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 Posted: Wed Oct 26, 2011 12:45 am
I.
He could smell paint.
Celsus, Page of Chronos, opened his eyes.
He stood in front of a large, wooden door, a good head taller than he was, and at least as wide. They were a dark mahogany, long years of abandonment warping the lines, contorting their once straight planks. Now there were scratches marring the smooth surfaces, dust gathering in the creases of the hinges and along the curve of the heavy metal doorknob. Celsus reached out a hand, fingers closing around the rough hewn knob and pulled.
Nothing happened.
"It's not that easy, you know."
The voice behind him was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar, low and and filled with a rich amusement clear even to the inexperienced ears of someone like Celsus. He turned around, hand still on the door, gaze landing on a pair of faded brown sandals.
No. Not faded. Transparent brown sandals; or at least, mostly transparent. There seemed to be a small bit of solidarity to them, but it was almost as if they were fading in and out of view, depending on which angle they were looked upon from.
The feet as well, matched the sandals in their strange appearance.
From the shoes, there seemed to be no pants - only a pair of strong, tanned legs that were very definitely masculine. An off-white tunic, plain and simple, was draped down past the knee, and over it had been thrown a thick cloth of dark, burnt orange, wrapped around one shoulder and falling against the hip of the figure. An elegantly lined face, a strong jawline covered in a thick, neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, pale green eyes, and dark reddish brown hair streaked with lines of courtly silver, were the last things to be discovered.
"Who are you?" asked Celsus, scrutinizing him. The man - if that's what he even was - laughed genially, his voice sounding oddly echoey, reverberating around the pair of him like a cocoon.
"You are late, Page," came the cryptic answer, the man before him giving him a gently admonishing look. "I had expected you much sooner than this."
The dark lines of Celsus' brows drew together as he frowned slightly, lips quirking downwards in a bemused gesture. He was not entirely certain what he was exactly "late" for. After all, this was his search to find his signet ring, was it not?
Then it hit him.
"You..." he said, scrutinizing the ghostly figure wavering in front of him. "You're...my ancestor, aren't you? Er, of some sort, I mean."
The figure's laughter rippled out again. "And, after some mental deduction, you get it. As expected of my great-great-great grandson."
This time Celsus' eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into his hair. "My - "
"Call me Aurelius. And I'm not entirely sure how many greats we're referring to here, so I suppose I should just call you my grandson. I've long since lost track of how many official 'greats' it's actually meant to be."
"Can I call you Obi Wan Kenobi, then?"
The smile faltered just the slightest. "Who?"
"Er. Never mind."
Celsus frowned, idly twisting the pendant dangling from around his neck. The symbol of Chronos was etched deeply into the fabric of each article of clothing he wore, from his jacket, to his pants, to the silver chained necklace currently being twisted around in his fingers. It was a reminder of who he was and who he was here for, and Celsus' eyes moved from the man back to the door again.
"You can go in, you know," said Aurelius, something mischievous glinting in his pale eyes. "Don't just stand here like a great, gawping fish out of water, Page. Open the door."
"And what," said Celsus, feeling a smile tug at his lips in spite of himself and in spite of of the fact that he had just been called a great, gawping fish. " - exactly am I opening the door into, might I ask? Though I suppose you have some sort of carefully prepared answer for that, something incredibly melodramatic and something that's only one short sentence to add to the effect."
The look he received was one of great amusement mixed with exasperation.
"Come, now, you're not supposed to be ruining an old man's plan like that. How am I supposed to be having any sort of fun if you guess what I'm about to do before I do it?"
Celsus gave a small snort of laughter. "Well? Go ahead and say it, then. What am I stepping into here?"
The grin on Aurelius' face widened.
"Why, your Wonder, of course."
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Posted: Thu Oct 27, 2011 1:05 am
II.
"I told you it was cheesy."
"The room, or the line?"
"The line. Clearly."
