as she possibly could. It was hard, but if those queer painted faces could do it, then she could too, right? In fact, she was beginning to hate those painted faced Garrions. They looked eerie and ominous with their turquoise-blue tattoos, those strange swirls around their eyes. They were pretty, she would’ve agreed, but in a way that creepy. They seemed lifeless in this hut, lifeless and stiff. Though, in all fairness Myr was freezing herself. Her knees hummed against the floorboards, the fur man had not graced her with a fur of her own. While he sat in a lazy days, coiled in a thousand snakes of thick, white fur, Myr only had a shaky snake of fog stemming from her mouth. A shiver rocked through her body, cold pressed in on all corners of her being.
For the past couple minutes she had entertained herself by watching her own misty spurts of breath and the fur man’s long trails of black smoke intertwine and form creatures, before vanishing into an invisible spirit. Myr wondered just how many things were inside this house – the skulls on the walls were starting bother her. A lot. She could still faintly hear the shrieks of the ones she had taken home. She had decided she just really didn’t like skulls – especially ones from this hut.
“So-o-o-o-o,” he looked up to study the child’s face. The Os seemed to fly off his tongue, like the waves of the sea – natural, endless. “What is your name, child?” It was not the most endearing of greetings, but one could argue it was an important way to start. Perhaps, yes, a little blunt – but beating around the bush wasn’t completely bad, now was it?
“Myr Eanna Quy – Myr. W’at’s yours?” She sat up straighter, and tilted her chin upwards – a proud look, a regal look. Or at least, that was what she had been aiming for. To be rather frank, it just looked like a child looking upwards, plain and simple. Still, the thought that perhaps there was a confident air to her, made the child more confident herself. It was a nice feeling. The fur man did not seem to notice the difference.
“You can call me Inclemency,” the fur man gave a slight nod before puffing out another ring of smoke.
“T’at your real name?”
“Maybe.”
And that was the end of the name business.
“Alright, so I’m a shaman,” the fur man – Inclemency – said, “and you will be a shaman someday. We have gods – you know who the gods are, right?”
“Uh,” Myr faltered slightly, “Holo, Mystic, Tuberculosis…”
“Yes, yes,” a pale hand was waved dismissively, “Those are all grand and good but you need to focus on two. Other than the creator, he’s good too. But all we care about here is Shrow, mkay? And Mah’Paralo is pretty important too. Oh, and when you deal with people don’t talk like this, we all have our shaman voices, but really, if I had to talk like that all the time, I’d go crazy.” He coughed slightly, “Right, anyways, as Shrow is the god of the forest, he sometimes will send us signs from the forest.”
He paused, Myr nodded, things continued.
“So – someone pass me last night’s gift please – now I get to teach you something. You know, start things off slowly and stuff. So, pay attention and learn.”
A corpse of a small mammal was laid out on the ice-covered hole. It would’ve probably stood only up to Myr’s knees at most. It’s long jaws were opened, as if in mid-howl, a thick, short tail frayed out a the rear. Its eyes were large, seeming larger because of the creature’s small ears and narrow face, and frozen in a look of dread. Myr felt absolutely nothing towards it. This is the sort of thing children are either vastly intrigued by or feel empathy for – and then there are ones like Myr, who felt nothing.
“H’okay,” the fur man breathed out a dragon of smoke before continuing, “You use your claws and rip from the eye to the hind leg. Then we take these –“ the jar of glowing bugs – “and let a few out into the animal.” A faint glow danced within the hide of the animal. “And so, you watch the bugs, mhm, and wherever they gravitate to…” He grunted, his hand twisted, and there was the sharp sound of a harsh snap, “You rip it out.” With out steady thrust Inclemency’s hand rebounded backwards, the animal’s heart intact.
He brushed the corpse to the side, where two of the painted faces carried it to the back, where they all ate it in confounding silence. The fur man laid the heart down on the pool of ice. “Then, Myr, you read the organ to understand the problem. Different sorts of hearts and livers mean different sorts of things, it’s all very complex but you’ll get the hang of it sooner or later. Of course, Commons are much better, more accurate, but we make do with what we have. Someone bring me a smaller one?”
While Inclemency ate the heart with refined manners, Myr’s claws carefully tore at a tiny amphibian – she was surprised they even had those, it seemed to be winter all year ‘round. They had to have come from the grand sea, which was quite far away, wasn’t it? She wasn’t all that sure anymore.
Oh, but she needed a question, didn’t she? The fur man seemed to only be concerned about the technique, but if she was going to be like him, she’d have to be a good thing. She’d have to see the answer.
