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Dangerous Conversationalist
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 Posted: Wed Dec 05, 2012 8:10 pm
It was a little past lunchtime, and Genie still had not changed out of her bath-robe. Scattered on the coffee table in front of her were disorganized piles of photographs, phone-numbers, cigarette butts, and invoices. Just now they had all become too difficult for her bleary eyes to make sense of. Under the beam of her teller's lamp, the paper was practically blinding, and her left eye throbbed painfully at random. She had been sleeping in short intervals, and her waking minutes were spent mostly in a dizzying fog. With her fingers steepled under her nose, her chin supported by her thumbs, and lips pressed tightly to the joining of her palms, she sat on the sofa and wondered how it all could have gone so terribly...
Genie had been talking to Jezabroux at the time— Luka's guardian. It had been a picturesque summer afternoon the day the Lab had graciously arranged a garden party for the Raevans and their conservators.
While uncomfortable in the heat and sweat trickling down the small of her back, Genie had been showing Jezabroux a photograph of Basil she kept in her wallet, as he was not at hand to introduce personally. She remembered having stood by this man, who as of that moment was a complete stranger to her, her fingernail resting just underneath Basil's face when she had sensed a ripple of energy from the other guests. Heads that turned in unison, and voices raised in happy tones.
Having not traveled farther than the drink table all afternoon, Genie had been late to realize that an event had been taking place in which all the guests were invited to participate. Alarmed by Basil's absence among them, she had learned from those still present (with the help of Jezabroux) that over the course of two hours, Raevans had been introduced into the mysterious greenery that lay beyond the boundaries of the garden— A formidable, enchanted labyrinth in which the contestants would be subjected to trials, puzzles, riddles, and dangerous encounters, each tiredly returning to their friends and guardians once their journey had been decided complete. Some Raevans had traveled alone, but many had gone in pairs. Genie stood anxiously with Jezabroux on the sidelines waiting for the cobra to emerge —as she had gathered from his frenetic signature on the sign-up sheet— alone.
Paralyzed with panic, she could not help but grip the man's hand as tightly as she could physically allow, barring him from moving any farther than six inches in any direction. He was unnaturally forgiving of her frenzied tones and the clamminess of her hand, which posed the constant threat of wrenching his arm from the socket. At all sides of them, the crowd was uproarious with the thrill of competition as if making a mockery of her frozen terror. She recognized some familiar faces among the assembled. Vivi, the Frenchwoman. Dr. Kyou, their famous benefactor. Ebony Shade, with an aura of confidence to match her outrageous hair-color. All of them held in common by a complete lack of the apprehension she felt now. As each Raevan emerged, it was with a similar sense of amused satisfaction that chipped away little by little at what she was beginning to feel were unjustified fears.
Some of the Raevans had come out dripping wet. Some of them soiled, and others a little bruised, but nothing quite so distressing as the picture she had imagined for her own boy. With each arrival of a smiling, floating being, she had felt her grasp on Jezabroux's hand lessen into what eventually became a friendly, platonic meshing of the fingers, which too fell away when his luminous Satyr appeared from behind the hedges. Their parting was amicable, and Genie now felt comfortable waiting for Basil's return alone among the congratulatory masses. She stood tall and straight, her hands clasped in front of her and a light, welcome breeze riffling through her short, if unstylish hair. She hoped he had enjoyed himself. The others seemed to have had a wonderful time of it, standing around in groups of three or four to each tell their own miniature epic. She frowned. Was there a reason Basil had chosen to go alone? She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Was he not able to find a partner, or had his reputation simply preceded him? Under the deepening shade of a perfumy tree, Genie held onto the quiet prayer that he would be as overjoyed to see her as she would undoubtedly be to see him. Would he be discouraged about coming in fifth place? Or sixth? Seventh—?
By this time, the crowd had started to disperse, and it had been two hours since the winner of the maze had been awarded, with still no sign of Basil. She felt a chill creep up her spine, her skin prickling with static. The event was practically over and the party had resumed its natural rhythm. It frustrated her that no-one seemed to be very concerned for the Raevans still inside... Why should they be? Their charges had already been returned to them! At that moment, Genie had wanted desperately to shut her eyes and pray, but something was determined to keep her from so much as blinking. It was a quarter after five before she finally glimpsed a shadow on the grass. She took a step forward. Someone was approaching the archway. It was him! That was Basil!
Browning bloodstains streaked the front of his ravaged dress shirt, two buttons hanging barely by a thread. His wings, which had once been held high behind him like swords, now hung shattered and twinkling in the dim, orangey haze. His hair stuck out in all directions, stiffly peaked and tangled with bits of long-grass and bruised flowers, and on his face, he wore the dreamy, faraway expression that characterizes great trauma, with eyes large and unwinking. With each Raevan that emerged, a diminishing group of people had turned to cheer or clap as if to give the entrant their own personal celebration. The excitement and novelty of the event having long since worn off however, only a small handful turned away from their conversations to give weak and unconvincing applause to Basil's return. Most of them clapped only once at the sight of him, before a whisper spread quickly, infectiously through the crowd with patches of hushed, anticipatory silence.
There was Basil, dragging along with the heaviness of a sandbag, his hands outstretched as if to meet whosoever's arms would open for him. Those he sought to fall in might very well have belonged to Genie, had he not been sent floating undeterred into a covered table closer-by. He was pale and unnaturally still with a sort of fragile calmness, because no sooner had he made contact with the table did he erupt into a savage and terrified frenzy, bringing his fists to meet an enemy he could not see or defend against.
Genie cried out as she ran to him, trying to penetrate the veil of swinging limbs. Others raced out to help subdue him, as Genie pleaded with them to keep their distance. Their combined efforts made Basil only more desperate to escape. For a moment, she was certain that he had responded to the sound of her voice, his eyes darting to find hers, but when she had tried to pull him closer to her, his efforts to pull away were doubled. He broke through her arms, sending his full weight crashing down upon the wicker table below him.
The centerpiece of wildflowers practically exploded. Silverware jumped into the air, and a bread-basket went sailing overhead into a decorative fountain. Basil's hand tried to find purchase on the patterned tablecloth, which slipped effortlessly from the table and fell in a fluttering heap on top of him. Seizing an opportunity, three or four men conspired to hold the boy down, using the tablecloth to secure his arms, and all the while, Basil's hoarse and injured cries had reached a fever-pitch that bordered on unbearable to human ears. He had no legs to kick with, and no lower back that he could use to buck or twist away, leaving him to struggle unavailingly with his shoulders until forcibly pacified. Genie was there while the men conveyed him to the medical tent, looking not unlike a large, swollen maggot in his wrappings. She had rested her smooth cheek to his icy forehead to soothe him while they cleaned and sutured the slash they found in his palm, which had become almost black with encrusted blood. Fourteen stitches. His breath had come out of him in short, jerky cries as Genie assured them that he wasn't a danger. Not to anyone, even the men that sat nearby being treated for the bites and scratches Basil had inflicted on them in the struggle. He wasn't violent, and if he was, it was in the forgivable capacity that an animal becomes violent when it is scared. Forgivable, in that even the most rational human being can become scared. Basil was very scared, and needed to go home. That was the best thing for him, Genie decided, because she always knew best. Genie knew best, because that's what Basil had been raised to believe.
