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somewhere between the sacred silence and sleep [.open.]
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Post by Tempest on Jun 11, 2014 19:36:16 GMT -5
Between movements of a second hand on a watch, the boy appeared in the square.
He might have gone without notice had he not been gaunt and bloody enough to appear as an extra in a B-rated horror movie. He was also not dressed for the snow drifting lazily down from the ash-gray sky. He didn't seem to notice the chill in the air as much as the shrill cry of the infant next to him. He flinched away, stumbling into another townie, who seemed likely to round on him until the man processed his appearance.
The boy's bright, Pantone-blue eyes (made all the brighter by the deep-eggplant-colored circles under them) were wide with unrestrained terror at all of the faces around him. The man he'd bumped into (who now had an unpleasant mark on his ski jacket) tried to reach out a comforting hand to the boy's shoulder. The boy promptly blocked the gesture with a spasm and fled from the man.
His blind rush had him hitting several people squarely and he finally slammed into an unyielding surface and fell down. This seemed to take the rest of the fight out of him and he curled into himself, hiding his face and muttering incoherently. Several people immediately stopped, but any touch had him lash out with sudden fervor, even if the attacks were clumsier and weaker each time. He soon had a radius of clear space around him, cobblestone with stamped snow ground covering it.
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Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo |
Siren
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Post by ebonynightmare on Jun 11, 2014 20:10:38 GMT -5
#6ba0ddOutfit
The white, powdery snow swirled around her, falling to the ground. Some flakes stuck to her dark hair, and others to her clothing. There was no sun to show the time of day, but a clock tower indicated that it was about noon. Her boots crunched in the snow with every step, compressing the powder into a surface that could be walked on.
Winter was her favorite time of the year, and given that it was often cold and rainy in the London countryside, she had naturally developed something of a tolerance to cold. The girl wandered around the village, and had come to the village square, which was, surprisingly enough, far from deserted. She had definitely expected most people to stay inside their houses, huddled around the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate and dozing off.
Lacey moved into a corner of the square, letting people get on their way and sipping at some hot chocolate herself. They seemed like they actually had somewhere to go, unlike her. Either way, if she hadn't moved, she probably would have gotten pushed to the same place, anyway.
From her decently secluded, peaceful spot, she observed the residents of the town. There were few couples, most people seemed to be heading for work or something of the sort. Some carried steaming beverages, and all were wrapped up in winter clothing.
After a few minutes, she noticed that, strangely, everyone seemed to be radiating away from a single point, or at least avoiding that area. Brushing the snow that had accumulated on her clothes during her period of inactivity, Lacey made her way through the crowd, trying to figure out what everyone was trying to stay away from.
Soon, she found her answer. There was a boy curled up in the snow, sounding like he was talking nonsense. He looked bloody and beat-up, and thin, too.
Some bit of her conscience and good heart found its way to the surface, and she knelt down next to him, saying, "Are you alright?" as she held out a bare hand with slim fingers.
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Post by Tempest on Jun 11, 2014 22:56:46 GMT -5
The boy flinched into his arms, not looking up at the possessor of the voice. His muttering took on a desperate edge and he rocked away from the source of the new sound. He muttered the same two-three phrases over and over again, his words clipped and his tone raw. "Getout alive... [indistinct, garbled, mess] scream sin dark. [more incoherent mutterings, perhaps in a different language] Glowing girl, Iceman, Blade-arm, Mistress. Plane to plane to place to place." He shivered then, continuing the mantra under his breath. Occasionally, he would add, "Run. They're coming."
His limbs shook a little now, but it was almost imperceptible. The boy didn't seem otherwise bothered by the temperature or the weather, snow melting slowly on his exposed skin and collecting in his messy, shoulder-length, dark brown hair.
A man in a flannel shirt idling nearby called over a suggestion. "Leave him alone, he's dangerous. He took a swing at me and a couple other guys and all we wanted to do was help. We called 911 and they'll be along to help any time now." He held a to-go cup of what was probably coffee in one hand, a newspaper tucked under the same arm. In his other hand was a phone. His warning administered, he returned his attention to a woman standing next to him with a shock of copper-red hair partially hidden under a hat sewn to look like a panda.
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Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo |
Siren
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Post by ebonynightmare on Jun 13, 2014 18:32:01 GMT -5
#6ba0ddOutfit
The dark-haired girl with snowflakes dotting her hair knelt by the boy, keeping watch over him worriedly. His senseless rambling, ignorance of the world around him, and shaking were signs of a high fever, but she didn't want to touch him in case it would scare him.
