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 Posted: Thu Jan 19, 2006 8:50 pm
She is waiting for them when they return home.
Ambrus's first clue is that the door is unlocked--even in a neighborhood like his (especially in a neighborhood like his) he does not leave the door unlocked when he leaves his apartment. He puts out an arm when he realizes this, barring Ameretat from progressing further. (The little Tale has been distracted by the contents of the shopping bag he was carrying, and so merely whistles a query when stopped. Ambrus does not respond.)
There is no indication of sound from inside, but that means nothing; no footprints on the doormat, but that means nothing. Unhappy with the thought of separating from his new child, nevertheless Ambrus presses forward, easing the door open and using it to shield his body.
No one in the entryway. Handing the lightest of his parcels to Ame and sternly cautioning the little bird to, "be quiet, and follow me", Ambrus frees a hand and steps all the way inside. Whoever unlocked the door has left the lights off, for it is quite dark inside the barren entryway. Light has never been much of an object for Ambrus--he starts cat-footed down the hall, dropping the groceries and clothes and general mess of supplies by the end table. Perhaps thinking this is some sort of game, Ameretat follows suit with a trilling laugh--only to be summarily hushed by his Author.
There is no fear in Ambrus's demeanor, no real worry, for it is not in him to let on whether or not he's feeling such things. There is, however, a terrible sort of caution as he creeps toward the bedroom, senses straining for signs of an intruder; all the while, he keeps himself firmly between his new child and anyone, anything's line of sight.
It is as he prepares to cross through his spartan "living room" that he catches the slightest taste of cigarette smoke--and notices the silhouetted figure seated on his couch. He freezes with a hiss of breath, shaking the nearest of his knives down into his hand...
And Ameretat breaks away from his side, scampering across the room with another laugh to leap up onto the couch with the intruder. Ambrus is trained better than to respond, to cry out or call the kid back--
Besides, the intruder has already clicked on the light by the end of the couch, regarding phoenix and half-faceless with a frown on her lips.
"'Lo, Ambrus. Had you been intending to tell me I was gonna be a grandmother?" Jenner asks, her tone sour.
to be continued...
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Posted: Wed Feb 01, 2006 1:53 am
More than anything, it is the fact that Jenner is smoking that bothers Ambrus.
Not so much that she is smoking--the nameless god only knew he wants a smoke, craves a smoke after today's fateful turn of events--but that she is smoking inside his apartment. Anywhere else and he wouldn't care how she blackens her lungs and fouls the air--but not in his apartment. It is worse that Ameretat seems endlessly fascinated by the lit end of the cigarette, but Jenner is doing an able job of keeping the little bird's hands away from it. Just as she is doing an able job of winning his affection by running her fingers through his feathery mane, eliciting a series of gleeful twitters from the little bird.
Ambrus doesn't have the heart to think of this as treachery, but neither does it please him. He clasps his hands behind his back where he stands by the door to the living room, staring out into the entryway with unseeing eyes. Even here, the scent of smoke can reach him.
"Mother," he says, breaking his self-enforced silence that has served him since she arrived, "put that out."
He can picture her looking up, picture the disgruntled furrow of her brow as she stares at his back. "Don't tell me you've gone Puritan on me, kid," she growls.
"No. Put it out." He won't allow himself to be baited off-topic, more interested in maintaining his territory in the face of her invasion.
He can hear her taking another drag on the cancer-stick, just to spite him. "Y'know, you could just ask if you want one," she drawls. Despite the concealed malice in her voice that makes the hairs on the back of Ambrus's neck prickle, something Jenner is doing makes Ameretat laugh again, a sound that cuts through the gloom of the apartment like sunlight through smoke.
"I don't want one. Put it out."
"You know, if you didn't have such a stick up yer--"
"Mother." He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't so much as put any emphasis on the word, but he does turn around to face her and look at her eye-to-eye. Even a demon Jenner's senior would balk at that asymmetric stare; the red-haired woman blinks, willing her cigarette out and laying it aside.
Her outthrust lip as she does reminds Ambrus of a sulky child--hopefully, he thinks, his own child won't be much for pouting--and given what he unfortunately knows of Jenner's disposition that probably isn't all that far off. "Fine," she says, and again: "Fine."
Ameretat gives a whistle of dismay as he's deprived of that little spark, trailing into silence as he senses the tension between the adults. Jenner, ever-able with a child on her lap, returns to running her fingers through his mane, provoking a contented burble.
"So how much of yer soul didya give up for this one?"
to be continued...
