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 Posted: Fri Oct 17, 2014 7:02 pm
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 ❝ The Road to Becoming a Guardian ❞( who : Yves ) ( where : home ) ( time & weather : afternoon; cold, but not too cold. leaves are falling. )October 17th, 2014
He didn't remember ordering anything online.
It was a surprise, then, when the postman came to his doorstep with a large but unexciting-looking package. The French man scrutinized it before accepting, holding the bulk of the parcel in his arms with a furrowed brow.
"Er, thank you? But I don't -" The high-pitched yaps of his chihuahua and terrier mix, Peanut, interrupted his questioning. Yves struggled to hold back Peanut with one foot while keeping the door open but not too open, and...
"Peanut!" he barked, craning his neck to see past his shoulder. "Go lie down! Maintenant!" Peanut obeyed, his small form scrunching up into an impossibly smaller form as he tucked his entire body into itself and scurried toward the couch. He remained within reach, poised to defend his owner to the death. Yves breathed an apology and cast another quick glance over the face of the parcel.
Searching for a return address, the words "Lab 305" caught his attention, printed in the far corner of the package. He sucked in his breath, eyebrows shooting up, not unlike a surprised frog. The mailman, polite but in a hurry, urged a clipboard with paper and pen attached.
"Sign here, and it's all yours," he chimed, breaking Yves from his thoughts. He flushed, fumbling with the parcel before deciding to set it down on the floor, next to the door. God, it was heavy. What was in it, a body? Excitement pulsed through his person, his face growing hot from remembrance of having applied not several days ago to this very place. Was it true? Was he accepted? Or was this some kind of consolation prize? His heart raced, his head felt like it was full of hot air.
When the mailman withdrew and left for his next stop, Yves found himself all alone on his doorstep and, frankly, feeling a bit foolish.
"That man thought I was crazy," he muttered, holding the door just long enough for his portly Siamese cat to bound through, hungering for his food dish. Bubs was not the most graceful of cats, but he was very blunt with his wants and needs, and Yves respected that. On a normal day, he would make a beeline for the wash room, where his food dish was perched atop the washing machine. Today, he stopped to stare at the large box that sat by the door.
That was one thing that Yves found funny about cats - they loved boxes. Why, he would never know. He wasn't particularly fond of closed spaces, and he hated the feeling of entrapment. Bubs, in all of his meatloaf glory, was already scaling said box with dexterous precision. Peanut watched, helplessly, unwilling to undergo the same forbidden routines his feline friend always insisted upon. His large eyes couldn't decide if they wanted to be trained on the offending cat or his owner, so he flicked between both enough times that Yves finally laughed, straight from his gut.
"You and me both, Peanut," he mused, stooping down to hoist his hefty cat from the top of the box. Whatever was inside probably didn't deserve to be crushed like this. Bubs yowled and pawed toward the box, but Yves gave his head a nice pet and set him on the couch. Peanut recoiled when Bubs turned his attention to the small dog, too anxious to want to play.
Yves whistled softly, commanding the attention of both of his pets. "No, no," he said quietly, lifting the box to set on the table in front of his couch. His fingers set to work, deftly removing the tape from the outside of the package. Scissors? They were all the way in the kitchen. He struggled and fought with the tape until it released its death grip on the cardboard, and his breath caught in his chest again.
A metal brief case was inside. He wasted no time in flicking up the clasps, eagerness urging him to get to the bottom of this unexplained delivery. What immediately caught his eye were two things: a round, glass bottle, and a large jar that had a bone inside.
Slowly, he closed the case and looked up and at the wall. Oh. Just a jar with a bone.
Wait a goddamn minute. He quickly opened the case and lifted the jar, holding it up to his face. Yep, that was definitely a bone. Someone's bone. He had done a bit of research on Lab 305 before applying, naturally, but he hadn't been expecting this sort of thing. Albeit strangely fitting for October, it was still... creepy. Was this part of the creating of a Raevan, then? Did everyone get bones, and they were supposed to grow a kid from it like some kind of people garden?
Bubs, feeling a bit keener than his owner at that particular time, distracted him by pawing at the stack of papers strapped to the inside of the case. Yves put the jar back and took the papers out of his reach, eyebrows furrowing deeply. How had he missed this? It probably explained everything.
Quote: Greetings, Yves!
Let me be the first to congratulate you on becoming a Guardian of Lab 305! My name is Zeke, and I am one of the staff members here at the Lab. Out of numerous applications to our program, we felt that you were best fitted to become the newest addition to our family! So welcome and congratulations!
In this briefcase you will find your Soul Glass, Fel Essence, and a couple of documents - one of which needs your signature and must be returned to the Lab with your Glass and Essence upon your capture of a soul. The other is a list of contact information of every Guardian and Raevan pairing in the Lab. I've taken the liberty of highlighting the names of staff for you, but you will find us at the top of the first sheet!
I know this must be rather surprising for you, so before I go any further let me just state that if you have any questions at any time, please feel free to call, text, or email me and I will be more than happy to provide answers or guidance in general. That being said, let's get on with the show!
As I wrote above, you will find your Soul Glass and Fel Essence inside the briefcase. You are the Guardian to the Living Bone Essence, which has already been written down on the legal documents you will have to date and sign. Your Soul Glass is that big glass and metal contraption to the left of your Essence Jar, and will be the thing you need to use in order to help us make your future Raevan. Please take note of the cloth between the metal and glass parts as it is important. Souls have colors and the cloth acts as a limiter and something of a fail-safe so that the bottle will not suck up just anything around it. As yours is grey and white, it will only activate around things (be they animal, plant, mineral, metal, etc) that fit one or both of those colors.
When you capture a soul, the glass bulb will appear to have a smoke-like gas inside of it. When this happens simply return the filled Glass, the Essence, your signed documents, and the case to the Lab. There is a business card tucked in alongside this note for our carrier service. Contact them when you are ready to return your items and they will pick them up from your home. As soon as we get them back we will begin the process of making them into your Raevan!
Whew! I hope I covered everything well enough in this note as far as what you need to do now that you are a Guardian! If not, and as before, please do not hesitate to get in contact with me. My phone is always on and I'm always happy to talk with members of the Lab family!
Hope to hear from you soon and congratulations again!
Sincerely,
Zeke Farris
Relief washed over Yves like sudden, warm sunlight. He briefly glanced through the other documents, then set the papers back into the case. Bubs was tinkering with the Soul Bottle, pawing at his own reflection.
So, he was a Guardian now. He still didn't fully understand how this whole thing worked as far as how they managed to take the two things to create something living, but they had obviously done this numerous times.
Yves trailed his fingers down the side of his Fel Essence. "Living Bone," he said aloud, studying the jar's contents. "Wow. So I can pick any soul I want, as long as it's... gray or white?" He looked at his shivering dog, who stared back with huge, watery eyes. Peanut was an off-white, but also mixed with brown and black, much like his rat terrier parent. Bubs was cream-colored and brown. The soul bottle likely wasn't powerful enough to just suck the soul out of anything with a remotely similar color scheme, so they seemed safe.
Yves pressed his mouth into a thin line. "Yeah, this is why I signed up to be a Guardian... because I talk to you guys and expect you to answer!"
He did love his pets, but the presence of this case, with a Soul Bottle and Fel Essence, made him all the more aware of just how solitary his home life felt. Bubs and Peanut had tons of personality, but they weren't people.
Slowly, he lowered himself to the couch, where he was quickly joined by Peanut. He turned the jar around in his hands, trying to figure out what was so strange about a bone. The name had implied it was alive, so... What, it was an independent, living bone? It just thrived and survived on its own?