They had given him something to make him drowsy. Something to help him sleep on the drive. As Genie and one of the nurses carried him out to the car, Genie had encouraged Basil to place his face against her shoulder, cupping the back of his head in her warm, human palm. Concerned and curious bystanders followed the trio as they walked hurriedly towards the parking-lot, their eyes wide and scorching. Something that would have been terribly humiliating for the boy— if it had mattered. He couldn't see them staring. He couldn't see much of anything.
He was completely blind.
The doctors were baffled. There had been no signs of head-trauma or injury to the eyes themselves, although nothing was conclusive. Some suggested an advanced case of eye-strain or infection, and barring those, the only possibility left was a traumatic response to something that had happened in the maze. If that were the case, there was little they could do. There were no drugs, no ready cure for such an extreme response to stress. Basil would be blind, maybe for days, maybe weeks, maybe permanently. She had been reassured that because every Raevan was an individual, there were no rules, no averages. So although they could not give her a solid estimate of how long he would be affected, there was no reason to automatically expect the worst.
It had now been four days, and Basil had showed no signs of improving. When she had brought him home and put him to bed, he had stayed there for eighteen hours. She had checked him hourly, and each time found him tangled in the sheets in some strange contortion, as if he were having fits in his sleep. She was able to bring him downstairs for just a while, but something had changed in him, making him interior and distant. He had spent forty minutes by the window, and another twenty pacing between the couches. He muttered interminably to himself, but was not inclined to say one sensible word to Genie that might give her an idea of how to help him. Afterwards, he rarely left his bedroom at all. By the third night, Genie had started to suspect he wasn't eating, which was troublesome. She knew she couldn't force-feed him. Human food was no good to him. He needed sound, but how could you force-feed sound into someone? Only Basil could decide what he heard, and what he absorbed.
She thought to try humming to him while he slept, but after forty minutes of it, had decided that installing a radio would be a more practical and permanent solution. They had lots of radios and cd-players hidden around because their appetites necessitated it. It seemed to work for him, but Basil had taken to turning up the volume at incredible highs, sending her phone ringing off the hook with complaints from the neighbors. Genie was absolutely manic, because he had shown no interest in eating any of the noise he created. She tried to be patient, to be sympathetic. She went dutifully to his room at least a dozen times to turn down the set, only to have him turn it all the way up again. Eventually, he destroyed the radio by smashing it with a paperweight. After that, she was convinced he was being intentionally difficult. Message received.
The music box came after the radio, and she was surprised to have not thought of it sooner. Unlike most music boxes, it was not an item that held any particularly value to Genie. She thought it was tacky, with a little twirling cowboy on a rearing horse. The paint was chipped and faded from neglect, but for Basil's purposes, it would have to work. There was little evidence that he was using it to feed, though he was not as eager to destroy it. It distracted her at bedtime, chiming through the air-vents. She found herself fixating on it, sometimes until dawn, because it was the only thing she heard in the stillness of the night. Never Basil. Never moving or muttering or working on his crafts. She was worried, but not surprised by his detachment. By the third day, he had become so unresponsive, so downright miserable, she was certain he had lost the will to live. At first, she had sensed a deep and penetrating sadness from within him. A depth of emotion that he —or anyone else— would be hard-pressed to describe with any accuracy. Now, even that had left him, and he seemed totally removed from anything resembling a person. Mute, and immobile. He was degenerating, and getting worse, and she could think of only one thing to do before she would take him to the Lab.
She called Cordelia.
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Posted: Sat Dec 08, 2012 8:02 pm
After getting off the bus and floating a couple blocks in one direction, Cordelia stopped to check the address she'd written down on a now thoroughly crumpled piece of paper. Satisfied that she was indeed going in the correct direction, the girl quickly stuffed it back in her jacket's pocket and hurried on. Delia hoped she wasn't making Genie worry about her not arriving yet on top of what she was already worrying about. She probably would have gotten there sooner had she taken her grandfather up on his offer to drive her, yet the basilisk didn't want either him nor her guardian to get involved. She wasn't quite sure what was wrong with Basil, but she felt having more people there to witness him in his more fragile than normal state would only make things worse. Thus she'd merely let on to her humans that she was simply going to visit her friend, nothing more, nothing less. She was old enough now that they felt confident in allowing her to go out on her own like this, though it did help to ease Ebby's mind that the smoke Raevan was only a phone call away.
Once Cordelia had found the correct apartment complex, it was only a short ride up the elevator to find Basil's mysterious home. She'd never been there before and it had her wondering. Did he have a big bedroom to himself like she did? What was in? What sort of posters and decorations adorned his walls? Was it just him and Genie or was there more family there as well? All these petty questions flew out of her mind once Delia was finally outside their door. She was reminded of why she'd been summoned. On the other side was a friend in desperate need. Of what she wasn't sure, but Delia wanted to help if she could.
Gripping the handle of her violin case tight (she'd brought it to see if Basil would at least feed from her music) with one hand while rapping the knuckles of her other on the apartment door. When there was no quick response Delia knocked again, louder and even said softly, "Genie, it's me, Cordelia."
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sat Dec 08, 2012 9:44 pm
Slipping rapidly into a waking sleep, it was difficult for Genie to tell how much time had passed since she had made the call. There was a digital clock on top of the television she had been consulting with increasing frequency. When she had first sat down to leaf through the documents in front of her (then freshly energized from a cat-nap), it had beamed nine forty-five in squarish red numbers. She had repeated it to herself. Nine forty-five. Nine forty-five. Until it became nine forty-seven, and she was determined not to let the time get away from her.
Around the time her eye had started throbbing, she knew it was time to take a break. It had only been forty minutes, but sleepless and heartbroken, it had felt almost an eternity. She had made the mistake of shutting her eyes, just to rest them. She had been trying not to. She needed to stay vigilant. She had to listen for the door! But maybe just for a second... To her amazement, when she opened them again, the clock read ten fifty. Then eleven ten. Until it seemed that each time she blinked, she was losing track of tens of minutes in a kind of crooked witch-craft. It had been going on nearly all morning, and as a result of this distortion she had gotten very little accomplished. When she heard the gentle rapping at her door, she opened her eyes quickly, taking a deep, cleansing breath, and releasing it in a quivering exhale. She had heard the knock, but there had been some delay before she acknowledged what it meant. By this time, the clock had read as a watery blur of red and black. She rubbed sleepily at her eyelids, trying to clear her vision, and when she did, it was almost one o' clock!