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Posted: Tue Feb 21, 2006 7:42 pm
"What?" She's muttering; he's not quite sure--hoping he doesn't--he hears her right. Even so he takes a step or two toward the couch, resisting the urge to bring up his hands. (Would he fight for this child? He doesn't know; Ameretat certainly doesn't look like he needs fighting for, happy as a clam on Jenner's lap.)
"I said, how much of yer soul didya give up for this one, boy?" She reaches for the cigarette again, scowling at him. "I didn't make one for you so you could go around givin bits of it t' god-only-knows-what," she adds, tartly, and lights up again.
Ambrus is trained much too well to even feel the desire to scream. "I don't see why that should matter to you." He takes another two steps toward the couch, one hand balled unconsciously into a fist.
It's only reluctantly that Ame sits up, glancing between the two before slithering out of Jenner's reach, down to the other end of the couch. "No," he says, distinctly. It's the second--third, maybe--English word Ambrus has heard out of him; and the first Jenner has. Both faceless look toward the little bird as he perches on the arm of the couch, wings mantled and an unhappy look in his eyes.
"No," he repeats, pointed.
Jenner is obviously disgruntled. This more than anything causes Ambrus to relax; evidence that she was going out of her way to win over his Tale--and that Ame was stymying her efforts. (For this, he is grateful, and decides that it may not quite be so onerous, raising this child.) "Oh, c'mon, kid, come back here," she says, reaching for Ameretat. "I'm not gonna eatcha."
"No! No no no no no!" The feathers of the little bird's neck and shoulders bristle, and he straightens as much as he can, wings fanning for balance. This time, when Ambrus takes a step forward, it's out of faint worry that Ameretat is going to fall off the edge of the couch and brain himself on the floor, thin layer of carpet over concrete that it is.
The cigarette in Jenner's fingers crumbles into ash. Like a thunderstorm rolling in, like the building of static charge before a lightning strike, Ambrus can feel her drawing her power around her. "What th' hell is this?" Her voice verges on an ear-piercing whine. "Disrespect-yer-mother day? Come on," whine dissolves into the beginnings of rage as she thrusts a hand out at the little bird, a tacit take it or else, "come back here."
Now Ameretat does overbalance and fall, but when he does--before he can get his wings tangled and dig his talons into Ambrus's third-hand couch--Ambrus is there to catch him, a blink and a heartbeat later. He struggles a moment, falls still as he's set on his feet, and turns immediately to cling to one of his Author's legs.
Ambrus sets a hand on the Tale's head, watching his mother as she recoils like a woman burned. The aura of menace thickens, the very air seeming to crackle with its presence. "Like father, like son, huh?" she growls. "Suppose I should've expected that you'd find a brat of a kid, Ambrus--"
to be continued...
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Posted: Sun Mar 12, 2006 6:45 pm
This is enough. He has had plenty of her whining, plenty of her insistence on hospitality when she's invaded his home, plenty of her threatening his anomalous new child, plenty of her impugning his "respect" after leaving him to his own devices for years. The fingers of his free hand tighten.
"Why are you here, Mother?" The language of the faceless is a brittle one, barely earning the name "language", for it is made up of act and intention instead of mere words, mere sounds. The language of the faceless is the language of threats and of doing, no more and no less than it appears. "What is it you want? Tell me, or leave."
Her eyes widen, and he feels a cold stab of joy that he's managed to surprise her. "Can a friendly visit from a mother not go uncriticized by her worthless son?" she spits. "Thou egg, thou young fry of treachery. I should have known."
She uses the familiar in an attempt to cow him, and it's effective only in kindling his slow temper. "Don't use words that don't belong to thee," he retorts. "Don't besmirch them to coddle thy own small mind. What does thee want? Tell me, or leave."
This stings her into rising, balling her own small hands into fists and drawing her power around her like a cloak. Ambrus can see in a way that is not seeing, see the illusion of dragon wings around her with both eyes, see in a way that is also taste and smell and touch-- Feel in that same way that was not distinctly feeling, or seeing, or scenting his own power responding, his shadow lengthening behind him in the not-light she's building around her, developing wings of its own.
"I want an explanation of thee, for the brat--" She flings out a hand, hazed with reddish light crooked into talons, indicating the little bird that stands gawking between them. "For thy sudden treachery, thy squandering of what thy mother has given thee--tell me, Ambrus, use thy silver tongue to describe what so possessed thee to take this THING into thy care--and tell me why I shouldn't kill it where it stands."
Neither of them have noticed the way Ameretat listens to them, not in the confused way of a child who hasn't learned his mothertongue but in the way of a spectator at a tennis match, looking between the pair as they argue over his eventual fate. He tucks his wings in close as Jenner closes, ducking behind his Author's leg again but still watching with solemn eyes that reflect the elder demon's rage.