“Will I be good at t’is?” the girl whispered, barely a voice, so that none of the snacking jaws in the household heard her small, foolish and insecure musings. The bugs flowed through the corpse, gravitating to the skull. With great care Myr unfastened the eyeball and let it roll in slow circles at the center of the ice-pool. It was a circle, something that showed continuation, but no sharp edges – no definite answers.
It seemed to say, that’s up to you.
Myr scowled slightly, what kind of an answer was that?
She’d have to try again.
Word Count: 1, 120
( Probably going to jump into teenage adventures after this >>;
& Yes, I did just name someone who lives in the barren north Inclemency.
Bah I wanted to talk about how Inclemency's voice, buuut maybe later. )
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Posted: Mon Jan 11, 2010 5:55 pm
 (I should be doing lots of other stuff, but I sketched Inclemency instead.)
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Posted: Mon Jan 11, 2010 7:24 pm
  Eir had insisted on holding her daughter’s hand, despite Myr’s complaining. Really, she was twelve now, she could hold her own hand thank-you-very-much. Or, at the very least she could just walk next to Eir, handholding was for little kids. Still, clawed hands bound together, they wandered through the masses in mild moods. Myr’s spot of anger had subsided quickly, as soon as she had seen the wares she had been captivated. Stalls lined the shop, they were lofty and makeshift, but overflowing with treasures – each glimmering and sparkling like any other proper expansive gem.
“It’s lovely isn’t it?” Eir commented in a light breath, “The craft sales are so lovely in this town. They’re scarce, but when they get together they create wonderful things.”
It seemed that everyone else agreed with her guardian’s words. Everyone floated through the streets, eyes wide and fascinated, everyone seemed to exhale life into the bustling streets and, sharply, they’d inhale long breathes of it back into their bodies, taking as much as they could for free. There were the loud squabbles of bartering taking place, prices hiking and floundering, of fast handshakes for happy transactions and bitter threats of the outbid. Myr loved it – the energy, the anger, the tension, the simple way everyone’s hearts were racing, building, bursting together. The thrill of victory she could feel radiate with every step. Another other day this would just be another quiet, obsolete Harbour town – but on days like these everyone came. From the corner of her eye she could see a man shifting uncomfortably in his stark red collar, even those from the Empire couldn’t resist to window-shop. It was funny really, the lengths they all went for material wares.
“Well, are we walking or looking?” Myr tugged at her guardian’s sleeve impatiently, there was action, adventure and brawls unfolding and here she was, sitting on the sidelines. That wouldn’t do at all. Not waiting for a reply, Myr’s hand squirmed, wiggled, twisted and finally broke free – no longer weighed down by the mass of a Garrion lady Myr dashed off into the crowd.
“Myr!”
She pushed through swarms of people, heat building the deeper she delved into the crowd. It was like a heart, vibrating and gushing, each one of them boiling blood, each one of them a volcano, boiling, bubbling, frothing, waiting to explode. She knew they all were, the way their grubby hands fought over this necklace of this gun, the way when she jabbed her elbow into their ribs cages they all yelped, growled and swore after her dancing figure. When she was smaller Eir could’ve dolled her up and disguised her as one of them, but now her horns, her claws, her wings they were all growing and they all knew exactly what she was – better than them. Untouchable. They feared her, they moved for her, her presence – just being in their line of vision – angered them. It was so primitive, so impulsive, so silly – she loved it. She loved it. She loved it.
But there was a growing swarm around this one. Red wood had been arranged to make the shabbiest of stalls, carved knobs – spiky and unruly – protruded from all sides. They were webbed with knots and tangles of beads, strange beads, lovely beads – Myr jerked her arms to and fro, making a pathway for her to slide through. There were “Hey!”s, there were swears, there were jumbles of words – tongues becoming tangled and intertwined, their words slipping off their lips and sliding down their tongues, letters scrambled in a skywards potion of sound. Myr curtly held up one finger, a wicked, fanged grin on her face, to tell them just what she thought of their words. She didn’t care – not one bit.
“Step rrrright up! Step rrrright up! Come see what Rrrrigoberrrrrto is selling today! Yes! Today! Today and today only! Come ladies! Come gentlemen! Come fangs! Fur! Scales! Slime! And skin! Come! Come! What have I got today? What have I got today! I’ve got the prrrrrettiest things you’ve seen gents and gals! Prrrrrettiest things you’ve ever seen!”
”Wh’ddy’ h’v’ 'lr’dy?” slurred a man in the crowd, so obviously drunk he couldn’t even be bothered with vowels. The result was something no one really understood, but assumed he had meant whatever he or she had been thinking in his or her little heads. Luckily, every spellbound mind had been thinking the same thing.