What kind of Raevan could come from that? He shivered. Whatever it would be, it... He would love it, regardless. Even if this Fel Essence was creepy. He'd just think of is as the perfect Halloween gift.
... God. He had so many questions. The kindly Zeke had provided him with ample ways to get a hold of him, but he didn't want to just call and bombard him with questions. He probably got that a lot. Instead, he would think about it for a while and narrow down his questions to the really important ones. Maybe he would invite the man over for hot cocoa or tea or something, a relaxing atmosphere to talk.
Ugh, he felt a stress headache coming on. This was all so unexpected. Soul capture? Did he have to kill something? What would even go well with this kind of Fel Essence? Realizing how little he knew about this entire process gave him a panicked, tight feeling in his chest, but he breathed and closed his eyes.
Peanut leaned over, gingerly, to sniff at his owner's face. Yves glanced over at his dog and smiled.
"Don't worry, buddy," he reassured, patting his back. "Bubs will get the empty box so you can have some time away from him. Sounds good, right?"
As expected, Peanut did not reply, but Yves knew he would appreciate the gesture. Lifting himself from the couch, Yves arranged the contents of the metal case accordingly and closed it, bringing it up to his chest. This was only the beginning. He had so much thinking to do; thankfully, he'd gotten a great head start on worrying.
The packing peanuts in the box didn't stand a chance. The fat Siamese dove into the box like it was a bomb shelter and sat there, glowering over the side. Yves laughed, but still looked apprehensive as he carried the briefcase toward his room. |
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Posted: Sat Oct 18, 2014 2:46 am
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❝ Worries ❞( who : Yves ) ( where : home; in bed ) ( time & weather : late at night. cold, clear sky )October 18th, 2014
The moon sat still in the sky, bright and cold. He could see it through his window, spilling moonlight onto the center of his bed where he lay. It was comforting; he didn't like the dark, or silence. It left him to his thoughts, and he always seemed to think of the worst things when it was dark and quiet. Tonight, he didn't seek any distractions. He wanted to be left to his thoughts.
The empty Soul Bottle was perched atop his side dresser, under the lamp. He had bundled a towel underneath it to keep it safe from rolling onto the floor, but he still would glance at it every couple of minutes. It made him nervous, knowing what it was capable of.
He hadn't texted or called Zeke yet. Instead, he had gone about his business, completely distracted but trying to occupy himself with mindless tasks. On the plus side, the house was spotless, Peanut had gone on a very energizing walk, and both pets had been groomed to perfection. On the other hand, he hadn't been able to escape thinking about his upcoming role as a Guardian and what it meant for him. His life would be different, now.
His chest rose and fell in a dramatic sigh. Peanut, curled in his dog bed on the floor, stirred. Good, Yves thought. He felt some worry for his animals, even though they didn't match the color scheme Zeke had written about. How did a cloth keep this bottle from sucking up just anything's soul? And how exactly did the soul sucking work? Could he take the soul of something that was healthy and living, or did he need to wait for it to die?
Zeke had written so casually of it, all business. "Just bring it on in when it's filled," he murmured, lacing his hands over his chest and staring at the ceiling. "Okay, but how do I fill it? And am I really allowed to take the soul of an animal or something?"
The thought made him wince. Hurting an animal... no way. Maybe relieving an animal of its pain, but... even then, he didn't feel like he had the right to do that. Did he? He kept pets, he would make the choice that was best for them when the time came. How was this any different, honestly?
Was it different?
Souls... gray or white... that could be a lot of things. There were lots of cats with that coloration, dogs... heck, chinchillas! Bunnies? He was only thinking of animals, Zeke had mentioned other things having souls. Things he'd never thought about in that way. He didn't know of any gray plants, but white flowers, maybe? Or...
He closed his eyes, tight, against the moonlight and the ceiling that stared back at him. Numbly he reached out for his radio, hand fumbling about the side table. His heart leapt into his throat when he bumped the Soul Bottle, and he sat upright. It hadn't budged; his blanket nest had worked. He let the breath he'd held in his chest out.
"Yves," he said firmly, into the darkness. "Go to sleep. Text this Zeke guy in the morning. Just get some sleep, it's your weekend, you'll get answers tomorrow." Reaching out again for the radio, his hand stopped just above it and his ears strained: rain, soft but filtering still through his window.
The sound soothed his nerves enough for him to lie back down and close his eyes, but it wasn't until Bubs had dragged himself onto his chest and collapsed into a ball of fur and purrs did he finally go to sleep.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow. |
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Posted: Mon Oct 20, 2014 12:11 am
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❝ Muddy Paws, Happy Puppies ❞( who : Yves ) ( where : The Pet Parlor, Yves' grooming salon ) ( time & weather : noon, sunny with a hint of chill in the air )October 20th, 2014
A soul.
Yves brought the hard-bristled brush to the American Eskimo's back, gently drawing it down with just enough force to gather enough loose hair to create another dog. The dog, who had been staring intently out the window, looked over her shoulder, tongue hanging out. That brought a broad smile to his face; dogs were always so happy. Some of them hated having the extra fur brushed out, some loved it, some were just terrified of the brush with the long, metal bristles. This one just enjoyed it while she watched the world go by.
The owner of that particular puppy was not present, but he was used to them dropping off their pets for "spa day" while they ran errands among the many other shops nearby. This day, many were out at lunch, his assistant included. The parlor was quiet, the only noise being the pleasant hum of the radio in the back. He liked it this way, though.
His store was snugly fit between a bustling shoe shop and a sandwich deli, in particular, so he felt it was a good location to get noticed. The bright lettering on the window was easily read from across the street, and the building itself was quaint and pleasing to the eye. Printed in large, clear letters was the name of the store, The Pet Parlor - underneath, in slightly smaller print, read, Mud Puppies. Having desired a professional-sounding name, but also enjoying the sillier one, Yves just went with both. Mud Puppies was his little nickname for the place, which he felt was appropriate, given the consumer base.
It was also important to keep the main title inclusive of all animals, he'd thought. It was true that his largest audience was canines, but he could also care for birds, lizards, cats... If he felt confident, he would try to groom it. That was just how it was.
It was important, too, for him to keep the inside very well-maintained. Just because herds of animals came through did not mean it had to... well, look the part. Customers often commented on how clean the place was, how it didn't even smell like a wet animal or anything. The scent diffusers he'd placed strategically throughout The Pet Parlor saw to that. The scents were always mild - couldn't irritate the animals and their sensitive noses - but today the gentle spice of pumpkins wafted through the air.
His mind drifted back to his previous thought: souls. Eyes heavy, he stared down at the impossibly fluffy, incredibly white dog before him. White. Gray. White or gray.
His soul bottle was carefully wrapped in a colorful throw blanket just underneath the counter, tucked away in a drawer for safe-keeping. He truly didn't like the idea of leaving it alone, with either animal. He still wasn't sure on any of this or if he even knew if what he thought was how it went, or... god, he was thinking himself into a circle again. Regardless, cats were notorious for finding that one thing you didn't want knocked down and messed with, and his was no exception.
He had tested the glass, just a little. Knocked on it with his hand, held it up to the light, weighed it. It seemed very resilient, sturdy. Which was good. But it just seemed best to keep it on him, especially if the opportunity for a soul arose.
He frowned, his brushing slowing until it came to a halt. What if he had endangered this dog, just by letting it be in the same building as his soul bottle? Surely, an American Eskimo would fit the bill. White, had a soul...
His frown deepened.
"Okay, Coco," Yves abruptly announced, causing the ball of fluff's ears to perk and switch to the side. "You're clean, you're brushed, your nails are done. Feel better?" He ended with an upward inflection to get her attention, and she looked back again only briefly. The front door opened, bringing in the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk. They both looked toward the elegant woman who had entered.