She stood up from the sofa and hastily closed her robe. Another knock, louder and more urgent. The sound of Cordelia's soft, smoky tones. "Co-coming!" She rasped, followed by a loud sniff. She tried pushing her hair away from her forehead but didn't have an elastic to tie it back. She swore a bit more loudly than she had meant to...
She knew it was petty to worry about appearances, especially at a time like this, but the fact had not escaped her that this would be the first time Cordelia would be seeing them —Genie and Basil— in their home. After having already seen the decadent Gambino manor in which the Shades abided, and heard stories of Vyn's luxurious penthouse uptown, Genie couldn't help but feel that much more sensitive of their one-bedroom squalor. Of the dingy yellow kitchen-tile and the bottle-cap fridge magnets. She had convinced herself in the beginning that it would do Basil a world of good to learn humility early, and discourage an over-attachment to material things. It had certainly benefited her to pawn off her brothers' sweatshirts onto him, or buy him discount cds from the car-wash, and it was just gravy that Basil had never seemed to mind, or at the very least, was polite enough not to draw comparisons in front of her. Whether these were the values Genie had hoped to shape in him, she was still undecided. Somewhere, in a place she secretly —but frequently— acknowledged, was a buried trove of resentment that she could not provide Basil with the things she felt he deserved, and at that particular moment, it showed.
The sound of sliding keys and latches pre-empted Genie opening the door to meet Cordelia. If she had followed her directions correctly, she would be standing in the hallway of the third floor of the Gregarious Arms. The tenant building Genie had lived in for the past six years. She would find herself in a long, unfurnished hallway with rows of identical brown doors and stained carpeting. Standing there in a dim square of light, Genie did not try to create any illusions about their home, or her feelings. She looked and acted exactly the way she felt, and maybe that was for the best. "Hi, honey." She said in a voice a bit above a whisper. She did seem genuinely pleased that Cordelia had made it, but conveyed it subtly, and without the slightest hint of a smile. She stood back, opening the door a bit wider, "You can come in, it's alright." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to say that. Cordelia didn't seem too badly shaken by the trip. Concerned, maybe, but not nervous to be so far out of her element. To have traveled this far on her own. She was a confidant, capable sort of girl, Genie decided. The kind that could do things for herself. Basil wasn't so much younger than her, and Genie would never have trusted him with such a huge undertaking as this— If it were Cordelia that were ill.
She shut the door behind them, wiping her mouth on her palm. She was hesitant to make eye contact, waving her other hand vaguely to the left, "He's upstairs."
By upstairs, of course she meant the loft. Basil did not have a traditional bedroom, but occupied a sort of garret above the main area. A windowless snake's den with a low ceiling and poor ventilation where heat rose and pocketed, making it almost unbearably stuffy and claustrophobic all throughout the year. It was arguably unfit for contemporary human habitation, but for Basil's purposes, had served him very well. The downstairs was more open, the kitchen and family-room merged into a single stretch reeking of food and people. Some ventured to call the place comfortable, in the way a cottage in the woods is comfortable, but today was not a day for comfort. With the curtains drawn, they were left with only a table-lamp in the living-room and a fluorescent bar above the sink for light. As a result, the apartment had taken on a dank, heavy atmosphere, as though the occupants were in mourning. As if somewhere there were a body on display...
Genie leaned against the counter for support, basking herself in the ungainly light from the humming fluorescent bar. It aged her by at least ten years, making her sickly and yellowish. She cupped her mouth and nose in her palm, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply through her fingers. She then tilted her head back to look at the ceiling for a moment. "I told you a little of it over the phone," She started uneasily, looking down again. "Not everything, of course. I mean, I guess it's not all important but..." She held her stomach as though there were an ache there, keeping her eyes mainly on the floor. While they spoke, her gaze only occasionally, politely flicked Cordelia's face, which at this particular moment, suggested Basil's too greatly for her comfort.
She stepped forward to lay a hand on the basilisk's cool shoulder, gripping it slightly, "I don't expect you to do anything special. Just sit and... and talk to him?" At some point she had started nodding, and found it difficult to stop. Her head continued to bob as though it were on a spring, "Can I get you anything? Do you, I don't know, have questions?"
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Posted: Sun Dec 09, 2012 8:45 pm
Though Cordelia's voice could only reach a certain volume on its own, her hearing was a much more heightened instrument. When still no answered came, the snake strained to hear for any signs of life within. She had began to worry that maybe she was too late and something horrible had happened, yet luckily the familiar cadences of Genie's voice called out, albeit a tad worn for wear, but hers all the same.
It was no surprise when the cobra's guardian finally opened the door to the residence and she looked a frightful mess. It would have been odd if the woman looked anything other than disheveled after sounding somewhat hysterical over the phone earlier. Somehow seeing Genie like this, although concerning, was touching and made Delia see Basil was most obviously cared about.
Delia made no mention of how this place was way smaller than she had expected. No mention of how the place could have been kept a little nicer. Or how the aura enveloping the entire place felt like a dark curtain of mourning right now. No, Cordelia floated in and listened to whatever it was Genie had to say. The basilisk's brows knitted in a concerned frown as she saw how the woman cupped her mouth with her hand as if to keep herself from sobbing right then.
Questions? Yes the smoke Raevan had many questions for the guardian. Like did Genie know of Basil's harsher other half? If so, was he the reason for all this? She was half expecting it was something that 'Other' had done to get Basil in this condition. She pretty much suspected that he was the reason for most of Basil's mishaps to be perfectly honest. But now wasn't the time for that. If Genie didn't know it would only add to her stress to find out like this. Cordelia shook her head to refuse any sort of refreshment of any sort, not like she really needed it after all. She could forgive the woman for being a bit forgetful at a time like this.
Gently the girl patted the hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort the human. "Well I don't want to just go rushing in there or anything. You said he couldn't see right?" She'd be dumb to go in there with a blind snake. Especially since she couldn't be certain if it was Basil or the 'Other' in there right now.
Setting down her case on a table Delia snapped the lid open and removed her glossy, black violin. Basil seemed to have a positive response to her music before, maybe it'd be enough to cut through this...whatever it was. A quick tune before she held her bow at the ready. "Let's take this nice and slow. See if he'll come out of his room on his own first." The Frei began with a soothing lullaby that she hoped would, if anything, calm the cobra boy down should he be anxious or anything up there.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sun Dec 09, 2012 10:15 pm
She nodded a bit more meaningfully than before, carefully lowering herself into one of two chairs at the small plastic table where Basil did most of his scribbling and sketching. He was a prolific artist, the small apartment littered with paper-stacks and folders of his work. Many of these were predictably abstract, favoring vague splashes of color, or harsh, aggressive brush-strokes. Some pieces were purely fanciful acts of a bored hand. Others were more disturbing. Regardless of their quality or content, Genie made a point of keeping each and every one. Even now did she tenderly touch one of many crooked pen-marks on the tabletop.
