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 Posted: Wed Jul 04, 2007 12:11 pm
The little corner of the lower half of town had built itself upward. A sense of city and booming activities had emerged with the light of day. No longer could he accuse Durem of being a tiny little town with no sense of fun. He could scarcely refer to it as a tiny little town any longer, for, by no doubt, it had taken on its of prodigious atmosphere. Paul enjoyed that. The blinding crowds and ruffling activities. The noise that echoed within his ears like a dinner-coat required symphony show; he adored it to the fullest extent and it left him feeling almost complacent as he sat back in his chair at the little corner cafe.
Like a bewildered child, his eyes had been roaming the area. His hands had been fidgeting against his coffee cup, drumming out some off-beat tune that, were it loud enough, might have seemed a little vexing. The scenery was startling and beautiful - and he was more than proud that the Bus had stopped for more than a couple of shows. It was a vacation - and he was certainly enjoying the aspects of the vacation. His coffee was delicious, the food at the place he had picked was delicious - and proper, which he had always made certain to check - and there was a long list of other things that he would be able to do as the day dragged on. He had his plans. He'd duck into the clock tower to have a look around, he'd hunt down a museum of some sort to look back on the town he knew so little about ... He would spend the day learning and entertaining himself, giving himself a treat that he felt he so deserved. His life was spent entertaining others. Didn't he deserve entertainment himself?
At the pinnacle of self-rewarding thought, the entire segment of idealism had been shattered. A scraping chair had caused Paul to wince. His head had jerked, the blond strands of hair ruffling about over the bandanna he had tied to his head early that morning. As if he were a stalked deer, his eyes had buggered out as he had stared at the chair in front of him. Their brown color had seemed to glisten with unshed tears of startlement, of fear. Soon the feeling had subsided, though. His face had been planted into a hand, the other haphazardly holding his coffee. Trying in vain, in front of him, to climb into a chair was none other than his little pipsqueak. His troublemaker. His horrid little demon of a child with eyes so full of arrogance that he wanted to drop to his knees and plead some overbearing force strike it out of him. Marcello, as he had claimed to be named, was the boy. Mysterious and cool. He had emerged out of no where. A ticket. A train. Paul could remember it clearly; he could see the very image in his mind of the snarky man who had directed him, and then the sudden location of a lone child on a train. A child of confidence and an air of defense - dedication, pride. If Paul had only known the troubled world he had entered, he may have very well turned heel and run away ... Or perhaps he wouldn't have. His sort stuck together.
Letting out a bemoaning sigh, Paul had set his coffee down and had risen to his feet. Without word, he had stalked around the table, his jacket swishing, until he had reached the chair and the boy. Then, with no hesitation, he had grabbed the child and had set him down. Not an effort had been made to fix the large scarf or the boy's hair that had been messed by the action. Instead, Paul had grabbed his coffee once again and had began drinking enthusiastically, all the while dwelling on concepts of what to do for the day. some of his plans had definitely been thrown out the window by the realization that he was alone with Marcello for the day. Just his luck.
Meticulous and tidy in his own way, Marcello had been irritable over the rushing motion to get him into a chair. His tiny fingers had swiftly gone to fixing his hair and clothing, moving with the speed of a power-engine. His eyes had been set in stone. They had been gawking at the table, as if looking for something in particular. When he could not find it, he would glance upward towards the man escorting him about for the day; then he would resume his tidying up and searching. After several reiterations of activity, Marcello had straightened himself up. "Where's mine?" He had asked Paul with a low, disappointed tone to his voice.
Paul, in the midst of drinking his coffee, spit it out and realized something particular. Marcello had gone to the bathroom. He had been ordering coffee and food for them both - though he wasn't fond of the idea of giving a child coffee. Forgotten. Paul had completely forgotten to order Marcello anything at all! Slamming his coffee on the table, he had let out a loud curse. "Knew I forgot something! Jeez!" He had barked at himself before looking back at the growing line of the cafe counter.