"All good lines are. But what do you think of the room?"
"The room? Well, it's...not what I expected."
"Is anything ever?"
"Good point."
They were standing in the doorway of a large, octagonal shaped room that spanned for what looked like twenty or so feet in each direction. There were thin windows, barely half a foot wide, tall and narrow in comparison with latticed glass that was dusty and dingy from years of abandonment. Something that looked as if it might have once been a neat writing desk was pushed up against one wall, filling all of the space there and covered with an assortment of yellowed parchment, broken quill pens and spilled ink, as well as several cracked, dusty old books that had probably not been opened for quite some time.
The walls of the room had once been a deep mahogany in color, though now they were scratched, their perfection marred by the deep grooves of time. At least three separate easels stood at various places around the room, their wood splintered and cracked, the paint on them peeling and off color. Spread out across each wall were dozens of shelves, some carrying books, others merely a resting place for various objects and miscellaneous knickknacks that were unfamiliar and intriguing all at once. There seemed to be no end to these - they were scattered throughout the place, laid carelessly on piles of papers, kicked accidentally beneath the desk and hidden away in the various drawers of the cabinets and desk.
A table - or at least, the space where they was a table, since it could not even be seen beneath the incalculable amount of things heaped on top of it - sat kitty corner to the desk, looking just as dignified and old as its counterpart. The surface could not even be seen under what seemed to be perhaps the entire stock of art supplies offered during that particular time period. Old, bone-handled paint brushes, the bristles thick and stiff; mutilated, ripped quill pens, overturned ink bottles whose ink had long since stained the papers beneath the, pages curled with age; charcoal, pencils, pens, watercolors, even dusty, dry sculptures that were half-finished - doomed to a life of incompleteness.
And, if one looked close enough, they would be able to see the small, single door on the other side of the desk, partially hidden behind large, faded emerald curtains draped across the windows it sat between.
"What's in there?" asked Celsus, gesturing to the door, but Aurelius merely shrugged, giving him a demure smile.
"I could tell you, but that's not nearly as fun as actually making you go into it."
"I don't like going through doors when I don't know what's behind them. Call it the 'Harry Potter Syndrome.' "
"The what?"
"Never mind."
Celsus lifted his feet, taking a few, slow steps into the room. The ceiling overhead was domed and ending in a point, tall enough for him to stand comfortably and not have to worry about running into anything. A broken candelabra stood on one of the many shelves, and Celsus reached out a hand, running his fingers over the smooth, cold metal. It felt foreign to his touch, but a warm sort of thrum made its way over his skin, as if that single object recognized who was in the room with it.
Well, that's a load of rubbish, Celsus thought, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand. That's an inanimate object. They don't have feelings.
...but, then again...I did get kidnapped from my home, transport to a big rainbow road, spend six weeks hoping from one space castle to the next, find out I'm a Knight of Chronos, get attacked by a giant black demon creature thing, kill giant black demon creature thing, fight giant black demon creature thing again, when it wasn't really dead in the first place, and then sent back home and told I had been under the influence of drugs.
Somehow a happy candelabra does not seem nearly as far fetched as it was before.
Celsus turned back to Aurelius.
"What am I doing here? What am I supposed to be doing here?"
His ancestor tilted his head, scrutinizing. "I had rather supposed you knew the answer to that yourself already," he said, with a cryptic sort of glance around the room. "You've come here because you know how to get here, but also to find that important something that all Knights need - "
"My sanity?"
" - your signet ring."
"Oh," said Celsus, with a melodramatic sigh and a teasing grin. His eyes moved across the room, sweeping over the aged, molding papers, the haphazardly thrown dried paints and brushes, smears of charcoal. All of the books, the knickknacks, the hundreds, even thousands of them making it next to impossible to be bored within the walls of this room.
"That was my next guess, of course."
"Of course."
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Posted: Thu Oct 27, 2011 4:12 pm
III.
