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 Posted: Wed Jul 28, 2004 6:18 am
Chavi's Diary Only she should be posting here. Visit the shop-------------------------------------------------------------- Sep 7th- Your good care and affections have brought Rye to life, though he doesn't quite seem as 'happy' as some of the others. Oh well, it's obvious he enjoys spending his time with you.
July 28th- A thief that uses their intellect to steal and cuteness to get out of things. The box has found the perfect companion for you, a rather oddly colored raccoon. Please take good care of the little dear and I'm sure he'll grow to become a great companion.
General Info:
Name: Rye
Gender: Male
Size: 11 x 8 inches
Born: June 5
Personality: Logical, realistic, and pessimistic. This velvet is an expert puzzle solver and problem analyst but most of the time he rather shove a stick in his eye then waste his time with the other velvets. Maybe after a little helping he'll lighten up.
Skills:
Puzzle solving: 4/10
Teleportation: 2/10
Status:
Social: Outsider
Energy: Cool and Collected
Ability: Analytical mind, photographic memory
Mental: Logical problematics
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Posted: Fri Jul 30, 2004 3:41 pm
 Full Name: Chavi Brishen Grey
Age: 15
Background Summary Born to a well-to-do family of north Barton, Chavi had a very simple, pleasant childhood. She was fine with the restrictions put on her actions and expressions in order to make her a young lady of privilege, because there was nothing more that she wanted. She had food to eat, a bed to sleep in, and most importantly a younger sister whom she loved: Acelin. But as the times are, families rarely stay together, and her parents divorced on bitter terms, causing her father and Acelin to move away and leave the house to her mother. For the first time she realized she wasn't content with this life. She hated ribbons and curls, the porcelain dolls that lined her room, the bonnets and frills... Acelin had made it bearable, but her departure only made these feeling of discomfort obvious and overpowering. So she began to run away. It started small, just seeing if she could make it at all. Her mother's eyes wasn't prepared for these stunts, and before she knew it her daughter would be back in her bed. But trips up and down their street wasn't the end of this rebellion, and soon she made the ultimate journey: all the way to Durem, where her sister woke in the middle of the night to see her at her window, gifts in hand. The stealing began as a random occurrence, that over time became second nature. Her mother finally discovered her daughter's secret visits, and, still angered with Chavi's father, she forbid this contact. With no money for gifts, she found a new means to acquire them.... and not to mention a rather exciting hobby. She entered the toy shop with the intention of stealing a plush while the crowd made cover, but in this failed attempt she seems to have gotten more than she bargained for...
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Posted: Fri Jul 30, 2004 3:42 pm
[ raccoon info, etc. ] Diana Geiger The Raccoon is a carnivorous and omnivorous mammal that lives throughout the United States, Southern Canada, and Central and South America. They are of the genus Procyon of the family Procyonidae. The North American Raccoon is classified as Procyon lotor. The size of the raccoon is length from 0.62 to 1 m, including its tail, which is 20 to 40 cm long. Raccoons are brownish-gray on top and a lighter gray fur on the bottom. They have a black facial mask that gives them the appearance of a bandit. The tail has six black rings that completely encircle the tail. The soles of their feet are naked. The raccoon is a nocturnal animal that hunts at night for poultry, mice, birds' eggs, various insects, fish, and frogs. They will vary their diet with nuts and wild fruit. They live in trees often near ponds. They will sleep in a den, usually in a hollow tree, during the winter though raccoons are not true hibernators. They will sleep for long periods coming out to eat during brief spells of warm weather. Raccoons have their young in the spring and usually have four to six young in a litter. The gestation takes 54 to 65 days. The raccoon family will live and hunt together for about one year. Raccoons are skillful swimmers and are quite good at catching fish, crawdads, and frogs.
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Posted: Fri Jul 30, 2004 3:57 pm
Here he is as a plush... he was so soft then!
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Posted: Fri Jul 30, 2004 3:58 pm
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Posted: Fri Jul 30, 2004 3:59 pm
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Posted: Sat Jul 31, 2004 12:34 pm
July 31, 2004 -
Last night, I began to wish I'd never accepted that key. It woke me from my sleep, burning into my skin and forcing me to my feet. The last thing I wanted to do was go back there, where I'd made such a fool of myself just days before, but I couldn't live with this horrible itching.
