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 Posted: Tue Nov 15, 2011 2:51 pm
[ Bottle ]
 dew drops sparkling in the morning sun
Alastair stretched an arm over his head as he stepped out the front door of his small two story house, closing the door behind him. It was a nice cool morning, and a perfect time to enjoy a fresh cup of hot coffee. After taking a seat on the small step outside the front door, he brought the mug to his lips and took a sip of the steaming, bitter liquid. The coffee was like a small burst of energy heating him up from the inside, which was a great refreshment after spending most of the night holed up in his office working on writing.
Or trying to write. Alastair ended up scraping most of his attempts to get his thoughts down on paper and now had a small garbage can overflowing with crumpled up pages as proof of his failures. He sighed and hanged his head. His writing wasn't improving in the slightest. In fact, sometimes, he believed his skills were getting worse with each attempt. But he wouldn't let that stop him for long. He couldn't get better if he never even tried.
Alastair leaned back against the door as his gaze swept across his front lawn. The grass was overgrown and needed mowing. He knew he needed to cut it, and probably tend to his flowers, and weed. He could see the yellow flowering weeds dotting his lawn and cringed. He tried to make time to take care of garden, but life had a way of keeping him busy.
And there was no time like the present to get things done. Alastair set the mug down on the small step then stood up. He kept his gardening tools around the back of the house. The first thing on his list of things to do would have been to mow the lawn. But given the early morning hour, he decided to put that off until later in the day. He didn't want to make enemies of grumpy neighbors woken up by the obnoxious noise of the lawn mower running. He decided to do the next step on his list: tend to his flowers. Several of the flowers looked a little wilted from not receiving proper care. He would probably have to buy some new flower to replace the dying ones. It always seemed like such a shame to see a beautiful flower slowly wither away.
But there was nothing Alastair could do to help that when he couldn't make the time to ensure the health of his flowers. But he found gardening a soothing activity to do, especially after a night of frustration.
As he turned around the corner to the back of the house, something sparking in the flowerbed caught his eye. Surprised, Alastair turned course, heading toward the flowerbed rather than continuing toward his tools. What was this object glittering in the early morning light? Maybe some animal had tried to hide its latest treasure in his flowerbed, though they would have done a very poor job at that. Alastair crouched down before the flowerbed and brushed aside the flowers for a better look at the object nestled there. A small bottle rested amid the green leaves. It was a beautiful bottle, but that wasn't what caught his interest. Alastair stared at the little droplets looking like brilliant diamonds within the bottle.
"Such a curious find," he mumbled thoughtfully as he reached down to pick up the bottle. He stood up and held the bottle up to the morning light. He liked the way the sunlight made the droplets in the bottle sparkle. But how had the bottle gotten into his garden? He looked around but saw no one jumping out to yell at him for taking their treasure. He didn't even see any animals skittering about his yard. If no one was going to claim, he saw no reason not to keep the bottle for himself. He carried it with him as he headed back into his house, deciding to place the bottle where it would receive the most sunlight.
Life did have its little ways of altering his plans for the day.
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Posted: Tue Nov 15, 2011 2:52 pm
[ Dust Spin ]
dripping, splashing, in an endless trickle
Alastair sat in his den on the first floor. He had converted it into a cramped little library when he first moved into the house. Currently, he was reviewing some of his books and writing down notes to help with his next class lecture. There wasn't much room to sit anywhere in the room aside from the floor in one of the few clear spots. But he didn't mind that too much. He simply loved being surrounded by his books. To him, there was something warm and comforting about them.
As he prepared to jot out another quote from one of the many books opened before him, Alastair paused to listen. His house was normally fairly quiet, being only him living there. And he wasn't one to make a great deal of noise. But as he listened, he heard the soft splashes of water dropping to the floor. That was most curious. He was positive he hadn't left the water running in any of the sinks in the house, and none of the faucets were known to leak. He put aside the pad of paper and his pen then stood. He left his little library and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. A quick look toward the sink proved correct about the faucet not leaking.
But the sound originated from somewhere nearby. Alastair walked around the first floor of his house, straining his ears for the sound of dripping water. In a matter of minutes, the sound drew him to the small bottle that he left sitting on the window sill that received the most sunlight during the day. He stared at the bottle, marveling at it again for just a moment. Then realization dawned him and kicked him into action. He scooped up the bottle and rushed into the kitchen.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," he muttered to himself, keeping a hand underneath the bottle like that would somehow stop the water from dripping all over the floor. It failed, and little droplets splashed upon the floor, leaving a dotted trail behind him. "You poor thing! How did you get all wet?" He pulled out a towel from one of the drawers in the kitchen and started rubbing the bottle dry.