Ambrus laughs. It's a cruel sound, one that has in it the sharpening of knives and the death-rattle of a life snuffed untimely. Not that he would entirely mind if she killed his new acquisition, leaving him lonesome once more--but she's invaded his territory, and at the last, it's the principle of the thing that keeps him fighting. "Have I not told thee that I am my own being, Jenner? I was cut loose the moment thou formed me. Thou cannot take back what thou hast done.
"Leave. Be gone with thee!"
This is intolerable to Jenner. She snarls silently at him, closing the distance between them to thump a fist against his chest. He does not move. "Brat. Whorespawn! I should've seen thee as a changeling and smothered thee before the breath entered thy whimpering lungs," she snarls. "I'll rip the heart from thy chest, and then where will that leave thy pride, child?"
"If I'm whorespawn, it is because thou'rt a whore, woman. LEAVE."
She switches tactics with the abruptness of a summer thunderstorm, voice pitching into a whine that has Ameretat, undisciplined infant that he is, cringing and covering his ears. The power boils around her still, though now and then it casts out tendrils to loop around Ambrus, a visual shorthand for Jenner's wheedling. "You know thy mother," and by this it's taken to mean her host, the dead woman Coronaviridae, "worries after thee. Do not abandon her to her fears, Ambrus."
This brings a smile crueler than the laugh to his lips. "Then I'll tell her what we really are, dear mother, so that she will cast thee from her heart and I'll be quit of you," he says, voice bleeding inflection away from every word, atonal at the last "you", distancing her.
Jenner recoils, shocked. "You wouldn't."
"I would."
"Your brother would kill you."
"He values me more than either of you, woman." Then, with a certain cold and savage glee that makes Ameretat shiver: "We are what you made us to be: weapons. Now get out of my house." At last he moves, grabbing her hand, engulfing it entirely in his own--and squeezing hard enough the bones creak, enough to warn her that he could do so much worse in his own territory--
And she is gone, blood-red intent bleeding away through Ambrus's fingers in a muted bang! of displaced air. When he uncurls his fist it is to find it stained crimson, a reminder of her own power.
But for some reason, some reason above and beyond his native lack of sentiment, he is not afraid. Ambrus drops his crimsoned hand to rest on Ameretat's head, finding--for one strange moment--solace in the way the little bird whistles and leans into the touch.
The momentary peace is broken in seconds. "Fatherrr--okay?"
"I'm fine, Ame. And don't call me that." He takes his hand from the little bird's head and goes to attend to the groceries before the milk can spoil. Fathers didn't entertain the idea of sacrificing the children they bought bread for to gain a moment of peace. "Come help me put these away and find a bed for you."
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Posted: Sun Mar 12, 2006 6:46 pm
(Ameretat meets Indigo; they mutually babysit each other while Ambrus and Jenner go out for lunch.)
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Posted: Sun Mar 12, 2006 6:48 pm
_______________________ // a new sister
In which Anahita, a Boundless, comes to live with Ambrus and Ameretat. Inle-roo Eki hated the mainland, for the most part. There were seasons here that just didn't occur on the island the Estate resided on. Like winter--sure, the calendar said it was winter, but there was no bitter cold, no freezing wind...and certainly no snow. It was the snow Eki hated the most; being cold-blooded, the chill made him want to do nothing but sleep, and unfortunately, he had a job to do before he could go home and do just that. He must have looked quite ridiculous, swaddled in several layers of clothing with only his tail and head sticking out and a bulging bag strapped to his back. He had been wandering around this section of Barton for nearly an hour and had had little luck finding the address he had been given. It was getting darker--colder, too--and the loss of light brought with it an end to Eki's reserves of patience. A streetlight came on, illuminating a buildingfront he had passed a few times. It was as he paused to shift his backpack that he noticed the address matched the one on the paper he'd been given. With a sigh and a few muttered curses he entered the building. Once safely inside--it was warmer here, but that didn't assuage the crankiness the cold and pointless trip had created--he withdrew the slip of paper he had been given, studying the address once more before ascending the stairs. At length he reached a hallway, and eventually a door. With a sigh to reign in his temper (as it wouldn't do to scare off prospective parents), he knocked. Coronaviridae It was a normal evening in the little apartment behind the door Eki knocked on--which is to say, Ambrus was flipping through paperwork and Ameretat was sprawled on the couch, alternating reading a picture book with counting the stains on the ceiling. Neither one moved at the first knock on the door, or the second. (Ameretat was, perhaps, excusable in this case--he hadn't had much experience with knocking on doors yet. Ambrus, on the other hand, was simply hoping the person with the wrong address would go away.) It took Eki's third knock to stir the assassin out of his lethargy, but--of course--when he got up, there was Ameretat glued