A moment later, she saw that she'd been wise in avoiding contact with him when a man wearing a flannel shirt called out to leave him alone, and that they had called 911. However, she shot the stranger a burning look, and said crossly, "I'll do what I like. And what I like is staying here."
To this, the man just shook his head at her and sighed, then walked away with his companion. Lisette rubbed her cheeks to warm them up as she waited for the ambulance. Suddenly, she realized that the gibberish the boy was mumbling seemed to be actual words: something about ice and glowing people, and running.
Glowing people? Was this a sign that he was Gifted? After all, where else would you find glowing people? And where was the ambulance? Deciding the ambulance was taking too long to get here, she put one hand on his shoulder to roll him over so his face was exposed. She leaned over him slightly so that he was protected from the snow, hair dropping down from underneath her jacket to frame her face, and placed a gentle hand on the boy's forehead. His skin was a little hot, but she wasn't sure whether or not it was high enough to indicate a hallucination-causing fever. Where was that bloody ambulance?
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Post by Tempest on Jun 14, 2014 20:14:11 GMT -5
The boy froze when she turned him, terror masking over features that would have been pleasant and open under healthier circumstances. First off, there was little of his skin not covered in dirt and a reddish-brown substance that some might write off as more dirt (though the texture was entirely wrong). Under the grime were scars. Some minor, some thicker. Some fresh, some weeks-old.
The metallic smell of fresh blood was easier to smell since his most recent wound lay just beneath his collarbone. Parts of it had scabbed over, but his own movements opened it again as he flipped out. With movements the speed of which belied the seriousness of his condition, he aimed a punch at the person who he perceived as a threat. Under his breath, he ground out a panicked, "No!"
His vibrant blue eyes looked at her, but nothing in his actions or his expression indicated that he truly saw her. His intended blow, while not lacking in alacrity, bore little momentum.
Regardless of whether or not it connected, he was already in the process of scrambling backwards, away from the girl. He kept trying to get to his feet, but between patches of ice forming from packed-down snow and his apparent weakness, he just couldn't manage it. His chest rose and fell sharply, rapidly, barely taking any air in before he expelled it again.
Meanwhile, the man from before had moved towards the two, concern on his face. "You okay? Did he get you?" Those behind the boy had hurried out of his way.
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Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo |
Siren
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Post by ebonynightmare on Jun 19, 2014 13:58:13 GMT -5
#6ba0ddOutfit
The girl received a major shock when she saw the boy's bloody, battered face. Under the blood and terror on his face, she could tell that he had nice features. Right now, though, that was a far cry from the truth.
Reacting to Lisette's light touch, the boy lashed out with a fist, and she jerked back quickly, heart pounding in her chest. He was definitely panicked and not thinking clearly.
She had risen to a half-standing position, and was about to return to a kneeling position when he scrambled backward across the icy ground. His startling blue eyes were directed toward her, but with a chill that had nothing to do with the cold, the girl realized that he was more looking through her than looking at her. Despite his efforts to get away, he hadn't gotten very far. Lacey could tell that he was weak and needed urgent help, but there was none to be seen. She began to worry that he would get frostbite or hypothermia. Or was it hyperthermia? She wasn't sure, but it didn't matter.
The man who had suggested that she leave the boy alone had returned, asking if she was injured. Thank goodness for persistent citizens, she thought. "I'm fine, but he's the one who needs your concern. I think we should get him inside, and figure out what happened to that ambulance," Lisette answered. He hesitated, and she could guess why.
In a second, she made a decision that probably wasn't smart for her, but she didn't care. Shedding her jacket, she wrapped it around his shoulders. At least she still had her thinner fleece jacket underneath. Not knowing what else to do, and with the man not wanting to move him, she settled beside him, snow melting under the warmth of her skin, and murmured quietly, "It's alright, calm down. No one's going to hurt you." Of course, she couldn't guarantee that, but he didn't need to know that.
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There's always somethin'... |
Harbinger of DOOM
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Post by Scribe on Jun 19, 2014 18:00:22 GMT -5
"I don't think our friend here would appreciate an ambulance ride," The casual wisdom, accompanied by the appearance of a man with a rather tall and well-defined stature, had been voiced with empathetic suggestion. A rough look about him, Doctor Wallenby wore what seemed to be a perfect fit for their current surroundings. Less suit; more winter wear. With a hand offering a singular gesture to the other man, lighting on his shoulder as if to say 'I'll take it from here,' Arthur turned his attention once again to the pair before him.