So I returned grudgingly, and found one of the owners, a sweet, but quite crazy woman-- I don't think anyone there is quite normal. She told me that it was time for me to open my box, apparently, and for my own safety I went along with it. That was the best part of the evening: opening my chest to reveal a plush for only me, a raccoon with odd markings. I suppose these people aren't so bad, if they're going to be giving me things.
Now, I know it sounds off, and there must be something wrong with me to think this way, but... even though this raccoon plush is, well... plush, I can't help but believe them when they tell me he will become real. He seems real already, his dark bead eyes appearing intelligent and calculating beneath it all.
But don't tell anyone I said that. I'd never live it down.
I also met one of the shop goers by chance, a girl who calls herself Kanth, and her digusting pet skunk. I can't believe anyone would even touch one of those creatures, much less keep one in their home. Does she let it sleep in her bed like a cat, even? I shudder to think. But she didn't seem too bad, really. She even gave me a gift, too: an old book of fairytales, the cover worn with love.
When I returned home, I placed my plush on the pillow beside me, and read aloud the first few tales before sleeping. I felt like my father, reading to a younger me. I don't think I'd mind being a parent, if it felt like this.
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Posted: Thu Aug 05, 2004 10:04 pm
August 6th, 2004 -
So, I've had this plush for about a week now. He doesn't seem any more alive than the day I got him, but I've been acting peculiar all the same. I think some of the craziness from the shop has surely infected me.
Like a mother (or maybe more like a child?) I've taken to the habit of bringing him with me everywhere. In a way, this hasn't changed me much. I've always kept my own interior monologue of what I do day to day. Now I simply have someone to tell it to.
I explain to him the simplest things, for no reason beyond that he hasn't heard them before. I take him to my bathroom when I brush my teeth, to tell him how important being clean is, and show him how I make my bed and dress myself, little things that matter so much to me. THough I usually get very dirty when leaving my house, there's nothing quite like cleaning myself up after. I think that's the greatest lesson I can teach him-- no matter how dirty you become, you can always wash it away in time for tomorrow.
He's also had a greater effect on me: I haven't run away yet, since I took him home. Oh, I want to. I hate being so locked up in my dull room. But I fear that he's too fragile to run with me. I can hardly keep myself from tearing my clothes-- how could I keep him from busting a seem? My sewing skills are dull and useless to help him. So for now I have to settle for sneaking up onto the roof, where I can be sure that my arms can stay tightly round him always.
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Posted: Sun Aug 15, 2004 10:46 pm
August 15, 2004 -
When I was younger and my father still lived with us, this house was never really quiet. We took these endless empty rooms and filled them with family and friends, who wandered through on their way to 'varekai' - wherever. My father always seemed sad when a period passed and they were all gone, only to come alive again with the next knock on the door.
But now those rooms are silent, years of dust covering each surface. My mother never entertains guests; and for that I'm a little thankful. There is one good thing about empty rooms like these: they leave plenty of room for exploration.
I took Rye-- that is the name I have given the raccoon plush; if nothing else, naming him 'gentleman' will tell him what I expect of him -- through those rooms this past week, showing him the way certain floors creak, how certain windows can be opened easy from both sides, and many shiny items. Raccoons are supposed to love shiny things, right? Don't ever say I'm a poor mother.
But even these small adventures weren't enough, and I had to move. I couldn't be hasty, lest I injure Rye as I always feared. So I left my house in a way I hadn't for the longest time: through my front door. My mother caught me, of course, and made sure to doll me up in her choice ribbons and bows for the occassion. It was a small price to pay for fresh air.
As I walked with Rye through the streets of Barton, I was reminded of how diverse this town is... and how Rye should be taught about this diversity. There are many dangers, and if he plans on walking someday, I must make sure he knows who walks amongst him.
I also had another meeting with that crazy girl and her thing. I still fail to understand how anyone can love a skunk so much. But all in all, she seems nice enough. In return for her book, I have her my ribbon. Lord knows I didn't need it. Maybe she can make use of it.
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Posted: Sat Aug 28, 2004 12:48 pm
August 28th, 2004 -
Ever since I can remember, I've never gone to a public school like most children. My mother and father have schooled me from our home, wanting to instill their own morals and ideas in my sister and I.