"Oh, Coco!" the woman cooed, causing the American Eskimo's tail to wag furiously. Her owner gathered her fur in her hands, giving it a gentle but enthusiastic fluff. "You look marvelous. Bright as snow!"
Yves rumpled her ears with fondness. "Only the best for Coco, right?" One of his regulars, Mrs. Warner always took exceptional care of her animals. Coco was her prized pet, and the two even looked a little alike, he thought. Both were fluffy and pale and had kindly faces. As she drew her wallet from her purse, Mrs. Warner let out a pleased hum.
"Coco wouldn't have it any other way, and you know that, Mr. Lecuyer," she asserted, approaching the counter to pay. "You know, she fusses so much when my husband tries to brush her. Even with the soft brush! He just gave up, he said, 'Leave it to the professional!'" Yves laughed as he led Coco down from the table.
"I'm happy to hear him say that, mademoiselle." He knelt down next to Coco. "And for you, as well, mademoiselle." A biscuit sat in his open palm, which Coco took with gusto.
Once he had her harnessed and handed over to her owner, Yves returned to the counter to key in the ordered services. The closer he was to the counter, the more aware he was of the soul bottle, but he tried to ignore it. "Let's see, today that will be..."
"The same as every other week, I'm sure," Mrs. Warner interrupted, which elicited a small laugh out of Yves. "Yes, that's right, you know it by now," he said with a flourish, handing her the receipt. "You are my most faithful customer. Bring Coco again, soon, okay?"
"I always do," she called, heading toward the door. Before she stepped fully through the door, she turned, a hand to her chest. "Good heavens! Would you look at them, what a pair."
Yves craned his neck to see what she was referring to. Walking past the door were an old man and dog, both equally dirty and shaggy. The man was carrying a bag of groceries, the dog walking loyally behind him. He felt it was rude to stare, but couldn't help but watch them as they passed, with mild fascination.
Before they were clear of the window, the old man stopped and looked in, causing Yves' heart to jump a bit. Embarrassed at being caught, he quickly looked away; Mrs. Warner did the same, and they both must have looked ridiculous. Coco was whining at the old, shaggy dog, straining somewhat against her leash. Mrs. Warner tightened her hold on her precious dog and finally broke the silence with a loud huff.
"Well! They could use a wash!" she declared, giving Yves a knowing look. "The both of them, I mean."
Yves gave a slow nod, still watching the window. His stomach felt odd, a few fish swimming in a murky pond. He felt badly for them, and that dog...
"Yes... I know what you mean," he said quietly, offering a polite wave as a farewell. "Come back again soon, mademoiselle." |
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Posted: Mon Oct 20, 2014 1:58 am
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❝ Distress ❞( who : Yves ) ( where : home ) ( time & weather : late afternoon, growing colder by the minute )October 20th, 2014
Bundled up in blankets and a large sweater, Yves sat in his chair and pondered the day.
It had been fairly slow, and he had sent the help home early and closed fairly quickly. Peanut was ridiculously happy to have him back, because he had been gone for at least ten years. Bubs only wanted to go outside to do things that only other cats knew. He hadn't come back scuffed in a long time, so Yves had assumed he'd made peace with the neighboring cats and that all was well.
As he mulled, a thought struck him like lightning - he had forgotten to text Zeke. He grumbled and sunk deeper into the chair, bringing a steaming mug of hot cocoa to his lips. How could he forget something so important? For God's sake, he was literally thinking about souls and capturing souls the entire day. Being so absorbed into one thought just left his mind on a set of tracks, he supposed.
Digging the remote out of the vast expanse of blankets, he clicked the TV on. It was getting late, but it wouldn't be the first time he had fallen asleep in front of the television. Sometimes, it was just comforting. Even if he woke up sore and grumpier than usual.
"That poor dog," he said aloud, to no one. Yes, that poor dog, he had thought when he saw it pass by. That poor man, too. They looked so tired, so worn. Were they homeless? Did they have enough to eat? When was the last time they had bathed? Were they warm enough right now?
The thoughts just distressed him more. Closing his eyes, Yves tried to shut it out. To think about the soul, how he would find it. What would it be?
Not a dog, he told himself. Nothing domesticated. That would just be...
The pittering of tiny paws caused Yves to look down, by the side of the chair. Peanut was dancing from one foot to another, never willing to stand still. "You want up?" Yves asked, patting his lap. Peanut gratefully jumped up and curled into a ball, and Yves layered some blankets over him. He loved being covered head to toe, some sort of comforting habit.
Bubs would meow at the door around six or seven in the morning, wanting in. Until then, Yves would watch TV, and try not to think about the soul, or the man, or the dog.
He closed his eyes again.
Especially not the dog. |
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Posted: Mon Nov 17, 2014 1:20 am
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❝ Coffee Shop Blues ❞( who : Yves, Idette ) ( where : a small, local coffee shop ) ( time & weather : too early, too cold )November 17th, 2014
Yves didn't used to indulge in coffee very often; it was expensive, and bad for his nerves. Entering a coffee shop was a telltale sign that the young man hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, this time kept awake by his own thoughts. Cold hands gripped the warm coffee cup, and he held it close to his face and stared at it, gaze pensive, as if the cup would offer some worldly advice.
"Yves?"
He sucked in a breath, eyes widening as focus came back to them. He looked up to meet the familiar face of his only sister, in all of her bundled, fashionable glory. Indeed, she looked the vision of warmth with her expensive coat and boots, and Yves wrinkled his nose at whether or not that fur trim was real or not. Knowing her, it most definitely was. Still, he smiled and gestured for her to take the seat across from him.
"Hello, la sœur," he said, managing to sound merry despite the sudden shiver that shook his shoulders. All the scarves in the world could not prepare him for the eight o' clock chill. "Would you like anything? Muffin, coffee -"
"Oh, thanks," Idette chimed, plucking his coffee cup from his hand and taking a quick sip. Her eyebrows shot up and a broad smile warmed up her normally doll-like face. "Wow, this is good! I can trust you to pick the sweet stuff." Satisfied, she sat and smoothed the front of her coat down, hand still clutching the coffee. Yves accepted defeat; his caramel mocha with extra mocha and probably more shots than was necessary was gone for good.
"Anyway, Yves," Idette began, taking another dainty sip of her spoils. "What did you need me for? And are you always up this early, frère?" Yves raised a brow. "Well!" she said with a huff.
He sighed and sat back in his chair, tucking his chin in and looking away. It was his classic expression of guilt, which Idette wasted no time commenting on. "Tut, tut, Yves!" Idette waved the coffee around. "What have you done? Did you kill someone?"
She paused, then leaned in and repeated, voice low, "Did you kill someone? Because grandma and grandpa have a very large estate..."
"No!" Yves barked, and immediately became as red as the scarf wrapped around his neck. The other customers had looked up, startled, but went back to their business. Yves leaned forward, too, holding a hand out for emphasis. "No, nobody died. That I know of. I just... wanted to talk to my sister, if that is okay?"
Idette calmed and sat back, sinking into her huge fur coat. She reminded him of a poodle, which made him smile. He did miss his sister, and his grandparents; between working and other engagements, he felt like he didn't go down there enough. The letters from his family were neatly stacked on the coffee table in his living room, a constant reminder of how lucky he was to have parents that reached out.
As if struck by lightning, Yves remembered the object that had been weighing down his messenger bag. He stooped to pick it up, producing the hefty glass bottle. Idette tilted her head and gave him a weird look. "Er, is that a perfume bottle?"