Settled in the snow, side by side, two students attempted to make one another's acquaintance amiably. Or so one might think if the previous displays of haphazard rejection and flailing had gone unnoticed. Arthur, who had indeed been observing, wondered curiously if this girl really expected any change in the behavior. But perhaps, just maybe, the gesture of a warm coat would soothe the boy's fright. Her words certainly couldn't hurt matters.
"We should get you two out of the snow, mm?" He seemed reluctant to advance any closer, but watched over the pair with an authoritative stance that turned any further protests of indifference from the villagers away. At the very least, with him there, the students would no longer be the subject of contempt, if any had risen to begin with. Rather than inquiring of the girl, Arthur put his focus on the fear-laiden boy, whose injuries prompted certain types of concerning questions. "You may call me Arthur. Would you like to come out of the snow and get something warm to drink? Your friend is invited." Despite his physical appearance, the doctor's body language took on a relaxed state, showing no tension in his muscles, and his hands were held out to his sides harmlessly. Palms showing. Arthur had learned to be very careful to appear as though he were not a threat, and he hoped it would be enough to win, at the very least, the frantic student's attention.
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Post by Tempest on Jun 19, 2014 19:40:35 GMT -5
The boy stopped fighting, though he did voice some initial protest at the girl's approach. He grew silent once the jacket was around his shoulders, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his too-thin arms around them. He seemed to come to himself enough to ask quietly, "Ansleigh?" Whether this was a case of mistaken identity or if he was asking for her whereabouts was anybody's guess. He shook his head at her reassurances, muttering fervently, "She sent them. Glowing girl. Blade-arm. Iceman. Only out is death."
He lifted his head in alarm at the newcomer, tensing as if to flee again. He tilted his head, leaning slightly towards the girl. After a strained silence, he responded blankly, "Arthur." Another pause, and he turned to look at the girl searchingly. He whispered,"Real?" Hope touched his expression, but even with that he wasn't relaxed, as though he expected the answer to be in the negative.
The boy shook his head suddenly, closing his eyes. "No. A trick. A dream," he said to himself firmly. "Fool me once, twice. Over and over, place to place to plane to plane." However, he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, despite all of this. "Does it matter?" he asked himself in a whisper. After a moment, he looked back at the newcomer, eyeing him warily. "Where?" He added, a little wildly, "Yes. She's coming." As he said this, he scooted a little closer to the girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
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Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo |
Siren
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Post by ebonynightmare on Jun 19, 2014 20:48:23 GMT -5
#6ba0ddOutfit
As soon as she finished speaking to the flannel-wearing man, a voice sounded above her. Looking up, she saw a warmly dressed man standing a short distance away from her and the boy. It took her a moment to process what the man had said, that the boy probably didn't want an ambulance. Lisette's eyebrows knitted together as she tried to puzzle out the meaning of this sentence. The newcomer also sent the other stranger away, which intrigued and worried her. What was he going to do?
She turned her attention back to the more urgent matter. The boy had begun to ramble again, shaking off her miserable attempts at comforting him. She could hear the individual words, but they didn't make sense to her. He also murmured what sounded like a name, but she'd never heard it before.
He turned to the stranger, whose name seemed to be Arthur, then turned back to Lacey and asked, '"Real?" She didn't know how to answer, and eventually, he seemed to answer himself negatively. "Is what real?" she asked curiously, quietly so that only he could hear. She wondered what he meant with all the glowing people, blades, and ice.
Arthur spoke to the boy, so the girl just sat and watched. The man didn't seem to be dangerous, so she wasn't too wary, unlike the boy who had wrapped his arm around her shoulders protectively. She laced her finger through his and let him decide whether or not he wanted to go inside. Through her thin jacket, she could feel just how thin the boy was. So, deciding for him, she suggested to both her companions, "Let's go and get some food as well. And get cleaned up."
She could hear the sirens in the distance and added, "If you want to avoid the ambulance, we'd better go."
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There's always somethin'... |
Harbinger of DOOM
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Post by Scribe on Jun 19, 2014 21:30:58 GMT -5
The frenzied mutterings indicated only abstract concepts, yet they brought a grimace to Arthur's face. Hard to ignore the plight of a boy in the snow on mention of death. He smoothed his features easily, simply observing the small tirade as it developed and descended. As much as he might wish to reassure the lad, and his companion, of the reality in which they stood, there did not seem to be any room for it. Instead he merely observed the implied and surreptitious proximity between the two. Despite flailing hard in an effort to dislodge her not minutes before, now the boy held the girl under a protective wing. She had done little, but enough, it seemed, to gain his favor. And to be listened to, as well, Arthur prided himself on finding a place to press his influence. He led the way, it proved a short path, to a small cafe nuzzled between two larger businesses. For the hour it did not seem to be all that busy and remained in sight of where the ambulance would eventually come. "Three hot cocoa!" His voice resounded across the cafe with a sudden, heavy authority, and his gaze leveled on the attendants until he felt satisfied that they would rush the order. Not a complicated thing, cocoa.