"So," said Celsus, putting his hands on his hips and looking expectantly at Aurelius. "Where is it?"
Aurelius turned his pale, translucent head to lift a dark brow. "How should I know?" he answered demurely. "It's not my ring - at least, not anymore. You have to search for it."
Celsus turned back to the dilapidated, crowded room teeming with hundreds of little objects, books, papers, canvases, broken statues, unfinished carvings, smeared charcoal pieces, melted wax, and spilled ink.
"You expect me," he said, with a voice that held something like dubiousness in it. " - to find my ring. In, er...all...this."
He was starting to feel slightly exasperated, though mostly with himself. Aurelius, despite the fact that he was just a remnant of what had once been, was clearly enjoying himself. Celsus could not exactly fault him for that, though, (since he himself would have probably been doing the exact same thing, had he been on the other side), but it did not really change the fact that his great, great (times however many it took) grandfather was being not a great deal of help.
Especially since Celsus had the distinct feeling he would never really manage to discover everything that was in this room - at least not for several years. It was just the sort of room that he loved - the chaotic organization of a mess that had accumulated for years. Not a trashy mess, but one simply with a lot of things. It seemed as if his ancestor had been just the sort of person with whom he would have gotten along with quite well.
With a sigh, Celsus dropped down on his knees beside the desk and began rummaging around in the papers beside the covered table, idly pushing them aside. Most were scrawled upon in a language that he did not recognize - ancient Greek, perhaps? Crawling on his hands and knees, Celsus bent beneath the table to peer into the dusty shadows.
"Oh, did I mention?" Aurelius reached out a ghostly looking hand, looking down at it as if he were examining it carefully, apparently fascinated by it. "This room also has several little hidden drawers and compartments in it. I rather liked a bit of mystery."
There was a loud bang as the top of Celsus' head connected with the underside of the table.
"No, actually, I think you neglected to mention that," he said, crawling out from beneath the table with his eyes watering. "How am I supposed to find it here? It's like one giant puzzle box. I was never good at the Rubik's Cube, you know - I find yo-yo'ing is much more my forte."
Aurelius gave him a blank look. "The what?"
"Er, never mind. At any rate - " Celsus reached up a hand and rubbed his head where a large bruise was most likely starting to form. He sat back on his heels looking up at the man in front of him with a musing expression, as though he were not really looking at him.
"What exactly does my ring do?"
Aurelius had seated himself on one of the broken chairs, one leg thrown casually over the other.
"That is not for me to explain," he answered, eyes twinkling. "At least, not yet. You'll learn soon enough."
"You are, without a doubt, the worst p - guardian I have ever heard of."
More raised eyebrows. "Have you heard of me?"
"...no, but that's beside the point."
"Go back to searching, young Page. You'll find it soon enough."
"I highly doubt that. In fact, I think you're like Mushu."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know - one of those guardians who's not really a guardian, but who once was a guardian and wants to be one again, except he's kind of a spazz, so he makes all these mistakes and winds up convincing this girl to crossdress and enter the army, except she turns out to be pretty boss, and saves the entire Chinese nation with only a sword, a travel-sized dragon guardian (that's you), a cricket, and this guy named Shang."
Aurelius was looking at him with an expression of utter bewilderment that bordered on exasperation.
"Okay," Celsus conceded, lifting his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Maybe you're not quite like that, since, you know, you're an ancestor and all, not a guardian, but you get my drift."
"Not hardly," Aurelius replied dryly, amusement glittering in his pale eyes. "But I will assume you mean that as a compliment."
"You know what they say when you assume, right?"
"As a matter of fact I don't; but, by all means, do enlighten me."
"Something about you and me and a donkey - "
"Go back to searching, Page."
"On second thought, maybe I'll just go back to searching."
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Posted: Fri Oct 28, 2011 12:17 am
IV.