Yves huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. "No, Idette, it's a so -" He bit his tongue. How could he approach this without freaking her out? She had no idea what Lab 305 was, had no idea that he had applied to become a father to a Raevan... She gave him a suspicious look.
Yves cleared his throat and continued. "I... am adopting."
He waited. Idette showed no change in expression, no reaction. After a few beats, she took a delicate sip, which turned into a gulp of coffee. One brow was raised so high, he thought it was escape from her head.
"Well, Yves, I always knew you preferred... men," she said, slowly, deliberately. She stirred the coffee in her hand, expression solemn. Yves made a sound that resembled a disgruntled cat.
"What? What does that have to do -- oh, non, no! Listen, it is a lot to digest. And," he cut her off, raising a finger, "And no, there is no one in my life. I am still single, always."
Idette frowned. "Aww, I am sorry, Yves. Always alone, non? If only you could find a nice wife, or... husband. Like mine!" She beamed at that, causing Yves to groan. "I know, I know, no one is as wonderful as my husband. But you can dream!"
Growing frustrated again, he set the bottle on the table between them and held both hands up. "Idette, this isn't about my love life. This... bottle, here? It's a soul bottle. I applied at the Lab 305 to take part in their experiments to fuse together a fel essence and a soul to create a new being, a child, essentially. I wanted to tell you about it because... because I feel kind of alone, right now, and wanted your support. But I don't expect you to understand right off the bat, so..."
"Yves, say no more," Idette said, sounding determined. Her gloved hands gently tapped the soul bottle, and she looked confused, but intrigued, too. She glanced up and into her brother's face. "Well, not here, anyway. Come with me to our grandparents' home, we will talk more over lunch. I... I don't understand any of what you just said, but it sounds very interesting, and I can tell you are serious about it."
She purposefully left out how crazy he had just sounded. Yves was always the level-headed one, after all, so his words had to have some merit, right? "Besides, our grandparents miss you!"
Yves pursed his lips and pretended to think about it, but couldn't for long as a wide smile broke onto his face. "Alright, that sounds good." Back into the bag went the soul bottle, and he propped it onto his shoulder and held the bag close to his side. "Before we go, you owe me one thing, though."
Idette had stood and was fixing her hair in her compact mirror. She blinked at him. "What?"
"A new coffee, you thief!" Yves grumbled, snagging the empty cup from her hand. "Caramel mocha, extra mocha, five shots! Please and thank you, la sœur!" |
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Posted: Mon Jan 05, 2015 11:58 am
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❝ Wolf Moon ❞( who : Yves ) ( where : home ) ( time & weather : very late, very cold. )January 4th, 2015
January 4th, 2015.
Astrology had never been an overwhelming hobby of his; rather, he had seen some large, ornate books on the subject while perusing the library, become interested, and picked them up. Yves liked to collect books, they made the house smell nice and gave him something to do when he was bored around the house. On a rainy day he would sit by the window and grab a random novel about a new language, and it was not uncommon for him to read a saucy romance novel over a glass of wine before bed. Reading was wonderful, and his stacked bookcases drove that point home.
Idly, Yves drew back the curtain and stood to look out the window. The sky was clear, littered with stars and a full, round moon that illuminated the ground outside of his house. "Good heavens," he muttered, admiring the celestial body and its brightness. "That must be a full moon. Oh!"
Before he knew it, he was thumbing through a large book titled Astrology and You, a very in-depth look into the cosmos and their apparent impact on the creatures around him. He hadn't had a chance (or reason) to go through the book in length, yet, so he searched for the section on "Full Moons" with mild curiosity.
January 4th, 2015. The first full moon of the year, the Wolf Moon. He liked the name; it gave it an animistic edge, like the moon had a personality. As he skimmed over the page, Yves found himself sinking back into his chair. Before he knew it, he was leaning back over his cluttered desk, engrossed in the chapter. The soul bottle, swathed in its grey and white cloth, lay comfortably in a makeshift bed of decorative towels by his side.
It was something to do. This was why he had so many books on so many random subjects; to pass the time and because, at one point in time, he had been curious. As he skimmed over the page, he silently mouthed the facts that passed by. January's wolf moon, Cancer, Capricorn, ambition, push.
He sat back and closed his eyes in thought. At one time, he had purchased this book because he thought it looked interesting. He had never really believed in the correlation between the stars and himself, his fate, quirks, destiny. Still, he couldn't deny that the promising description of this Wolf Moon seemed promising and encouraging.
"The push and drive to get things done... letting go of the past and moving forward. Huh," Yves clicked his tongue and stared back down at the book. Somehow, it did seem to align with the direction his life had suddenly taken, with the lab and his new status as a guardian. Finally, he was moving forward. He had felt stuck on the soul capture, the idea of taking another life actually quite terrifying. It was ironic, then, that this full moon was named after an animal, a living creature.
Wolf.
He narrowed his eyes, then widened them in a moment of clarity.
Wolf? He looked at his soul bottle, the muted tones of its cloth illuminated by moonlight and lamplight. Huh. It was true that wolves seemed to bear the characteristic colors of grey and white, as was often portrayed by artists to look familiar. There were also white, black, red... many colors of wolves. He raised his thumb to his chin and scratched at it. He was sure he had a book on that.
The night was passing by peacefully and quietly, but Yves was energized and awake and now reading about wolves. He'd had nights like these, before. In a few hours he'd probably be learning how hot dogs were made, or what the first civilizations of Gambino looked like. That was a normal night of reading, anyhow. Tonight felt somewhat different. He felt like he had a real direction, a straight line to go toward. Souls, he was really thinking about souls for the first time.
A wolf seemed improbable, however. They were wild and powerful creatures, and the willowy man didn't see himself wrestling one into submission at any point in the foreseeable future. Still, he had to admit that the coat of the Gray Wolf seemed to match the cloth of his soul bottle impeccably. What else was gray and white? All kinds of cats, some dogs, mice, maybe?
He was thinking too narrowly. It didn't have to be an animal, and yet an animal was the first thing he thought of, every time. It was a bit morbid of him, especially since he had always loved animals so much. He wrinkled his nose at the picture of the wolf before him, all of its factual details laid out around the portrait. Dogs and cats were absolutely out of the question, unless he were somehow put into a sort of mercy killing situation or something. He didn't even want to think about that, but the sight of his soul bottle reminded him that he needed to always be prepared.
And yet, there were raevans with crazy souls, weren't there? Mythological creatures, fantastical beasts, things that he had never even seen with his own eyes, had even doubted the existence of. Then, was a wolf so far-fetched?
His stomach turned as he realized what he was thinking. How could he be plotting to kill an animal? For what, his own selfish reasons? Because he was lonely? Because he had wanted to sign up for this adoption - experiment - whatever it was?
No, he had to be more open-minded. He had taken this fel essence and soul bottle with the knowledge of what owning these objects would mean. He had felt the exuberance of Zeke through his letter, despite the grim details of soul capture. It was an exchange, one thing for another. In the end, would Yves be willing to give up his soul so that another being might live?
Ugh. It was getting late, and he was thinking way too much. Yves rubbed his temples and sat back in his chair, head tilted back to look up at the window. The moon was still there, hanging high and bright in the sky. It was brilliant, full moons always were. He felt a little different than he had before; soul capture was a topic he had been avoiding putting any real thought into because he was scared of the idea, of the task.
But this was a new year. He didn't know how accurate these astrological predictions were, but Yves couldn't help but feel more ready to do what he knew needed to be done. He returned to reading, every now and then glancing to pictures as they graced each page. The wolf. The wolf, the wolf. It seemed to watch him as he grew more and more tired, and it was the last thing he saw before he slipped away.