I've always been sort of indifferent to it. I would have rather gone somewhere else, instead of just waking up and starting school. But now there is an added bonus to these lessons: my mother is a far better teacher than I, and Rye will learn much more listening to her.
So he sits in my lap during my lessons now, a gentle and harmless plush, listening as my mother drones about math and history. Science bores me to tears; knowing why it rains isn't going to stop it from raining, is it? But I love history, and math is always useful. I hope Rye doesn't grow to love science-- I think I might cry.
Not for real, of course. I never cry! Honest.
I've also been practicing a bit with my sewing. It's rained for days over my home, so I couldn't bring Rye outside, so I opted to--- and I hate to use these words, really I do-- "dress him up." Not like my mother, mind you. Don't you dare think that! But he can't go around naked, can he? It isn't decent! So I made him a small cloth collar, and little wristbands for little paws. He looked so handsome.
I should enjoy these days. Someday, when he is real, he may just rip them off!
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Posted: Fri Sep 10, 2004 5:30 pm
September 10, 2004 -
I've never been a forgetful person. I never lose anything, even when I'm trying. So you can imagine how worried I was to wake and find that Rye was gone.
I felt like a mother just realizing her child had gone missing. I checked to each side of my bed, ripping sheets off of my mattress. He'd been there just the other, in my arms. I held him! I instantly thought the worse. Had my mother thrown him away as I slept, or worse, had the crazy people from that shop reclaimed him? What a cruel joke that would have been.
I ate my breakfast in silence, planning what to do. I'd rather deal with near-strangers than my mother, so I decided the toy shop would be my first stop, but I didn't even make it out the window before... a noise. I could hardly believe what I saw when I turned. There, on my bed, sat Rye, but not at all like I last saw him. He was flesh and blood now, blinking at me sullenly as if critical of my surprise. In his little paws and mouth he held pieces of my jewelry, and I couldn't help but shout in joy--
"Get those out of your mouth this instant!"
.... I was very happy, really! He was amazing now, sleek and beautiful. I had only heard how skillful raccoons were with their hands, but now I got to see it first hand. He could undo the latches of my necklaces as well as anything, which is definately be useful.
I now don't fear taking him outside. He can more than keep up with me now, and he's even more agile than I am. Sometimes he seems to just... appear beside me, after falling behind. I'm both jealous and happy. If anyone is going to outdo me, it should be Rye.
He may have once been a plush, but he is far from sweet and cuddly now. He walks around my room as if he was judging, taking in the layout of our house with a careful eye, but I can see that he isn't unhappy. While he now pushes my book of fairytales away at night preferring sleep, he still cuddles up to me and we sleep as close as ever. Such a strong heartbeat! I feel as proud as any mother.
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Posted: Sun Sep 26, 2004 9:33 am
September 26th, 2004 -
Things have finally settled into a normal routine for Rye and I, and I've never found monotony so... enjoyable, before.
Maybe it's wrong of me, but I consider Rye a child. He is always curious, seeming to just find himself at my side, even when I didn't know he was in the room at all. My normal human habits confuse him now, even though he's seen them time and time again. He refuses to let me brush his sharp little teeth, but he loves his baths and the brushing that comes after them (it's hard to stop without protest!).
He won't let me read stories to him anymore before dark, so I've tried to find other games to tire him. Number games are his favorites, simple math using fruit. I hate it, but I love when he nibbles at my fingers playfully while we play. He loves learning about constellations, as well, though I wish I could show him for real, not just in books. The lights in Barton are too bright to see them.
And he is so agile! All the children around us are envious. Their dogs and cats can't begin to compare with him in my eyes. For once there is nothing that can make me feel less superior to them, and Rye enjoys the attention as well, puffing himself up and pretending that his hard-earned skills took little effort.
He's had an odd effect on me, too. Before, my jewelry and other decorations were placed on me only to be removed as soon as I could manage. But Rye has taken so much to the shiny jewelry and soft ribbons, that I've begun to let him put them on me. He finds so much joy in doing and undoing the clasps of the necklaces and bracelets, and each day he gets better with weaving ribbons into my hair. I trust his agile hands completely now, and for the first time since I was younger I don't mind stepping outside with the accessories someone has given me.