He had been sitting in this chair the morning of the accident. Sitting here in the dark, fully dressed. Waiting.
"He can't see at all," she affirmed, "Or at least, that's what he's been saying. He's been like that since the party. I don't know if it's gotten any better since then, or what. He doesn't tell me anything." She held her forehead in her hand, shutting her eyes to deny the tears forming there, when Cordelia's violin case then clunked heavily on the wobbly table. She hadn't even noticed that Cordelia had brought anything with her. She swiped her eyes quickly on the back of her forearm, "Oh, I don't know about that, sweetheart... Last I checked he was sound asleep. That's all he does is sleep— that's the reason I called. He's been laying there for two and a half days."
Genie set her mouth into a hard frown. She supposed it wouldn't do any harm to try things Cordelia's way, when all of Genie's efforts had made things only incrementally worse. She still found it unlikely that even a tune on Cordelia's violin would encourage the boy to heave himself out of bed and appear in the doorway after three days of vegetative behavior, but if Cordelia's playing could summon some kind of reaction— any kind of reaction, it would be enough.
She had to admit, Cordelia was very talented, both articulate and expressive in her playing. It was no wonder that Basil should take a liking to her styles, although she did not claim to understand the intricacies of his palate.
The basilisk had been playing for almost a full minute when the tremors began... They started at a low frequency. A very low frequency that Genie would be unable to hear, but could fully perceive. A sort of tingling, vibrating sensation in her guy that steadily increased in force and impression. Genie jumped forward to keep a mug from vibrating off the table, bracing herself when the lights began to flicker and papers fluttered out of their hiding places. The windows rattled in their sashes, and a few cabinet doors swung open. During this calamitous period, Genie made a gesture as if to assure Cordelia that it would be over in just a moment. Luckily, having no legs to lose balance with, Cordelia would not be quite as affected as a human, and Genie was only thankful to have been sitting down.
Gradually the vibrations waned and softened, then stopped completely. They were followed by a short period of heavy male breathing, then silence. Genie shut her eyes, taking a moment to savor the calm.
"Don't worry, he's been doing that. Not often, but sometimes." She stood up slowly to begin collecting things off the floor. "I don't know what it's supposed to mean... At first I thought it was because he was having sleep terrors, but then, it can't be a coincidence that he'd do that now." She stood up with papers in hand, casting a despairing glance at the staircase nearby, "In any case, I guess he's awake..."
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Posted: Mon Dec 10, 2012 5:20 pm
Of course it was no coincidence. Being a snake herself, Delia knew how sensitive they were to vibrations. She knew that Basil was even more sensitive than herself given the nature of his abilities. Thus she was not completely surprised when the tremors slowly began while she played. Yes it was very lucky that she had no lower half anchored to the ground like Genie, so she remained upright, yet the vibrations in the air were enough of a distraction for her that it took a considerable amount of concentration to keep herself playing without fault. Any major slip and the tremors could become worse than they were. Cordelia sighed when the tremors finally started diminishing as her song came to an end.
The basilisk sat for a good moment, contemplating her next move. If Basil was awake now, should she say something to him? Yet she hadn't the foggiest of what she would say if she did. Instead the girl decided to play another song. It was the same song she'd played for the cobra the last time she'd seen him. The night he kissed her.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Dec 10, 2012 7:27 pm
Genie had just finished returning the kitchen to a state of normalcy when she noticed the girl readying for another song.
"Oh!" She cried, holding out a hand. She wanted just a bit longer to tidy up. Some time to secure her valuables or lock the cabinets if the vibrations should start up again. She wanted to ask Cordelia to wait, but held back at the last moment, thinking better of it. If it was Cordelia's music that he responded to, maybe they could rouse him into sitting up, or even talking. Both were exciting prospects after he had spent this long with all the vitality of old lettuce. Wanting to make as little noise as possible, she slowly, carefully sat down again.
She was unable to identify the piece that Cordelia had chosen to play next, swaying in her seat to some intangible, unexplainable quality that only came with emotional investment on the part of the player. As beautiful as it was, it had been a full minute with no results, and she feared all this effort was going to waste. Looking into her mug, she was disappointed to find not even a ripple. Maybe it had only been a coincidence. Maybe those vibrations cost Basil more energy than he could afford. Maybe they'd lost him. To her credit, Cordelia did not seem so willing to abandon hope, and would continue to play through to the end. Genie had reason to believe the girl might even play the song on a loop if she suspected it would help.
It was another minute or so before Genie finally detected something. It did not have the same presence as the vibrations, or resonate inside of her as viscerally, but reached her anxious body nonetheless with the same fragile promise of something. She looked eagerly into her mug to find a slight disturbance there, and stood up quickly, urging Cordelia to play more softly so she could listen. She held up a finger, glancing uselessly at the ceiling. She continued to hear the twinkling of the music box, but felt something behind even that. It was dull, but rapid, like the sound of someone tapping on a hollow wall.
"Hear that?" She whispered, almost imperceptibly.
By this time, she had gripped the neck of Cordelia's violin to keep her from playing altogether. That's when the sound asserted itself, as if to fill the new void of silence. Growing louder. Racing. Pounding. Before long, it was entirely self-evident. It was a heartbeat. It was Basil's heartbeat, amplified by his own power, becoming just loud enough to be conspicuous before fading away. A message? A hope?
Genie shook her head, "That's... incredible."
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Posted: Sat Dec 15, 2012 6:22 pm
Cordelia always found it better to concentrate when she shut out all else besides the music. Closing her eyes she could almost see the notes play behind her lids as if they were tangible. If she were aware of anything Genie was doing or saying it was almost guaranteed to be ignored. Instead of playing more softly like the human wanted, the Raevan's music only began to steadily pick up in volume. Her hatred of water was only matched by her absolute dislike of silence, a common enemy she felt she shared with Basil.
The music engulfed basilisk was only slightly aware of something accompanying her strings then. Leave it to the cobra to butt into her playing one way or another. She wasn't mad though, a tiny smile developing on her dark lips. It meant her plan was working. If she just played a little longer...
But that didn't happen as her playing was stopped so suddenly by the strong grip of another on her beloved's neck. It was enough of a surprise and shock that Cordelia couldn't help hissing threateningly at Genie. Was she mad?! Was she trying to break her instrument?! Hastily the dark girl yanked her violin away from the woman and checked it for any damage.
Satisfied that everything seemed well with the string despite great disrespect, Delia turned back to Genie in an attempt to scold the guardian. Her rage wilted when she saw tears in the woman's eyes. It was clear now the other hadn't meant to do what she had, Genie was only trying to get Cordelia's attention the only way she could think of at the time. Still...,"Please don't grab my violin like that again, you could have broken something. Next time a simple tap on the shoulder would suffice."
