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 Posted: Thu Nov 05, 2015 11:33 am
Isaiah found that he now disliked his days off. He couldn't determine when it started, and the shift in these listless hours felt so subtle and subversive that they poisoned from his bones outward like diesel fuel. He couldn't say what caused it, but he suspected Scholomance was at fault, for every moment he spent in idle enjoyment, he knew that somewhere beyond the bottomless blue his wonder awaited with that same ubiquitous and unending derision for him. But it festered and grew beyond his perception, and his conscience knew the weight of guilt so thoroughly that he often capitulated to a fifth of whiskey to stave it off for a few precious moments.
It was with some acknowledgement of failure that Isaiah took a seat in one of his reading chairs with a full glass of single malt scotch on the rocks. It was 11:00 AM. The sun shone blindingly from beyond the deep lids of his roll-down shades, glinting off the floor in bleached brightness. He shifted in his chair. It felt too cold, despite the unusually warm autumn temperatures. Despite the fact that he never touched the thermostat dial for his condominium's heating Despite that he sat upon a sheepskin throw positioned elegantly for his taste in aesthetics.
He took a sip, and he felt Scholomance boring through the back of his brain.
He considered potential outings for the day - the beach, visiting the movies, finding a concert venue, taking a walk in the park, reading a book, visiting a coffee shop to practice drawing... The list built up with a surfeit of activities, and yet none appealed to Isaiah for their loneliness. Then he considered calling Colin again and asking for his company, or calling Nadia and inviting her and Lorne along for some afternoon fun. He considered Sidney, and took another drink. He considered Rob, and took another drink, for he lived with Sidney. He thought about Scholomance's ring, and what Hvergelmir had said of her own weapon. And he thought of his broken engagement.
Suddenly he found the bone ring quite ironic.
With a sigh through his nose, Isaiah pulled his cell phone from pocket and thumbed through the unlock screen, then pulled up his contacts list. So many of the people within he'd lost contact with long ago, or saved solely for business purposes. His applicable friends dwindled to a small handful after his engagement broke off, and the few friends he had now proved more recent acquisitions. Auguste was one of the first that listed, and he touched the name.
Had he texted Auguste before? Doesn't matter, he told himself. Even if I have, why would it stop me from texting him now?
So he opened the text screen, touched the microphone icon, and spoke into the butt of the phone.SMS:
Hey, Auguste! It's Isaiah. Do you have time to talk? He was starting to find that no matter his efforts, any action or phrase or thought of his came out subtly incorrect.
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Posted: Thu Nov 05, 2015 7:01 pm
While Auguste's own days were not necessarily in any sort of particular order anymore, he did have at least some semblance of a routine - which was more than he could have said several weeks, even months ago. He had private dance lessons every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, which were really what he based his time around, or at least, his mental clock. Everything else just sort of fell into place alongside that, though admittedly a lot of time was spent in places other than the shared apartment with Nadia, if only because Auguste had been attempting to give she and Lorne some private time together without a third wheel attached. They were both kind enough not to deliberately exclude him, and several times he had even accompanied them on outings, or during movie nights, if they stayed in - but most of the time, he found it simply best to stay out of the way, out of respect, and admittedly, a sentimental affection for the both of them.
This was one surprising such time in which there was no one else at home but himself, Auguste curled up on the couch, remote in hand, movie on screen. He was no longer in school, and had yet to find a job he was capable at (patrolling as Thrymr did not count, in many ways), and so his time at present was spent mostly in simple pleasures, which he found no fault in.
Auguste's phone, which was resting on one of the couch cushions beside him, gave a merry, tinkling sound, the ringtone of which was some classical song that he'd applied to the majority of his teammates so far while he tried to figure out more personalized tones (because yes, he was exactly that type). Auguste lifted his head and peered curiously down at the phone, pulling it up into his lap and swiping a thumb across the screen to read the entirety of the message.