When he thought he had wiped clean all the water, he held the bottle up to the light and stared at it. The first time he saw the bottle, he could have sworn there had been only two or three little droplets of water inside. Now looking at the bottle, he found it nearly half filled. His jaw dropped open as he tried to think of how that could be possible. Since finding the bottle, he had on more than one occasion sat and stared curiously at the bottle. But he didn't recall ever seeing the level of water inside it rise. Alastair shook his head, hardly able to understand how this had happened.
Then, as he stared at it, water welled from the top and slid down the smooth surface of the bottle. Alastair blinked wide eyes several times. He wiped the moisture away with the towel then watched the bottle for several minutes. After some time, more beads of water slid down the outside of the bottle.
"Well, I'll be! Are you crying?" Alastair could hardly think of reason for bottle only half filled to be leaking in the manner that this bottle was. He frowned. He couldn't constantly wipe the moisture away, and he didn't want the bottle to be dripping water all over the house. The thought of the water damage it could cause made him pale.
He walked toward the doorway of the kitchen and stared about the front room. There had to be some way to deal with this new little problem. He wanted to be sure to keep the bottle in the sunlight, though he could never understand the reason for that thinking. Somehow, he simply thought the bottle would be happier in the sunlight. And that was an idea thing! Thinking that a bottle might have feelings.
As he looked about, his gaze landed on a small plotted plant that sat on the window sill near where the bottle had sat. He recently purchased the plant, a small cluster of violets. It seemed oddly fitting, now, that the violets grew in a ring inside the pot. Alastair walked over to the plant then carefully placed the bottle inside the ring of violets, not wanting to crush the plant. The bottle rested contently among the flowers, somehow seeming to fit perfectly there.
"You're going to be quite troublesome, aren't you?" Alastair asked with a shake of his head. "And now I'm talking to the bottle like it might actually respond." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. At least, he had solved the problem of the constant dripping of the bottle. And the violets would be well watered. He smiled at that.
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Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2012 11:17 am
[ Dust Spin ]
█ Who: Ciellas, Anouk
█ Where: Alastair's house
 a lesson in manners[ link] While in the midst of writing, Alastair hears a knock on his door and finds two unexpected visitors. [ in progress ]
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Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2012 11:19 am
[ Dust Spin ]
█ Who: Ashton, Ziya
█ Where: Coffee shop
chance encounters[ link] An average trip to a coffee shop ends with an interesting meeting. [ completed ]
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Posted: Fri Feb 03, 2012 11:22 am
[ Dust Spin ]
█ Who: Faust
█ Where: Coffee shop
the death of me[ link] After a trip to the grocery store and the bookstore, Alastair stops into a coffee shop. [ in progress ]
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Posted: Fri Apr 06, 2012 9:33 pm
Dew Drops.
(Dust Spin --> Child Quest*) It's a normal day, nothing special about it, and yet when Alastair wakes up, he finds that the air seems a little...heavy. There's an unmistakable moisture in the air, a sort of humidity that would be utterly random if not for the fact that the bottle nestled in the violet pot has gone into overdrive: not only are the violets now dead from over-watering, but the moisture caused from the green-house-like effect is threatening Alastair's greatest treasure: his books! If they get too wet, they may not be salvageable! What does Alastair do to save his home, his books? What does he do with Meital? Can he stop this from happening again, or will he find a means to deal with it just in case? *Please note, there's a minimum word requirement of 500 words for this quest.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 5:00 pm
[ Dust Spin ]
 gushing forth, breaking free at last, at last
The day was pleasant with the sun shiny and only a few fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the bright blue sky. While many people were out enjoying the lovely day, Alastair remained inside his house. He had papers to grade before his first class on Monday. But instead of reading over the papers, he had fallen asleep somewhere among the ramblings of one student who he was almost certain hadn't actually read anything beyond the first page the assigned book. The paper was duller than anything that he had read recently, and he nodded off without realizing. The pages of the paper fluttered from his loose grip onto the floor. His head tilted back against the back of his couch, and soft snores filled the quiet house.
But his midday rest was short lived. It felt like his eyes only closed for a moment before he stirred. Outside was pleasantly warm, as he recalled from having gone out earlier to pick up the newspaper to read as he ate breakfast. But now, inside his house, it began to feel hot. The air itself seemed to weigh oppressively down on him and caused him to wake from his nap. Alastair sat up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had passed out in a sauna before remembering that he had never actually ventured to a spa before in his life. What was causing this unusual humidity? The weather couldn't have changed so drastically in a matter of hours. Could it?