Feeling better at getting that off her chest, Cordelia sighed. "Sorry for hissing at you by the way." Suddenly her silver eyes lit up with an epiphany. "Hissing! Of course!" Quickly the basilisk placed her violin back in its case before floating closer to Basil's room. Clearing her throat first, Delia's smokey tones continued on in parseltongue. "Basil? It's me, Cordelia. I came to see you. Are you awake?"
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sun Dec 16, 2012 11:13 pm
From the difficult, albeit educational experience of raising Basil, Genie had been certain that of its many rewards, a comfortableness with snakes would be among the first.
Basil had shown Genie his teeth many times. She had been bitten by him, and had glimpsed his splintered eyes in a poorly lit room. Although his antics did not do much to maintain the elegant reputation of serpents, he was nothing if not as mysterious, and potentially as deadly. She thought one day she might become desensitized to the raw, reptilian essences of him, or learn not to flinch when he should suddenly darken her doorway in the middle of the night. That one day she would not blink so suddenly when she felt a drop of his spittle cling to her cheek after a hiss, or a chill up her spine when his eyes should flicker between human and animal.
Sadly, it would not be so simple. Although on the outside she had achieved this facade of strength, seeming totally unrelenting for fear of causing Basil to question her authority, she would never truly be rid of the clenching in her stomach, or the way her teeth set together, much like they had done when Cordelia coiled, and spat at her.
In that moment, she had been genuinely afraid, a hand flying to her chest and eyes like saucers. By human standards, the girl was very lovely— with strong, dark features and the sensual, smoky overtones most young girls would have killed to possess. She had a face that was disarmingly, and eerily beautiful. So much so, that to see it warp suddenly into something savage and dangerous in the middle of her kitchen had been too shocking, too unexpected. And then to lapse so effortlessly into a girl again!
At that point, Genie was not quite as terrified, but certainly uncomfortable. It was a two-punch combo. The slap of a serpent's snarl, and the stinging awkwardness of human scolding. Mumbling part of an apology, she went quickly into the grim recesses of the apartment to nurse her pride, and be away from any further hissing. Although having heard the girl's own apology from the other room, she did nothing to acknowledge it, holding her forehead in her hand.
She had done her best to bridge the distance between her world and Basil's. To create an environment for him in which there would be no distinction. She felt that Basil needed to become familiar with human attitudes and behaviors so that he would not go hissing at every little thing that displeased him, or worse, biting at everything that frightened him. It was like a juggling act of instincts and sensibilities in which there would inevitably be times that he could not do without the help of another snake, and these were the services Cordelia provided, even if they unnerved Genie so much, she could not remain in the room with them for long. As the slithering tones found their way into the cobra's dark, desolate chamber, they lingered for a while, hovering about the boy's head like the flies he so often mentioned. However, they did not travel with the tender message Cordelia had intended.
Basil could not understand Parseltongue...
Ordinarily, The Other might have helpfully translated, but without his whispering presence, it was only noise to him. An electric, confusing noise he knew he was meant to understand, but for whatever reason, was not equipped to interpret, teasing at him like a person who's name he could not remember. It only seemed to agitate him, and what followed next were not words, but the startling explosion of ceramic as he hurled his music box towards the wall, the item shattering so violently, that it sent several shards leaping down the stairwell and spinning across the kitchen floor. A surprising effort for someone who had eaten and moved so little.
"Basil!" Genie cried in shock, turning around. There was a stretch of silence, then the beginnings of another tremor, just strong enough that she felt the need to hold onto the couch for support. "Basil!" She said again. More silence, which was then followed by a thin, tortured moan. She went hastily into the kitchen again, robe flapping around her legs, "Oh God..." She murmured, standing anxiously with Cordelia at the foot of the stairs. The path was L-shaped, taking a right into Basil's loft, leaving her unable to see anything at the top but darkness, and the faint, white plaster of his walls.
"Basil," she called, voice wavering, "What did you do?"
More silence, long and definitive. Genie shut her eyes, and wrung the sash of her robe in both hands, "I'm getting scared! You need to say something, or I'm coming up there!" The silence persisted. Just as she took her first step, she heard a voice call back to her. She hesitated. It was not Basil's voice, but a borrowed one. A familiar one, in a flat, female tone.
"The party you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please hang up, and try again..."
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Posted: Mon Dec 17, 2012 6:26 pm
Cordelia didn't know what to make of Genie's retreat, but it was the furthest thing from her mind really as she waited anxiously for a response from Basil. Though when it finally came, the girl had wished she'd never thought to speak with the serpent's tongue. She physically jumped and cringed at the sound of something hard, yet breakable hitting some wall above. She watched wordless and slightly fearful as the remains of whatever the cobra had smashed came tinkling down the stairs.
When Genie came back in yelling at Basil while he treated the place with another of his ability induced shakings, Delia wasn't sure whether the woman was asking him or her what they'd done. Those words though, even if not aimed at her, was enough to make the basilisk feel bad. It was her fault after all. If she hadn't spoken to him like that then he wouldn't have gotten upset like this. Yet again Cordelia wasn't one hundred percent sure whom she was dealing with at the moment. Judging from the primadonna sized tantrum just now though, she was still thinking it was the Other of whom was up there at this moment. For as far as she could remember, Basil had never been so dramatic and violent.
When that familiar female voice greeted them, Cordelia felt Genie make a move for the stairs. Quickly the black Frei spun around to place herself in the woman's path and effectively stopped her forward movement with her hands. "Genie please! I'll go instead. I have abilities I can use to avoid being hurt if he..." If he what? Suddenly went on a rampage or something? Again she feared it was the Other they were dealing with and if so, for Basil's sake, she had to protect Genie.
Delia sighed and finally let go of the human, "I just don't want to see you get hurt is all. So I'll go." She said it again not to be brave, but to make Genie stay put. Honestly she was a little scared to go up there by herself. Yes she could turn to smoke, but what if she did so too late or what if Basil had some unknown ability to counteract her own? Then what?
Taking a deep breath, the basilisk floated up to the opening slowly. She didn't want to surprise him if possible. "I'm sorry Basil. I didn't think you would mind me speaking our native tongue. I just wanted to talk with you. I missed you." Her silver eyes peered into the darkness, hoping to find a similar pair that were friendly.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Wed Dec 19, 2012 5:44 pm
For only half a body, Cordelia made it surprisingly difficult for Genie to get around her. "No, I know what he's like! I can help! Get out of the way!" She knew better than to put her hands on the girl, not that she had any intention of pushing her around. She only wanted to get through! But from the look in Cordelia's strong, unblinking eyes, it was obvious she wasn't going to budge. She had meant every word, and although they had been delivered with the politeness of a request, they both knew a firm command was just underneath.