With some suspicion, Arthur pointedly claimed a table at the front of the small business. It looked out, through a wide glass, into the open street. Most importantly, it would not, he hoped, feel claustrophobic or dark or treacherous. The last thing he wanted would be for his frantic patron to take to the wind because of a feeling of the wrong sort of familiarity. All in all, he could only hope that this much had not been an overload of stimulation for the boy, as his earlier actions seemed to indicate he could not handle much of it. "The EMTs will be here to tend to your injuries soon, but you do not have to go with them if you do not want to. Will you tell me your names?"
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Post by Tempest on Jun 20, 2014 19:04:24 GMT -5
About two thirds of the conversation around him didn't really seem to sink in. However, he did lift his head at the mention of food, a flash of hope lighting his features and disappearing just as quickly. He alternated between hypervigilance and a sort of dazed acceptance several times in the course of about five minutes. When it came time to stand up and go inside, he complied with little resistance, but he did rely on the girl to maintain his footing. A phone nearby emitted a sound and he flinched violently away from the noise.
The girl appeared to be his anchor, else he might have booked it.
He also didn't seem to mind (or notice) that the girl had laced fingers with him. Another flinch when the man, Arthur, shouted. The boy's face took on a flighty look and he continually glanced at the windows and door, as though he expected them to disappear at any moment. Despite the warmth inside the building, the trembling in his limbs did not abate much.
The boy relinquished his hold on his much healthier-looking companion in order to settle on the edge of a chair, the one closest to the door. From the awkward way he ducked his head and kept his gaze low, he wasn't appreciating the stares the other patrons were offering. He shook his head, his reply almost swallowed up in the cafe noise, "Not injured. It's nothing. Not like the others." He pressed a hand over the seeping redness coloring his tattered shirt, staring distantly at the table.
It took another minute for the other part to sink in. He pursed his lips, silent in thought. Finally, he answered, "J-. Uh. Jeremy."
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Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo |
Siren
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Post by ebonynightmare on Jun 20, 2014 19:36:19 GMT -5
#6ba0ddOutfit
Lisette awkwardly helped the boy stand up carefully, not wanting to either reopen any injuries or cause more. She hated Arthur's eyes studying them like they were animals in a zoo, but since he seemed to be trying to help, she told herself to deal with it, more for the boy than herself--since she didn't need any help. A phone rang, and the boy flinched, so she tightened her hold on him. She was worried that he might try to run and hurt himself more.
The pair followed the man to a cozy little nearby cafe. She helped her companion sit down at a chair, and then seated herself at the window-side table. Thankfully, the establishment was well heated, but the boy didn't seem to shiver any less. For her, though, it was warm enough for her to shed her jacket. Arthur called for three hot chocolates, and while they waited, began his inquiry. He mentioned that the ambulance would be here soon to take care of the boy's injuries, but he said that he wasn't injured, not compared to the 'others'. "Not injured?" Lacey almost stood up in protest. She forced herself to sit down and take a deep breath. "You need treatment. You're covered in blood."
Arthur also asked for their names, and the boy's was Jeremy. "Lisette. Who exactly are you?" she answered, just as the waiter delivered their drinks. To the waiter, she said, "Do you have beignets?" ("No.") "Then two slices of pecan pie, please," earning a pause at her accent. She rolled her eyes and raised an expectant eyebrow at the waiter, who wrote down the order and hurried away. The Brit watched Jeremy out of the corner of her eye. He looked like he might bolt at any moment, like a rabbit startled by a passing human.
"It's okay, no one can hurt you here," she said to him in an attempt at a soothing tone, shooting a meaningful glance at the doctor asking for support. It may or may not have turned out true, but people didn't want to hear the truth. They wanted to hear what sounded good. Plus, with other people around, it was likely that nothing would happen anyway.