Marcello had sat patiently, staring mundanely as if awaiting a statement of going to get him something. However, he had been greeted with something distinctly different. Paul had started digging in his pockets. Two dimes had hit the ground. His phone had hit the ground. Suddenly, Marcello's eyes had softened. A vivid dance of frantic behavior had seemed to unfold. Like a flickering flame, Paul had patted himself down and had dug through his pockets, as if seeking his wallet. It did not become apparent to Marcello that the man had likely lost it until he heard it spoken aloud.
No wallet. Two dimes and a telephone.
The boy's eyes had seemed to narrow. He could feel his stomach growling. How unfair! He had forgotten his food and had lost the money to buy it with? Crestfallen and upset, Marcello had brought his knees up to his chest and had sat on the chair awkwardly. His throat had been cleared, and he had made his declaration. "Idiot." He had murmured before looking away - just in time to spot the wallet next to Paul's half empty plate. His assumption had been more than correct! An idiot of a man. A clear, concise idiot of a man. Reaching over to grab the wallet, he had held it up. A whistling noise had escaped his mouth, and soon he and Paul were eying each other ridiculously.
Paul had laughed nervously before grabbing the wallet. Once it was between his fingers, he had began walking backwards, talking every now and again before whirling to continue on his way. "Be back in a second, Marc. Sit tight."
The final words between them over the duration of the petty ordeal. Marcello had only smiled smugly. He had returned to a comfortable seating position and had remained there in his chair, his legs dangling and kicking loosely about.
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Posted: Wed Jul 04, 2007 1:40 pm
Erasin had decided something. She was going to finally get around to exploring the rest of the town if it was the last thing she did. Besides, she had been itching to get out of the house for a while now, as the whole place smelled like burnt socks after Rhael's latest nightly escapade. Erasin still was not sure how exactly to explain what it was that the girl did, but something had to come soon when it came to controlling her abilities.
And thus, Erasin and Rhael were on an outing. They were looking for a cafe that Erasin had found a review of in the local newspaper. The weekly one, not the daily one. Erasin found herself preferring the weekly publication anyway, as there was far more work and a lot less political bias in that particular publication.
They found the cafe with relatively little trouble, as it was on a corner on a rather major intersection.
As Erasin pushed open the door, she glanced down at Rhael, "Why don't you go and find us a table." She suggested. She took a place in line and realized that it would be at least a short while until they were able to get a drink anyway. There did seem to be some children running about, however, so perhaps there was a chance that Rhael could find someone to talk to with very little effort.
Erasin hoped that was the case, as Rhael was rather starved for social contact. The burning made over-nights impossible and so many people had been scared off by Rhael's rather odd demeanor that it was hard to get her a friend to play with.
Rhael nodded and turned to face the growing crowd. There really weren't many tables free. There was one, however, with only a little boy sitting at it. She guessed that it would be okay to ask to share, as the child looked friendly enough.
She approached the table, weaving through the small mob of customers and chairs to stand in front of the little boy.
"Er... Hello?" She asked, suddenly uncertain as to whether or not her grand plan was a good idea. "Is there someone sitting there?" She asked, pointing to one of the chairs at the far end of the table. She put on her best smile and waited for the other child's response.
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Posted: Thu Jul 05, 2007 12:16 am
What ordeal had unfolded in front of Marcello had left him unscathed and particularly amused. His thoughts had been alight with both dissatisfaction and satisfaction - a contradiction occurring within his mind over the concept of poetic justice and comedic occurrences. Such ideals kept him primarily occupied, working right alongside the bustling scenery that mystified him to some extents. His short amount of memory provided nothing of great, lively activity outside of the realm of which was occasionally referred to as home. Even so, the activity on the Bus was scarcely comparable to the activity of the streets and the cafe.
Marcello's tawny eyes had been trained on the coffee and food across from him. Eagerly, he contemplated taking it and claiming it as his own - but the fact that it was half eaten and had been drunk left him floundering in disgust. He had no real desire to inhale whatever disgusting things lurked within Paul's mouth. Thus the idea was short lived and, with a sudden lack of enthusiasm, Marcello had turned himself away from the food only to come into contact with someone approaching.