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When morning came, Yves found himself asleep atop his book. He woke, groggy but startled, and rubbed his eyes at what had been a rather uncomfortable pillow. The picture of the wolf stared back at him, yellow eyes piercing, proud. He blinked, mouth opening and then closing. He thought for a few moments.
"Yeah," he finally said, pushing his hair back with both hands. "Yeah, I know what I have to do. Don't look at me like that."
For reference: 2015 Moon Chart |
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Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2015 3:00 am
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❝ Call Your Sister ❞( who : Yves, Idette ) ( where : home ) ( time & weather : before 9 A.M., bright and cold. )January 6th, 2015
"I can't do it!" Yves practically bellowed over the phone. His sister, previously comfortable, jerked the phone away from her ear and glared at it. She tutted and placed the mouthpiece right against her own mouth and yelled back, "Can't do what, you barbarian?! Do you know what time it is?"
Yves sat in the chair he'd brewed up his "amazing" plan in two nights before; his cruel, horrible plan. He couldn't believe he'd actually been considering - seriously considering - taking the life of an animal just like that. A house cat that passed of old age? Sure, not anyone's fault. But a wolf? He would have to go out, hunt a wolf down, and actually kill it to achieve his goal. When he had woken up that day, he'd realized how stupid he'd been.
Absurd. He couldn't take a creature's life, not willingly. And there was no way he would be able to actually overpower or outsmart a wolf. And how selfish could he be? He hated himself, he hated that he had let the excitement of the lab's possibilities run his life, even for a second. Yes, he was prepared to do this thing. No, he did not want to resort to hurting anything, or anyone. When he had looked down at Peanut, who was always so trusting and protective, even of the cat, he knew he'd made a mistake in thinking that way.
A large sigh escaped his chest, and he calmed his voice. "Idette, I... it's hard. It's so very, very difficult. I'm such a fool, do full moons - do they really affect people like they say they do? I didn't want to hurt anyth --" He began to trail off, words dissolving into hastened French.
Idette, now growing concerned, clasped the phone in both hands and leaned forward, eyes intense. "Yves Mathieu Lecuyer, what have you done?"
Even though he had called his sister seeking guidance, Yves was distracted for the duration of the call. He couldn't stop hating himself and feeling enormous guilt for even wanting to hurt an animal. For God's sake, he had two furbabies of his own! He did not begrudge the guardians whose raevans had animal souls - the guardians had all seemed very nice, from what he had seen, and the lab would never allow a raving lunatic in their midst. Any way that an animal's soul had been obtained was likely humane and probably for the best, whatever the unique circumstances were.
As for himself, he didn't know. He was feeling so pumped, so inspired by that full moon, like he could just run outside, grab a wolf, and stick it in a bottle. Like it wouldn't hurt the wolf, like the wolf didn't really have to die. No, that wasn't how it worked.
But he had thought of plants. Oh, and all sorts of things. Were there any gray and white plants? He didn't know of any. Rocks? Sure, of course, but he didn't feel inspired by rocks, wondrous as they were.
No, he was just influenced by the name of that full moon. Wolf Moon. Of course he made the connection. Hell, it could have been named "Garbage Can Moon" and he probably would have gone for it. Did garbage cans have souls? He smacked his own cheek; he was losing it!
"Are you okay? Did you just say 'ow'? Do I need to come over?" Idette was growing more distressed, and it was apparent in her voice. Yves revisited Earth.
"No!" he said quickly, trying to sound reassuring. "I mean, no, Idette, nothing bad happened. No one was hurt, I am fine, the animals are fine. I just... do you remember when I spoke to you last? About the Lab? And my soul bottle?" Idette became quiet, and he could sense that she was uncomfortable still.
He pressed on. "Well, I... I am having a lot of trouble with finding a soul. I felt so inspired a couple of days ago, I felt like I had the answer. You know, some of these raevans, they... they have really fantastical souls! Mythical beings! Things you have never seen in real life."
Frowning - Yves felt like he could feel it through the phone - Idette relaxed, anyway, but her shoulders were stiff. "Yves, yes, I... I remember. And I am here for you, you know that. Grandma and Grandpa are, too. But why are you so worked up? What happened?"
Yves bit his lip. He wished they could talk face-to-face but, at the same time, was so thankful this conversation was taking place over the phone. He was too stressed out and just wanted to sit in his room with Peanut and Bubs and watch television or read a book. Or both. He could do both, yeah.
"Well, I... was trying to think about the kind of soul that would match my bottle's soul-attracting cloth, you see," Yves began, picking each word with a sniper's precision, "And there was a full moon. Did you see it?"
"Ah, oui, it was beautiful," Idette breathed. "They do say the full moon draws out the lunatics, non? Why, Yves," she gasped loudly, "Did you find out you are a lunatic? Finally?"
The noise he made was pure done-ness. He was so done. Idette didn't grasp the importance - no, the significance of the situation. He needed to talk to someone who really, truly would know where he was coming from. Someone who wouldn't mind listening and maybe offering him some advice, a different direction to go in.
He thought back to that day he received his essence and soul bottle in the mail.
"Idette, I will call you later," Yves said suddenly, distracted still. He hung up the phone and looked down at Peanut, who was curled up on a pillow by his feet. The puppy gave him a watery-eyed stare back, ears fluctuating between sticking up and flicking down.
He snapped his fingers in the air, twice, his answer coming to him. "Yes, you are so right, Peanut."
He needed to talk to Zeke. |
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2015 5:46 am
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❝ Dogs Leading Dogs ❞( who : Yves ) ( where : a large book store. ) ( time & weather : nearing evening, the sky is dark. )January 11th, 2015
Being idle was the worst feeling in the world. It made Yves feel like he was wasting away, just twiddling his thumbs while he waited for something to be handed to him. When he was troubled and unable to find something productive to do, he would either take a nap, go for a walk, or immerse himself into a giant pile of books until he forgot what he was worried about.
Tonight, the books had won out. Rather than sit at home, Yves had opted to head to his local library, which was large, dusty, and mysterious. It held books so high up and so old, Yves had to get a ladder to reach them, and then a translator to read them. Thankfully, he wasn't searching for anything like that this time. Surrounding him were books on various plant life, animals, and mythology surrounding souls, a book on Animism.
It was interesting to think that everything could possess a soul. Running his thumb along his lower lip in heavy thought, Yves reached for the book on Animism and flipped it open. On the front page, it listed the dictionary definition for the religion:
an·i·mism
ˈanəˌmizəm
noun
1. the attribution of a soul to plants, inanimate objects, and natural phenomena.
2. the belief in a supernatural power that organizes and animates the material universe.
Before the lab, he probably wouldn't have believed something like that. Inanimate objects possessing souls? Plants? And yet he had heard of a raevan with a rock's soul, knew there were plant ones, too. So why did he feel so strongly toward an animal's soul? Deep down, it went against everything he stood for. He never wanted to harm an animal, so why?
With his indecisiveness, he would never capture a soul. Zeke would be so disappointed, everyone at the lab would. They had trusted him to be a guardian, to help give life to the essence called 'Living Bone'.
Living Bone. It sounded so cool, he had to admit. And from a medical perspective, it was so fascinating. A bone that sustains itself, gives itself life? He had never heard of anything like it, but that was what made it a fel essence, right? It wasn't supposed to exist, naturally, in nature. It was a one-of-a-kind thing, and it was his.
He looked over to his side where the essence vial and soul bottle sat, partially wrapped, on top of his messenger bag. The bone was eerie. He had been a little too rough with it, once, and accidentally dropped the vial. The bone had broken in half, which had given him quite a scare. Strangely enough, it managed to mend itself back together over the next couple of days, and looked good as new. He eyed it now, thick brows drawn down into a frown.