to his side like a white-feathered limpet. It was a condition Ambrus tolerated for as long as it took him to get down the hall to the door, at which point he gently pried Ame's fingers off of his hand so he could rest it on the doorknob as he squinted through the peephole at their visitor. The guy didn't look like a deliveryman. He also didn't look like he was likely to be armed; but on the other hand, he was also a walking heap of clothing, and Ambrus's long experience with the various homeless wackos that roamed his neighborhood was that you could hide anything given enough clothing to wrap it in. On the other hand, the clothing looked clean, and any move the guy made would telegraph a weapon before he could get it in hand. Ambrus shook down one of his knives anyway before edging the door open enough to talk comfortably without looking ridiculous. Ameretat poked his head out from around the assassin's leg, totally ruining the "not looking ridiculous part". "Yeah?" Ambrus inquired. Inle-roo Eki would have kept knocking all night--he wasn't about to turn around only to have to come back the following day, not after schlepping around in the snow for a good chunk of the day. At the sound of the door opening he withdrew his hand to bring it to the strap of his backpack, pausing for as long as it took for the door to open--with another moment spent regarding this new-guy and his rather unfortunate attachment--before carefully swinging it around to the front. He didn't answer Ambrus; rather, he opened the bag with a far-too-cheerful zip! and carefully dug around for a moment before producing a very round, very strange-looking bottle. It was somewhere between the size of a softball and a volleyball, filled with a liquid somewhat thicker than water that refracted pastel-rainbow colors in the dim hall light. Within appeared to be a smaller circle; it was too dark to make out the markings that adorned it. Wordlessly, he held it out to Ambrus. "This is yours now. Don't open it, don't shake it, don't break it, don't freeze it, don't stick it in the microwave, and don't give it funny nicknames, because it won't thank you for it later," said in a rather bored tone, as if he was reciting horrible poetry instead of entrusting the life of one of his own kind to some stranger. His tail gave a twitch and a thump behind him, an outward sign of his eagerness to be done with this and go home. Coronaviridae If there was a sound for precisely the silence that meant Eki's announcement, human language had not invented the proper word for it. Ambrus's first urge was to pin Eki to the other wall with a knife the instant he swung the backpack around; he suppressed it, and instantly regretted that. Hot on the heels of regret was the sinking feeling that he had just been assigned another child for Jenner to make threats at. "What is it? And who the hell are you?" he asked, making no move to take the object. Ameretat was quite happy to fill in where his father wouldn't, and reached out to take the ball from Eki's hands with a visible excitement that might make one think he'd just been handed the keys to Gambino Mansion. Despite the weight of the ball, he held it up high enough to smush his face against it (as much as his beak would allow) and peer in at the little dark creature inside. A moment later he--managed somehow not to drop it, instead cradling it against his chest with both arms wrapped around it, trilling happily. Inle-roo "It's a fetus in a bottle." Obviously. "Be careful with it," he cautioned Ameretat, now-free hand diving back into the bag to come up with a slightly battered envelope. "Thylacoleo carnifex, female," he read off the front, reaching out to carefully balance the envelope on Ame's head. "Inside there are some basic facts on...something-or-other. There was this whole spiel, but I forgot most of it. It was stupid anyway. You're better off." Twitch-thump. He'd stay long enough to make sure the guy wouldn't chuck the kid out the window--they were pretty high up, it looked like--and then he'd leave. "Anyway, I'm just the delivery boy." Purposefully obtuse? Maybe. Coronaviridae "I didn't order a fetus in a bottle." So maybe Ambrus had a sense of humor left. He reached out to capture the envelope before it could lose its precarious perch among Ame's headfeathers, giving the front of it a cursory glance. "-- Thylacoleo carni--those things are extinct," he said, a moment later. Then, after another moment for it to sink in: "You've got to be kidding me." A third moment: "Let me guess; this has an invitation to a mysterious island in it, too." Ameretat burbled his amusement at Ambrus's dismay, trilling to himself. Most of it was in that weird mix of Avestan and music that passed for his native tongue, but Ambrus caught the word "sisterrr" in there in between all the noise. The little bird looked so completely enraptured that his Author was caught momentarily off-guard when he turned around and offered up the bottle with a polite request of, "'Old, please?" Ambrus had learned after a month with his Tale not to deny a reasonable request; it only led to sad birdy eyes, which he didn't enjoy. He took the ball, rapping his knuckles against it gently to test the strength of the glass. Ame, meanwhile, leapt across the space intervening between himself and Eki in an attempt to attach to the Boundless in a gleeful hug. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you forrr sisterrr!" Oh boy, thought Ambrus. They wouldn't be sending this one back for a rebate, either. Inle-roo A craggy brow arched upwards. "You're pretty good at this. I'm thinking of a number between one and ten..." He'd never done this before, but if this was the kind of reaction shoving a bottled fetus at people garnered, he might not be adverse to doing it again. In the spring, when it wasn't cold. He was still cranky, but...did someone have a heater going? He had started zipping up his bag now that he had no more goodies to bestow upon the pair when he was thoroughly pounced by the young Tale. His expression went from irritated boredom to horrified disgust in no time flat. Eki's hand immediately went to detach the bird before thinking better of it--his nails were long and sharp, and bird-boy didn't appear to be wearing any clothes. Well, that was just disturbing. And he didn't want to actually have to TOUCH the little guy. "Get off of me. If I had thought this'd warrant a hug, I would have brought a taser or something. Really." Coronaviridae "Three and a quarter," Ambrus said, and then: "You'll have to excuse him. He's a little clingy." No, really? Although at the very first sign of dismay, instead of limpeting on--as he appeared quite prepared to do--Ameretat let go with a flip of his wings and a particularly confused expression. "No hugs?" that expression seemed to say, though he apparently knew better than to voice it aloud. Or--maybe not. "No hhugging?" His wings drooped, and he schooled his expression into a mask of seriousness. "O-K. Don't need a taserrrr." Not that he was quite sure what a taser was, but it sounded bad. He retreated a step or two, back behind the half-open door--disappearing entirely after a moment, before poking his head back around the edge to repeat, "Thank you." Shifting the globe over to one hand, Ambrus rested the other on the door. "Don't fall in too many snowdrifts on the way back, kid," he said, making to close the door. Inle-roo "I noticed," Eki snapped, fingers still doing a little dance as he kept them firmly away from the bird-boy. Avians always looked so fragile. He took a step back as Ame released him, cold eyes narrowed at the younger boy. "No. No hugging." Though he might still need a taser, just for shits and giggles. "And you're welcome," he said as he shrugged his backpack back on, giving Ambrus a two-fingered mock-salute before ambling away. Coronaviridae Ambrus didn't stick around long enough to see the salute, pulling Ame back and cradling the ball in one arm as he closed the door. Once it was closed, though, the globe was immediately turned over to the Tale. "Got a name for her?" he asked, forestalling the little bird's oncoming low mood. Hefting the ball with a small huff of effort, Ame looked up at his Author, then back down at the bottle--and the fetus within it. The serious look in his bright eyes intensified with thought, before he pronounced: "Anahita." Undefiled."Anahita." It lent a somewhat creepy alliteration to their little household, but it was better than Ambrus's attempts at naming things. "Fine. Let's go find someplace to put your new sister." "O-K!" Damn it, and he'd just gotten used to the idea of having one kid.
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Posted: Sun Mar 19, 2006 2:29 am
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Posted: Thu Apr 20, 2006 1:50 pm
_______________________ // dreaming pursuit
In which Ameretat has a very strange dream, and Anahita punches him a couple of times. Coronaviridae Silent when he slept, warm and unmoving, Ameretat made an excellent pillow for a sleeping kitten, and so Anahita used him as one, small paws curled around her brother's feathers. With both his kids curled up on the couch having a midday nap, Ambrus had taken the rare opportunity to carry his paperwork outside, watching the sun creep across the sky as he read over lease agreements and tabulated numbers. Had he been inside, he might've had opportunity to be surprised to see his older child squirming in his dreams, taloned feet kicking at air and wings feeling for air currents that weren't there. Awakened by all the fussing, Anahita had tried punching her brother to make him stop twitching, and that got him to lie still a moment--but he didn't wake up, like he usually did when she punched him. Frowning a small and impotent frown, the Boundless flopped back down on her erstwhile pillow, closing her eyes and drifting back off to dreams. Dreams that were likely far more peaceful that Ameretat's. They had brought out the oars when the wind failed them, and the quiet steady splash of water lent a tempo to the coxswain's chant of "stroke!". He stood at the prow of the boat, fingers on the pommel of his sword and eyes on the darkness ahead. It was an incredible privilege, he knew, to given charge of the ship at such a young age, but acid worry gnawed at his guts and the position's honor was the farthest thing from his mind.
The wind had never failed them before. A few of the lesser birds had murmured about this, equating the wind with the presence of divine favor and wondering what they had done that God might abandon them so. He and the coxswain had hissed them into silence, upbraiding them for their lack of faith and shouting orders for them to unship the oars. They had shared a thought, he and the coxswain, as they did so--a traitorous, faithless thought--that maybe the little birds were right, and they had been abandoned to their own devices here in the belly of the beast.