A surprised, but pleased smile touched his lips, and Auguste relaxed back against the pillows, tapping out a reply.strickenized Text to Isaiah:Hi! Of course! How are you? (:
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Posted: Fri Nov 06, 2015 2:16 am
Isaiah opened the message and clipped off the phone's jingle for its recipient. His gaze scanned the message impassively, and only afterward did it soften as his lids hung low over hazel irises. Idly he swirled his drink with his off hand.SMS:
I haven't decided yet. Isaiah settled into his chair, folded his legs, and dug his sock-covered heels into the edge of the seat. He thought, then, back to all the times as a child when he was scolded for such antics. He also remembered the darker stains from his transgressions that remained on their white couch despite his mother's obsessive cleaning. Silently he thanked himself for buying black. After a minute, he pulled the socks off and discarded them to the floor so he could curl his toes into the soft sheepskin.
He took another sip.SMS:
It's uncommonly fortuitous that I have so many friends, so soon after I moved here. Half of me doesn't believe this is happening, and half of me is afraid to lose everything. Frowning, Isaiah discarded the draft. He started again.SMS:
What do you do when something is eating you?
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Posted: Fri Nov 06, 2015 7:53 am
The movie onscreen was less an actual movie, and more just a documentary on the migration of certain animals. Auguste had been watching it with a certain amount of interest, but now his attention was drawn to the phone in his hand and the messages that were popping up. He frowned slightly at the first, shifting to lay on his back with his head on the armrest, and held the phone above him to tap back.
The frown only deepened more at the second message, Auguste considering it for a few minutes before he started to tap back a reply.Text to Isaiah:
It took me a while to figure that out myself. We didn't talk about anything at home. His parents had never wanted to hear about anything other than the surface layers of things, after all. And whatever else was more than that was simply pushed aside, pretended that it didn't exist. Relationships were kept materialistic and shallow, however close they were supposed to be.Text to Isaiah:
It usually helps me to talk about things.
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Posted: Sun Nov 08, 2015 12:13 am
Isaiah looked to his phone again. The ice clacked and glistened in his glass. It was still three-quarters full.
The second text confirmed the precise course of action that Isaiah loathed to take. 'Talk about things' typically consisted of attempting to confront Sid, her volatility in wanting to ignore the subject, a fight ensuing, and nothing getting resolved. But Auguste was not Sid, nor did the pair live together anymore, and the ghosts of memories may urge him down a different path but he needn't take it. Isaiah started a text in response, but the caution stressed in keeping his knight life separate from his personal life prevented him from completing it. He took another sip.SMS:
If it were my decision, I would. Isaiah considered it, then discarded the message. Sending it raised curiosities, legal implications, and Auguste may feel less a friend due to the lack of explanation. however, he felt the exacting tradeoff long before he typed the first word.
He remembered, then, the many times that Sidney leaned over the back of the chair and toyed with his hair idly. She would giggle sometimes, depending on what he wrote, and he knew she never cared what he wrote or how he wrote it. She benefitted just the same.
But there were no fingers in his hair now.It's not a happy topic. I lost an engagement several months ago. I've learned that some people stop haunting you. Some come and go, but ideas never leave.
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Posted: Sun Nov 08, 2015 10:35 am
There was now something about penguins on the television, but Auguste was still only half hearing it, his eyes still focused on the phone. He ran his fingers absently over the screen, humming a little as he read the incoming messages, though his frown had deepened again.
An engagement? He knew so little about the other man, which was rather disheartening. Auguste tapped out another reply, curling up a little further on the couch and hugging his pillow to his chest.I'm very sorry to hear that. :( Auguste hesitated, thumbs hovering over the little number buttons, and then kept typing.Even if ideas never leave, you can make better ones, right? Better memories? Are you still haunted? The last message was typed, deleted, typed again, and then finally sent - accidentally - when he hit send instead of backspace.