"I'm scared, you know," he admitted to the vial, drawing the bag and its contents closer to himself. The dim glow of the lamp that sat atop his desk illuminated the glass, and he picked up the soul bottle. He stared into it, his own reflection twisting into a glare.
"I said I'm frightened!" he said sharply, voice rising. He was scared to take a life, he was scared to be a father, he...
He wanted to shake the soul bottle, to make it find its own soul. He wanted someone to do it for him, take something's life, not him, anyone but him. He couldn't stand feeling this way, and he was sick of it by now. When would his hesitation end? When would he gather his courage and just do what he willingly signed up for?
Angry. He was so angry with himself. He was going to be meeting with Zeke in a few days, to discuss his slow progress and hopefully find some help. A kick in the arse, anything. Yves wanted someone to hold his hand, but he knew that wasn't the way. He just needed encouragement, or maybe to have some hard sense knocked into him. Or all of the above.
Thankfully, the library was close to closing and was quite empty. The librarian hadn't even looked up after his outburst, and Yves was grateful for that. His face was red and he was flustered, but he fell back into the padded chair and held his soul bottle protectively against his chest. Tucking his chin in, he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath.
Why was he getting mad? It was his own choice to sign up for this, and he didn't need to take out his frustrations on the soul bottle, or the grisly task ahead. Many guardians had done it. How bad could it be?
He rolled his eyes. Living with anxiety was not easy, it made nothing easy. There were times when he doubted and doubted and doubted, and then second-guessed himself some more. Every step forward felt like it was followed by three steps back.
"I wish I was strong, like you," he said, voice quiet. "You don't need anyone, do you? You just keep on going, all by yourself. But you want to be more than just a bone, don't you? You want to be whole. Only I... only I can help you do that."
Pausing for a few beats, Yves let his thoughts trail off as he leaned back to stare at the ceiling. The top of the library was made of glass, which was nothing but lovely. The stars speckled against the deep black that was the night sky, and they twinkled above him. Past them, beyond that, he saw the moon, shining brightly. It was a thin crescent, nothing like the full moon he had witnessed before, but it was still as beautiful as ever.
Every time he looked at the moon, he saw the face of the gray wolf staring back, its golden eyes holding more depth than he understood. He had given up the idea of a wolf soul, but the thought always lingered, in the cloth on his bottle to the husky he saw at work, or the book he had left open on his desk at home. It followed him relentlessly, and whenever he tried to search for a different soul, something easier, he found himself disinterested, dissatisfied. Would nothing do?
Feeling defeated, Yves pulled out his phone and searched up the phases of the moon for the month. He had grown very interested in lunar phases since that night, when the Wolf Moon had inspired him and given him such vigor and purpose. Where was that, now? Why was he feeling so weak-willed?
A line from the side of the webpage caught his eye.
One dog leads another across the sky.
He snorted. Alright, that was weird. This was getting weird. His fingers drummed against the soul bottle in his lap, and he read and re-read the line. Why did everything seem to point to the same answer? He had never been the overly spiritual type but, for some reason, the moon and stars seemed to be lining up particularly conveniently for him.
Was the moon leading him all along? He wrinkled his nose and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. It was getting late, and he was obviously tired because he was starting to think like a lunatic. Just as his sister had said. They hardly saw each other anymore, how could she be so intuitive toward him like that? Gathering his books into a neat stack, Yves slung his bag around his shoulder, bottle and vial tinkling pleasantly from inside the blanket. He would check these books out and read more about them later, when he wasn't convinced he was losing his mind.
Approaching the counter, he set the stack of books down with a noticeable sigh. The librarian looked up, face wrinkling with a smile. "Tired, are we? You should catch up on your sleep like you do your reading!"
Yves blinked, bemused. Did he look that bad? He scratched his chin and smiled. "Oui, thank you. I... will try."
It was time to go home and get a decent amount of sleep. He had work in the morning, after all.
For reference: Star Info |
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2015 1:38 am
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❝ That Man, That Dog ❞( who : Yves ) ( where : The Pet Parlour ) ( time & weather : Midday, a brisk wind whips through the streets. )January 12th, 2015
Yves blinked against the sunlight that poured in through the windows. He blinked against the light inside the grooming parlour, and he tried to blink the day away. He was so tired, and it was all his fault.
"Well, dear, if you hadn't stayed up all night, maybe those beautiful eyes wouldn't be besieged with such bags!" Yves looked up at the familiar voice of Mrs. Warner, owner of Coco the Fluffy Puffball, snapping back to reality. His hand was poised above Coco's pristine, white fur, brush ready. He blushed.
"Erm, oui, I have been very... well, I have been thinking a lot lately. Too much, mademoiselle." She nodded sagely. "It happens to the best of us, dear. But what could you be fretting about?"
Yves recoiled internally; he couldn't talk about it to just anyone, let alone a customer. She would report him to the police or something! Instead of divulging, he smiled, expression bright but worn. "Oh, it is nothing of importance. I only... dwell on things, sometimes. I let it linger in my mind, I am foolish. Please don't worry about me."
Every day he was counting down to his meeting with Zeke, where he was certain he would be helped. As Mrs. Warner left with her prized dog in tow, Yves set to tidying up, sweeping up the stray hairs to keep the place presentable. Something dark caught his eye, and he looked up and toward the glass doors.
Standing in front of the building was the dirty, ragged old man and his dog. The same that had walked past before, and many other times. Yves stared at him, tensed like an animal, and the man and dog stared back. All at once he felt terrible for them; it was cold, and they didn't look safe or warm. Or even dry. Before he knew it, he was up and walking to the door, ripping it open before they could walk too far out of sight.
"Wait!" he called, and the man stopped but did not turn. His dog shook his coat out, but it didn't do much for the mud stuck to it. Yves cleared his throat. "Please," he began, unaware that he was reaching an arm out toward them. Reaching for him? For the dog?
Or maybe he was just reaching for some kind of karma.
"Please let me wash your dog!"
The question hung in the air like a thick smoke. The homeless man half-turned, face kept down and looking at the dog by his side. The dog turned fully around and looked up at Yves, his eyes bright against his muddy, mangy coat. They pierced right through him, and Yves had to blink and look away, embarrassment for his outburst creeping up his neck and face.
Half-shrugging, the old man responded, plainly, "I don't got any money."
Yves wilted. He didn't want to continue yelling across the street and cause a scene, so he tried to close the distance between them, making sure to be mindful of the dog's boundaries. Its ears pinned back the closer he drew, and he thought he saw a flash of fang underneath his dirty disguise.
When he was close enough, he looked to the left, then the right, then leaned in with a very serious look on his face. "No, monsieur... for free. I would like to offer your dog a bath, at the very least. My shop is for animals, but perhaps I can accommodate you as well..." He was cut off when the old man raised a hand.
"Don't worry 'bout me," he said, and Yves could see his kindly face lift into a smile through his beard. "This's George, my dog. He's been with me fer a long time. Don't know if he'd let anyone else bathe 'im." George the dog, as if on cue, docked his ears back again and stared apprehensively up at Yves.
Yves gestured weakly, feeling a bit desperate for reasons he couldn't pinpoint. "Monsieur, I beg of you to at least let me try. I have seen you before, walking on these cold streets. My heart feels terribly for you two. Is there nothing I can do for you?" The old man shrugged again, eyes drawn to the ground.
"I suppose you could stop holdin' us up," he said at last, patting his hip for George to keep to his side and follow. "Gotta head home, it's gettin' dark. Don't wanna be out here when the real cold comes settlin' in."