Breaking eye contact, each had abandoned that thought to the back of his mind, and gone about rallying their crew. Back to work, they had said; there will be wind if God wills it, and if not--
A clearing of the throat at his elbow drew his attention; he looked down to find the keeper and her cage of butterflies, the poor lost souls huddling together in the center of their enclosure. "There's something following us," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. "I can hear it."
"Stroke!" shouted the coxswain. Oars bit into the water with a chorus of splashing and thrashing, then momentary silence.
Something--several somethings--dove into the water in that momentary silence. He fancied he could see them from here--the keeper put a hand to her face, drawing in a pained breath--sinuous, glowing, anguinous shapes. And they were gaining.
He looked back ahead; no sign of the sun on the other side of the beast. Not even the faintest glimmer of light, and not even a whisper of air hissing past the feathers of his face. The coxswain and the little birds had caught the urgency possessing their guardian and the keeper; "ROW, bless you all!" the coxswain shouted, the music of his voice breaking with strain. Trembling, the keeper turned her head aside, folding a wing around the cage full of butterflies. In the next drawn-out silence between strokes there was a hiss of scales on scales that was much too close, much, much too close--
Blind and silent, they took the coxswain first. Coils of ropy flesh threw loops around the little boat, making it buck like a stung horse. An army of tooth-filled mouths attached to the coxswain, who scarcely had time to scream before he was dragged under. The little birds--most of them--dropped their oars and sat dumb and frozen as the horror tore their caller apart in a spray of feathers.
He cursed them for fools. "Fly, all of you!" he shouted at them. "Get off the boat!"
Still, they sat unhearing. He gave them no more warning than that, for the horror was on the boat now, wrapping around the useless mast and crushing the little birds that didn't shake off its spell and skitter away. He put his arms around the keeper and her precious cage of butterflies, spreading his wings and leaping from the boat in a shower of sparks.
The keeper screeched. "Let me go, let me go--!" A tiny fist caught him in the solar plexus, and he dropped low enough to drag a talon through the water--too late, to notice the mouth rising to greet it, too late to pull it back..."LET GO ME!" Anahita shrieked right in her brother's ear. Ameretat started awake, dropping his sister. She managed to land on her feet, tail lashing as she hissed at him. Somehow they'd ended up all the way on the other side of the room from the couch--to which she stalked back, the fur of her neck bristling. How in the world had he gotten here?
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Posted: Thu Jun 22, 2006 12:53 am
( Much to the dismay of some members of his little family, Ameretat had discovered that he had more powers than simply soaking up languages like a sponge. It had been his unfortunate chance to discover it when Jenner had dropped in, raving like a madwoman and bleeding from no visible wound. She'd blamed Ambrus for whatever had happened and gone for his throat, swearing she'd kill him.
She lost all desire to do that when Ameretat demonstrated that he could set her on fire with a thought to protect his family. That got her out of the apartment rapidly, but not before the fire had caught and spread. Ambrus had been too hurt, and Ameretat too confused, to do anything but grab Anahita and get out of there with the rest of the building's startled inhabitants.
"Good thing I didn't keep anything I liked in there," Ambrus had said when the firefighters began arriving.
Lost in all the chaos, two-thirds of the little family had somehow managed to get themselves away from the ash and smoke, down to the park nearest their former apartment in the slummy part of Barton. Now they were settled against a tree beneath a battered black suitcoat, Ameretat with one wing around his little sister and Anahita fast asleep with one thumb in her mouth.
For the first time in his very short life, the little Tale felt cold. )
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Posted: Sun Aug 13, 2006 10:14 pm
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Posted: Sat Jan 06, 2007 3:49 am
(OOC note -- it's the dreaded filler post! This was actually my FS entry for Ameretat, gosh, a year ago, and it would've happened back in November, but I always wanted to make it IC for him. So here it is! Also, plox to be ignoring the fact the apartment in question sort of spontaneously combusted. Which I will be writing about. Oh yes.)
Two sets of footsteps intruded on the silence of the sepulchre; one the shuffling of a child trying to keep up with a longer-legged parent, the other the deliberate steps of someone long accustomed to moving silently. Someone who had to think about making noise. Though there was very little Ambrus Preston saw as wrong, it didn't feel right to creep around this place like a fugitive.
He didn't come here often.
Today was the first day in years that he'd bothered with more than a cursory visit, and that only because Ameretat had asked. He'd been tempted to turn down the Tale's request, flat, but curiosity--that old bane of his family--had set its teeth in and held on fast.
He was itching for a smoke, too; he'd left the box at home, to avoid Ame's inconvenient fascination with anything that burned. That was twice today the Tale proved an annoyance, but--Ambrus looked down at the child at his side, a rueful smile in his eyes but not on his lips--it was difficult to be truly annoyed with Ame.