Genie's face colored with frustration, her hands balling tightly at her sides. She looked ready to say anything, most likely something she would regret. With a whine at the back of her throat, she then shut her eyes, and let all of it out in one, great sigh. The girl had won. Even Genie did not know everything Basil was capable of, and she seemed to have only their best interest in mind. It wouldn't be as satisfying as taking matters into her own hands, but she had to begrudgingly respect Cordelia's ability to stay calm in times of crisis. Genie had been a pillar of strength long enough. She had seen Basil through many tough times, but now she felt herself buckling under the strain. She was failing them, and it was time to step aside, and accept help. She needed to admit that she did not have all the answers...
"Okay," she said softly, "Okay. We'll do it your way... You've already done more for him in an hour than I could in three days." She went to the sink to splash some water on her burning face, then pat it dry with a gray dishtowel. With her back to Cordelia, she added, "I guess I should tell you to be careful, but I really don't think he's got the strength to do anything..." She was as reluctant to finish the thought as Cordelia had been. It didn't matter. They both knew what she meant, and what was at stake. She tightly gripped the basin. "Well, just be careful." She said again, turning over her shoulder in time to watch the girl reluctantly enter into the darkness.
---
Not unlike the interior of his head, Basil's bedroom was a cluttered, poorly lit, and poorly ventilated space. It was very warm, with the kind of heat that magnified the smells of dust and body odor when kept in close quarters, and made visitors instantly sluggish. Genie had only recently been able to form a path to Basil's bed between the towering piles of junk and cardboard boxes, which continued to grow exponentially no matter how much she seemed to throw away. There were more paintings here, and even more disturbing sculptures, many of them neglected or destroyed under weight-laden trash-heaps. There were also a variety of instruments, many of them salvaged from yard-sales and pawn-shops. A theremin, his most recent acquisition, sat on a long-legged table near a tilting and spartan bookshelf. It sat there alone, as though intentionally held above the litter and debris. It made enough sense, Basil had devoted many hours to it. It needed to be easily accessible. Although possessing the abilities to play any one of these instruments skillfully, Basil had found himself deeply prejudiced against the woodwind and brass instruments, preferring those in the string and percussion families. Things that banged and hummed and resonated. Cellos and bass guitars were among his favorites. Things he could hold tightly against himself, closing the intimate distance between his rune and their energies. He had deliberately avoided violins, refusing to purchase, or play them. That honor he reserved for Cordelia.
There were only two sources of light. A fixture that hung above the stairwell, which had been kept off, and a battered standing-lamp at Basil's bedside, shrouding him a soft, sickly halo. This was a light that did not clasp edges with that of the downstairs, leaving a shadowy membrane of darkness in between them that Cordelia would need to pass through to reach him. Basil's bed had the most presence of anything in the room. King-size. Originally a four-poster, piled high with thick, woolen quilts that were both warm, and tear resistant. At his bedside, it appeared as though a small shrine had been built to urge his recovery. A seemingly random assortment of bird-whistles, spoons, magazine pages, and pens. Genie had made many visits to this spot, always with some kind of offering. Something she thought he might like. In a way, Cordelia was the greatest and final contribution.
Although having spent a considerable amount of time asleep, he looked anything but restful. The cobra seemed small and diminished under the excessive application of blankets and coverings, his head practically swallowed by cushions. Any logical person would assume he was burning up, but he had not even broken into a sweat. No human could have tolerated it, but Basil could, and for many of the same reasons, Cordelia could too.
He lay on his right side, and would have turned over had the quilts not been so heavy. One arm dangled limply over the edge of the mattress, presumably his throwing arm. He breathed almost exclusively through his mouth, his hair coiling and meshing like vines across his neck and forehead. Even now did it rebelliously conceal one eye, the other half-lidded and staring out like a marble, unable to focus. He did not seem to be as starved as Genie had described, but there was evidence of withering. His muscle lacked tone, and from what little could be seen of his face was drawn and off-color. His injuries too did not seem to be as apparent, save for a darkening and multi-colored choke-bruise that appeared just above the fringe of an afghan. A parting gift from the minotaur.
Even without saying as much, Cordelia did not arrive without introduction. He could hear the whisper of her clothes. The ticking of her heartbeat. His hearing seemed to be growing more sensitive every day. It was likely he heard everything that went on in the house. Every word and every footstep. Still, his reaction to her presence was ambiguous. It was as though his face had lost the ability to form meaningful expressions. For him, this was a sadness so profound, that it had robbed him of everything else but. It denied him the ability to move, or speak, or even scratch an itch, like a waking coma. Nothing physically prevented him of course. He could move if he wanted to. If he really wanted to. Destroying the music box had proven that much, which unknown to anyone but him, had been annoying him mercilessly.
He made no effort to sit up or move towards her. More than anything, he wanted to turn away, or somehow vanish into his covers. He didn't want visitors. He didn't want anyone to see him this way, Cordelia least of all. The closer she came, the more he struggled with a response. Any response. There was a part of him that felt guilty for wanting her to leave, and in his present state, guilt echoed. When he perceived the smell of smoke, when he felt certain she was close enough to touch, that was when he knew definitively that he was glad she was there, even at his worst. Without realizing, his exposed arm began to move. He was lifting it, bending, reaching, fingers fanned and outstretched. He was trembling. He had missed her too.
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Posted: Wed Dec 19, 2012 6:33 pm
Though the basilisk was slow in her ascent into the upper quarter of the Witham's apartment, Delia had paused a moment upon entering to gather her bearings. It was warm, it was cramped, it was overflowing with gods knew what with an obvious growing odor to accompany, but most of all it was dark and quiet, much noise being muffled by the surrounding insulation. Thus in its own little way, Cordelia could see why the cobra didn't mind having this for a room. It was cozy and secure, like a thick blanket cocoon.
Once her eyes had adjusted to the difference in lighting, Cordelia snaked carefully towards her ill friend. She stopped just short of his bed and stared wordless at the form before her. That he was alive was obvious as she could clearly hear his heavy breathing, but it was like the breathing of a man waiting for death. He looked the part too, a little thin and somewhat jaundiced in the face, yet that could have just been the light playing tricks on her then. Still Delia could see his eyes were open, but they weren't seeing. They weren't seeing her, his room, anything, just staring off into oblivion. It made her believe that maybe Basil really had gone blind for whatever reasons and that was why he was so utterly depressed. But to take to it this hard? She wasn't sure, the smoke Raevan only having been mute once in her short life, never blind. She couldn't know what it would be like without that sense, but she could imagine that it would indeed be somewhat maddening.