Yves' shoulders dropped, and he opened his mouth to protest again but was silenced by the man's kind look. "Hey, thank you, kid. But it's just been me an' George. I don't think nobody's gonna be able to deal with him like I do. I don't want you gettin' hurt. I appreciate the gesture, though." His chest shook with a gritty cough, and before Yves could think of anything to say, the man was off, his faithful dog trotting close to his side.
He closed his eyes. So, that was that. A feral dog. And yet he hadn't attacked anyone, or else he would have been put down by now. Where was their home? Was it even a home, or was it the closest, safest place away from the cold?
His heart sank into his stomach, a cold pit. |
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2015 1:58 am
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❝ I Can't Get Them Out of My Head ❞( who : Yves, Idette ) ( where : The Pet Parlour ) ( time & weather : Early morning, sky is cloudy, cold, forbidding. )January 15th, 2015
Yet again, Yves found himself at his grooming parlor; again, he was sweeping up hair off the floor, his hands focused on the task but his mind wandering a mile a minute.
That man. He gave pause and closed his eyes, troubled. That dog, too. He had seen homeless people before, many times. Had given change when he had it, but he never knew their struggle personally. When night fell and he was comfortable in his home, how often had he given thought to how someone on the street was feeling? Unsafe? Cold? Hungry?
He bit his lip. Even if he had prided himself as an empathetic person, did he truly care? What had he ever done for them that truly made a difference? He couldn't recall. That realization made his stomach twist in a painful knot; god, the guilt was unbearable.
Perhaps he was projecting his anxieties toward his important task - soul capturing - on this homeless man and his dog. Feeling guilty over something else distracted him from feeling scared and guilty over taking so long to acquire a soul, as he was obligated to do. Finally, he abandoned the broom, leaving the pile of hair on the floor in order to move to his desk and dig out his soul bottle.
The cloth was as grey-scale and without life as ever, but he knew better. The bottle held limitless possibilities and he held the power to decide what direction it took. Well, within reason. Within... color-bound reason. He passed his fingertips over the cloth and turned the bottle in his hand, admiring it.
The familiar tinkling of the door caught his attention and Yves turned, bottle still in hand, and was greeted by his own likeness.
"Idette!" he called, mood lifting almost instantly. The sight of someone familiar and close was unexpected, but it meant the world at that moment. He clasped the soul bottle to his chest and crossed the room to welcome her in. "It is so cold out, what brings you here so early?"
His sister did not look as pleased to see him, her pretty brow bent in worry, eyes studying his face, the circles that were beginning to hint underneath his eyes. She gave his cheek a gentle pat and asked, quietly, "Yves, are you alright?"
He blinked, disarmed by her question. "Um. What? Am I alright? Idette, I'm fine, why would you ask?" He laughed, weakly. "Is this because I have not called Grandmother in a while, because I've just been so busy, and..."
Idette cut him off with a sharp look. "Non, it is because of this!" She gestured toward him, growing agitated. Fragile Idette, strangers thought; but it was Yves who would shrink away at her display. "Yves, look at yourself! You throw yourself into your work more than ever, you obviously have not slept a wink, and the last time we spoke..." She hesitated, searching. "I am not sure I approve of this... this lab business."
Once he retrieved his jaw from the floor, Yves stared at his sister, almost a mirror image down to the worried expression and thick, dark eyebrows. He gave a loud scoff. "Excuse me? Are you my mother?" he asked, loudly. He knew he was losing his temper, but he couldn't help but press on, voice carrying a hint of a quiver. "Idette! There is absolutely nothing wrong with the lab. It is me!" He slapped his palm to his chest, fingers tightly gripping the soul bottle in his other hand. "I'm the weak one! I am the one letting it get to me!"
Idette stood back, shocked. When Yves registered his own outburst, he turned a deep scarlet and also stepped back, ashamed. He knew, now, how crazy he sounded to an outsider. Idette was not part of the lab. She had probably done some research on his behalf, but she didn't understand the gravity of capturing a soul. Or, rather, he was thinking too much about his soul capture, and...
"... And making it into something it does not have to be," he murmured, barely above a whisper. Yves held up his soul bottle, close to his face, and looked into his reflection. The tired face that stared back told him that he was right; he was making this out to be much more than it had to be. He was thinking too much about it. And it was eating him from the inside out.
Really, he wanted to laugh at himself. How had it taken him so long to capture a soul? And why was he so afraid? It felt like he was trying to conquer a phobia; as if he wanted to go sky-diving so badly, because he knew it would be a life changing experience, but his own fear was holding him back. Would he ever listen to common sense?
Perhaps that was why Idette had shown up in his parlor. They had grown apart over the years, but they would always retain that sibling bond, and few knew him as well as Idette. His shame grew with each passing second, and he extended a hand toward his sister in apology.
"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. Idette frowned and glared, but he knew she was only worried for him. Crossing her arms, she turned her head and closed her eyes, brows furrowed again. "Oh, Yves," she said with a huff, shoulders rising and falling dramatically. "I know you. You are smart, and kind. I know you are not getting into trouble."
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She was like a ruffled bird, nose in the air, stubborn but cautious. "But I also know you are easily overwhelmed. You have been struggling with this for some time, no?" She jabbed a sharp nail into his chest, twice. "Why have you not come to me for help?! Hm?"
His sister was always so animated, alive. He felt like a ghost these past few months, and he missed feeling the spark he saw in her. For the hundredth time, Yves felt badly; he felt badly for how long he had taken to gather a soul, he felt inadequate for his lack of purpose and drive, and he felt like he needed to reconnect with his family. Guilt crept up his spine and he itched at the nape of his neck, suddenly annoyed.
"It's not just -"
So, so annoyed.
"What?" she pressed.
With himself, of course.
"He's homeless," he blurted, voice cracking. Idette blinked and asked, again, "What?" Yves looked at the ground and blinked, frustration welling up in his eyes. God, he hated to cry. He hated being so frustrated, feeling so hopeless, that he just had to and there was no reasonable way around it. He pretended the floor was the most inviting thing he'd ever laid eyes upon.
"Idette, he... he's got nowhere to go, or his d-dog." He gripped the soul bottle in both hands, as if for dear life. "And there's nothing he will let me do for them, and I...!"
For the first time since he had accepted this duty, Yves let go. The soul bottle clattered to the floor, unmarred as it rolled across the pearly surface. Yves leaned his side against the wall and looked out toward the door. Idette jumped when the bottle made contact with the ground, staring at it as if she expected to see glass explode across the floor. Yves pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and let out a burdened breath.
Realization dawned on his sister, and Idette made a sympathetic noise and placed a hand on his cheek. "Yves," she began, gently, "Yves... you cannot save everyone. Not even all of the dogs." Yves choked back the urge to cry, but tears fell in silence, regardless. He kept his hands over his face to protect himself.
He was so, so weak. So weak and useless. He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't even talk about his problems without bursting into tears.
Idette, despite herself, would always stand up for him when needed, and she had been his pillar in the past, in their childhood. She remembered wiping the tears from his eyes. Her empathetic brother who cried for the animals in the shelter he'd worked at, the ones who had never gotten adopted, who worked too much and missed the friendships he had never formed, who eventually grew apart from his closest and only friend as their lives rapidly changed. The boy who had grown into the man that always tried to hide his feelings, but failed miserably. Everything affected Yves, and Yves tried to protect everything.
His sister smiled. "Yves, do you remember when you used to work at that pet shelter?" Yves nodded, slowly. "And do you remember your last day?"