A splash caught his ear. He rose from the couch, twisting around toward the kitchen. Could he have left the water running all this time? The thought plagued his mind. Alastair hurried for the kitchen, but his foot slid from under him. He landed on his back with a loud crash as the air rushed from his lungs. The jolt to his head helped little in focusing his mind. It took some time before his thoughts to catch up to him, and he realized that his entire backside was soaked through. Pushing himself up, he surveyed the room. All this water on the floor couldn't be from the kitchen faucet, which as he thought about it, couldn't possibly have been left on. He distinctly remembered shutting it off the last time he used it.
Where was all this water coming from? It took two, maybe three, seconds before his gaze landed on the pot of violets. Or what used to be his pot of violets. His poor flowers looked beyond saving at this point with water spilling out of the pot. Another two seconds passed before it clicked in his head. "Oh!" Alastair released a startled yelp as he launched to his feet. There among the drowning violets was the bottle with water gushing out in stronger streams since it first started leaking. His hands went to his head, burying his long fingers in short brown locks. What was he going to do? There seemed to be no end to the water coming out of the bottle. If he didn't do something soon, it would cause more damage to his house than simply killing a pot of violets.
His eyes swept over the layer of water filling his living room. He needed to clear out the water before it damaged to wood flooring too badly. What did one even do in a situation like this? He couldn't recall a time when water flooded his house. But all worries about destruction to his plants and home were wiped from his mind as his gaze followed the river of water running through his living room. The edge of the water was creeping dangerously close to a door. THE door. The door to his most precious of rooms. The one room that housed his most treasured possessions."MY BOOKS!" The shout echoed through the house. Alastair dashed madly toward the door, ramming his shin into the coffee table then catching his foot on the back of the couch that he scrambled to jump and climb over - an attempt that failed colossally - and landing in a pathetic heap behind the couch. Back on his feet in a matter of moment, he rushed the final gap toward the door. His knees banged on the hard flooring, and he swiped at the oncoming water, trying to push it away from the door and reaching his precious books. But this was no solution. The water continued to come, and eventually he wouldn't be able to hold it off in this manner, which wasn't working very well anyway.
Hurrying into the kitchen, Alastair returned with an armful of towels. He crammed as many as he could under the crack to the door that led into his "library." To most, it would like a room filled with old, dusty tomes piled up on shelves or stacks on the floor with hardly room to maneuver through the maze of books, but for Alastair, it was his life. He had spent years, and a lot of money, adding to his collection. He couldn't imagine what he would do if they were ever ruined. Fall apart, maybe?
The towels would hold off the water for a while. He hoped. But it wasn't a perfect solution either. If he wanted to protect his books, he had to do something about all this water. But there was no end to it. The bottle had already proven its limitless supply of water. He couldn't really blame the bottle for this mess. Could he? He doubted that it had any control over the water now gushing from it. Still, he couldn't allow it to fill his home up with water and risk damaging his books. And everything else. But mostly his books. His first priority in this situation should be to remove the source of the water.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Alastair rambled in a mantra as he carefully scooped up the bottle from where it sat nestled in the drowned violets. He was trying not to direct any anger toward the bottle. Nothing was beyond repair just yet. Except the violets. But they could replaced. He carried the dripping bottle through the kitchen and out the back door. He didn't really want to leave the bottle alone outside, especially not now while something strange was happening. What was going on with this bottle anyway? He hadn't the slightest idea at this point. All he knew was that it was making a mess in his house. There was a clear patch in his yard where he planned to add a new flowerbed but currently was nothing but an ugly square of dirt. At least in this spot, the bottle would be in no danger of destroying anything or drowning any more plants.
"It's not forever," he assured the bottle as he placed it in the middle of the dirt patch. "I just need to clean up that mess and figure out a more permanent solution." He ran a hand through his hair, now dampened from his slipping and falling in the water several times. What was a permanent solution in this case? He couldn't stop the water, but he couldn't bring the bottle back into the house while the leaking was in such an uncontrollable state.
Back into the house, he stared at the water lined floor and scratched his head. This would take some time to clean up. Some of his students' papers had fallen from the coffee table. He cleaned those up first, though in their sorry, soggy state he wondered if they would even be readable now. He put those someplace off to the side where they wouldn't receive any more damage, deciding to deal with them later. After searching out his mop, Alastair set to work on pushing the water out the front door. He sighed, knowing he would have to go to the trouble of getting someone to come and check to make sure the wood wouldn't rot or mold. So much for that quiet, relaxing afternoon he had hoped for.