Feeling eyes upon him, Ameretat looked up at his Author. The Tale's expression was his usual--eyes somber but the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. It reminded Ambrus of his brother, and that resemblance to Nexeu was something he wasn't sure he liked.
Forget it. He gave a brief shake of his head, fingers brushing the breast pocket of his shirt. The lighter was there, and the sticks of incense. No point in wasting more time. "We're here," he said aloud. "This is it."
The dark plinth closing the mouth of the cave drew the eye all on its own; Ambrus pointed anyway, a nervous tic in a man unused to wasted motion. Ame looked as bid, jewel-bright eyes wandering over the marks on the scarred stone. Ambrus did the same without thinking; seven irregular white scratches for seven years, so it hadn't been as long as he'd thought. He breathed a sigh into the frosted air, pulling his lighter and the sticks of incense from his pocket.
Ameretat had moved forward, leaning in until his face was almost pressed against the stone. The Tale had his hands up as well, palms nearly kissing the rock but not quite touching it. "Touch?" he asked, in a quavering voice.
"What was that?" Ambrus found himself knocked from his reverie.
"Can touch it, Father?" Ame turned about, no longer wearing his little smile, both hands open before him.
Ambrus winced inwardly at the use of the familiar. He was never going to get used to that, try as he might. "Sure. It isn't going anywhere." Satisfied with this answer, the Tale turned back to rest both hands on the stone, peering into it as if it held some sort of received wisdom. For all Ambrus knew, it likely did.
He knelt down, laying out the sticks of incense with slow care so as not to fragment them. Arranged in a line on the ground before him, they made a surprisingly pitiful offering--but Ambrus wasn't sure if he had the courage to return after leaving this place to get a better gift. Iau, if I could take back everything that I'd said and done before you died, he thought, then frowned.
He snapped the lighter open, cutting the thought off short. Ordinarily the sharp report of flint and hiss of the flame would have drawn Ameretat's attention like a beacon, but the Tale was entranced by the marks on the sepulchre stone. Ambrus was grateful for that as he touched the flame to the incense and soon the scent of cinnamon and myrrh filled the air. He rose from his crouch, dousing the flame and tucking the lighter back in his pocket.
"Ame? Are you done?" It would be good to get out of this place, his duties dispensed.
"One more!" The Tale's shorthand for "one more minute"; Ambrus heaved an internal sigh. At his feet, the sticks of incense were already curling into white ash; next time, he reflected, he wouldn't buy the cheap stuff.
"All right. I'd like to get out of here before it gets dark, so you know. Don't take too long."
"Okay."
Ameretat's fingers traced the lines on the stone, feeling out every turn and crevice of one white score before moving on to the next. His lips moved as he did; probably counting, Ambrus assessed. Ame had just learned the joy of numbers, and he had to count everything in their second-rate apartment--which got a little depressing when he'd started on the cracks in the ceiling and the stains on the carpet. You would have loved him, Iau. You two would have had the best time together, Ambrus mused. His ward had always wanted a little brother, though he'd never been inclined to comply. One child was enough, maybe too much, but she'd be gone soon anyway...
Ambrus's fingers knotted around the lighter; he had to keep himself from pulling it out again by force of will. Stop it, old man. There's nothing you can do about it now. Just--
A noise of distress from Ame's direction made Ambrus stiffen, immediately snapping alert. Was there danger? The feathers of the Tale's neck were fluffed out as if in fear, and his body completely still and his head raised like a hound scenting a rabbit. "Ame--Ameretat--?" Ambrus took a step forward, nearly scattering the incense.
When the Tale whirled to face his Author, it was with a low whimper in his throat and eyes bright with tears. Ambrus noted, distantly, that the air around them was heating up. Ame looked down at the incense, then back up at Ambrus, before retreating. "Nooo," he whimpered, the first of the tears spilling between the feathers of his face. "NoooOOooO..."
He backed into the stone, fisting his hands in front of his face and still whimpering. "No, no, no..." Ambrus loosened the collar of his shirt as the air got steadily hotter, taking another step toward his child.
"Ame! Tell me what's wrong!" Hotter and hotter; Ambrus gritted his teeth and bore on. Any moment now his hair would start scorching, and then the blisters-- "Use your words," he bit out, worried right into ridiculousness.
With nowhere else to go, Ameretat spread his wings, a vain threat response. "No! Don't want Father to go! Not your time! Don't die! Don't go away!" he cried, throwing out his hands as if he could stop his Author just by the gesture.