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Posted: Sun Nov 08, 2015 10:54 am
The emoticon that cropped up next to Auguste's message left the text dehumanized. Isaiah couldn't quite explain to himself how a face cropping up next to a message somehow rendered it more clinical and less personal, either - perhaps their use in so many instant messaging programs left him feeling embittered. Or perhaps his own deliberate avoidance of them contributed. He hovered his thumb over the yellow face to block its appearance while he read the text.
And then another arrived, sending a notification across his screen. He swiped down, tapped the message. Another notification, another swipe, another tap. He smiled.I do that every day. They weren't the same memories, nor did they entail the same vein. Memories made with Auguste weren't equal to the memories made with Kam, and those didn't equal the memories made in Chicago, either. Isaiah disliked how quickly his mind drifted to past experiences and glorified them for a nostalgia that he equally detested. He couldn't return to the life he had, and why would he?
Because, I suppose, I could finally ignore Scholomance for good. Nothing could reach me.
And nothing could touch me.My dear, I'm always haunted. Ghosts in every corridor. He thought of the shattered doll, then, and he wondered if ghosts were haunted.Most of it is easier dealt with by distraction. He discarded the message.I think a lot of it comes down to the changing value of 'normal'. When it leaves, nothing feels right, but it's up to me to reinvent it. Setting my own baseline, so to speak.
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Posted: Sun Nov 08, 2015 10:28 pm
Sadly, in Auguste's mind, adding the emoticon was an attempt at adding more heart to his messages, not less, even if this did not exactly come across the way it was intended. He scrolled through the first of Isaiah's messages, contemplating.Well, that's good. Making new memories is always a good thing, right?. He hadn't meant to send his last text, Auguste lifting the phone and letting it poke him in the forehead as he closed his eyes briefly. It was really just his luck that the send button had been placed next to the backspace one, and of course he'd hit the wrong one. He wondered whether or not it was too intimate of a question, whether Isaiah would read it the wrong way, or not at all.
His phone buzzed again, and Auguste lifted it to look once more at the screen, his frown back in place - though this time it was more of concern and bemusement than anything else.Is that what you're trying to do with the new memories? Reinvent normal? You seem pretty normal to me. Can you get rid of any of your ghosts, do you think?
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Posted: Fri Nov 13, 2015 4:24 pm
"Making new memories..." Isaiah read off the text. "Wasn't that a toast somewhere? I feel like it's got a variety of connotations." He took another sip.It's not about my being normal. Everyone has a 'normal'. It's having a house to live under, if you've never been homeless. Or having particular foods readily available. Or having someone you go to bed with every night. Sometimes 'normal' is a hindrance. It gets stale. It needs a revision. Isaiah swirled the glass in hand, then pressed it to his forehead. The cool condensation transferred to his skin readily. A droplet traced a fresh path down his face where it lingered near the flare of his nose. Ghosts can be normal, too. He considered Sidney, and whether he wanted her to remain a part of his life so long after the fact. She was involved in his 'normal' in a very different way previously; he wondered if allowing her back into his life entailed similar disasters. Perhaps if he let them be. He knew no standard or mandate that required him to allow the previous connotations of their togetherness to influence any reformation of their relationship. Perhaps, then, they would be ******** buddies at her behest. Perhaps he could rewrite their mental identification as such.
Perhaps, then, he could finally consider others.
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Posted: Sat Nov 14, 2015 9:51 am
Auguste's thumbs smoothed over the screen of his phone as he nestled against the back of the couch, absently brushing a few strands of pale hair out of his eyes as he read the incoming messages. And he could not say that he did not, strangely enough, understand at least some part of what Isaiah was trying to say.Normal doesn't really mean good, too. or happy He almost deleted the last message, then decided that Isaiah was being open and honest with him, and deserved the same respect. Auguste shifted his legs, curled up so in on himself that he was quite small on the couch, surrounded by cushions and pillows.My parents thought the way we lived was normal, and I guess it was, in a way. It just needed a revision. That's why I moved here.