The room seemed as though it were growing and contracting with each turn of Celsus' head, though he knew that was not true. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying first the splintered, dusty bookshelves, then the paint spattered floor, which was partially covered by a sheet to protect it (clearly it had not been very effective). Reaching out, his fingers touched something spindly and gold, though he couldn't quite tell what exactly it was. Long tendrils of metal curved in a sort of spherical shape, clean and precise, the metal cut expertly and then doused in gold paint. It almost appeared to be an old fashioned gyroscope, but at the same time not quite.
Celsus set it back down on the shelf, where it caught a glimpse of light and glinted brightly for a brief moment before settling back into the shadows.
"What does the ring look like, exactly?" he asked Aurelius, who was looking at him with an inscrutable expression.
"You'll know it when you see it," came the expectedly cryptic reply, and Celsus rolled his eyes, despite his amusement. He supposed he should have been more frustrated with the vague answers, but he could not help but be entertained by them instead. Aurelius reminded him a great deal of his own father - which, now that he was thinking of it, made perfect sense, considering that Phillip St. James was the descendant of this Aurelius, wasn't he?
Celsus was not quite certain he knew how the whole ancestral thing even worked - except for the glaringly obvious conclusion, of course, but he couldn't be too sure of anything anymore.
He went back to searching. This time he sat at the desk, examining every inch of it with a careful thoroughness, not wanting to miss anything "different." He found one such panel; a drawer behind the main one, underneath a thin piece of wood, but it was empty except for a few layers of grimy dust.
"What's it like, being a Knight of Chronos?" Celsus asked, as he moved on to the bookshelves.
Aurelius gave him a thoughtful look.
"Illuminating," he answered, after a moment's pondering, and when Celsus gave him a curious and mildly bemused glance, one eyebrow raised, he laughed, shaking his head.
"I suppose...well, it's not easy," Aurelius went on, his tone quieting some to one that was more serious. "I was loyal to one person, after all."
"The Princess," clarified Celsus, and his grandfather nodded.
"I had friends, of course - good, strong friends who I would have given my life for. And I married and had children - clearly, since you are standing before me now, which means that my line is yet unbroken. It was a good life, but difficult; I found it sometimes trying to attempt to balance my personal life with the life I knew as a Knight."
Celsus, absently perusing one of the illegibly written books, frowned a little. His shoulder brushed against one of the shelves, and a small bag tumbled off of it, falling to the floor with a soft fwoomp. It was hard enough keeping this secret from Tolliver; how much harder would it get from now on?
Aurelius was watching him carefully.
"You will do well," he said quietly. "Do not worry, Page. You are young, but you will do well."
Something glinted in the corner of Celsus' eye. He half-turned, his brows drawing together, searching for the source of the unexpected light.
The little, unassuming brown bag he had accidentally knocked over mere seconds before had fallen open, its drawstrings loose. A few paintbrushes had spilled out, worn and used, but carefully and obviously lovingly attended to, the wood of their handles still shining. And, nestled among the supplies, was something small and gold.
Celsus knelt slowly down, his eyes fixed on the tiny object. His fingers reached out, closing over the cool metal as he raised it to his eyes, brushing the dust from its surface so that it shone brightly as if brand new.
Aurelius was watching him with a pleased, knowing expression.
"See?" he said, and his voice was gently teasing. "It wasn't that hard, now was it?"
Celsus closed his hand around the signet ring, the metal pressing into his palm.
"No," he said, with a smile. "Not hard at all."
Aurelius nodded, regarding him silently for a moment as if trying to figure out just what to say. It seemed he swallowed his words, however, because he said "Now. Begone with you. All this ancestral business is tiring for an old man."
Celsus snorted. "You're hardly old. You barely look forty."
A grin was visible on his ancestor's face even as Celsus began to disappear.
"I think I like you, Page."
And then, just as quickly as he had come, Celsus, Page of Chronos, disappeared from the room. [ Total word count: 3,185 ]
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