Hesitantly, Yves lowered his hands from his eyes, reddened but curious. "Uhm.. yes, o-of course I do," he responded, one eyebrow creeping upward. "Why -"
"Then you remember how you cried, and cried," she went on, interrupting him. Yves' nose wrinkled at her casual recollection, but he held his tongue as she continued. "You said, 'Why can't we take them all home? I wish I could adopt all of you!' You really loved all of them, no matter the age, size, breed... You have always had a big heart."
Yves rubbed at his eyes, sniffling only a little bit. "A-and... what does that mean? Where are you going with this?" he asked, distressed.
"You always felt so bad, as if it were your responsibility to help all of those cats and dogs. You always tried to take it on your own shoulders, you wanted to be everyone's hero!" She poked his chest again, but with less intent to kill than before. "Back then, you were always lonely. Those animals, they were your friends, weren't they? It hurt to say goodbye."
She drew in a huge breath, shoulders rising and falling in one of her many dramatic displays. "Don't you see? When you are feeling overwhelmed, or sad, or burdened, you always try to make yourself feel better by trying to be everything and anything for someone, or something. You know you will feel better by being someone's "hero", so you use whatever new-found purpose you come across to distract yourself!"
Yves blinked, eyes wide, mouth s**t in a tight line. Idette wasn't done grilling him, however. "And so now, you have that.... that bottle, and it is heavy, and you can hold it in your hands, and..." She stooped down and scooped it up, turning it this way and that, face contorting as she stared down into the glass. Slowly, she held it up to Yves. "And it is so heavy, isn't it, Yves? This bottle.... no, this task. You feel the weight of what you must do, what you chose to do, every time you carry around this bottle. And it bothers you. It bothers you so much, that you think about it. Constantly. And it has begun to take its toll on you. So now you look for an escape. Tell me..."
She forced the bottle into his hands, tone turning fierce. "Tell me, did you ever notice that homeless man before you got this bottle? Before you began to look for ways to avoid thinking about it?" Yves stared, dumbfounded, at his sister.
"Idette, I..." He hugged the bottle to his chest without realizing it, instinctively, protectively. His eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. "I.... I know. You're right. You... you're always right," he murmured, retreating back against the wall. This time, he kept the soul bottle close to himself, feeling guilty over having all but chucked it through the window. It bore no scratches or marks, a sign of sturdiness, reliability. He was relieved.
"Idette, I doubt there have been any guardians as weak-willed as me," he admitted, smiling sheepishly. "Or any guardians who have tried to... run away, even if it was something they thought they were so ready for. And maybe I am trying to make myself feel better by helping someone else. Is that so strange, though?" He looked at her, searching her face. She only shrugged, but a hint of a smile was tugging at her lips.
"I do want to help them, though. Even if... even if it took me spiraling into a self-gratuitous depression to finally see them. And," he held up a finger. "It's not me running away this time. I promise."
Idette's smile grew genuine, and her shoulders relaxed. She closed her eyes and nodded, uttering something about a relief under her breath. Within moments she had embraced her brother in a tight hug, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"I was so worried," she breathed, fighting back tears with impressive stubbornness. She had always been better at it. Yves wrapped her up and lifted her briefly off the ground, bottle held awkwardly at her back. When he released her, she hopped back and gestured to the floor. "But now I am worried about this floor! Dog hair, everywhere! Do you mean to run a business like this?"
The door opened again and brought a brisk breeze, the merry tinkling of the bell causing the siblings to turn and look. An eldery couple walked in with a carrier, the distressed yowls of a cat coming from within. Yves immediately beamed, putting his customer service face on. "Welcome!"
Idette rocked back on her heels - she reminded Yves of when she was a girl, then, and they were both just children - and laced her fingers behind her back. "Well, Yves, I think I have said all I wanted to say," she mused, looking much more cheerful than when she had entered. The mood of the store had lifted exponentially, and Yves was grateful for it.
Idette reached the door and turned, hand pushing the door ajar. She thought for a moment before another smile crossed her face, much gentler this time. "Yves, think of all of the little things you can do for a person. You don't have to adopt them and give them your home, but there will always be a way to help. But first, you must make sure to help yourself!"
Yves blinked, then laughed. Once again, she was right. Idette was spoiled, but she, too, came from a hard working home. She knew what it meant to struggle, too. He lifted his hand in a loose wave and they exchanged their goodbyes, and Yves was back to his job, gesturing for the couple to bring their cat to the counter. He kept his soul bottle held behind his back as he gazed into the carrier, into the grey and white face of a fluffy, disgruntled feline.
"Hello," he greeted merrily to the cat. "How may I help you today?" |
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Posted: Sat Jan 24, 2015 2:06 am
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❝ Sæglópur ❞PART ONE( who : Yves, etc ) ( where : The Pet Parlour ) ( time & weather : The end of the work day. )January 28th, 2015
"What kind of dog is George?"
Outside of the Pet Parlor, Yves leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. The little plaque in the door read CLOSED.
The old man grunted. "Dunno. Big?"
They were an odd pair; a smallish, disgruntled-looking french man and an aged, weathered old man. The man wore a big coat with a fur trim, jeans, boots; casual wear. In all honesty, he likely wasn't as old as Yves had first suspected, but he did like to exaggerate. The man's short dark hair was peppered with some silver and grey, his strong jaw covered in a beard that Yves disliked. His grandmother had always said that people with beards were hiding something - whatever that meant.
In all likelihood, if given a proper wash and perhaps a shave, he could probably be very handsome. Yves laughed inwardly at that thought, but he couldn't help it. He had all of the strong features women adored, and his rugged demeanor made him feel like some kind of mountain man. Despite all of that, his eyes were kind, if not often far away.
George the dog sat by his owner and watched the people walk by with bright, yellow eyes.
Yves snorted. "That goes without saying." He side-eyed the older man, whose name he hadn't even gathered yet. He'd dubbed him as simply "Old Man" in his mind, but he never called him by anything out loud. The man didn't seem to mind, although Yves was very curious about his name, regardless.
Talking to Zeke had helped ease the guardian's mind. He felt a little less anxious, less terrible about the whole thing. His normal moods were returning a little more every day, the skittish, anxiety-riddled boy from before shrinking away again.
Well, he hated anxiety. It was usually not that hard to keep it at bay by keeping himself busy, but he had to admit that the gravity of the situation had gotten the better of him. Now, instead of fretting over this homeless man and his dirty dog, he stood outside his store with them and accepted that there were things that just weren't gonna happen.
He'd struggled with the empathetic side and the cynic in himself; almost gotten genuinely annoyed that this man kept refusing his aid. Then he had looked into himself and realized he was doing it more for himself than the man or the dog, and that was messed up. Idette and Zeke had helped him see that, too. Something about learning to understand that some things weren't meant to be - whether it was a really cool wolf soul or him being a hero to this odd couple - humbled him.
He leaned over and cocked his head toward the old man. "Still not going to let me bathe your dog?"
The old man rolled his eyes. "Honestly, kid, if I thought he'd let you get any closer without him biting your arm off, I'd say go for it. He don't let no one but me touch 'im."
"Then you --"
"Nope," he said, plainly. Yves rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
"Don't feel bad, kid. He's had baths, just didn't like gettin' him wet in the cold. What, he come ask you for a scrub or somethin'?" He laughed at that, his shoulders shaking. Behind his beard, Yves could see he was smiling. "George's fine. He gets by, just like me."
Yves sighed. "Fine, but do not be surprised if I show up with flea medicine one of these days. And a razor -- for you."
The man made a noise between a grunt and a chuckle and spit onto the sidewalk. George looked up at him and back to the street.
"s**t, kid. You ain't my mom."
They were quiet for a while, the three of them. Passerby crossed the street, the sun was sinking low on the horizon. It was nice.
After some time, the silence was broken by an odd cough from George, then another.
And another. |
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