Some bit of life sparked in the cobra then as if he could see her, or at the very least sense her presence beside him, as his free arm lifted, reaching, beckoning for her. So many feelings bloomed hard inside Cordelia's chest at that moment. Without even knowing, without even caring, the basilisk clasped onto that hand as if her own life depended on it. She cradled it against her cheek, tears falling from her scaled eyes. Whatever it was that was plaguing Basil seemed contagious, his pain was her pain then and she could do nothing but sob for him.
When she had finally gotten a hold of herself, Delia sniffled and whimpered to the boy, "What's wrong Basil? What can I do to help?"
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Wed Dec 26, 2012 10:12 am
Basil didn't know what he had set out to accomplish by reaching out from his bed. All he knew, was that when Cordelia's small hand slipped easily and unhesitatingly into his, the contact was electric. He was immediately conscious (and a bit embarrassed) of the cold dampness of his skin. Cordelia didn't care. She only squeezed tighter, her fingers practically crushing his own, and he was even thankful for the tingling sensations of pain she inflicted. The kind of pain that reminded him that he was here, and not anywhere else. Not in one of the thousand floating places he could have traveled to without ever leaving this room.
She began to smooth out his stiffened fingers, urging them to open with equal parts affection and concern. She bent near him without a place to sit. The way she clutched his wrist while the other held his palm to her face. That part he liked the best, trying to remember another time that he might have felt the softness of her cheek, or the whispering touch of her eyelashes. There was something uniquely satisfying in it, giving him a feeling of strength and comfort, which only made it so much more devastating when a wetness began to leak between his fingers, and her body wracked with sobs. The stream thickened with fresh tears, reaching the stitches inside his palm, and stinging.
At this, he made a hint of a face, and was tempted to draw away, but his body would not respond. In moments, the pain was immaterial. He found himself pressing his thumb tenderly in the space behind her jaw instead. "Delia," he murmured, his eyes darting. He had never seen her cry before. He couldn't see it now.
Logically, he knew that blindness was a persistent condition. Whether he looked up, or down, or from side to side, it would still be there, a panoramic stretch of unbroken blackness. But Basil was not a very logical person by nature, and was unwilling to treat it as something so definitive. He acted as though he were searching for a light in a very dark room. Convincing himself that it was just a matter of turning and searching, so that somewhere he would find a bright patch he could move towards. Getting closer. He thought. Getting closer all the time, and sometimes he saw it! Little slivers of things that were familiar to him. The writing on the side of a box, or the knobs on his dresser drawers. Sometimes he even saw a piece of Genie. Her ear or her mouth. Never admitting that he saw these things only in the blurry spaces between someone else's fingers. Clutching at his face. Growing tighter. Don't look down.
The quilts began to rise, his chest inflating like a balloon, and when he exhaled, it came out as a groan.
Losing his sight had not been the worst of his worries. I didn't have very good eyes to begin with, he wanted to say to her with all the sympathy of a better friend. It was not such a difficult thing to cope with.
Quote: She was a gatekeeper, and the messenger of his world's worst fear. An ultimatum that hinged on his ability to answer a question correctly, and be punished beyond the norm of shame if he could not. Her smile just then... If it could be called a smile. It was full of ill intent. If he could not answer her, then she would destroy him. He could barely breathe, the feeling to be nauseous fighting with the feeling to take in air.
Quote: It happened so fast! He was shocked, he fell backwards, his heart skipping nearly every other beat. He threw his arms in front of his face, expecting her to leap on top of him, but, she did not. He was trembling as he lowered his arms to see the Sphinx casually licking her nails. He touched his chest, feeling for a wound. The shirt was torn in places, but otherwise complete. There were five white scratches beneath his collarbone that did not bleed. Then, he was aware that his hands were free. A realization dawned upon him slowly. As the Sphinx made herself comfortable again, sitting prim and straight, Basil was searching in the grass.
He shut his eyes, and began to quietly grind his teeth, the sound low and distorted. He felt guilty for making her cry. For being so pathetic. She was speaking to him. Not easily, through the hiccups and the sniffles. He cautiously opened one eye. The one not fastened by a lock of hair. He was tempted to ask Cordelia to brush it away for him, but her words held his interest. By this time, she was the only thing holding his arm upright.
Hearing her requests, he turned his head slightly away from her, without the vocabulary or the courage to explain it. No desire to take his life, but none to sustain it. That whistling void and sucking hopelessness. No desire to eat, or make music, or take part in any of the things that had ably distracted him from a loud and colorful world that rejected his presence in it? A world that took so much out of him.
Quote: He almost couldn't recognize the brown-yellow mass. Diced. Destroyed. The pain of it. Deep and sudden. To think, a living thing had been killed for his ignorance. A friend had needed to die, because he was not smart enough. He wasn't any help to anybody...
He allowed Cordelia to hold him that way for what seemed a very long time, his palm to her cheek. Secure in his quilts, and secure that his friend loved him. It was difficult to tell if his silence was deliberate, or a thoughtful pause before answering. His expression didn't offer any clues, and he was sure she was anxious for some kind of sign that he was listening. That she could help him.
How could he tell her about his nightmares and flashbacks, or that he was shedding tears at random, and without realizing? How he wasn't hearing the flies anymore, and feared they might be dead? How their silence had given him much time to reflect on all the ways he had failed as a person, and succeeded as a burden? Worse every day. More exhausting.
His eyes were wet and staring.
Her questions hung in the air between them, and he was aware of how long it was taking for him to answer. The more time passed, the more uncomfortable he seemed, his heartbeat quickening with the pressure to reply. This pressure was familiar to him. He had felt it before.
Two worlds touched edges, blending like runny paint and becoming indistinguishable in his blindness. It was subtle at first, but in a single moment, he was in bed at home, but in the maze also, and as if for no reason at all, Basil yanked his arm away as though Cordelia's flesh had burned him. In his mind, he began screaming. He could not give words to his pain, but he could give it a sound, and the sound was a chorus of cheeping toads that ate away his flies.
He shut his eyes, his body seizing then becoming very still... His breathing was shallow, but ragged. Was he unconscious? Had he worn himself out? The room was deafeningly quiet. No heartbeats, no vibrations, and Basil's motionless body entombed by art and garbage. Those were anxious minutes before he bolted upright in his bed, suddenly and without warning. Gasping. Sweating. Holding his chest.
He panted, open-mouthed, forcing the quilts away from his body with no small difficulty, and shuddering when the air hit his skin. He bent forward, as if to touch his forehead to where his knees would someday be, and what had formed of his back began to crack from inactivity. He groaned with relief. He was now free to stretch his injured wings, the shards chipped, cracked, or broken away entirely. Genie had been assured they would regenerate with time, which did nothing for their current appearance. The cobra then opened his eyes, the pupils splintering and filling. These were new eyes, seeing eyes, and after a moment to get his bearings, they swiveled, fastening directly onto Cordelia's.
He paused, confused. "...What day is it?"