Such a thing felt odd. A defensive stance had emerged, Marcello's face gleaming with confidence and self-protection as each step drew the stranger closer to him. Slowly he had began easing down, but his guard had remained elite and strong. The noises entering his ears had needed time to process. In fact, he had been nearly confused by the topic of the question. Once he glanced back at the food and coffee; then at the extra chairs the table adorned. Four minus two was how much? His eyebrows had furrowed together. His lips had pursed as if thinking to formulate a response for the girl who had boldly approached him.
"No one is." He spoke in his youthful voice, giving the girl a glance after coming to his conclusion. "Not in... Those two. Right there." With care, he had pointed out the unoccupied chairs. A sly grin had emerged on his face as he thought of Paul's chair. It would be delightful and entertaining if he were to give it away. Not to mention ironic. After all ... He did stand-up for a living. Wouldn't it be ironic for him to stand up? What did ironic mean? Mentally, Marcello had brushed the concept off and had sat back in his chair. "You can sit if you want." He had stated at last. Nimbly, his fingers had touched his scarf and jacket, fiddling with the collar beneath the massive accessory.
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Posted: Thu Jul 05, 2007 5:33 am
Rhael looked intrigued by the large scarf that the boy was wearing. It seemed much too large for him and out of place. Rhael didn't particularly like it when things were out of place as it messed up her image of what the natural order of things should be. Anomalies like that bothered her, so much so that she sometimes found herself getting annoyed with the children that Erasin sometimes brought for her to play with just because they were so... odd in comparison to any frame of reference she could have.
Rhael inhaled softly and moved to sit in one of the two chairs that the boy had pointed to. She sat primly on the very edge of the seat, staring hard at the boy.
Erasin was still in line, so the lecture on how staring was rude could perfectly well wait until her guardian noticed that Rhael was staring in the first place.
"My mum's getting coffee and muffins!" She said happily, trying to put the boy at ease. There was a tension that Rhael was detecting from him that did not think was a good thing. She wondered why he seemed so on edge, and why he was wearing such a big scarf.
"Did you know that your scarf looks silly?"
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 3:08 pm
Marcello had never been the kindest of individuals. From the moment he had walked off of the train, he had been graced with an analytical tendency to observe every detail he could about a person. He would memorize their faces, and he would hold on to the memory with surprisingly distant obsession. In that respect, there had been no surprise when he had found the girl looking at him, for he had been looking back.
His expression had been dim and irritable, unfriendly by the slightest of margins. He was a serious young man despite his haphazard attire due to an accessory far too large for him. Something somber and quirky rested about his eyes, however. As he stared, they would shift in the motion of a scanner - the action swift and precise. The more the habit had been repeated, the more fidgety he had seemed to become. His fingers had drummed against the table; his lips had twitched until a half-hearted smile took control of his face.
"Paul forgot food.", his explanation had been vague, as if he cared little for the notation of a father or mother. "Yours ever forget?"
The stranger's words had been entirely amusing. His scarf looked silly? Marcello's eyebrows had knitted together, though the feeling had not shifted from an amused air. Weakly, he had kicked his legs. His fingers had touched his scarf and felt the texture in a loving manner - and, before long, he had removed his hanky from his pocket to clutch it adoringly.
A momentary glimmer had emerged within his eyes and he had leaned back into his seat. Hesitantly, he had tilted his head to look upward, as if he expected to find something interesting. How was he to respond to what was noted as an insult? With Paul, he would counter it. That had been the ritual preformed time and again - always retort with a finer statement. Unfortunately, he found not brighter segment of wit and was left with only the act of preforming a popping noise.
"There is nothing wrong with my scarf." He had stated calmly. A lite laugh had fallen from his throat as he had turned his head to look at the girl once more. "It looks fine. It's mine." His smile had become a coy smirk, one almost daring the girl to continue along the path. Before long, he had let it go. His hanky had been tucked back into his pocket and he had glanced towards the line - pointing out Paul with surprising ease.
Not many men wore a bandanna in the manner of which his horrid companion did. It was thug-like, youthful, and rather akin to a commando from an ancient movie. Red and tied sloppily in the back, only partially hid by the mess of pale blond hair.
"That ..." He had began. "Is silly."
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