“Glad you asked my frrrriend! Glad you asked! Today I have firefly beads! Firefly beads! Oh firefly beads!” Rigoberto had suddenly ceased to roll his Rs, “They glow! They hum! They look dazzling on yurrr ladyfrrrriend! Come! You must see it on a girrrl! Let me prrrrove it to you! You! Girl! Come forward!” There was some joustling, some more shouts, and a broad hand tugged at Myr, pushed her up onto a chair. She blinked down at the crowd, some were sneering, some snarled and others seemed oblivious. “Good! Good! Good!” Cold pellets rained on her neck, you could see the glow wrap around her like a hungry snake – it was enchanting. “See how it looks? See how marrrrvellous it is?” Money was thrust up into the air, a sea of it moving towards the salesman. “Ladies! Gentlemen! Please! There’s hardly enough for everrryone! How much are you willing to part with?”
Myr wondered the exact same thing.
Well, the best way to find out any answer was to act upon it – after all, actions spoke louder than words. She sprang, feet dancing in the air, woven into the sky, her whole body glowed that pale blue – the beads slid down her body, wove through her clothes and limbs. Her smile was electrified in the ghastly light, her eyes intensified. An elegant monsters, a brutal wolf in a sheep’s skin, her feet dug into the skulls of the men around her. She moved on the tops of their heads, slipping and sliding, but the clumsy nature of the moment only propelled her farther and further away from the stand – from the angry men, the stunned eyes. She smirked, flashing her blue-tinted fangs in their direction, before falling off of the top of the crowd. Her jaw rammed into someone’s skull, pain pulsed through her, blood trickled down her nose, laughter filled the air.
Hers.
She staggered the rest of the way, hurried limping leaving only a trail of cackles. She ducked, dodged and snaked through the crowds – not to mention how she jabbed, punched and screamed at anyone who stood in her way for too long. That smile, that malicious little smile was imprinted on her face, eyes fluttered, heart raced – it all went black.
“Myr! Shrow only knows how worried I was, ock, you should’ve seen yourself, down on the streets. Don’t do that to me, don’t!”
The girl turned over on her side to face to her guardian, it was a day later, a day full of stitching and bandaging later. But, out of the corner of her eye, she could see the beads thrum softly above her head.
It had been a day full of victory.
Word Count: 1, 186
(Lol crappy side doodle.
Um, this is a redo of the entry I got Myr with.
Becuase the old one was really bad.
Reaaaally bad.
Next: Myr's first hunt & then I'll focus more on her shamanlife.
+Try and get her to a consistant age. Maybe.)
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Posted: Fri Jan 15, 2010 6:59 pm
“You are passing –
passing, passing, passing, passing”
thick dragons of smoke
tongues in the flame
grey and gray and gris and grease
one smoggy tail frothing from his mouth
- passing, passing, passing
there is the numbness
the bitter cold
spirits howls rippling
to the brittle snaps of your bones
wrapped in the furs
an endless sea of white feathers
it spares you from nothing
- passing, passing, passing
‘you silly girl
coming out here so young
you should know better, girl
do you know who we are?’
they’re voices are the breeze
vivid and lucid air
whispers, wounds and harsh cacophonies
breathe slides down your horns,
words drip in your ears
You know who they are.
Passing, passing, passing –
‘This is the barrier
this is where we rest
this is where we diverge
break free
Break free! Break free! Break free!
- You are passing, passing
Passing.
She wakes up.
(Not an actual entry, well, not one that counts.)
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Posted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 3:00 pm
They run down her arms, criss-crosses of pale blue, as if someone had peeled away at her skin – leaving a trail of translucent tracks. They shimmer like snowflakes in the daylight. They are snowflakes. Talons of ice deeply embedded in her, each one a scar announcing her every failure. At thirteen, Myr now knows why clothing has sleeves – to hide these “shamings”.
But the fur man has never touched her.
No, Inclemency is a twisted warp of many things. He sits there, days and days on end, gazing into his floor-hole, smoking his pipe – calm, unblinking. He chats happily in the child’s company, instructs her kindly, but bluntly on what to do. But then he strikes. Never does he raise his voice, never does he slap her across the face – no, he just closes his eyes and twits his wrist, just a simple counter-clockwise turn. A simple turn that bites at Myr’s flesh, claws seeping into her flesh, they sting, they burn – but they are frigid and cold, aching for days on end. They never wash away, they never heal over time – they never leave her.
There is one - only one - that strays from her shoulders and arms – it is snug within the corners of her eye. Since that day the girl hasn’t cried. Tears are weak things, tears are stupid thing – tears make your eyes burn. He does not approve of tears, he does not approve of weakness – so there will be none of that today. She will not screw today up. She can’t. She can’t to that to Eir, to Inclemency, and most of all, she can’t do that to herself. Every whispering scar now yells out, spins loud tales of her failure, of the shame she will forever carry in her skin, they squirm and wriggle, they dance and howl. Her hands slide up her skull, fingers pressing over her ears – (shut up! shut up! shut up!) – but every so often she intertwines her nails with her hair, or the hood of her overcoat, they can’t know this is getting to her. They can’t know a thing.