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Posted: Wed Jun 06, 2012 10:54 am
[ Child ]
taking flight on gossamer wings
Alastair sighed as he stood up straight, his hands on the small of his back as he arched it. Having been bent over on his hands and knees to wipe up the water for the past few hours left his back feeling sore. But at least the water mopped up now. He picked up the damp towels to throw them in the laundry for cleaning later. After that crazy experience that sent his heart pounding in panic, Alastair wanted to do nothing more but relax for the remainder of the day. But he still had the rest of those papers to grade, and try not to fall asleep again while reading through them. But many of them were now soaked from the water, and the writing had become fairly unreadable. He scratched his head, debating how to deal with this situation. In the end, he would probably have to scrap the assignment or give his students an extension to rewrite their papers. A handful of his students had begged for the extension from the beginning. Kneeling down, he picked up the papers, placing them in a soggy pile on the coffee table."EEEEEKKKKK!" The sudden shriek from outside startled him. Alastair tipped over, throwing up a handful of wet pages as he landed on his back on the floor. Where had that scream come from? He blinked in confusion as, for a moment, he stared bewildered at the ceiling. Then he scrambled to his feet and rushed out the back door, from where the shriek seemed to come. When he burst out into the backyard, a shock awaited him. His feet stumbled over themselves, and he nosedived into the ground. His blue eyes stared widely at the small child sitting where he had left the dripping bottle. Even after meeting the owners of the special children that came from the bottles and hearing stories for them, Alastair hadn't quite known what to expect when the bottle became a child.
The child - Meital, he reminded himself of the name that he had chosen for her - sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her head was bowed with her hands covers her head, like she sought to protect herself from something. Alastair tried to imagine what it must be like for her, suddenly coming into being as a child after being a bottle for so long. He could only think that the experience would be a frightening one. And he hadn't been there at the moment that she was born! He felt terrible that he hadn't been there. Moving forward cautiously, carefully, slowly, Alastair approached the cowering child.
He was surprised by how normal she looked. Thinking back on his past encounters with others like her, he remembered they didn't look all that different either. Ziya had seemed like a normal teenager. Alastair wouldn't have thought Ziya came from a bottle like Meital if they hadn't discussed it. When he met Anouk, he almost thought her icy wings were a trick of his eyes. The most noticeable difference in Meital was the color of her hair, which was soft green. Beyond that, she looked like any other normal child of her age.
"Hi," he said in a gentle tone that he hoped would come off as comforting. But it sounded awkward in his ears. He wasn't around young children often, and he never had to be the one to comfort a scared child. He was completely ill prepared for situations like this one. The feeling that he was chosen incorrectly to care for this child rose up in him again. How was he supposed to calm her? "It's okay. You're all right." He knelt down before Meital. For a moment, there was no reaction, and he thought he had already fouled up as a parent. Then she slowly lifted her head, though her hands remained close to her head. Their eyes met, and he offered a half smile, despite his complete uncertainty.
Meital flinched, ducking her head as another ear piercing shriek filled the air making Alastair wince. Something fluttered out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced at it. A monarch butterfly danced on the slight breeze. He almost laughed but bit his tongue, fearing it might make the child angry to be laughed at. But it was almost funny that the thing scaring her was nothing but a harmless butterfly. Trying to himself in her place, he doubted that she would find it as amusing as he did. "There's nothing to be scared of," he said, trying again to console the frightened child.
When it looked like he wasn't getting through to the child, Alastair stood up with a sigh. He watched the butterfly for a moment, following it with a keen gaze. The butterfly came to land on the ground near the edge of the cleared patch in his yard. Alastair moved closer to it then bent down slowly, trying not to scare it away. His hands closed around the butterfly, careful not to hurt it. Then he returned to the child. Meital gave him a wary look as he held his closed hands between them.
"It's not going to hurt you," Alastair said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. Then he opened his hands to reveal the butterfly sitting in his palms. Meital shifted away from him, her eyes glued to the butterfly. "It's completely harm-"
Alastair didn't get to finish for at that moment, the butterfly fluttered its wings. Meital screamed as she leaped to her feet and ran away. The butterfly took flight again, and Alastair sighed. Of all the things to be frightened of, he wouldn't have imagined butterflies to be on the list. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Already, things seemed to be off to a difficult start. He went after Meital to find where she might have hidden from the butterfly. Perhaps they would do better if he got her inside the house where there would be no butterflies to scare her.