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Posted: Sun Nov 15, 2015 9:44 am
No. Normal doesn't need connections to mood, either. Normal is an anchor point. A point at which someone like him could base his mercurial reactions. An instant of evaluation by which he could say, yes, his reactions are warranted or no, something is terribly wrong. He needed it, because he knew what happened without it.
But Auguste understood normal, and that his baseline needed a shift. He made that change and was now living with Nadia. Isaiah imagined that he considered it an improvement, that he considered that revision of normal as acceptable, and frowned upon prior versions. That much was evident in his messages. And Isaiah could agree, in part, to the assertions that the 'normal' existing in a house with parents proved subpar to a 'normal' elsewhere. He wondered, then, if he and his father could even survive a night together under the old rules.I moved here for similar reasons. It helped that the business was good. Who knew that terrorists could be so lucrative?
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Posted: Mon Nov 16, 2015 5:58 am
An anchor point.
Auguste considered this, as well as his own definition of normal, and found it was strangely easy to understand. Normal did not have to be associated with anything else except itself - a marker on a chart, a point by which things were based on without actually being connected to an emotion.
Or something. Whatever the case, that normal had changed for him. Normal was back at his parents' house, living a life that, while good, was not satisfying.
A small smile touched Auguste's lips at the rest of the messages.I'm glad you moved here. I don't really want normal anymore, I don't think. Or, at least, I don't want what used to be normal anymore.
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Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2015 9:33 am
I think you'd be surprised what happens when you decide against normal Isaiah smiled before he finished the text, considered it, then sent it regardless - lack of period and all. What did it matter? He wasn't sending to Auguste his entire powered identity. Auguste knew nothing of Scholomance so far as he was concerned, but Auguste knew well of the terrorists featured on news reports. You could wake up one morning with superpowers, let's say. Would that suit you? Marginally drunk, he thought, when he pressed bony fingers against his lips. He might regret it in the morning. But, as he noted with a quick glance at the time, it wasn't tomorrow morning yet. The pair remained in today, in now, in 11:00AM.I wouldn't mind seeing you in tights.
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Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2015 7:34 pm
I think you'd be surprised what happens when you decide against normal.
Auguste stared at this message for quite some time after it was sent, his brow furrowed as he considered it, lips slightly parted in surprise. Decide against normal. That was what he had done, wasn't it? When he'd decided to come to Destiny City in the first place, leaving behind his good, normal life in favor of something else, something more. And no, he had not expected to become Thrymr, had least of all expected to find people like Isaiah, and Nadia, and Colin, and Lorne to care for as much as he did - and who cared for him in return.
He could not help but smile a little.I wouldn't mind superpowers, maybe then I could help save the world A lighthearted reply, meant to be nothing more than playful banter. Auguste blinked at the rest of Isaiah's text, head tilted to the side, fingers absently smoothing through his hair.I have a pair or two, somewhere, I think in my closet
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Posted: Sat Nov 21, 2015 7:54 am
Then I suppose I should lease you for some private world-saving powers. He wondered what Auguste knew of powered life, or if he knew anything at all. He wondered if, given Scholomance's power, he could save his own world. Would it not be possible? Of all the comic book stories and superhuman feats that remained timeless in literature, he knew the plea of further power and the responsibilities addressed with it were not original concepts to him. But, in this world, where that power is in fact handed down, was it possible to perform those same successes? Could he rebuild his own life, or would he be doomed to the ever-present contrast of a dysfunctional 'normal' life to give depth to his heroic choices?
As if Scholomance stood as anything heroic.
But another text punctuated Isaiah's dolor abruptly, and he read it with a grin laid bare to his own private space. "Oh Auguste, you have no idea what I'm talking about." He found it quite endearing, and terribly motivating in the most selfish ways.That's what she said.
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