They are three grim figures, silhouettes in the bleak night. They, two tall black pillars of things, flank her, Eir, gliding slowly over dunes of snow. The lady’s hand grazes the teenager’s every so often, a hesitant sort of reassurance. The man trails behind them, but is, absurdly, leading them all the same. A jar of glowing insects swings solemnly, guiding all three figures with the thrum of their turquoise glimmers.
They stop. Myr’s not quite sure why, but it feels right. Cloaks billowing in the sharp wisps of winter air they stand, still and silent, waiting. The youth does not question her two elders, rather, allows her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was always there, she knows this, but just now can she feel it tug at her sleeves, coo in her ear, and begin to swallow her whole. There is a distant howl in the sky, the crunch of snow – delicate, tentative and frail – beneath boots. Boots. Her eyes dart to her mother figure – who nods – and then to her mentor – who bares a wicked grin – and then to the trail ahead of them. Through the shadows of a distant groves of trees she sees it, the shadow moves slowly, softly, on edge. She can feel his fear.
Inclemency’s lantern swings slowly, creaking with every jerk, white lips hover of the jar. Through ivory fangs a short breath is blown – the glow disappears. The world is still.
“Hello?”
It is a distant voice, an echo lost in the winds, a pitiful voice. She breathes in – soaks in his fears, his dreams, and his nightmares – and then she walks closer. Each step seems to be a leap, her heart races with each advancement. Her hands shake with excitement. Her nerves are ablaze, her mind aflame; every muscle in her body is tense – eager to pounce.
“Hello?”
She restrains herself from sprinting, from leaping – last time she tried that nothing ended well, well not physically. She feels every arch her foot makes, lifting up and then settling softly in the snow. She is wiser than the Common, for she knows how to be quiet. Heel to toe, the snow envelopes them, softens the sound. He has his back turned to her now, eyes scanning frantically in an attempt to find something, someone, anything. He doesn’t hear her coming.
“…Hello.”
She whispers the word in his ear, it sounds soft but bitter – as eerie as the wind that whips around them. She sees, from the slightest of angles, his Adam’s apple plummet and slowly rise up again, a scared little gulp. Fangs arrange themselves into a malicious grin as he pivots, his eyes meeting hers. He is a boy, perhaps her age, perhaps less. Maybe a bit older, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t care. For a moment, he is hopeful – her cloak hides most of her race’s figure, but it cannot hide her wings. The small lumps that are emerging from the back, poking out jaggedly through the fabric – new wings, strange wings, wings that give away exactly who and what she is.
He screams, and drops the pebble into the water. The stone makes a splash, and the ripples come – famished hounds they spread out, farther, farther, farther, until the fear consumes him. The stone hits the bottom of the pool with a hard snap –
Myr’s claws stab through his cheek.
She pouts slightly, she had really been hoping he would’ve run away, or at least done something interesting. Still, she isn’t one to complain – at least not openly - and so fist collides with ribs, there is the snicker-snack of crackling bones, her other hand tightens around his throat. She watches his flesh ooze out as she squeezes it harder, watches veins pop and snicker and spill, she is delighted. Enthralled. Enchanted. Amazed. That feeling of power, that shockwave that rippled through her many times before, surges through her veins once again, fireworks of ecstasy fill her mind. He falls limp in her hand after a few more poundings, his bones moan with the gasps and rushes of air. Myr coos softly as she lets go, letting the empty bag of flesh dizzily spiral to the snowy ground.
They slide up behind her, Inclemency’s lantern lit again. Eir smiles without teeth, a small, proud smile. Inclemency, however, cranes his head over Myr’s shoulder.
“The forest provides,” He whispers.
In a instant Myr is down on the ground, her tongue rambling lyrical phrases he has taught her, her claws cutting the body delicately. The lantern is dipped down over the large cut down the torso, and Myr opens the hatch, daintily. Three of the bugs dance outwards; prod the body curiously, before diving into the wound. His body glows softly, before all three beams rest upon his head. Typical. Still, Myr carefully pulls in loose, and places it on her lap.
Inclemency smiles, and the two elder Garrion seep into the snow, sitting in silence on their knees.
And they watch as the girl feasts throughout the night.
Word Count: 1, 192
(Yeaahhh, I decided my lame present tense ways were better for this.
I had thought it would be more action-y, I disappoint…
Frequently.)
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Posted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 3:01 pm
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