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Posted: Wed Dec 26, 2012 9:58 pm
She looked up when he'd uttered her name, surprised that she'd finally gotten a verbal response from the boy that was of his own accord and not some parrot of another. But it did little to quell her tears as she saw the way Basil looked about, blindly, searching for some piece of her to be revealed to him even though his fingers traced her jawline, proof that she was indeed there. That the cobra couldn't see was no longer a mystery, but fact. The mystery of how he'd come to be this way however was still up for discussion.
She didn't let go when he inhaled deeply and exhaled with a tremendous groan. She only held tighter when the snake began to grind his teeth out of irritation or frustration, perhaps both. Even though the sound bit into her ears like a ravenous dog and she was compelled to let go, still Cordelia held on. She was resilient or maybe just stubborn, but didn't fear lose of hearing. The basilisk feared what would happen if she let go now though. Obviously her being within contact was having some effect on him, whether positive or negative, she couldn't be sure, but it had to be better than nothing right? For however long it took, she would wait for an answer. Cordelia would wait for Basil to return.
She could hear it, a rise in his heartbeat, a sound that only seemed to continue on getting louder with each passing minute. It made Cordelia's own heartbeat thrum a bit faster, knowing that something was about to happen, something big. Was he going to get up? Was he going to answer her? Or was it that he wasn't feeling well and her visit was only agitating his condition more? Maybe he'd tell her to get out? Maybe he'd physically be sick?
It wasn't anything as grand or gross as that, just the boy wrenching his hand out of Delia's. Yet that alone was enough to sadden the smoke girl to an extent, Basil's look of fright only deepening the wound. It left both her hand and heart empty somehow. Was he shunning her now? Had he finally had enough of her overbearing attitude and constant doting? She couldn't help it though. She cared deeply for the cobra after all.
But none of that came. What came was much more concerning, a deathly quiet. For a moment, the female Frei's eyes widen in fear. Had she just witnessed his death? Though Cordelia could feel her heart rapidly pounding in her chest, she couldn't hear it. Only Basil could do that! It wasn't just her imagination right? He was controlling the surrounding sounds and not...she didn't allow her thought to continue and merely squeaked weakly, "Basil?!"
Finally all sound returned with a crash that hurt Delia's ears a bit by its suddenness. Basil bolted upright and clasped his chest as he struggled for breathe. It was then that she saw the horrible condition of his wings. No longer were they the beautiful, shimmering blades of obsidian glass she once knew, but more or less the mirrors of broken dreams. Pressing her hands to her dark lips, Cordelia fought back another wave of sobbing that threatened to overtake her at the sight.
When he finally looked at her directly (there was no mistaking that he could somehow, miraculously see her now) and asked her the day in a confused manner, Delia couldn't help smiling and giggling a bit before launching herself at him. "I-I don't know...Monday? Who cares! You're better now right?! You're okay? Right? Right?!" She went back and forth a few times with hugging him and holding his face in her hands before she finally settled on hugging him. Cordelia couldn't help being slightly hysterical. If she'd somehow managed to pull him out of his funk or whatever this was, it was worth a little embarrassment. "Please, just tell me you're back."
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Jan 03, 2013 11:40 am
Flexing his wings had brought him immediate relief. Days of laying on their side had been pressing the stalks at an unnatural angle, and fanning them out helped with a number of neck and back problems Basil had ignored, but The Other would have to contend with anew. Business as usual.
With the blankets rolled away, it could be seen that he was dressed in a snap-button flannel shirt in a color that department stores called "buckshot". The sleeve-ends were shredded and mangled as though by dog-teeth. There were damp patches. This body had been sweating in the night. With his uninjured hand, he pushed away the web of oily hair that clung to his brow, despairing to himself how disgusting it all was.
Nonetheless, for better or worse, this was his body again, and he was glad to have it. He winced as he cleared his throat, crushing his tongue to the back of his teeth. His mouth tasted vile, and he was pained with hunger.
He was grateful to be somewhere familiar. At home, in his loft, in his bed. The light was very dim here, as he preferred, but in that soft yellow glow, was a shape that turned out to be Cordelia. At first, she had only been a vision of femininity, but nothing more definite than that. His eyes hadn't quite adjusted. He seemed surprised by her presence, but too disoriented to question it, like a companion in a dream that appears with no explanation given or needed.
He could not have formed a defense against her ambush of affection. The way she threw her arms around him as though he were a soldier, home from the war. Pressing against him. Holding his weary face in her hands, making him shocked and embarrassed of his shameful appearance. He was speechless to say the least, wide-eyed and grappling with the idea of "Monday". Monday! That was four days! Four days was an awfully long time to stay under. Nobody to talk to. Nothing to pass the time. He could not even participate in Basil's nightmares. Never stimulated. Always terrified. Always worried that something might happen to them if he wasn't there. Those days were lost to him, and it was like an itch he couldn't reach. It was enough to make a person manic. Who were they with? What was said? Who was listening? Basil had been so far away, so resistant to his influence... When he felt the pain of the body, and the ache of too much sleep, it was purely surface.
He imagined pressing his hand up against the skin from the inside. Pushing into it like testing the firmness of a mattress. Fingers out, palm flat. He could feel it stretching and straining with his imprint, but never relief. Never splitting the skin. Never surfacing, feeling fresh air on his face. He couldn't even feel Basil. He was halved and abandoned.
When Cordelia had flung herself at him, he could do nothing but raise his arms in surprise or as if to push her away, but it had only given her the room to settle against him more closely. For a few moments he stayed that way, dumbstruck, but eventually he found the presence to lower his arms for fear of looking stupid. Slowly and reluctantly, he put them around her, bringing her closer.
Nobody had ever been this happy to see him before...
"Please, just tell me you're back."
"Yes," He said raspily, "I guess I am." He dropped his chin to her shoulder, taking long and even breaths. He felt like he was finally at home. He pulled away, tugging at his face with one hand. Underneath it, he was smiling in a delirious sort of way. "Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for putting him to sleep. I don't know what you said or did, but, I'm so relieved..."
His smile twisted into a grimace. "God, I was so... so..." He began shaking his head, searching his mind for a way to finish that sentence. He drew in his lower lip, biting down on it. When he found the word, he issued it explosively, "Bored!"
He gestured emphatically around his head, "I felt like I was swimming in a fish-bowl! It was dark and I couldn't hear? It was horrible! I live by my hearing, you know that!"
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. The contact was sudden and instant, as if he had been startled by the sound of his voice and was checking her reaction. It felt strange to accuse someone of knowing him. He had made every effort not to be known. It was strange to think he had trusted someone without realizing. To be connected with his loneliness, and made to confront it. He had asked for this. He was on the surface now, exposed in every way, because she knew who he was. He touched her hand, and something shivery passed over his heart. She knew that he had been gone. She was the only one that did, and she had come running.
"You know..." He mouthed.
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