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Posted: Thu Nov 11, 2004 5:48 pm
November 11, 2004 -
For the past month we went away, my mother and I, as we often do in the start of winter: to the beaches, to avoid the cold. The small cottage we've gone to for years was the same as always, looking every part of the warm, salty smell and welcoming creaks. It was a far cry from our home in Barton, but if you reminded my mother is was only temporary, it put her at ease.
Rye was very grumpy at first, so alive in my arms until he eventually refused to sit with me or my mother (though she forced me to collar him like a "proper pet," and he didn't take to that at all, despite all my promises to take it off when she wasn't around). He didn't like being moved with no warning, especially when he had gotten so used to his other new home. On the ferry ride to the island he perched on the rail and made small noises at the seagulls; I think they were mocking him from the skies, and he was too proud to let it go. I through a rock at one when I could, and he accepted my hold again.
From the moment we stepped on dry land I could tell he was wary. It wasn't quite tourist season, but the island never sleeps, they say, and even then people wandered in droves. Rye's eyes passed over the grounds and instantly he bristled in my arms. I knew he wasn't too fond of others already. Honestly, most others weren't worth attention, anyway! I was a little sad to see him withdraw so quickly, but held my tongue. I couldn't be seen scolding him in pubic, of course.
He made the cottage his own, leaping from my arms when he arrived to immediately tour the place. In minutes he had my bedroom chosen for me, and had scouted out places to hide away in-- and made use of them, for the first few hours. He found me waiting on the porch with my swimsuit and parasol. If nothing else, I could share with him my favorite part of all of this: swimming.
His first time on sand was very interesting. At first he seemed frustrated walking in it, as it made him slower than normal, his gripping little hands only sinking, and he gave me looks of annoyance when I tried to help him. When we reached the water, however, he grew actually afraid. He'd never seen the ocean before! I hadn't considered that. The crashing waves and endlessness of it made him turn on it to hide away in the house.
The next day our normal routine began. I was to be have dinner and tea with my mother's friends also staying on the island, to show how cute and sweet I was. And I could be as cute and sweet as I needed to be, there was no doubt about it. I saw Rye's eyes gleaming at me from the ceiling boards as I curtsied to the Meyers family. He... he...
I'll finish this tomorrow, diary. I haven't slept since dawn, forgive me.
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Posted: Fri Dec 10, 2004 8:40 pm
December 10, 2004 -
Much has changed since we returned from vacation, but I haven't even finished that story, have I? The events are unimportant, in the scope of things. But there is a peculiar emotion I feel I must talk of.
Now, I am not a friendly person, at all. I will never deny this. I can be sweet, or cute, or whatever the other wants me to be most, but when I am being honest, I am not kind. Rye, in turn has become as I am, and yet, for some reason... this makes me very sad. I think this must be how my mother feels, seeing me as I am. It's one thing to be this way oneself, but to see someone else with that horrible trait... objectively, it's distressing. I never imagine myself being that way. And Rye... it hardly seems natural.
When we returned home, life slowed for over a week, while we tried to slip back into life as usual. But Rye was more distant than ever. He still seemed to enjoy my company, appearing in my lap when I sat, or 'thumbing' through my books and giving me impatient looks. He hated faerie tales now, only looking to books dealing with real life, or as close as we could come to it. Much to my boredom, biographies began to fly off the shelves, historical retellings of the lives of thieves and other unsavory characters. My own days as a thief were nothing like these books. I wondered what my sister would say, to see me here reading such trash aloud. Gangsters, murderers, pirates... what was Rye thinking?
This phase ended almost as soon as it began, and our closeness dissolved for a time. He confined himself to the spaces between rafters, only noticed when an idle claw caught on a board. His cuffs and collar I found discarded one day in the hallway; I kept them on my dresser, unsure of how to feel.
Is it my fault, and did I inspire this in him? Did I make him this way? I try to think back, far back to when we first went to the island, trying to find anything to make him act this way. Neither of us were particularly warm people, but we'd always been comfortable with each other. I never needed to wonder about my safety when I slept, if his claws would scrape my skin by accident, so peaceful was he. Now I have cuts across my arms from his uneasy sleep.
I don't want to be, but I'm so very worried. There's a new emotion in his eyes, and it frightens me a little.
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