It was the sudden wave of scorching heat that followed that nearly took Ambrus off his feet. He staggered, nearly fell; caught himself just before he did and squinted with watering eyes into his Tale's aura of heat. "I'm not--" He broke off, coughing. "--not going to die! What made you think--"
His eyes slid toward the sticks of incense, rapidly disintegrating into ash. It was said at the end of five hundred years, the Phoenix would build itself a pyre of cinnamon and myrrh, upon which it would wait-- "No!" Ame shrieked again, grabbing at his head. Ambrus swore he could see little licks of flame. "Don't want to! Don't want--"
This had to stop or he'd be roasted alive. Worse, Ameretat would probably hurt himself--Ambrus didn't stop long enough to consider that, lunging to grab the Tale by the shoulders and hold him still. As his hands started to blister he immediately regretted that--he'd been in worse pain before, but he couldn't quite remember when-- "Ameretat! Stop this instant! I'm not going to die--not unless you kill both of us right here!" The words only seemed to cause the Tale to squirm more, still screaming no, no, no--
Ambrus shut his eyes tight, finding it very hard to breathe the burning air. At this rate he'd last maybe a minute, minute and a half before blacking out--mustering all his reserves, he shredded his own mental defenses and yelled, a single bell-like word invested with power to halt the cosmos if they would only listen, but oh, all he had to stop was this one curious, dangerous, lost little child-- "STOP!"
The silence that followed was deafening. Ambrus felt his grip slackening as blisters tore open and the pain worsened, to say nothing of how weak in the knees he was from heat-stroke... "For the love of God, Ame," he rasped, his voice scarcely a whisper, "if you love me, please--stop..."
As quickly as it had swept in, the heat started to abate. Ambrus slipped from standing to one knee, pulling a hand from his Tale's shoulder and brushing sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. Even this proved unbalancing and he slumped to rest a hand on the ground, wincing at the pain it sent jolting up his arm. It was so cold now--he knew he'd have to get up, find his coat, probably--do something about Ameretat...
Two little arms slipped around Ambrus's chest, a chin resting itself on his shoulder and feathers tickling his ear. "Sorry, Father," Ame whispered. "Am sorry. Was scared you...leave, would have to--"
"Ssh," Ambrus hushed. He managed to get his good eye open, putting an arm around the Tale to steady both of them. "It's all right. Just please, Ame--"
"Yes?"
Ambrus shut his eyes again, smiling weakly. "Don't do that again, okay?"
"Okay." The Tale tucked in close, burying his face in the curve of his Author's neck.
For his part, Ambrus sighed. In a moment, they'd need to get up and leave this place--with due apologies to Iau, moldering in her grave--but for now he was content just to be warm again. Who would have thought a musty old book and its simple "Tell me a story..." could end up like this...
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Posted: Fri Feb 02, 2007 2:02 am
Coronaviridae As the year had worn thin and passed away, the small household that some of the Preston family called home had only gotten smaller. First it had absorbed a new child, then two Dreams, then an entire family, then another child, and another, and another... If Ambrus didn't spend so much time away, he would have had a psychotic break by now, what with all the kids scampering about underfoot.
Still, it had been a good situation for most of them. Ameretat and Anahita had other children their own relative age to play with, with had blunted the little Tale's curious melancholy at having to spend so much time away from his Author--let alone others of his kind. Not a day went past, though, they he couldn't be found sitting on the bench out in the garden, staring over the plant-infested picket fence that was the boundary of his world (most of the time), wondering at what might be out there.
The last time he'd actually gone outside, he'd nearly killed Father, but somehow the icy lump of guilt in the little bird's chest didn't dull the longing to see something else of the world. He was engaged in this activity as the short winter day crept on toward evening and the house behind him came alive with the sounds of the other children squabbling over dinner--staring over the fence and wondering. Soon enough he'd have to go inside and make himself presentable, and soon enough Father would be home, distracted and smelling of blood, and soon enough he'd go to bed after another raucous dinner, and soon enough he'd dream...
Ame drew in a deep breath and let it out in a low, melancholy whistle. The mockingbird in residence in the old pine tree whistled back, then broke into his rendition of a frog--a sound that made Ame gape his beak a little in amusement. He smiled the wider as Anahita's piercing "NO! MINE! ME!" cut through the chatter inside the house, and shaking himself, got up to go back inside--
But he never got there. As soon as he put a foot on the ground, a curious lightness of head washed over him. He took a step back as if to sit back down on the bench, and his knees buckled, delivering him to the ground. He didn't get up.
The mockingbird in the old pine tree sang on, staccato chattering eventually blending into the happy sounds of the household as Ame's vision went dark.
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Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2007 12:48 am
A "gift" from Cee to one of her sick grandchildren.
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