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There's always somethin'... |
Harbinger of DOOM
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Post by Scribe on Jun 21, 2014 3:17:33 GMT -5
"I agree with miss Lisette, Jeremy." Arthur ventured the conversation into a direction he felt important, and made sure to rely on the boy's sudden and unusual affection for his companion to dissolve as much resistance as possible. He only had a moment to speak with the injured student directly while the girl remained distracted by the waitress. "Would you prefer to come up to the Academy and be treated there? We can get you some fresh clothes and a bed to sleep in. My word, as the student psychologist, to see you there safely."
There, he had scripted the dialogue to the best of his ability. To prey on the student's psyche for their own benefit. For, really, in the end, if he could gain Jeremy's cooperation to allow medical attention, then the day might prove something of a success. As an added bonus, he had even answered Lisette's arbitrary, but completely reasonable question. And that was not a lie, unlike the one Lisette told to calm her new friend. "No one here wants to hurt you, Jeremy." He amended, just as their steamy mugs of chocolate mirth were delivered for consumption. He drew his own close, not yet drinking it for the intensity of its heat. "Careful," Arthur warned, relaxing in his seat, "We don't want the doctor to have to tend to a scorched tongue, too, do we?" In minutes the ambulance would arrive, and undoubtedly linger in confusion as to where their charges may be hiding. If Jeremy gave him specific permission, Arthur intended to waste no time in inviting the EMTs over to tend to the student, but it seemed just as likely that Jeremy would not yet permit this. Arthur would not dare lose such a fragile student's loyalty so easily.
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Post by Tempest on Jun 21, 2014 13:02:00 GMT -5
Jeremy almost bolted when the girl stood up, his entire form stilling in preparation for the flight. She sat down again, but he shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye, a wary expression flashing across his face. He didn't immediately respond to the psychologist's offer, giving no indication he'd actually been listening. "Not all of this is mine," he murmured to the table, belatedly addressing what they'd said earlier.
He rocked on the edge of his seat, his eyes darting to the door again. Suddenly, a laugh escaped his lips. "Ah, sleep. Good." He shook his head, as though trying to clear it. "No tricks?" He closed his eyes for a moment, indecision warring with paranoia in his features. He seemed to try to reason himself through it, muttering, "Can't keep jumping... catch up eventually. -out on my own terms? Hnng..." He pressed his hand tighter over the place under his collarbone, listing a little.
The arrival of the drinks startled him and he jumped clumsily to his feet with a hiss of alarm, almost overturning his chair. After a moment, he sank back down, leaving his chair pushed back from the table. He didn't touch the mug or the table's surface, his eyes fixed on the beverage in the psychologist's hands. A frown creased his brow and set his jaw. "Doesn't matter what you want. Doesn't matter what anybody wants," he muttered darkly. "Only what she wants." He nodded out at the square, seeming to go elsewhere again. "They caught us there. Because she wanted Ansleigh and Robbert."
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Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo |
Siren
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Post by ebonynightmare on Jun 22, 2014 1:02:16 GMT -5
#6ba0ddOutfit
Thankfully, Arthur had agreed with Lisette. She could tell that it wasn't going to be easy to get Jeremy to do anything, and she could use all the support she could get. While she ordered from the waitress, the girl blocked out what she considered background noise. Also known as whatever Arthur was saying to Jeremy. She turned back and tuned in just in time to catch the last part, where he subtly slipped in the fact that he was the school 's student psychiatrist. To this, she raised an eyebrow to herself, hiding it behind the large mug of hot chocolate as she drank, ignoring the scalding heat.
Noting Jeremy's obvious discomfort and tension, she tried to comfort him, but the doctor corrected her and said that no one wanted to hurt him. Lacey wanted to bury her face in her palm, but with great willpower, restrained herself from doing so. Is he trying to help or not?! she thought in frustration.
"You can't say that," she pointed out under her breath, directing her words toward the adult. "It's more likely for someone to want to hurt him than actually do so, considering all the people in here." To emphasize her point, the girl made a sweeping gesture with her arm toward the rest of the crowd packed into the warm cafe.
The waitress brought her order of pecan pie on two separate plates, as the girl had hoped she would. "Jeremy, would you like some pie?" she said in a soft, sweet tone. If she considered who she was talking to, it wasn't hard. The two-faced doctor was the one she had a problem with. Must be a bloody Gemini, she thought to herself.
As the girl dug into her pie, the boy she was beginning to consider a friend--despite his current condition--began to ramble again and seemed to be in his own horrible world. When he mentioned two names, one of which he'd mentioned earlier, her interest perked. "Who are they? Uh, Ansleigh ... and Robbert?" she asked through a mouthful of food, hand over her mouth out of habit for politeness and manners.
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