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Posted: Mon Jul 16, 2012 10:44 am
[ Child ]
tiny droplets dancing, sparkling in the light
Alastair finished pouring two glasses of water then turned around. He paused as his gaze fell upon the young girl sitting at the table in his kitchen. Meital kicked her feet that didn't quite reach the floor. She looked around, taking in all of her surroundings. He wasn't surprised since everything was so new for her. She was much calmer now that he had brought her inside, away from the terrifying butterflies. But now he wasn't sure what to say or do. He had asked Ashton and Ziya what to expect when the child was finally born from the bottle. But he was completely lost now that she was here. So many more questions now came to him. He had Ashton's contact information. Paying the other man a visit was looking like a smart idea with each passing moment.
Alastair coughed, clearing his throat. Meital turned to stare at him with curious eyes. "Are you thirsty?" he asked as he set one glass on the table in front of her.
Meital picked up the glass and took a small sip. Now that she wasn't screaming at butterflies, she was rather quiet. Alastair guessed all of this was overwhelming for her.
"I have a room for you," Alastair continued, trying to think of where to start. He wished this was like teaching at the university. He knew what to do then. But she was a child, and lectures about novels probably wouldn't interest her. "It doesn't have much in it. I thought I should let you pick out the things you like to decorate it."
Meital wrinkled her nose, showing an expression other than curiosity for the first time since entering the house. "It's not pink, is it?" She said it like she found the color offensive.
Alastair stared, wide-eyed, then shook his head with a soft chuckle. "No, I left things white," he answered in amusement. "But if you like, we could paint the walls in a color of your choosing." He was glad now that he had decided against using pink to decorate the room. Part of him had worried that his guess about the child's gender would be wrong. He didn't want to make the room girly then end up with a boy.
"That's good," Meital said with some satisfaction. "Pink is ugly." She made a face, sticking out her tongue to show her unhappiness with the color. Alastair made a note not to get her anything pink in the future.
Meital placed the glass on the table, but she set it too precariously close to the edge. The glass tipped. It happened in slow motion. Alastair rushed to catch it. Meital gasped as the water spilled out of the falling glass. Then something strange happened that made Alastair halt. The glass hit the floor with a crash, shattering into broken shards. But not a drop of water reached the floor. Little balls of water remained floating in the air before Meital. They looked like little clear jewels sparkling when the light hit them. Alastair was dumbstruck with awe. He had made guesses about Meital's affinity to water based on his observations of the bottle. But it was another thing to actually witness what she could do with water.
"Can I see it?" Meital's innocent question snapped him out of his daze. Alastair gazed at her with a great deal of confusion. His mind failed him, and he couldn't fathom the meaning of the question. "The room," Meital prompted at his silence.
"Oh, right! The room," Alastair said, coming to life again. The teacher in him came out, and he pointed to the mess on the floor. "But first, is there something you wish to say?" The drops of water still hung in the air, but he tried not to be distracted by that bit of magic.
Meital stared at the broken glass. Then she lifted her gaze to Alastair. "Oops?" she said in question with an apologetic look and her shoulders hunched.
Alastair sighed, hanging his head at that response. He would have to work on that later. "Don't move," he instructed seriously, earning a pout from Meital. He grabbed a broom and dust pan to sweep up the broken glass. Maybe he didn't know much about taking care of a child, but he knew not to let her cut her feet on the glass. After the floor was clear and safe to walk on, Alastair said, "Okay. now we can go see your room."
Grinning with excitement, Meital hopped off the chair. The moment her feet touched the floor, the drops of water rained down, splashing over the dry floor. Alastair closed his eyes. The urge to scream out his frustrations at having to clean up more water almost won, but he managed to reign in that emotion. It was only another mess to clean up, and he guessed he needed to get used to that. Meital, meanwhile, delighted in the water that had splashed across her bare feet.
"Let's go, shall we?" Alastair led the way from the kitchen. Meital followed after him, eager to see her room.
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2012 9:51 am
[ Child ]
█ Who: Ashton, Fintan
█ Where: In town
second meetings[ link] Alastair meets up with Ashton for a second time before taking Meital shopping. [ in progress ]
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Posted: Wed Aug 29, 2012 12:50 pm
[ Child ]
█ Who: Wren
█ Where: The city
apply some pressure[ link] On a trip to the bookstore, Alastair has a run in with another Dust owner. [ completed ]
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Posted: Mon Nov 05, 2012 4:59 pm
[ Child ]
█ Who: Amadeo
█ Where: Outskirts of the Forest
i know you are, but what am i[ link] Given the opportunity to have a bit of fun, Meital sneaks off without her guardian knowing and meets up with a curious strange in the woods. [ in progress ]
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